Anzai Karoo and the Cannon Angels

1996/1999/2000 story by Jonathan Hicks

Under a year after Episode IV – A New Hope

PART ONE

Anzai Karoo cursed the thermal control unit in his survival jacket. The damn thing had not been working right since it had taken that Blaster hit right in the main memory. He could still see the shoddy patchwork he had attempted to fix it with, and he cursed again for not having taken more care in the repairs.

He turned it up to full, which meant he would not freeze to death, and stuck his hands into the pockets. The heat elements in the fabric began to warm, but it did little to better his mood.

Why did he always do his deals on forsaken planets like this?

Corris III was wind bitten and almost completely uninhabitable... unless one could put up with gale force winds, sub zero temperatures and a seven month day. The whole planet had been stripped bare by huge Imperial mining barges, and the desolation left behind reminded Anzai of a forest after a violent fire.

He rested his hand on the butt of his heavy Blaster and looked around him. He had landed his ship, the Cannon Angel, on a high precipice. He usually preferred dealing with... undesirables in out of the way places, where a ship could be almost completely out of sight, but he didn’t trust the look of the valleys or the ravines. He had spotted several landslides as he touched down, and did not want to be on the receiving end of one. He opted for the most stable point. Besides, there was no one on the planet to cause him concern. He was not even sure if anything was left alive.

The landing struts on his squat ship creaked loudly as another blast of wind swept over the mountain. He leaned into it and closed his eyes, and then walked back to the ship.

He checked his chronometer, which he had set for this planet from the ships computer. They were late.

He stepped onto the ramp to board the Angel. He had had enough of waiting. They had decided the meeting point and time, and if they were not going to stick to the arrangements then they could suffer for it. The stuff he was selling was top quality.

The wind died down briefly, and Anzai heard a sound that hadn’t been caused by the weather. He turned and slowly came back down the ramp, stepping slowly so that his footfalls would not interfere with his listening. He cocked his head ever so slightly.

There. That thwumming noise. Definitely the sound of manoeuvring thrusters. And now there was another sound, a low droning that could only be the main engines. If the wind was blowing this sound away from him, then they were coming from...

...behind! Anzai spun around, his hand gripping his weapon tightly as the freighter he had been waiting for flew up from behind his ship, out of the ravine. Its ugly nose dipped as it moved forward over him, spun around, and then settled to the ground so that both vessels faced each other. Anzai felt the heat from its exhausts and the pressure from its repulsors. He glared at the round cockpit that jutted from the top, annoyed that a ship had got this close to him before he had even heard it. They had been using the ravines to move undetected.

Jets of gas burst from the underside of the new arrival as it settled. Lights on the hull flickered, and the dust settled again. Anzai waited, standing at the bottom of the ramp with an expression of anger. He moved a lock of greying dark hair away from his eyes.

The ramp lowered with a hiss and a flurry of escaping gases, and at the same time the cargo lifter at the back of the ship dropped, too. The three figures that descended the ramp were a variety of species, the head of the group being a Twi’lek, his long head tail richly decorated and curling around him like a snake. His otherwise human featured face was wearing a mocking grin, his red eyes blazing. The others behind him were a Rodian, whose insectoid features twitched nervously, and a Gamorrean. The Gamorrean regarded Anzai with steely eyes, it’s pig-like face in constant movement. It heaved its massive bulk off the ramp, and leaned upon the force pike it was carrying. The Twi’lek walked forward until it stood several meters from Anzai. He nodded to him.

   “Kea’ta’Ko bavada,” The Twi’lek said by way of greeting.

Anzai recognised the Huttese language, and instantly saw through the Twi’lek’s trick. By using the language of the Hutts, the alien was hoping to show to Anzai that his employers were powerful and that he had better be wary.

   But Anzai was not in the mood for a friendly chat.

   “Good day to you, too.” He said in Basic, the common language of the speaking galaxy, “Neat trick with the ship. I’m glad to see I’m not dealing with amateurs.”

The face of the Twi’lek changed from a smile to an offended frown. He immediately turned to his companions and made a chopping motion with his hand. Anzai tensed for trouble, but the Rodian went back into the ship and the Gamorrean began walking the to cargo lifter.

   “What is it you have for us?” Asked the Twi’lek, switching to Basic, unsure whether Anzai could speak fluent Huttese. His voice was low and wheezy.

   “Weapons.”

   “What kind?” The Twi’lek was getting dangerously impatient, so Anzai thought he had better get this over as fast as possible.

   “Blastech pistols and a whole load of Imperial issue rifles. Top quality, and I’m even going to throw in all the power packs free, just for you.”

The Twi’lek sneered at him, and turned to watch the Gamorrean push a repulsor sled over to the Cannon Angel. Anzai turned and waved to the cockpit of his ship. After a few seconds, a larger ramp next to the boarding gantry lowered, allowing entry into the cargo hold. The Twi’lek looked at the cockpit of the Angel and then back at Anzai.

   “I understood you were coming alone,” the Twi’lek said.

   “I am here alone. That’s just my droid K3-N12. I’d hardly call him a threat. Now forget my appliances and lets talk about credits. You can have the pistols for fifteen, but the rifles’ll cost you... seventy thou. You’ll have to remove identification etches from the gun frames yourself. I don’t have the tools to do that, but I’m sure your Hutt friend has a few contacts. Fair?”

   “Nothing is fair,” Said the Twi’lek, almost prophetically. Anzai tensed again, wondering if the Twi’lek was going to spout poetry or come out with some profound statement before his assistants cut him down.

The Twi’lek nodded.

   “Eighty-five it is. I can pay you in Killiab crystals. But I will have to check the merchandise.”

   “Of course.” Anzai stepped back and allowed the Twi’lek to open one of the three crates the Gamorrean had brought from the hold. He reached in with a long-nailed hand and pulled a rifle from its foam packing. He held it at arm's length as if it smelled awful.

Anzai could tell the Twi’lek didn’t have much knowledge of weapons, and so took the gun from him. He flicked a switch and fired. A bright red bolt slammed into a rock a few meters away, and it exploded into shrapnel.

The Twi’lek clapped his hands in childish glee.

    “That rock over there!” He cried.

With an irritated expression, Anzai brought the weapon around and fired at a clump of rocks thirty meters away. They, too, erupted under the power of the Blaster. He destroyed the rocks next to the smoking crater to make his point.

   “Satisfied?” He said, and tossed the rifle to the Twi’lek.

The Twi’lek caught it clumsily, laughing as he placed the gun back into the crate and motioned for the Gamorrean to start unloading.

   “Eighty five well spent!” He cried, waving mightily at the ship. After a few moments, the Rodian came down with a large container. Anzai could hear a rattling sound from the case as the alien approached. It was his turn to smile.

It took only a few moments for Anzai to calculate the weight of the box, and when he was satisfied all the crystals were present, he locked the lid and changed the locking code. The Rodian watched him with suspicion.

   “Well, we are all loaded up,” Said the Twi’lek, “and it only remains for me to thank you for your help.”

Anzai waved him away.

   “Ah, don’t give any of your Bantha pudu. We both know you’ll sell those guns on for twice the price. I’m just glad to be rid of them. Now if  you’ll excuse me, I’m behind schedule as it is. I’m sure you’ve got a Hutt to please, so I suggest we all depart this wonderful place.”

The Twi’lek nodded in understanding, and motioned for his associates to board the ship. As the engines fired up and the cargo lifter rose, he smiled broadly at Anzai.

   “I hope we can deal with you again, Mister Omik.”

Anzai smiled back, a strange laughter in his eyes that the Twi’lek mistook for friendliness.

   “I hope so too.”

They each boarded their ships, the Twi’lek satisfied with the deal, and Anzai chuckling to himself that they fell for his false identity. He hoped they didn’t catch up with the bounty hunter he borrowed the name from. He didn’t like him much anyway.

The ships lifted off simultaneously, the ugly nosed ship spinning and blasting off towards the sky, and the Cannon Angel climbing slowly.

Anzai heard a whistle and a series of pitched beeps from the lounge area of his ship. He turned from the starfield view in his cockpit and spun the chair around to face his droid, K3-N12. He listened carefully to the screeches and blips and shook his head at the gold domed robot.

   “Everything went well, N1K. Can you count the crystals for me? I doubt we have a full price but it was close enough. I’m glad to be rid of those damned guns. Could you imagine what would have happened to me if the Empire had picked me up with Imperial issue rifles aboard?”

The droid whistled and then let out three short beeps.

   “Yeah, and the rest,” Anzai replied.

Anzai spun back to the viewport and began entering co-ordinates into the navigation computer.

   “Damn that Rebellion,” He said to himself, “and damn that General Soli. The jobs he’s giving me are getting more and more boring.”

He pulled a series of levers, and the Angel jumped into the whirling tunnel of hyperspace.

Leogard was a planet of beauty once. It had valleys of green, oceans of blue, and skies of fluffy white clouds. These places still existed on the planet, but they had a tendency to be covered in a layer of industrial muck.

The whole planet had been turned into a processing plant and load point for ore. Traders of all descriptions came through this system hour after hour, loading, unloading, dealing and making credits galore. In orbit, great floating space stations received these travellers and helped them with their needs. Floating alongside these stations were ore barges, the largest being two miles long, which smelted and purified the metals from the planet's surface continuously, never stopping in a relentless automated cycle. Starships of all descriptions swarmed over this ore processor like insects around a carcass, delivering raw minerals at one end, and removing the finished product from the other. Day after day, hour after hour, minute after minute, the processing station ran its program.

Floating in the same orbit as this processor was a smaller one, just over a mile long. Although its function was the same as its larger counterpart, it didn’t produce as much. In fact, very few ships came to this station, maybe one or two an hour. Nobody seemed to notice, and nobody seemed to care.

Which was perfect.

The Cannon Angel dropped out of an orbital space lane and headed for the smaller station. Inside, Anzai reached over to his communications board and pressed the hailing switch. After a few moments, there was a long tone and a female voice cut in over the static.

   “This is Citadel approach control, we have you on our sensors. Please identify.” Anzai recognised the voice and leaned over the mouthpiece with a smirk on his face. “This is Cannon Angel, babe. And my business is strictly private... I can’t show you my cargo until we are alone together.” Anzai could hear other people in the control room laughing and poking fun at the female. He smiled out of the viewport, waiting for the reply he knew was going to be a biter.

   “Cannon Angel this is Citadel approach control. Welcome back, Anzai. If it’s your cargo we’re talking about, I’ll give the smallest docking bay we have.”

The control room staff burst into an uproar, clapping their hands and calling for Anzai to say something back, but Anzai didn’t want to hang around outside for too long. He acknowledged her communication with a rasp, and set course for the landing bay.

The Angel approached the colossal factory on lateral thrusters only, allowing the manoeuvring jets to push the ship slowly forward to the hangar. The dull grey metal of the hull was illuminated by huge light projectors as it slipped through the energy field maintaining the pressure in the bay. The bodywork of the starship was pockmarked with meteorite scars and carbon-scoring, testimonies of past situations that Anzai usually avoided talking about. He liked to keep a smooth running ship, though, and tried to avoid the dilapidated look most freighter captains thought a trend. The craft settled down on its landing gear next to several other ships.

As Anzai powered the ship down, he glanced up at the huge window that was the approach control centre. He saw a figure standing in the frame, looking down at the ship. The features of the figure were indistinguishable from this distance, but Anzai knew from the long wave he returned that it was the girl on the com. One day, he thought, I’ll come up there, find out who you are and take you out for a drink... no matter what species you may be.

He climbed from his seat and patted N1K on the dome.

   “I won’t be long. Keep her computer ticking over and wait for me.” Anzai walked over to the lounge area, buckled his gun strap on and reached for the locked crystal case. As his fingers tightened around the carrying handles, he gazed longingly at it and drew a deep breath. His melancholy drew the attention of N1K, who had plugged into the ship’s computer. He beeped questioningly.

   “Oh, nothing I guess,” Replied Anzai to the automaton’s query. “Do you remember the days we could make this much money for ourselves? Now it seems the only jobs I’m getting is for a bunch of galactic Rebels who give me a cut of any money they make from my transactions. I’m not getting old, am I?”

The little droid sent out three wavy notes in sympathy. He then beeped several times at different pitches.

Anzai laughed and kicked a plate by the main hatch. The entry ramp lowered and the interior hatch slid open.

   “Soft hearted is something I am most definitely not!” He said, and trotted off down the ramp.

The quietness of the ship was exchanged for the high volume bustle of a busy landing bay. Anzai had to stop several times to allow technicians to scoot by on small hover platforms, or wait for labour droids to lumber past pulling equipment. He was pretty much ignored as he walked across the deck, just making the odd acknowledgement as somebody recognised him. Species of varying kinds clambered in and out of a variety of starship models, either loading or unloading, or working on various systems. The hangar was strewn with refuse, for the constant comings and goings were more than the sanitation droids could handle. Sparks flew from power tools, crates clattered and bumped around, friends and work colleagues called each other over the din, and as Anzai approached the departure door, he was swathed in heat from a starships backwash as it lifted off and turned to approach the main bay entrance. Warning klaxons sounded as it moved across the hangar.

The corridor he entered was quieter but no less busy, and he had to press up against the wall to allow someone with a large load past a few times before he got to a room he recognised, `SANITATION CONTROL’. He stepped into the room and allowed the door to slide shut behind him. He stood there for a few moments, surrounded by cleaning utensils, chemicals and a small inoperative droid. When he saw a light blink twice in the top corner of the room he spoke.

   “Anzai Karoo to see General Soli. Anytime your ready.”

He waited for a few moments more, and then the light went out and a false door on the far side of the room slid back to reveal a large part of the processing plant. More noise assaulted his ears, and he tried to frown away an approaching headache.

This part of the ship was one of the larger processing stations of the orbital, except it was not being used to process ore. The great machines were still in place, but their use had long been discarded of. Instead, the whole industrial complex had been converted into a warehouse, storing stacks of storage containers around the disused machinery. As Anzai descended the steps onto the main floor, he was eyed warily by two Rebel soldiers.

He looked around and saw assistants cataloguing the contents of a lot of the crates, and there were a few containers being shipped to another large room, probably the staging area for the freighters that deliver this equipment to other Rebel bases, he mused. He was quite surprised to see what looked like the laser cannons and engine components of an X-wing starfighter stored in one of the larger crates. The assistant, noticing his scrutiny, glared and him and dropped the lid with a resounding gong.

   “Are you Karoo?” Asked a deep male voice from behind him. He turned around to stare into the chest of one of the biggest creatures he had ever seen. He looked up to regard what reminded him of sharp bovine features, with dark eyes glaring at him from a wide brow. Human like arms ended at four fingered hands, but the obviously too-small coveralls the alien was wearing stretched across a broad and muscular frame. Anzai wondered whether he was just trying to look macho or whether they really couldn’t find clothes big enough for him. He was easily seven feet.

   “Yes?” He replied, trying the to wipe the expression of surprise from his face. The alien jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

   “I’m Boron Sigiam. The General’s waiting.” He turned sharply and took long striding steps to a section of the room raised above the rest of the area. Anzai was obliged to follow.

This section was obviously the nucleus of the storage depot. Screens showing information glared into expressionless faces and com buzzers bleeped continuously. Staff ran in all directions exchanging and comparing datapads, and at first Anzai     thought he would have to start squeezing past the press of bodies again, but the huge form of Boron Siggiam moved the crowd like a bulk freighter through space dust. With only a few steps they came to stand by a large glass-topped control desk. The desk was scattered with screens set into the tabletop, and datapads of all sizes were strewn across it. As they stood waiting, a beam of light shot out of one corner of the table and expanded to form a holographic image of a certain solar system Anzai didn’t recognise. Two assistants immediately started discussing some topic about the revolving image, pointing at certain parts of the globe and indicating the few moons orbiting it. Anzai watched with interest.

He heard General Soli start shouting to his left, and turned to see if he was being shouted at.

   “I can’t have all that equipment to you until the end of the shift! You’ll have to wait for your Bacta. Get back to your ship and I’ll have someone call you when we have it available. Can’t you see I’m busy?” The middle-aged man threw his arms in all directions at the Rebel pilot as he berated him. His angular features, especially a long sharp nose, glowed red in the light from the holograph, giving him an almost demonic appearance. The pilot, eyes wide, saluted and left quickly. Boron opened his mouth to address the General, but he had already walked past them and grabbed a datapad from the table.

   “Tyrrah!” He shouted, “I’ve got pilots and captains queued up waiting to go! Where the freck are the supplies for them?” He started punching keys on the pad, regarding the readout with disgust.

A faint voice sailed out from the throng.

   “Loaders three and seven have been inoperative since shift three, General. All loading and shipping has been delayed by two hours for the next shift, at least. Techs are on it now...” The owner of the voice drifted into view, dropping a pad at the General’s location and saying, “... and here’s the manifest.”

The General wasn’t listening. He was mumbling something incoherent and rubbing his temples.

The newcomer looked at Boron and smiled.

“Hey, Siggy,” And then her eyes fell on Anzai. She looked at him with mild confusion, wondering what someone of his attire was doing in an official Rebel supplies depot, and then took the other pad from Soli and walked away. Anzai watched her disappear into the crowd, his head tilting at an angle as he watched her behind swing like a...

   “Are you deaf?”

Anzai was shocked back to the present by Soli’s harsh words. He looked at him and shrugged with a smile. “When you’ve quite finished eyeing up my staff.” He motioned for Anzai to follow, and headed to a secure room. Boron followed behind Anzai, and they all entered the room, the door to which slid shut and sealed itself. Although the room was quieter and spacious, it was no less untidy. A huge oval window allowed a broad view of the depot, through which only a few muffled sounds could be heard.

Soli walked over to the desk and began looking through a stack of datapads for a particular one. Boron stood by the door.

   “How much did you make from those guns?” Soli demanded curtly, finding a particular pad and turning it on. Anzai, slightly annoyed at the General’s short temper, hefted the box he had been carrying onto the table, scattering a few pads. Soli glared at him.

   “Seventy-five thousand. I told you I’d get a good price.” He wasn’t going to mention the ten thousand he had decided to... keep back.

   “Seventy-five?” Soli looked pleased, an emotion he didn’t often show. Anzai knew that he was considered a tyrant by his subordinates, although if a job needed doing, Soli would do it right and more besides. That didn’t stop Anzai disliking him for being rude, loud and annoying, though. “That’s five thousand more than you predicted. Well done. Do you wish to keep that extra money for your services? It hadn’t been accounted for.”

Anzai shook his head.

   “No, you boys need it more than I do. I’ll just take a thousand for expenses.” Oh yes, thought Anzai, make them think your a do-gooder and they’ll give you more jobs. Anzai knew that Soli thought he was a sucker, but as long as he thought that, he’d be okay for runs.

Anzai unlocked the box and slid it to Soli, who nodded with satisfaction. He motioned to Boron, who came over and closed the box. Anzai watched as he changed the combination secretly and left the room with the money.

   “Well,” He said, slapping his hands on his thighs and dropping into one of the few seats that wasn’t covered in paraphernalia, “What else have you got for me?”

The General had dropped the pad after typing something onto it and was now flicking through an index on his monitor.

   “Nothing yet, Anzai, I’m very busy. Come back later, at the end of the shift.”

   “What’s going on, Soli? Last time I was here you were complaining about the lack of excitement, and then you send me off on a gun run. Why are the Rebels selling weapons they need?”

Soli, allowing himself a break for a few moments, crossed over to a warm drinks dispenser. He selected a hot cup of Chav and watched the container fill. It annoyed Anzai that he was not offered a drink.

   “The Rebellion has been in constant movement since the Death Star was destroyed over Yavin a few months ago. The Empire have taken a massive blow, losing their `ultimate weapon’, and this brief respite is allowing us to take stock of our situation and prepare for a counter attack. A lot of our outposts in the Setnin Sector need medical supplies, as do a lot of our safeworlds. The money made from those stolen weapons you sold for us will buy those supplies from neutral systems. At the moment, everyone is more interested in licking their wounds than fighting.”

Anzai felt a pang of guilt. He hadn’t thought for a minute where the money he had made may have been going to, and the thought of all those Rebel families and refugees... he shook the thought from his head. He was getting sentimental in his old age. The money he had `acquired’ for the job was well earned, and the Rebellion had more than enough credits to buy top of the range supplies.

Soli had drained the last of the Chav in his cup and he walked back over to the desk.

   “So explain that to your captain friends, and maybe I won’t get constant demands for jobs.”

The door opened with a hum and Boron Sigiam walked back in, nodding at the General.

   “All the money was there, in negotiable Killiab crystals.”

Anzai frowned at the lack of trust the Rebel Alliance was offering him. Still, he had agreed to work for them with very few questions, so he just accepted the alien’s entrance as his cue to leave.

   “I guess I’ll blast off, then,” He said. “I can’t hang around here waiting for you to give me another job. I’m sure Latti or Rondosarn or one of the other captains’s’ll be back soon, so you deal with them. Be seeing you...” And he stood, heading for the door.

Soli watched him go.  As he reached the exit he said.

   “Don’t think you’re not appreciated, Karoo.”

Anzai threw a quick smirk over his shoulder, and headed back to his ship.