Wrong Side of Hell

1987/1988/1999/2000/2002 story by Mark Newbold

Ten years after Episode IV – A New Hope

Chapter One

Void! 

An intricate collaboration of angles and sizes, paradoxes and contradictions.  In truth, nothing should exist in a void, because a void is empty and devoid of life.  An example of irony.  From within this irony a silver point of light increased in size, spinning from a distant glimmer to a distinguishable outline.  Screaming silently out of view into the depths of a colossal dust-cloud, stars that twinkled brightly near the cloud faded to a dim illumination as the cloud was entered.

Inside the cloud and within the vessels airtight cockpit the pilot tensed.  He’d flown through thousands of similar clouds across trillions of miles of space, but was always apprehensive whenever entering one, as if he’d fail to re-appear from the other side.  Dark and empty, much like his life.  Jan Lomona contemplated on his recent experiences and its unpleasant aftermath.  The collapse of Glann Cipples operation on Amagad, and the destruction of the city by the impact of the stricken starship Heed, a legendary starship once thought lost forever.  The invasion of rival gangleaders into the sector, intent on claiming the remains of the now absent Cipples operation.   And Frans.  It had barely been a month since he’d returned to his homeworld of A-desando for a rest, and to be with his fiancée Frans Latka.  Barely a month since she’d told him that their long engagement was over and that their plans for a future together could be cast to the winds.  Jan shifted in his seat, glancing at the empty co-pilots seat beside him.  The memory hurt as much as the truth, and the stinging behind his eyes was as real as it was when he closed the door on Frans for the last time.

Dust cleared, spreading into a dazzling array of gasses and mists flanking the clouds.  From the centre of this, as if spat from some dark mire flew the Berone Sunrise. Jan smiled weakly as he ran his tanned hand along the scuffed chrome panel of his trusty old vessel and gazed thoughtfully out of the wide cockpit window.  Within comfortable viewing distance lay his destination and haven, for the next few hours at least - a fraction of the New Republic fleet, laced like a string of priceless pearls across the endless night sky.  Cruising at a low velocity and grouping for its end of journey jaunt the fleet neared the planet of Leogard, once galaxy-famed for its opulent jewel mines and now an ore processing world.  Not a backward planet by any stretch but not a galactic hotspot either.   This world had been chosen by New Republic command as the sight for personnel leave over the next two weeks, her sister worlds Afagard and Nogard no longer being seen as safe enough locations here in the Garda System.

Jan’s thoughts were interrupted by his comm.-system buzzing for attention before him.  He thumbed the switch and leaned back in his flight seat.

   “This is Colossus Traffic Control; we have you on our screens.  Please identify.”  Lomona silently accessed his clearance code into the computer and awaited clearance.  Crackling radio silence assaulted his ears as the spear-like smugglers ship came to a standstill close to the New Republic gunship.  He remembered the days when the Alliance had a small base in one of the orbital ore processing stations, named Citadel, but that had been destroyed years ago, and another supply station over Afagard just last year.  These days the New Republic had nothing to hide.  He waited.  Vessels were frequently fired upon at this point, both Republic and Imperial.  No time for horseplay, even the suspicion of a gun pod warming or a torpedo loading could be misinterpreted as an attack.  Dimly in Jans preoccupied mind he could hear the cruiser bleeping for a reply. 

   “Berone Sunrise, this is Colossus Traffic Control.  We acknowledge your clearance Mister Lomona, you are clear to proceed.” 

Lazily Jan turned off the comm.-system.  He smiled.  `Mister Lomona’ sounded so strange to him, so formal.  He’d grown accustomed to a wide range of names, in various languages, but had got used to his part-time rank in the New Republic.  However, since an argument with a General by the name of Soli, in which out of pure frustration he’d spat at the General, he had reaccustomed himself with Mister Lomona.  Oh well, I’m still captain of the Sunrise.  I never wanted to join the Republic anyway.  Carefully he placed his stolen `Imperial Caterers Guild’ cap onto his head and accelerated into dock.

   “General Soli.  The transmission you’ve been waiting for have just been received.  Lomona is within the perimeter and approaching docking bay 21.”

Calmly and deliberately the General brushed off his smart uniform and stood to leave the transmissions room.  His eyes narrowed to slits as he addressed the young soldier.

   “Thank you Private Tyrahh.  Inform me when he lands.  I have a little…operation for him to perform.”

Retro jets flared as the Sunrise steered carefully into the service bay, swivelling and tilting into the narrow overhang.  Designed for vehicle classed like X-Wings, E-Wings and A-Wings they could barely accommodate the sleek but spacious Stock Heavy Freighter and Jan had to deftly land with precision to avoid the low overhang.  Engine coolers activated, flaps released scalding steam into the air and propulsion systems wound down as Jan collected his belongings and strode calmly off the ship towards the exit.  He slapped his broad hand onto the wall panel and the exit hatch slid aside revealing the hangar outside.  Beyond the low fighter repair bay and through a cave-like entrance skirted by offices lay an enormous hangar well able to accommodate thirty fighters.  Dozens of mechanics and droids littered the flight deck.  Pilots clambered in and out of arriving and departing starships.  No wonder the Colossus has an air-traffic control thought Jan.  This place alone is like the starport at Cantarr Bi Romou.

Perfectly oiled and smoothly operative the blast door raised itself, revealing a young woman carrying a clipboard.  She entered the illuminated room, glancing momentarily at the complicated graphics sequences to her left and saluted.  From behind the holograms came a stern voice, stern yet reassuring.

   “Yes Private Tyrahh?”  Solis authoritative tones echoed throughout the briefing hall.

   “The Sunrise has completed docking in bay 21.”  Tyrahh paused to gauge Solis reaction, but he was obscured by the active holograms.  “Mister Lomona is on his way to the entry office.” 

Soli acknowledged her with a hidden nod.

   “Make certain Lomona reaches this room within the hour.” 

Tyrahh nodded and turned to leave.  Soli stood and came into view. 

   “Oh, and Private?  Please ensure that he’s not been drinking.  Though we both know it doesn’t alter his metabolism it increases his ignorance factor tenfold.” 

Sharply the two New Republic soldiers saluted to each other and the young Private stepped out of the graphically enhanced room.

After crossing the lengthy fighter bay and meeting old acquaintances and die-hard friends Lomona reached the entry area.  As he approached the door several alarms sounded and three guards appeared from the small office, guns drawn.  Smiling, Jan unholstered his blaster ands handed it over butt-first.  The three guards eyed Jan nervously as he unhooked belts from his large frame, opened bags for physical inspection and stood motionless as electronic sensors swept his body for weapons.  Finally the check was completed and one of the soldiers moved forward.

   “You’re clean sir.  If you could sign here you can be on your way.”  The soldier stepped aside for Jan to pass.  Jan grinned as he signed his name and other relevant information onto the screen.

   “Been here five minutes and I’m signing autographs already.  This is doing wonders for my self-esteem.” 

The soldiers laughed easily.  A few short years ago they’d have been in detention for such a display of relaxation.  But, times had changed.  These troopers were still in their teens, not much younger than Jan’s own daughter Paige.  Even their captain was much younger than Jan.  This simply wasn’t the same Alliance that had destroyed two Death Stars and the Revenger.  Those heroes had either retired, become New Republic envoys or perished in battle.  These kids were probably still in training when Ewoks were tripping up AT-ST’s on Endor.  Not that the six years since Endor had been any kind of picnic.  The Bakura conflict, the taking of Coruscant, the struggles of bringing freedom to the galaxy, planet by planet.  Wilder, rawer times.  Jan placed the light pen back into its notch and glanced up.  One of the younger soldiers spoke up, missing his captains’ sudden venomous glare.

   “Sir, I couldn’t help noticing, but are you the same Jan Lomona who fought in the skirmish on Vontoon, the Bellirian Pirate uprisings?” 

Jan nodded silently. 

“I saw ship-cam footage of the ridge runs.  Some of the flying you did was incredible.”  The young man shook his head.  “I didn’t know freighters could do that.” 

Jan winked as he hauled his baggage onto his shoulder and exited into the corridor.  Vontoon.  That was nearly twenty years ago. I’d almost forgotten about that.  Jan knew from experience that the kid would get a roasting from his captain but somehow that didn’t make him feel guilty.  These kids need a bit of roughing round the edges.  Anyhow, it’s cool to be noticed.  Now comes the hard part.

A chill of artificial wind shuddered Jan as he strode down the corridor that led to the mess area.  He’d decided, way back when he was travelling in hyperspace that his first stop would be the nearest bar, and in the intervening time he’d not forgotten his promise.  A hiss of hydraulics marked his entry into the crowded room where New Republic troops, busy preparing for leave were engaged in downing a final drink before departing to Leogard.  Jan pushed his way past a group of troops and seated himself at a vacant table.  Nice move of the Republic, to find a world hidden by a dust-cloud.  Good protection.  And a world that will put up with these young squaddies for two weeks.  After all, boys will be boys.

Jan beckoned the Robo-bartender over, punched in his request for a bottle of rich, red Duarga on the droids chest-plate, slotted in his credits and waited for the small port at the front to open.  It revealed a sealed bottle.  Jan waited for the short L.E.D. display of adverts to revolve around the bottle top and thumbed the lid off.  A waft of the sweet aroma drifted to his nose.  At last, a vintage worth drinking.  Better than that lubrication fluid I had to drink back on Wennicas.  He studied the people in the mess, the men, women, aliens and droids.  And more women.  Studied their speech, clothing, personalities, movement.  Jan thought himself a fair judge of character, although he’d be the first to admit a few errors over the years.  Eventually his ocean blue eyes settled upon a woman drinking alone at a table, isolated within the crowd much like Lomona.  Jan frowned.  She seemed familiar, although that wasn’t unusual.  Jan had travelled the lanes for so long, and over such enormous distances that he regularly encountered people from his past.  The woman wasn’t as old as Jan, although she wasn’t fresh from a graduate course either.  Her long dark brown hair was tied up in a bunch and scooped behind her, and her chocolate brown eyes scanned the room, eventually falling upon Jan.  Smiling, she raised her glass and returned Jans friendly but distant smile.  He contemplated going over to join her, find out where it was he knew her from, but kept himself in check.  For all he knew she could have been the representative of Dressel, his current employer who’d been chasing up his recent disappearance from the lanes. He poured the Duarga down his throat and rose, pushing past moving troops, and exited the room which rapidly relinquished its legions towards the main hangar and Leogard.

   “Well, what do you think?”

Goah Galletti smiled carefully.  He had to admit it was one hell of an overhaul Lomona had done.  Jan had dragged Goah, uninterested and reluctant, into a transit tube down the ship and into the fighter repair bay.  And Galletti had to admit, to himself but not to Lomona, that it had been worth the bother.  Indeed, he considered hot-wiring the ship and taking it for himself, loathsome of ships as he was.  The engines had had a fierce tweak; the hull totally re-plated with the newest armour, her cargo space widened and modified, and an ignition boost the sharpest this side of Gista.  Yes, Lomona couldn’t have spent his hard-earned cash any better.  Jan eyed Goah expectantly as they walked down the ramp and back onto the service bay.  Galletti simply nodded, grinned and began a slow stroll away from the Sunrise.   Jan coughed and Goah turned.

   “What?” 

   “Well?  What do you think of her?”  Jan smiled a wicked smile.  “Not jealous are you?”

   “Of a ship?  You know me better than that.” 

Jan smiled at that cryptic comment.  Jan had recently discovered that the man he believed to be the real Goah Galletti for the last ten years was in fact a clone, with all of the real Goahs memories, constructed by Glann Cipple to become the perfect assassin.  And what a job Glann had done.  Apparently overnight, Goah Galletti had transformed from a promising smuggler and trader into a deadly assassin and bounty hunter, acting without emotion or thought for others.   Jan had taken it within his stride, assuming that the galaxy had just done another of its tricks by showing the young Galletti the hard reality of the world he lived in.  But that was not so.  The Goah that Jan had initially known, the Goah born on the world of Trefnare and not the Goah born in a laboratory somewhere in the bowels of Glanns now destroyed Fortress on Amagad, had travelled to the Core Worlds and made a life for himself as a free trader and spy.  Only after the death of the Clone Goah just over a year ago had the real Galletti returned, to a less than rapturous reception.  But Jan was glad to have his friend back.  Maybe it would be just like old times.

Only different.

Galletti folded his arms across his chest, the blaster rifle sliding under his arm beneath the folds of his black overcoat. 

   “Romanoe has done a good job.” 

Jan nodded.

   “He did a great job with the engines.  But Paige did most of the overhaul.” 

Goah nodded in thoughtful appreciation.

   “You must be very proud.”

   “I am.”  Lomona paused.  “Where are you off to now?” 

Goah raised his eyebrows in exasperation.

   “Back to the Phoenix.   I’m raising ship in a few minutes.  The Republic brass has asked me to help organise some entertainment for the troops on the cruisers, or something like that.”

   “Sounds like fun.”  Another pause.  “What’s the real mission?”  

Galletti shrugged.

   “I’ll find out when I get there.  Besides, it should be a relaxing enough journey out. Glann once mentioned a singer that he used, a real class act.” 

Jan stared at the floor in concentration.  What’s her name?  Oh, yeah.

   “Toni Meera?  I heard she had a spot at the Red Star Hotel on Cawbate.” 

Goah nodded.

   “That’s what I was told.”  The black haired free trader smiled.  “Gotta shoot.  After all, time is money.” 

Jan raised his eyebrows in agreement.

   “Never a truer word spoken.  I’ll catch up with you back on Chancai.  And when you see Ryath, tell him I’m taking a vacation.”

   “Compared to working in Setnin at the moment, this is a vacation.”  Galletti moved towards the door, then paused and turned back.  “Jan?”

   “Yeah?”

   “What job are you doing?” 

Lomona rubbed his chin as he tried to think of a snappy reply.  What job are you doing Lomona?  I haven’t a clue as to what I’m doing here yet.  The towering smuggler grinned and shrugged his shoulders dramatically.

   “Your guess is as good as mine.  I’ll tell you all about it in Zythlies.” 

Goah raised an arched eyebrow.

   “I’ll hold you to that.  Clear skies.”

Lomona finished with the Sunrise and made a beeline for his guest cabin, determined to find food and sleep.  He tossed a Chav-stick into the air, caught it in his mouth and bit hard, breaking the outer shell and allowing the juices to roll down his throat as New Republic troops passed him in the narrow corridor, turning at an intersection and disappearing from view.  Lomona paused and looked down the deserted corridor.  What is it that makes me still help out the Alliance, after all these years?  True, Jan had never had any love for the Empire.  Hell, he actively hated it, due in rebellious part to his strict military upbringing.  But the Alliance had never exactly done him any favours, had they?  Had the passing of the power torch from Empire to New Republic made his life any easier?  Not especially.  So what am I doing here?  Jan breathed deeply as he remembered.  An old, tenuous tie that had eroded more and more as the years passed.  Once he’d felt a sense of pride in his activities with the Alliance as it was.  Almost a sense of moral cleansing.  But what now?  He had other obligations - his daughter Paige, now a strong-willed and independent twenty-one year old woman. His own business interests with the Trac-Tran Transit Company, revived after so many years.  And to Frans, who he loved as much as ever, even though their life together was apparently at an end.  Where does the New Republic fit into all this?  He hardly knew anyone here any more, even the old familiar droids had been steadily replaced over the years, or had their memory wipes erase his existence from their memory banks.  He knew some of the guys on the flight deck, some of the cleaners and techs.  But most of the time they failed to recognise him.  Jan Lomona had changed over the years, in appearance as well as in personality.  The once brash, arrogant youth who’d made such a name for himself in the Setnin sector underworld was now a more centred, thoughtful man approaching middle-age.  Jan had felt the changes within.  And they were largely thanks to the calming influence of Frans. Perhaps now she’d given up waiting for him he’d revert back to the Lomona of old.  Jan had carved himself a prominent niche in the smuggling trade along with a select group of others.  Contemporaries like Goah Galletti, the genuine one and the clone, and Ryath Centaur had done much the same in their chosen professions.  After so many years, Lomona was still at the top of his tree.  And I want to stay there. 

Jan grinned and put such deep thoughts out of his mind.  He spat his Chav-stick expertly into a disposal hatch and continued walking.  I’m not done yet, he thought.  I’ll be around when the next revolution comes.

Just ahead was his cabin.  Not a place he regarded as home, that honour belonged to the Sunrise and the Sunrise alone.  Jan fumbled through his pockets for the lock inserter and placed his baggage down quietly.  Artificial night time had begun on board the Colossus, a fact marked by the dimming of the corridor lights.  Lomona felt strange, as if he’d just returned from a long vacation and had spent the entire journey home praying that his home hadn’t been ransacked.  And here he was about to find out.  It felt strange.  His key inserted into the lock was about to push the door open when he realised that the computer double-lock had already been activated and the door was already open.  Lomona ran his hand down to his hip, feeling for his Heavy blaster.  A reassuring lump brushed his palm, the butt of his custom-made blaster.  Unzipping his jacket and swinging his bag onto his shoulder he lowered his collar and entered.

His cabin was as black as a bottomless pit, the only illumination coming from the deserted corridor outside.  Pale red lights shone balefully, lights that should have been setting off security alarms.  Jan cursed to himself.  It was probably no more than a power surge, or a blown circuit on the lock, or the weekly cleaning droid failed to close the lock correctly, or….

Lomona palmed the wall to activate the concealed lighting and closed the door behind him.  Light illuminated the room in soft pools of light, revealing the tidy and compact guest quarters.  A couch of chromasheath leather, two chairs, an audio-visual Holo-system and a large window showing a spectacular view of the fleet hovering over Leogard.  Just as I suspected, not a soul.  Jan placed his gun back into the holster slung low on his hip and laughed quietly to himself.  He still felt uneasy.  Maybe it was the Duarga, or a touch of space sickness.  Or perhaps it was the old Lomona sixth sense, that tingling in the back of the neck that had saved his life so many times.  Nevertheless, the blaster saw light again and was raised beside his head, the barrel scraping the brim of his cap.  Only one more entrance remained, leading to the bedroom and head.  Jan poked his head slowly around the door.  Nothing.  Then his large person entered and filled the doorway.  Still nothing.

   “Mister Lomona?” 

Jan yelled in shock, spinning in a fraction of a second, pulling gun and almost trigger to Private Tyrahhs temple.  She gasped as Jan withdrew his blaster.

   “You’d better thank your favourite god that this safety catch was on, or I’d be scraping your brain cell off the walls.”

Tyrahh remained calm, although her voice wavered slightly and her forehead was a sea of perspiration.

   “May I remind you that use of weapons within this vessel is prohibited.”

   “Lucky you.”  Jan turned his back to her and gazed through the doorway to the view of Leogard and beyond.  “You’re fortunate to be alive.” 

Lomona exhaled and grinned, his face hidden from the young Privates. 

   “A similar thing happened to me on a freighter a few weeks back.”

   “What happened?”

   “Funeral’s next week.” 

Tyrahh followed Jan across the room with her eyes as he unhooked his gun belt and slung his jacket onto the bed. 

He turned and frowned. 

   “Look lady, I’ve been travelling for days to get here.”  A blatant lie, he knew.  He’d decided at the last minute to hook up with the New Republic fleet to take his mind off Frans.  “I’d really like to freshen up, have a beer and find out what my job’s going to be.”

Tyrahh nodded and inhaled deeply through her nose.

   “Very well.  The General will see you in - “She checked her chrono.  “- fourteen minutes.”  The young soldier spun on her heel and marched through the lounge to the door before Lomona could reply.

   “That is one hell of a soldier.  Wonder if the cloning rights are available?”

Admiral Haden lay back in his seat and admired the expansive view before him.  Large amber eyes blinked rapidly, webbed hands interlocked.  Haden was a shade darker than most of his Mon Calamarian contemporaries, a marker of leadership amongst his people.  His inspection tour of this arm of the New Republic fleet was at an end, an extensive tour covering thousands of vehicles and ending on the gunboat Colossus.  Leogard lay many kilometres beneath his feet, filling the sky as he surveyed the fleet parking above the world at strategic points, as if in anticipation of an enemy attack.  Cruisers and gunships hovered near the perimeter, including a captured Star Destroyer.  Medical frigates and supply ships stayed nearer to the atmosphere, troop carriers skimming between them.  Almost one hundred vessels graced Leogards planet line, and this was but a tiny fraction of the New Republic fleet. 

Haden gazed through the dustcloud at Leogards distant shimmer of a sun.  How things have changed.  Within a few short years the New Republic had reverted from a guerrilla attack force known as the Rebel Alliance, a title that would be infinitely hard to shake, to being the leading political force in the galaxy.  And the Empire?  That had fragmented after the death of Palpatine, splintered and spread itself across the galaxy to avoid detection.  But Haden knew deep within his core that their days were not yet numbered.  The Empire had ruled the galaxy with an iron fist, and those sectors it didn’t control were leased out to authorities like the Corporate Sector Authority, a regime which exploited the sectors natural resources to the limit and paid a percentage to the Empire, to fund the war effort.  Certainly, there were many independent and unaligned worlds throughout the sectors, many here within the confines of the Setnin Sector, but no region of occupied space escaped entirely from the cancer of the Empire.  Only when small pockets of resistance began to form, when localised cells of rebels began banding together in a common cause, did the Empire feel a shaking of the bedrock.  When the first Death Star was destroyed and the Alliance began to score increasing numbers of victories around the galaxy, when the vice-like grip upon the lives and destinies of countless trillions was loosened, then the Empire knew it had a genuine foe to destroy.  And as more worlds began to join in the uprising, enlist their services into the aid of the Rebellion, the Empire began campaigns to weaken the Alliance from outside and from within.   Until that final, cataclysmic battle over Endor, when the back of the beast was finally snapped and freedom began to shine out over the galaxy.  Haden smiled wryly to himself.   Yes, broken but not defeated, of that I’m horribly sure.  What were once considered minor world had now become Imperial strongholds.  Worlds lying on the fringes of the Outer Rim, even some worlds here in the Mid-Rim, had fallen under the thrall of the Empire.  And as a final indignity they had lowered themselves to accepting aid and assistance from the very pirates, racketeers and crooks they once vilified, executed and imprisoned.

Haden kept these thoughts in mind.  Since the Empire’s downfall galactic inflation had skyrocketed, and the uncertain economies bulleted.  The New Republic, while giving aid to the needy and assistance to the weak, much like the Republic had for centuries before, had yet to fully bring the multitude of problems to heel.  Even a newly formed Provisional Council, with Mon Mothma at its head and Princess Leia Organa at her side, formed to restore the Republic, had as yet failed to calm concerns.  So where have we gone wrong?  The Empire ruled with a rod of steel, and certainly bled its inhabitants dry, but it seemed as if the New Republic were coping little better, though under significantly different circumstances.  Individual worlds within this alliance of free planets had the right to opt out of economical agreements, thus having the freedom to raise prices as they wished.  And this freedom is crippling the galaxy.  In an age where liberty and freedom had once again become tangible realities and not distant ideals, a tiny but growing percentage of the New Republics population could barely afford to live.  And Haden wondered how long it would be before another uprising of dissatisfied people threatened the status quo.  The galaxy wanted freedom of many kinds, both spiritual and economical.  What price if they don’t get what they want?  Haden had no doubt that the galaxy couldn’t stand up to another uprising, one that would doubtless be orchestrated by the faceless denizens of the former Empire.  Inexperienced young troops, like the ones currently making their way down to Leogard, would crumble in the face of such experienced opposition.  It all came down to the old scenario - a republic, rotting from within, becoming complacent in the knowledge of its indestructibility and crashing to the ground in pieces.  And from its ashes, rising like a dark phoenix….

An Empire. 

They’d done it before.

And they could do it again.

The dimmed lights of the Colossus’ artificial night time broke Hadens train of thought as his bulbous eyes glanced up at the chronometer. Almost time.  His accomplished guest should arrive any minute now.

Fourteen minutes had passed.  Fourteen minutes had passed a long time ago.  Jan Lomona waited impatiently outside the entrance to the briefing room, twiddling his thumbs and whistling quietly to himself.  He was dressed much as before, his smart blue trousers and purple T-shirt sitting in marked contrast to the long orange and black overcoat he had donned.  Jan stood and paced to the other side of the corridor.  Running along the wall was a Plexiglas window, separating him from a lingering drop down to the maintenance bays and cargo holds below.  Light was sparse, a bare minimum of illumination.  Here were housed the ships batteries, alongside the crews quarters and droid warehouse.  Twenty metres below that lay the fuel tanks, the hull, then vacuum.

Lomona rubbed his hands together and checked his chrono.  Okay, he thought, fair is fair.  If New Republic hierarchy want to make me sweat a bit then that’s fine.  But twenty minutes?  Come on people.  You military types are the guys who invented punctuality.  Lomona’s thoughts were cut short as the briefing room door lifted upwards. Private Tyrahh stood to attention in the doorway, eyeing Jan with suspicion as he turned away from the Plexiglas.  He grinned.

   “Relax private.  I’ve read the regulations.  No blasting junior officers while in the presence of a superior officer.”  He tapped his holstered blaster.  “I’m feeling generous today.”  He stepped past Tyrahh and entered the briefing room.

It was barely illuminated.  Jan could hardly distinguish the border between the wall and the window revealing Leogard.  Behind him the door closed.  He sensed Tyrahh beside him - apart from that he believed he was alone.

   “Does everyone have to do their dealings in the dark?”  Asked Jan as he dropped his long arm to his side, his thumb brushing the butt of his blaster.  He looked into the darkness.  This smells of a set up.

   “It invariably separates the men from the boys.”

Recognising the tone Jan turned to the direction it was emanating from.

   “General Soli…what a lousy surprise.”  Jan gritted his teeth.  This man set’s me on edge. 

Illuminations flashed on around the room. Lighting the darkness and revealing General Soli at the far end of the briefing room.  Soft splashes of light hit him, revealing the medallions on his chest.

   “Welcome aboard the Colossus, Mister Lomona.” Breathed Soli, emphasising the Mister “I trust you won’t attempt to spit at me again like the last time we met?”

Lomona smirked and spread his arms wide.

   “Depends on which way the wind’s blowing.” 

Soli stepped off the high staircase and moved over to the Holo-projector.   Jan tracked his movements carefully.  Soli ignored Jans glare and operated the projector.  A sharp, thin beam of light blinked out and blossomed into the image of a star system.  Basked in light Jan took a seat.

   “Maquina.” Said Soli simply.  “Your destination.  Eighteen hours travel in hyperspace.”

   “What’s the job?”  Asked Lomona. 

Soli nodded.

   “Based on newly uncovered reports we’ve discovered that twelve years ago an unaligned rebel cell on Durathosin orchestrated an ambush on an Imperial camp.  It went badly wrong. Many were killed.  Most were executed for crimes against the Empire but three were taken into custody and transferred to the facility on Maquina.” 

Jan raised his eyebrows in surprise. Twelve years ago?  That means these soldiers have been prisoners-of-war throughout the entire Galactic Civil War, and beyond.  Soli waited for this to sink in with Jan and then continued. 

   “Recent political revelations have brought a new light to their situation.  Secret talks in the General Council have revealed information about the captured rebels.”  Soli paused to take a long breath.  “Suffice it to say that if the Imperials learn of this they will interrogate them for this information.  This vital information.”

Jan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

   “What information?”

   “That’s classified at this time.” 

Jan grinned a humourless grin and slumped back into the chair.  Have I had this all my career or what?  Everything at home on A-desando was classified.  Working for Jabba was classified.  That Dessio D’Staan job to Abrogard, everything about that was classified.  Now this.  What next?  I’ll need computer access to get into my own brain soon.

   “That figures.  So General, what can you tell me?”

Soli squinted at the smuggler and folded his arms.

   “Of the three captured, two know the information, so we must assume they’ve told the third.   And we’re not even sure if they’re alive.  But, logical procedure dictates we must assume the information has already been extracted.  Therefore, it’s your mission to extricate them from their incarceration and bring them home.”  Soli paused for effect.  “This rescue mission is top priority.”

Lomona stared ahead, giving no reaction to Solis words.  He paddled in deep thought.

   “How come this has only come out now?  If these soldiers know something that vital, surely someone would have attempted to get them out before now?”

Soli uncrossed his arms and stepped forward toward the Holo-projector again, activating more buttons.

   “I entirely agree.  But the details of the mission got buried under reams of clerical work, and their mission was forgotten.”

Jan blinked.

   “You’re saying these guys have been in an Imperial prison for twelve years because of a clerical error?”

Soli nodded slowly.

   “Essentially, yes.”

Jan shook his head slowly in disbelief.

   “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

   “I didn’t think anything surprised you Mister Lomona.”  Soli stared directly at Jan.  “Even if we had known of their predicament there would have been little we could have done.  Other matters have been of paramount importance.  Bringing about the downfall of the Empire, running the New Republic, setting up a new Senate, other such trivial matters.  And besides, these soldiers operated their rebel cell without any formal connection to the Rebel Alliance.”

   “Oh, so just because they never joined the old boys club they’re not Rebels with a capital `R’?  Is that what you’re saying?”

Soli nodded.

   “In a roundabout way, yes.  All rebel cells were invited into the Alliance.  Many accepted.  Some refused, believing they could cause more damage by operating independently. The cell on Durathosin was one such example.”  He paused again.  “Luckily for them, two of their ranks knew vital military secrets, and with the rediscovery of that knowledge it has been decided to get them out.”

Jan ground his teeth together.

   “I’m sure they feel lucky.  So what’s the story?  I just fly right in there and blast them out?”

Soli smiled a cold smile and turned from the projector.

   “Something like that.  Intelligence seems to believe you’re the right operative to partner our agent.”

Jan sat up from his relaxed position.  Partner?  I don’t need a partner; I’ve had enough partners to fill a trade hall. 

   “Me?  Partner your agent?  I don’t need a partner, I’m capable of rescuing three soldiers on my own.”  He was annoyed and agitated.

   “I’m sure you could.  But not without causing a political uprising on Maquina and bringing the name of the New Republic into disrepute.”

What are you talking about, thought Lomona.  How could this bring the New Republic into disrepute?  We’re the ones freeing prisoners-of-war, not the other way around.

   “As I recall,” Continued Soli.  “Escall was never the same after your sudden departure.”

Jan frowned.  The events on Escall six years ago were indelibly etched onto his mind.  It was where his long-time friend Latti Tellex had met his death, where the clone of Goah Galletti had shown all the signs of madness and where he had been the unwitting ingredient of Escalls destruction – a cavern full of Janos Jewel triggering off a chain reaction that tore the entire world apart. 

Soli continued.

  “Nor the Imperial weapons arsenal on Laarson, or the Blue Sun Tavern on Chancai.”  Soli smiled smugly. 

Jan grinned back.

   “I happen to think first impressions are the most important.”

Soli depressed another stud on the Holo-projector.  A graphic of Maquina’s main town shone in the darkened casing of the projector.  Jan studied it, memorising key pints, buildings, landmarks.  He had excellent re-collection, but a hardcopy would help to commit it to memory.  The General waited patiently on Jan as Tyrahh stood impassively by the doorway, waiting.  Private Tyrahh was certain Lomona was crazy - she just needed more proof.

Jan spun on his heel to face Soli.

   “So, who’s this partner then?  Some green-nose fresh from the Academy or some battle-hardened vet with a point to prove?”

Soli remained still and switched off the Holo.

   “Your partner is a member of New Republic Intelligence.  An excellent fighter pilot.  A veteran decorated many times by the New Republic.  Passed all grades with commendations and worked into the Intelligence Division purely on merit.”

   “What’s his name then?  Sounds like a hell of a guy, I might have heard of him.”  Lomona lied.

Soli smiled and this time the corners of his mouth moved.  Bad news coming thought Jan.

   “Guy?  I’m afraid you’re mistaken Lomona.  This woman certainly wouldn’t pass as a man.”

Jan was already shaking his head in disbelief.  A woman?  I don’t care what species - five arms and three heads, a woman is still a woman.  Hell, after what I’ve just been through with Frans the final thing I need is a woman mithering me for weeks. Wearily he looked up at Soli.

   “What’s her name then?”  This was hell and getting worse by the second.  “And what can she do?”

   “Commander Terrie Saffra.”

Jan had to pull himself tight not to betray his surprise.  Terrie?  Then it was her in the mess hall earlier.  After all these years, Terrie Saffra just breezes back into my life?  It had been almost seven years since she’d walked into the distance on Abrogard.  Not long after they’d completed the D’Staan job for Glann Cipple.  And not long after they’d admitted their attraction for each other.  `Lady, if things were different -‘he’d said over dinner.  If things had been different then he’d have stayed with her in a Tatooine minute.  But things were far from easy. He was engaged to Frans.  His long-lost daughter Paige had turned up from out of the blue.  Business was going through a rough patch and Glann had needed all the support he could muster.  Even if he had been single, a life with Terrie would have been impossible.  Oh well, star cruisers that pass in the night…

Soli continued.

   “She’s been in our Intelligence Division for six months and has completed three successful missions. Her piloting skills are honed to perfection.  She was a charter member of Squadron Indigo took command during the Battle of Varoone.” 

Jan nodded in numb appreciation.  Securing the perimeter against the Imperial incursion led by Grand Moff Treece over Varoone was a well-told tale in piloting circles.  She’d become a first-rate pilot indeed.  Jan rubbed the bridge of his nose and asked a question to which he already knew the answer.

   “Can she cut it in a combat situation?”

   “Unquestionable conduct.  I’ve no doubt of her capabilities.”

   “One last question.  Why a woman?”

Soli ran his tongue over his teeth and smiled again.

   “You will be masquerading as a young married couple.  Sharing a hotel room.  If your partner was a male then, despite the open-mindedness of Setnin society, I’m sure you’ll agree that it may attract unwanted attention.  Besides,” Soli fixed Jan with a hard stare.  “She’s the only agent I have who could possibly keep you under tabs.”

Soli was testing him, Jan knew that.  Good.  Jan had already decided to omit his previous encounter with Terrie from the conversation, and was sure she’d have done the same.  Let Soli think he’s got the power on this one.

   “Don’t bet on it General.  I’ll do what I can when I can, and without a chaperone.”

Soli nodded and advanced towards Jan, stopping within spitting distance.

   “You took this assignment Lomona, for some unknown reason.  Conscience?  Guilt?”

   “Credits, actually.”

Soli grimaced, looking Lomona up and down with a disgusted glance.

   “Then I suggest you do precisely what your commander tells you, if you wish to be paid for your time.”

Jan matched the Generals stare, sneering down his nose.

   “So I’m just the pilot, is that it?”  Sarcastic as ever.

   “If you don’t want the mission, say now.  I have a fleet full of cadets who’d do just as good a job.”  Soli as good as spat his reply into Jans face.  Jan’s cocky grin melted and Soli shrank back as he realised what he’d done in the heat of the moment. Jan wiped the spittle from his cheek.

   “I’ll let you have that one General.  We’ll call it quits.  But I’m doing the job.  For no other reason than it’ll annoy the hell out of you if I make it back alive.”

   “Then don’t disappoint me.”

Jan shook his head in disbelief and strode out past Soli and Tyrahh, leaving the shaken officers to their thoughts.

   “Two Duargas to go.” 

Jan flicked two coins onto the bar and waited.  He was all but alone in the large mess area except for the waiter serving him and a cleaning droid vacuuming the far side of the room.  Colossus was now half empty, its corridors echoing empty. During his furious walk to the bar he’d passed no more than ten people.  Not that Jan sought company at the moment.  Small talk and passive conversation wasn’t what he wanted - two bottles and a good Holo-vid would fill in the next ten hours until his next check-in.  The two green bottles tapped onto the bar and he turned his thoughts back to harsh reality.

   “Have one on me.”  It might be the last one I buy you.

   “Thanks Jan.  I’ll have a Shiba-Di’xx.”

   “Be my guest.” 

Jan took the two bottles in one huge hand and stretched the other towards Joeb, who took it heartily and eyed Jan.  Joeb knew what that handshake signified.  He’d made far too many times in his life.

   “Take care.  Watch your back.”

Jan nodded and grinned as cheerfully as he could.

   “See you later.  Save my table.”

Jan walked out of the mess area and back into the corridor.  Fresh air from the air conditioning whispered onto his face.  Gorgeous.  Jan turned left and continued towards his cabin.

   “Why am I doing this?”  He said loudly to himself.  He was alone in the corridor, why whisper?  He was alone in many ways, whichever way he looked at it.  He’d decided to give the smuggling a break for a while; to rekindle some of his lost enthusiasm.  Goah was jetting off soon on a top-secret mission, masquerading as an agent hunting for an entertainer for the troops.  Alone, because Frans had finally severed the tenuous links which had held them together.  Jan had reacted in surprise when she ended their engagement, yet deep inside he’d been expecting it for months.  It was as if she was choosing her time.  Lomona was fully aware of her intentions but refused to believe it.  And now he was riddled with guilt and anger.  Mixed emotions.  Both sides knew the other had never acted like a saint, but the situation had reached a paranoid boiling point.  And Jan was left drowning in a pool of emotions, feelings for friends and family jumbled and discarded.  Yet Jan could see Frans` point of view.  He was almost never home with her.  He saw more of Paige on her new home of Chancai than he did of his own fiancé.  And with his extra responsibilities of helping rebuild his home city of Ecaps, they never seemed to get a break.  So why should she wait?  It made no sense.  They’d become a habit.  Jan breathed deeply and exhaled slowly.  Perhaps it was for the best. 

A new start at last.