What’s in a Name?

2001 short story by Jonathan Hicks 

Thirty-three years after Episode IV – A New Hope

   "Easy, now. Open your eyes slowly, not too quick. If you feel any pain then let me know straight away, won't you, son?"

Bacco Tarn pressed a small button and the medical chair slowly raised, rising the huge figure in it to a sitting position. Huge muscles rippled under the pale white skin-like texture that covered an overly bony skeleton that was the form. Bacco, a small human in comparison to the massive creature that sat in the chair, smiled with the loving attention of a parent as the long, slitted eyes of what appeared to be a simple beast slowly flickered open.

   "How does it feel?" Bacco asked with concern, raising a small laser scanner and running it over the creatures’ eyes. The beast flinched but did not otherwise appear bothered by the scan.

With a voice that was deep and sounded as though the creature was speaking whilst breathing in, the beast spoke.

   "I... I can see properly. It's a little blurry... there's no pain."

Bacco smiled widely.

   "Excellent. Excellent! The gene grafts appear to have taken well."

The beast turned its head to look at the human. For the first time it saw its surrogate father's face clearly, the old age weighing down the fleshy skin, the wisp of whitish hair. There was no reddened outline from his natural infrared sight, no wavering blur from the poor vision he used to have. The gene grafts had indeed taken well.

   "Oh, father!" the creature gasped. "What a wonderful birthday present!" It reached out a long clawed hand and tenderly took the human's smaller hand. "Thank you, thank you!"

   "With your new sight and speech, son, you're perfect. Strong, healthy, intelligent. And so, so beautiful."

The beast appeared embarrassed and tilted its head to one side.

   "I can't thank you enough, father. I really can't. I must thank the donor who gave me the genetic template for my sight and speech."

Bacco smiled warmly back at his son and placed a hand on his shoulder. If only Doctor Harrys was alive to see this, he thought.

   "The donor wants to stay anonymous," he said. "I know, though, he'd be as proud as I with the results."

The man suddenly woke. His body convulsed as pain sent shivers down his body and his eyes stung fiercely. Warm rain washed down his body, almost naked except for a flimsy white gown that gave him some limited modesty. He turned his head, which only served to create more pain, and tried to stretch his body out of the foetal position he was lying in. As he did so more pains surged down his limbs.

He opened his mouth to cry out but the only sound that came was a dry whisper.

Lightning flashed in the tall hills. The trees loomed menacingly.

He rolled over, the pain in his eyes and throat overwhelming the aches and cramps that permeated the rest of his body, and lay on his back. He tried to cry out again but still there was nought but a whisper. His hand went to his throat as pain caused him to cough a sticky, salty liquid into his mouth.

Across his throat he felt a horrible, long and still tender wound. It felt swollen and covered with moisture that was too warm to be rain. With one hand on his throat his other hand moved to his eyes where he felt more wounds on his temples and under his lashes, the moisture again warm and feeling like un-set glue. His vision was blurred and touching the wounds caused a blinding headache to explode through his skull.

He rolled onto his front, trying to whimper but producing no sound, and started to push himself to unresponding knees. He had to get back to...

To...

Somewhere. He had a....

Something...

He was...

Someone...

He'd been...

   "Who am I?" he whispered hoarsely. His forced words produced globules of stained liquid out from his throat. It splashed into the muddy bottom of the small ravine he was in. He let the question run through his head but he could only visualise one answer.

A man, taller than he, with aged features and a wisp of white hair. A laserscalpel, and the promise of a quick, painful incision. Then pain. Then white-hot pain.

The man was on his knees. His hands were to his throat as he saw that nightmare vision of the laserscalpel, the thought of it cutting into his neck, into his eyes. The thought of it stealing his mind.

He had finally found his voice, and he used it to scream to the night that surrounded him, to the rain and to the lightning that slammed into the hills. He lifted his head and stared at the two moons above, the scream echoing through the trees and threatening to burst his skull.

But still he couldn't answer the question.

Who am I?

Bacco sat back and wiped his eyes. He was very, very tired, especially with the work he had done over the past thirty-two hours and writing the details in his journal was the final task. Finding a genetic donor, which had been fortunate - the man had been shot and left for dead in the ruins of Old Veshat Town so he probably wouldn't be missed. Taking the cells of speech and sight whilst the subject was still alive, the poor wretch, so that the genetic makeup would be fresh for limited dish cloning and transplant to his son. Breeding the cells. Splicing the synthetic gene-binders of his son that would enable him to insert the cells and accelerate the growth in the body of the host.

Dumping the body of the donor.

Waiting for the results. Smiling widely when his son had looked at him, finally, with normal vision. Listening to him finally being able to speak instead of typing his communications on a datapad.

He was so proud of his son.

The work of Doctor Harrys and the others, he wrote, has been proven a success. The work started, within Glann Cipple's laboratories on Amagad, on the Coryarthanax has finally been realised. The creature is intelligent, has sight and speech, and is powerful. All that remains is to teach him to hunt and to kill, as any normal Coryarthanax would.

The potential of this beast is limited but the lengths of that limitation are yet to be tested. Doctor Harrys and the others always thought that Goah Galletti was culmination of their work but he was a failure. The residue, the leftover genetic material, mostly Coryarthanax but with limited human intelligence and emotion, from the Goah experiment was considered useless. If had not been for my quick-thinking and somewhat underhanded acquisition of the residue then this moment would never have happened. The creature would have died with the others when Amagad fell. So now my son, the left over half of the experiment entitled the Galletti Combine Project, has been proven the success that Doctor Harrys and the others had strived for. I have created the perfect, loyal killer. I...

A pain hit Bacco's chest and he gripped it, grimacing as he did so. He dropped the light stylus and sat back, breathing hard. In the other room he heard his son laugh as he watched Arnee Kwarnee Takes Chancai on the interstellar broadcast vid, and took deep breaths to quell the pain. After a few moments the ache subsided and he relaxed.

He retrieved the light stylus and continued, one hand still on his chest.

I have only one thing left to do. Name my creation.

My son.

The man staggered into the town. The weather had subsided and dawn had started to creep across the horizon.

The small buildings denoted this town as a small hamlet, perhaps eight or nine constructs, and he headed for the blazing holographic sign that denoted a drinking establishment and inn. The single storey building, built of red stone and covered in a rusting metallic roof, didn't appear open yet but he would make sure they did open.

He slammed weakly into the door but it didn't open. He raised his fist to bang, slowly sliding down the sealed portal as his weakness threatened to overwhelm and take his consciousness.

As he got to his knees the door slid open.

   "Who the freck...?" the innkeeper started to say but when he looked down to see the muddy, bloodied dwarfish figure on his doorstep his mood changed from anger to shock. Quickly he stooped and picked up the man, pulling him into the inn.

   "Wife!" he bellowed. His large frame carried the man like a sleeping child to an empty table in the middle of the bar. "Wife!"

A woman, lithe and long-necked and with a short-cropped hairstyle, came walking into the bar.

   "What is all the... oh, goodness!" she quickly tossed the towel she had been wiping her hands with onto a chair and ran over. She looked down on the man with concern.

   "What happened?" she demanded.

   "I don't know, he was just banging on the door."

   "Get me some water, quickly! And a medpac!"

The man, half conscious, rolled his head over to try and focus on the woman that stood over him and started to tear away the thin cloth of the gown that covered him.

   "Thank you, thank you..." he started to say but the woman silenced him. As she tore away the cloth she looked down and stared with horror at the man's chest.

   "Goodness!" she cried. She turned her head towards the door the innkeeper had exited through. "Call the docbot! This man's been shot!"

The Coryarthanax stared at the half-dead corpse of the tree-rat that his father was pointing to. The rat, huge with protruding claws and even longer teeth, snarled and frothed, pulling at the chain that bound it to the metal post behind it. A huge wound in its chest bubbled as it breathed.

The Coryarthanax looked at his father.

   "But I don't want to."

Bacco sighed.

   "You must! Son, it's what you are. This thing has been killing our herd! Kill it!"

   "But it's no threat now. You could easily shoot it. Why do you want me to kill it?"

   "Look at yourself, son. Huge, powerful, strong. Why, you could tear that thing apart!" Bacco tried to put as much emotion into his voice as possible. Tried to awaken his son's bestial nature. Tried to make his son feel part of what he was. He gave the three-metre creature a shove in the direction of the tree-rat.

The Coryarthanax turned it's elongated head, which grew from its wide shoulders like a snake's head, in the direction of his father. He shook it emphatically.

   "No. You have a gun, just shoot it."

   "You're my son. I am your father. Do as I say, child!"

The Coryarthanax flinched visibly at the harsh words. He cowered, even though he was twice as tall as the man who was now shoving him with both hands in the direction of the tree-rat, and allowed himself to be manoeuvred towards the animal. As he came closer the tree-rat bit at him and squealed. Bacco stepped back and watched with excited anticipation.

   "Squiz. My name's Squiz."

The innkeeper looked down on his guest with a smile and passed him a bowl of broth. Squiz smiled and shifted in his bed, the wounds he had suffered patched and repaired by the docbot who had just departed.

   "That's an improvement," the innkeeper said. "When you collapsed on my doorstep you couldn't remember who you were."

Squiz nodded and smiled. He took a spoonful of the broth and grimaced as he swallowed the hot soup; the wound on his neck seemed to be deeper than just skin damage. His voice had been reduced to a hoarse whisper and his eyes still ached fiercely, even after the painkillers the docbot had attached to his skin.

   "Do you remember what happened?" the innkeeper prompted.

After a few seconds of contemplation and another painful spoon of broth, Squiz shook his head.

   "I was with a being, I got shot, I remember all that. And I remember someone with a laserscalpel, but that's a little hazy."

   "The docbot says that you were shot point blank, you should be dead. You've got some serious stamina for a... you know."

   "A dwarf?" Squiz laughed hoarsely. He looked down at his miniature, childlike legs and arms. "Us guys are made of stern stuff."

   "The wounds had been treated, and the docbot said that the incisions on your throat and eyes were surgical. Why, he doesn't know. Why are you on Trefnare? How did you end up out here?"

   "I'd just got back in from the Shattered Zone with a hire I was working for. I'm a strong-arm by trade."

   "Ah. Hired muscle?"

   "That's right. We, or at least he, spent the last of our creds getting us here. We found a ship and he suddenly decided he wanted it for himself, contract terminated, goodbye Squiz. Pyoo." Squiz pointed his finger and mimed the blaster shot. "I remember lying in the mud and rain feeling really frecked off, you know?"

The innkeeper nodded although he really didn't know.

   "Anyway, it all gets hazy. I remember opening my eyes and some frecker's cutting into me with a laserscalpel. Then I woke up in the woods by that town."

   "Old Veshat Town, by the cliff."

   "That's it. I'm in a ditch, all covered over with mud, like someone's done half a job in burying me."

The conversation ceased. The innkeeper seemed very uncomfortable and Squiz realised that maybe this man was too much of a law-abiding citizen to hear such things. Perhaps he had said too much already but he was still very disorientated. He decided to try another spoonful of broth.

   "Well, the only other doctor around here is that weird guy on the hill, Bacco Tarn," the innkeeper said as he turned for the door. "He helps out with the odd emergency and comes to town for supplies but pretty much keeps himself to himself. He might have treated your wounds."

   "What, and then cut me open and buried me? If that's the case I'd better go back for a second opinion."

The Coryarthanax sat on his haunches and stared glumly at the switched-off interstellar broadcast vid. He had disappointed his father, he knew that. Grappling with the tree-rat and only succeeding in getting himself pinned under it, barely holding off the whirling claws and snapping teeth, crying out for his father, hearing the blaster shot as Bacco placed a bolt between it's eyes. His father had said nothing but his silence was more threatening than any berating. He had walked away after instructing his son to dispose of the rat and shut himself in his study.

He turned his huge head and stared out at the bright sunlit sky. The view from the top of the hill was astounding, the rolling hills and steep drops of the varied terrain of Trefnare stretched for miles, the furthest reaches reduced to haze by distance and the threat of more seasonal rains.

He had felt nothing for the kill his father had so wanted from him. Why had he failed? Why had his father pushed him so?

The Coryarthanax stood to his full, three-metre height and breathed deeply. He took a step in the direction of the study but faltered. Perhaps his father was too busy to be disturbed. Maybe he shouldn't intrude and just stay away for a while to allow him to calm down.

No. He would apologise to his father and try to make it up to him. He would face another beast and kill it if his father so wished.

With huge strides the Coryarthanax walked to the study door and knocked, the huge clawed hands tapping the metal softly.

There was no answer.

He had not seen his father exit the room so he knew he was inside. He knocked again.

   "Father?"

After the third knock he decided to try the door. With one claw he inserted the tip into the pull-hole and slid the door back.

   "Father!"

Bacco Tarn was at his desk, his journal and documents laid out before him. His eyes were wide, his mouth was hanging open, his head thrown back over the headrest of the seat. One hand was still clutching his chest and the other gripped the table but he was as still as stone.

With one bound the Coryarthanax cleared the distance between the door and desk, landing next to his father nimbly. He grabbed his shoulder and shook.

   "Father! Father!"

But Bacco Tarn was already cold. His lifeless form trembled and flopped like a doll and the Coryarthanax had to catch him before he toppled out of his seat. With long, bony arms the Coryarthanax encircled his dead father's body and laid his huge elongated head on his shoulder.

   "Oh, father... I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

The emotion was strange to the Coryarthanax but he felt as though a huge hand had appeared in his digestive sacs and started squeezing. His body shook violently as he tried to quell the feeling and all he was conscious of was this moment, this moment of utter loss and grief. With the body of his father in his arms, with the sense of desolation and the thought that he was utterly alone. The only other face he had ever seen in his entire life other than the wavering holographic pictures on the interstellar broadcast vid. This whole hilltop house, which he had never left, his entire world.

Now it meant nothing.

After a few minutes of low whining and stroking the thin white hair of the body, the Coryarthanax looked down at the scattered datapads that Bacco had been working on. His eyes perused the writing, searching for anything that may give an indication of hat was going through his father's mind when he died. Had he still been angry with his son? Or was he simply writing what he intended to do to remedy the situation?

Galletti Combine Project.

His eyes narrowed. He laid the body back tenderly and picked up the pad in his huge claws. The what?

Genetic manipulation under condition.

What was this?

Pureblood Coryarthanax - a physiological study by Bacco Tarn.

That picture... that holograph of that beast killing those men.... it looks like... looks like...

Me.

After the initial Galletti cloning, the residue was stored within class three stasis fields for future analysis...

Residue research suspended in favour of correcting flawed Galletti clone...

Residue scheduled for termination...

Signed for by Bacco Tarn, second-class researcher.

'Dear Mister Tarn. I cannot imagine why you wished to purchase the leftovers of the Galletti Combine Project, what with the Coryarthanax clone being defective in many respects. Please be aware that the gene splice was ineffective and the traits that were not required, such as the more human elements of the Galletti clone, have been left in the residue. This may lead to emotional and physical stress on the residue that may make it unpredictable and dangerous. Still, if you think you can do something with this material then you are more than welcome to buy this trash. Respects and good luck on Trefnare, Doctor Harrys.

Trash? I'm trash? Residue?

Leftovers?

Bacco Tarn, entry three hundred. Now that I have almost perfected and conditioned the beast...

Beast? Me?

...to be more like a real person, all that is left is to improve visual and speech abilities and then train the creature to kill. I have the subject whom I shall remove tissue from and then dispose of the body. I have named this part of the experiment Project Father Figure.

The table turned over and over in the air several times as the Coryarthanax flipped the desk into the air, his roar deafening. The datapads clattered to the floor and bounced from the walls.

I am not a beast!

The table crashed into the bank of computers in the corner of the study, smashing monitors and causing short-outs that flung sparks across the room.

The Coryarthanax lifted its head to the ceiling and roared again. The scream was tinged with pain and cracked as the emotion of the moment threatened to overwhelm him.

   "Father!"

He spun to face the body of the man who had falsified his life, who had given him an identity that was not his own. Who had pretended that he had been born, not bred in a vat. His life existed not because of an act of passion but because a man had placed genetic samples into a dish and stirred them, designing the life of an individual as a person would design a 'droid.

The images he had seen, of the true nature of his species. Killers. Beasts. Creatures who themselves had been designed and created by the twisted desires of a man.

An uncontrollable rage gripped the Coryarthanax and he spun on the dead man in the chair. With one backhanded swipe his claws tore flesh and snapped bone, sending the head into the air and the body slamming into the wall. The smell of death forced it's way up his manufactured nostrils and further increased his manufactured emotions. He leaped at the body as it started its descent from the wall to the floor and grabbed it in mid air, tearing it apart with a passion he had never felt and as he landed again on the floor, he gorged himself on the sweet, tender meat of his father.

   "Holy crap."

Squiz peered in through the open door of the large house on the hill, frowning at the smashed-up contents. The cupboards had been torn apart like paper, the tables and chairs in pieces across the smashed lights and the ripped carpet. The Holovid was crushed and still smoking, which told the dwarf that whatever had happened here hadn't happened long ago.

The manually sliding doors had been either ripped out of their slides or smashed through, the frames hanging useless from the portals. The windows were shattered, every electrical item had been destroyed or crushed. It looked to Squiz that someone had been through the house with a powerhammer, if the damage was anything to go by.

Squiz slowly stepped over the carnage. He stooped and picked up a bent pipe, realising that he had no weapon with which to defend himself from any threat, and raised it defensively.

   "Hello?" he whispered.

Through one door he could see what appeared top be a laboratory, with a huge medical chair which seemed familiar to him, but this, too, had been destroyed. The metal table was bent in two, smashed bottles of liquid stained the floor and walls and the stench of something foul permeated the air. Squiz wrinkled his nose and decided not to venture further into the room. He didn't know what he would be breathing in.

The other door lead to a kitchen, another to a corridor. Another door lead to a room strewn with smashed datapads and a heavy lock on the now destroyed door. Squiz stepped forward, his curiosity overpowering his caution.

He first became aware of the remains of a man when he stepped on a part of the floor that seemed softer than the rest of the rubble he had negotiated. He looked down and saw a hand. No arm, no other part of the body. Just a hand.

He grimaced and stepped back. He had seen worse things in his life but that didn't mean it didn't revolt him. Upon further study of the room he saw that other body parts littered the floor. A foot here. An ear there. Dark liquids were splashed up the walls and window and bathed the scene in a crimson light.

Squiz turned to leave. He thought it better to leave now and inform the authorities. The good doctor had obviously given someone else a bad prognosis. He decided to exit in case they, too, decided to return for a second opinion.

A low whine caught his attention from the corner of the room and he stopped in his tracks. He narrowed his eyes so that he could see better in the red light but all he could make out was a cowled figure trembling in the corner, covered by rubble and a cloak of torn carpet. It was huge, whatever it was. Maybe the doctor's assistant, a Barabel or a Chortese, maybe? Whatever the species it was big.

It appeared to be crying softly, little gasps of sorrow that made Squiz think that maybe it wasn't a threat, that it had survived whatever had happened here. If it was a Barabel under there... Squiz knew for definite he wasn't staying if whatever did all this damage could scare a Barabel.

He stepped forward.

   "Hey, there."

The figure shifted but did not cease trembling.

   "Hey, pal, what happened? Hey..." Squiz wasn't known for his tact or emotional understanding but he tried his best to sound calm and helpful.

   "Are you okay?" Squiz got close to the mound under the torn carpet.

The Coryarthanax lifted its head and gazed with long, slitted eyes at the dwarf, which glittered and sparkled in the bloodied light.

Squiz knew immediately what it was.

   "Ah!"

The small man back-pedalled with a cry of shock and fear, losing his footing in the process and slamming rump first on the carnage. His hand reached out and he came into contact with something slippery, causing him to fight for his footing. His legs didn't seem to work and he lifted the pipe feebly.

The Coryarthanax cried out also, the scream not one of anger but one of fear itself, and he covered his long head with his huge claws, drawing his strangely bent legs up and in on itself, curling into a ball and whimpering softly.

Squiz held out the pipe threateningly. His legs had found purchase and he cried out again as he tried to force himself back.

   "No!" the creature cried. "Please don't hurt me!"

The voice and the pleading caused Squiz to stare at the huge beast in shock, his fear suddenly flowing out of his mind.

With his emotion suddenly changed from fear to wonder Squiz was unsure what to do next. He watched, the feeling of indecision growing as the thing lowered its huge clawed hands from its long head. He knew he should run as the creature turned its long head to face him, the scarlet light turning it into some kind of demon. He knew he should either flee or strike as it slowly uncurled itself, trembling visibly.

Throughout all these things he knew he should do he couldn't help but watch the beast. He had never seen Coryarthanax like this one - this one seemed to be looking at him.

   "What..." Squiz licked dry lips and coughed nervously to clear a suddenly dry throat. "Who are you?"

   "I don't have a name," the creature rumbled.

Was that fear in its voice? Squiz wasn't sure.

   "What happened here?"

There was a pause as the creature shifted uncomfortably.

   "My father is dead."

Squiz looked about the room. The hand he had stepped on and the other limbs he had seen were definitely human.

   "Dead?" Then the creatures’ words sunk in. "Your father?"

   "My creator. He saved me from disposal. Grew me. Bred me. Gave me an identity. He lied to me. I am not his son. I am not meant to exist." The Coryarthanax slumped his shoulders in an appearance of dejection. "I am leftovers." He motioned with one clawed hand to the datapads that lay scattered and splattered across the floor. Then he fell silent.

Squiz reached down and scooped up a bulky pad that was less damaged than the others, activated it, and, using the thumb pad to scroll up and down the text, began to read.

Galletti Combine Project?

Clones?

Glann Cipple's what?

   "I don't believe it. I don't believe it." Squiz placed the pad back with apparent reverence. Slowly got to his feet and started walking backwards. "I gotta get out of here. I can't be here. I shouldn't know this. Gotta get off this planet." As he walked back he cast glances about the room, wary of everything but still expecting nothing.

   "Don't leave me," the creature whimpered.

   "Leave you?" Squiz said with a nervous laugh. "I shouldn't even be able to talk to you."

  "My father had a ship. A good ship. You can have it. If you get me out of here. If you get me away from this place."

Squiz shook his head.

   "No way, pal." He turned for the door, and just as he was about to take his first step he faltered, his head looking back over the shoulder at the creature that was getting to his feet, its head just touching the high ceiling.

Slowly, Squiz lifted his head to stare at the huge form that towered over him.

   "Please," the beast said. It was not threatening, the dwarf realised. It was a plea for help.

   "A good ship, you say?" Squiz said with a smile, the mirth of which he didn't feel.

The cockpit of the One Truth was small, perhaps large enough for two humans, but it was more than enough for Squiz and not near enough for the Coryarthanax. The creature sat in the lounge area, hunched over so that it could fit in the confined space, and ate of the rations that they had both taken from the house on the hill.

They had left that house, burning brightly from the fires they had lit, the whole dwelling consumed in a fireball as the liquids that had been spilt in the laboratory ignited fiercely.

At first, Squiz had been tempted to take the datapads and knowledge that the doctor had acquired but he thought better of it. Just one look at the sad beast with him reminded him of its less intelligent, more dangerous brethren. Glann Cipple's requirements had given the Setnin Sector its most dangerous organic pest. Such things were best burnt.

He turned in the seat.

   "So what are you called, kid?" he asked of the beast. The whirling multi-coloured tunnel of hyperspace was visible through the cockpit window and Squiz was comfortable with letting the vessel fly on automatic.

   "I have no name," the beast said.

   "What, that crazy... the doctor never thought to give you a name?" Squiz sat opposite the creature and shook his head.

   "I was his child. That is what he called me. Child. Son."

   "Well, I certainly am not going to call you that," Squiz said. He chewed the inside of his mouth thoughtfully.

   "How about Goah, like the experiment I am the produce of?" the beast mused.

   "No way!" Squiz said decisively. "We got rid of one Goah, we don't want another one. How about Bacco, after your creator?"

   "That name has no meaning to me. I do not wish to remember him."

The silence was punctuated by beeps and whistles as the vessel cycled automatically. Both beings sat and thought.

The creature thought of his future, his destiny. What was to come of him? Why am I here?

Squiz thought of travelling the stars with this huge behemoth, a creature feared by most. They'd make a great team. We'd kick some butt, that's for sure.

   "How about Partner?" Squiz said with a raised eyebrow. "How about I call you Partner and you call me friend. I'm pretty beat up, not as sharp as I was; I could do with your help. And I know this sector; you need my help so that you don't get blown away by the first frecker looking to bag a Coryarthanax bounty. What do you say?"

The beast nodded.

   "Very well, friend Squiz. We shall aid each other."

The dwarf grimaced.

   "But what do I call you?"

The Coryarthanax stretched its long claws and then made a fist.

   "I am the produce of a failure. I am the combination of many, a legion of beings. Call me... call me..."

   "Baz," Squiz said quickly. "I had an older brother called Baz. He was taller than me."

With a nod the beast assented.

   "Very well. Call me Baz."

What’s in a Name?

2001 short story by Jonathan Hicks

Thirty-three years after Episode IV – A New Hope

Histories – This Jonathan Hicks tale follows on many years after the Glann Cipple initiated project that spliced Coryarthanax genes together with the Trefnarian DNA of Goah Galletti, a project that resulted in the Galletti Clone that worked for Cipple throughout the Setnin Sector for over a decade.  Also tying in with the Injevido storyline, it brings back Squiz, a man left for dead at the end of the Injevido story.

Cast of Characters

Bacco Tarn

Squiz

Baz