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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Science Fiction
- Subject: War & Peace
- Published: 01/14/2022
Refuse
Born 1956, M, from Orlando/FL, United States![Refuse](/storage/story/08C2E7B4-755F-0399-B3B0-AAD1D9933696_1642205627-image(415x277-crop).jpeg)
Refuse (Reff-fuse)
By
Wilber Arron
There is an uncomfortable fact about war.
Sooner or later, they all end.
The bad thing is not that they end; most should never have started in the first place. The bad thing is what is left behind:
Broken cities,
Broken planets,
and Broken people.
Not just broken in the physical sense, but broken in spirit as well. I never had to do much of the real fighting, but living on the edge for years with the certain knowledge that a large part of the galaxy wants nothing more than to kill me in the most violent and painful manner possible, tends to gnaw at your soul. Some of us have seen scenes of repeated bloody deaths at close range for years on end. All of us have lost friends and even relatives. It is no wonder some of them developed a hard exterior and an even harder interior. A clear example of this happened last week at Mallory’s.
A bunch of us were relaxing. Ilene was sitting with me at a table, and about a quarter of our maintenance and flight crews were with us. About twice a month, we try to give everyone a three-day rest on Alengor. Our base was isolated in the local asteroid field, and the recreational facilities are bad, so these trips keep our people from blowing their drives out. All of these people served with Ilene and me during the rebellion. After the war, no one wanted them and no one had a place for them. It was, ‘Thank you very much for your service, now that we no longer need you, please get lost.’ That is where Ilene and I stepped in. These people had skills. We knew all of them personally, and so we decided to use them.
As background, let me explain that right after the war, Ilene and I were in our DF-9 doing recon in the asteroid field for the local planetary authority. The two of us had appropriated this freighter when we took over the Imperial base at Toffs. No one seemed to care if we took it, so we did. Ilene knew about the Alengor system from before the war, so we went there. They are an independent system that was occupied by the Empire, but mostly left alone during the rebellion. They are not known as being too meticulous when it comes to Alliance spacing regulations, so we had the freighter we took registered to us. Then Alengor’s Planetary Council hired us to look for inactive Imperial weapons. The Empire had used the local asteroid field during the rebellion as a base and a source of resources and kept everyone else out of it. They also never shared with the local government why they were there. After we blew up the second Death Star, the Imperials here all packed up and left one day, telling no one. They also did not bother to deactivate their minefield. Both Ilene and I had experience in clearing Imperial mine fields, so they hired us to go look. After blowing up a few mines, we stumbled upon an intact Imperial maintenance base. No one had a clue it was there. It was unknown on our charts, totally deserted, almost completely operational, and loaded with enough Imperial equipment to outfit a hundred or so fighters, blast boats, and light cruisers. There were even three almost completely unused BFF-1 freighters there.
This was an instant shipping line. Ilene and I could not believe our luck, so using the funds we had from our military service along with the half-million credits Ilene got back from the former Moff that appropriated her late father’s shipping business (more on that later), we decided to go into business for ourselves. Ilene and I put a claim in for the asteroid and the surrounding area and got it. Of course, we did not mention the auxiliary equipment we found. We needed flight, maintenance, cargo, and office crew, and fortunately, we knew where to get them. We hired the people who had served with us at our rebel base. They were mostly discharged in mass on Corel and were all unemployed and unwanted. They jumped at the chance for a job since no one else seemed to give a crap about them. They were going to do the same shitty jobs they did for years, only now we were going to pay them. All of them were also hard-nosed, gristly veterans and combat trained.
Anyway, back to Mallory’s. We were all sitting together when someone yelled out at the top of their lungs:
"INCOMING!"
As one person, the fifteen of us dove flat on the floor by reflex and waited. I was not even in the ground forces and I still did it. Nothing happened until we heard the laughter of maybe twenty young tuffs of the Blue Dwarf Gang. They were hysterical with laughter. We were covered in dirt and other crap from Mallory’s floor, which is not exactly kept spotless.
We stood up and looked at the Blue Dwarf hoodlums, who were still laughing as if this was the funniest thing they'd ever seen. They think they are a real speeder gang because they shake down some local store owners. Ilene, by now, was beet red and started to walk over. I and the rest of our crew did the same. Ilene walked up to some fat slob who looked like their leader.
"Think that was funny?" she growled.
The laughter stopped. The slob rose. He was maybe 20 centimeters taller and twenty kilos heavier than Ilene. He rose to tower over her and then started to laugh. “Yeah, bitch, I think it was funny. I love to see you grunts wallow on the flow like Andubian Sea Slugs. Now, what are you going to do about it?"
With that, he reached for her. That is when Ilene’s right arm connected with the side of his head and her foot with his knee cap. I threw an open palm strike into the face of the one in front of me, and half a dozen other members of our crew threw punches into their counterparts. Their leader, my guy, and others collapsed on the floor like they were hit with a proton torpedo. The others drew back, and I saw them start to reach into their jackets. I stepped back and drew my DL-44 and threw off the safety. There was a resounding click in the air as fifteen safeties came from fifteen blasters.
"Next!" I called out.
The rest of the gang froze in place. They wanted to act, but even as dimwitted as they were, they saw they were surrounded by people who knew very well how to use those guns.
"Put the weapons on the table," Ilene said with an icy cold tone that almost froze my blood. Her green eyes looked hard, ready to kill all of them.
"You can put your cash there too," I said. "It will help pay for having our clothing cleaned. Then you can pick up your friends and leave before we body bag all of you."
Slowly, the blasters, knives, shi-wire garrotes, and a few hundred-credit chips ended up on the table.
"Now leave," Ilene said, like a drill sergeant ordering new recruits. "Do not come back here while we are here. If I see any of you in here again, I will start shooting and call it self-defense."
They picked up the ones on the floor and walked out the door carrying them. Four of our guys started taking the power packs out of the blasters and gathering the money. By now, the owner had come down the stairs.
"Any problems, Major?" he asked. He knew our background.
"I do not think so," she answered, and then addressed the rest of our party. "When we go back to the hotel, lock yourselves in and keep your blasters nearby. No one goes out in the streets alone or with any group of under four."
"Yes, Major," former staff sergeant Gomez called out.
I went over and collected all the blasters and vibro-knives and helped remove the power packs. After making them inert, I then collected them in a garbage bag and then accidentally dropped the bag down in the heavy-duty recycle bin nearby. I paid Mallory with the hundred credit chits our friends left us. When we got back to the hotel, we went to our rooms, two to a room. Everyone chose their own roommate. Ilene and I always slept together. We gathered all the dirty clothes and gave them to the servo-rob watching the hotel. The last two hundred credit chip paid for their cleaning and some of the rent.
The next morning, after we got up and showered, we were heading back to Mallory’s when one of the local security patrol cars stopped as we were leaving the hotel and two people, a young woman, and an older man, stepped out and flashed their holo-badge.
"Security Supervisors, Alengor Internal Security Bureau, we want to talk to all of you," the woman said.
So we all went back into the hotel and assembled in the lobby, which made it a bit crowded with about twenty people standing there. Ilene spoke up. "What's the problem?" she inquired.
"About that incident last night at Mallory’s," the woman barked out. "We got a complaint from several people about how you shook down several citizens."
"You mean the Blue Dwarf Speeder group?" I asked. "What is on their alleged minds?"
"They say you started a fight with them last night," the security woman said. "Now before you object, we have already talked to Mallory and found out what happened. We also examined the security vid so we know what they did and what actually happened."
The other security drone added, "We also already know that the Blue Dwarfs are not exactly Class A citizens."
"Then what is the problem?" Ilene repeated.
The security woman looked her right in the eye and said in a cold, harsh voice. "The problem, Major Marcom, is that we will not allow a group of ex-Alliance soldiers to run roughshod over our citizens. All of you are former combat troops and were trained to be killers. We know from similar incidents from other ex-combat groups, both Alliance and Imperial, that all of you are known to have short fuses. We are not going to allow you to threaten our citizens. We are getting too many of these incidents from ex-grunts from both sides of the war, and we are sick of them."
Ilene’s face again went about three shades of red. Before she said something that could get us all thrown into confinement, I spoke up. "That was not our intent, officers," I said. "However, we are hardly trained killers, and none of us really like being called ex-grunts. We also do not like being insulted, and we certainly will not allow weapons to be pulled on us."
"I don’t give a damn," the security woman went on. "There is a new administration now on this planet, and we are not going to allow ex-combat troops to run riot here. This is happening far too much in this starport and we are going to start cracking down. We are under orders to warn you, as well as the other ex-military ground pounders, that this behavior will not be tolerated even here at the starport. You and the other ex-grunt groups are warned if this keeps up, we will start closing the starport to many of you. You keep your people in check, or we will do it for you. Do I make myself understood?"
Somehow, I doubted they would close the starport to anyone since revenues from sales, ship maintenance fees, cargo transfer fees, and the usual sale taxes help keep this planet afloat. Ilene was still red as the local star, so I stepped in.
"We understand, Security Supervisor," I said with a phony smile on my face. "Perhaps you should also mention this fact to that sterling example of Alengorian citizenship, the Blue Dwarfs. Also, explain to them that yanking the chain of any ex-military group is likely to get their faces permanently rearranged."
"We told them," the older security man said calmly. "Personally, I don’t think it will do any good, but we talked to them last night at the first aid center as they were putting some of them back together. Granted, that pile of Banta shit called the Blue Dwarfs have the collective brains of a retarded amoeba, but that still does not excuse you from wiping the floor with them for a verbal insult. By the way, I assumed you recycled the blasters and knives."
"Yes," I replied simply.
"At least that is some weapons off the street," he said, and then looked at me, and his face mellowed a bit. "Look, we do not want to hassle your ass, but we are not going to start picking up bodies in mass from the street. Insults, you are going to have to tolerate. If the blasters and knives come out, that is something else. We have hundreds of highly trained ex-troopers in this port at any one time from both sides, and the last thing we need is to fight the rebellion here again or to shoot up the local crime gangs. Just keep the violence to a dull roar and no one will bother you. Hell, you guys bring in the business that keeps this planet going. There won't be any legal consequences from what happened last night, and this conversation did not happen. Any more questions?"
I know when to quit while I am ahead. "No officers," I said and grabbed Ilene’s arm and, using all my strength, pushed her along before she said something that get us all shot. After a few steps, I saw her face return to normal color and the resistance on my arm disappeared.
"Thanks," she finally said. "I was about to deck that security bitch. I do not like being called a grunt or a trained killer. What did they think; the Empire and the Alliance were going to settle who rules the galaxy with a game of Sabacc?"
I looked behind and saw our group of sixteen people talking in low whispers and mumbling.
"Troops look restless," I whispered in her ear.
"I know," she said, "but we have to keep it down. I think a late breakfast will calm things."
"An excellent idea, Major," I said, and we all walked back to Mallory's.
Our group hangs out a lot at Mallory’s. There are a couple of reasons for that. One is the hotel we usually use when we have these shore leaves is next door. You don’t have to stumble too far if you spend too much time at Mallory’s. Both Aron Mallory and Jacque LePet, the hotel owner, are former Alliance soldiers. Mallory was stationed at headquarters and was hurt at Hoth, just like me. LePet was in Alliance Intelligence and managed to squirrel away a few thousand credits as part of his work. We have a lot of ex-military from both sides in this starport, and they can't help but rub shoulders. Since the mix of alcohol, ideology, and lots of weapons usually leads to high body counts, an informal arrangement was made between both sides. The ex-Alliance troopers had their places to go, relax, and stay, and the ex-Imperials had their places. Mixing the groups was not encouraged, but it happened. Many times, I almost felt more at home among the Imperials than the locals. At least most of them knew what we went through. All the locals knew was that we were all grunts.
After my breakfast of oatmeal, honey, and some real coffee, Ilene and I took former Sergeant Gomez and Soro Sutub, our Sullustant former intelligence officer, with us. We were going to see Ilene’s mother, who runs the business office of M & W Shipping, the company we set up. Her mother was an outstanding business and shipping clerk and took care of the business side of the company. Iglow Walain, our Ithorian Quartermaster for our old rebellion base, works with her and has been good at picking up the finer points of the business. Before the Empire, Ilene’s dad had been the CEO of Starliners, a medium-sized shipping company out of Corel. They did well until the local Moff wanted the company for himself, had the father arrested, and the holdings confiscated. Ilene and her mother never saw their father again. After the war, Ilene went back to reclaim the business. The old Moff, now a local counselor, laughed in our faces. Then, a few days later, the old man disappeared into thin air and was never heard from again. We then brokered an agreement with the Moff’s son for half a million credits, or perhaps he would follow his father. He agreed immediately. That was right after the war, and in those days, you could get away with almost anything in the chaos.
It was less than a click to the office from the hotel, so we made good time getting there until we got to the warehouse district. That is when Sutub whispered to us.
"We are being followed," he said. "There is one person wearing a dark cloak. He is not very good."
"About fifty meters in front of us is a major utility corridor. There is room for us if we go single file," Ilene said.
The three of us just grunted our approval. We walked as if nothing happened until we reached the corridor and then turned into it. We walked single file among the pipes, wire conduits, and AC units. Sutub hid behind one of the AC units as we walked on. We walked until we were about fifty meters from Sutub and started to look like we were having a conversation. We kept this up until we heard the muffled sound of a blaster being fired. We three ran back and saw the man with the cloak lying on the ground right next to the AC unit that Sutub hid behind.
"I hit him with a stun blast from my hold-out blaster," the small Sullustan said. "He will only be out for a few minutes."
We sent Gomez out to see if there was anyone else lurking around and then started to work on our friend. A little muscular stimulation woke him up.
"Hi idiot, care to tell us why you are following us?" Ilene said.
"I wasn’t following……ufff," he grunted as Ilene slapped him so hard across the face his lip started to bleed.
"No bullshit," she said, and took her DL-44 out and pointed it against his right temple. "I've got no time for you," she said and took the safety off the blaster. "Last chance: who paid you to follow us?"
There were a couple of seconds of hesitation, and then he blurted out, "Blue Dog told me to follow you and see where you went so they could find a place to ambush you."
"Better," she said and put the safety back on. "I assume Blue Dog is that worthless piece of human sewage I floored last night in Mallory’s."
"Yea... yea," he told us, still wide-eyed.
"Then what?" she asked.
"No clue," he answered. "He just said, follow you and make notes on where you went."
This guy was a drone, I thought. I looked at Ilene. "Anything else?" I asked.
"Nope, it would be nice if he did not follow us anymore," she answered.
"No problem," I said, and took out my DL-44 and aimed it at the center of his chest.
His eyes bulged. "Wait!" he yelled.
"Goodbye," I said, firing. Of course, I turned on the stun ring first. Unlike a holdout blaster, a full power stun from one of these heavy blaster pistols will keep this joker in la-la land for hours.
"We are going to have to do something about this," Sutub said.
I added, "I do not like running around with a target on my back."
"I need to think about this," Ilene said. "Meanwhile, this creep will sleep it off for hours; let’s get our business done."
Once past the warehouses, we walked into the town of Arburndale that lies outside the starport, but still within the boundaries of the special district the government of Alengor set up years ago to act as a buffer between their territory and the aliens that come and go on starships. While the locals had no problem collecting the revenues from the starport, they did not want any outside alien influences on their population. Therefore, while any outsider is free to move inside the special district, no aliens, even humans, are allowed outside it. The locals think we outsiders spread unwanted alien ideas the locals do not want to deal with. For us to travel to the rest of the planet requires a visa that is hard to get unless you have business with the government. In turn, the local population is not allowed into the special district unless traveling off world or doing business there.
Our office is in a general-purpose, ten-story, gray, and featureless business condo that acts as both office and living quarters for Ilene’s mother, and three other workers for M & W Shipping. We went inside and showed our holo-badges to the security bot and went to the third floor.
Ilene’s mother, Mary, handles the customer contact, pricing, taxes, and registration paperwork assisted by Iglow. The other two people handle scheduling and routing making sure our four freighters are in the right place at the right time to pick up and deliver cargos. The two schedulers used to work for Iglow back at the rebel base and came personally recommended by him. With the four freighter crews, maintenance staff, and office staff, we employ fifty-three people, all former members of our old rebel base. No one is here that either Ilene, I, or Iglow did not personally know and trust. All were smart, level-headed, and dependable. All were also broke after the war. No one wanted ex-rebels and for that reason, many of us are still unemployed. Everyone thanked us for getting rid of the Empire, but no one wants anything to do with us now. It is up to people like Ilene and me to help them out. Why you may ask? Because like in war, you take care of your own.
We walked inside the office, and there sat Mary, with the large bulk of Iglow looking over her shoulder. The other two were in the back of the large room on comm-links and computer screens.
Ilene kissed her mother, who then returned the kiss and proceeded to kiss my cheek.
"How is business?" I asked.
Iglow spoke through his voice box, which gives his voice a tinny sound. "We are 100% booked for this period, 87% booked for the next period, and 70% booked for the period after that. We have long-term contacts that guarantee we will be at least 50% booked until the end of the next cycle."
"Excellent," I said. I knew we needed to be at least 60% booked to break even; we were going to be making credits to the end of the next quarter.
"Great work, Mom," Ilene said.
"My pleasure, dear, now how are you and Allen?"
"We are fine, Mom," Ilene answered.
"Any problems?" Mary asked.
"Yes, one," Ilene answered, and proceeded to tell her about the Blue Dwarf encounter and our conversation with the law.
"I heard they were going to start cracking down at the starport," Mary added. "We will take precautions. However, if those thugs come here, they will have problems."
With that, she opened her desk drawer and there was a Blas Tech DL-18. Iglow showed his Sullustan version of my DL-44 from his days at the base. The other two men also had the DL-44 they were given at the base.
"Good," Ilene said, nodding. "There was one good thing about Colonel Ranker; he always insisted base personnel were armed to the teeth and knew how to use them."
Mary cleared her throat, "Speaking of Colonel Ranker." She reached down and opened a security drawer. Inside was an armored box. She let it read her DNA and it opened. On top was an official message packet. Mary picked it up and handed it to Ilene.
"This arrived yesterday by special courier from the Alliance Embassy," Mary told us.
"It is from General Ranker," Ilene said.
"General," I asked, "What the hell does he and the Alliance want with us? We did our part and they ordered us discharged."
The note was addressed to Ilene, who opened the packet and took out a piece of white high-grade paper. She read it and then looked up. She did not look happy. "Let me read this," she said, clearing her throat. "Memorandum from Sector Military Commander General Arkenn Ranker to me and Allen: Greetings. This is a formal request to meet with me at a place of your choice between the dates 141 to 146 on the local calendar. Both former Major Marcom and Technical Supervisor Wilson are requested to attend this meeting. This matter is of great urgency and may involve your company’s operations. You are asked to contact me at 347-35-18714 ASAP." Ilene then stopped.
"That’s it?" I asked.
"That is it," Ilene answered.
"I do not like it," I went on. "It is obtuse and the one thing Ranker never was is vague."
"It could be a setup," Sutub said. "I agree, it does not sound like Ranker."
"One way to find out," I said. "Let's make the call; do you have a video screen we can use?" I suggested to Mary.
"In the spare office we use for storage, just move things around if you need to."
The four of us went to the office and moved a few things around so we could sit down. Ilene then punched the number into the comp-link. A voice but no picture appeared.
"Alliance Embassy, please state your business." It sounded mechanical.
"Major Ilene Marcom, returning General Ranker’s message," she replied.
"One moment," came the reply.
A few seconds later, the familiar face of Arkenn Ranker appeared. I had not seen the man since our demobilization five years ago. Instead of the shoulder patch of a Colonel, he was now wearing the full uniform of a General of the Alliance Army. He looked a little grayer around the eyes and maybe not as hard and fit as he once was, but that chiseled face was still there.
"Good morning, Major," he said cheerfully. "I also see you too, Wilson."
"Good morning, General," Ilene said. "I got your message. What’s the problem?"
Without hesitation, he answered. "I need to talk to you and Wilson about your business. It is raising some eyebrows in some ports, especially Corel. The Alliance Department of Transport has received some inquiries and asked me to talk to you. Preferably in some out-of-the-way place."
"What about Mallory’s?" I suggested.
"I have heard of it," Ranker said. "Can we talk there in private?"
Ilene added, "It is private," although I would not show up there in an Alliance uniform or an Alliance ground car. There are too many former Imperials nearby. I also bring an undercover security team in case someone recognizes you."
"Very well, I will be there at 19:30. Until then." The screen went blank.
"He’s a fountain of information," I said.
"He always was," Ilene replied.
"Yes, but he never went in for subterfuge," Gomez added. I am sure it was Ranker, but he sounded different. I do not like it. Something is up."
"We will take precautions," Ilene ordered and looked at her comm-watch. "It is 09:35. Good, I want to go over the books with Mom and Iglow, and I want you to go over scheduling with Gizza and Ronlow here. Gomez and Sutub can help; they know the schedule. I want to leave here no later than 17:00. No way am I going back to Mallory’s in the dark."
Ilene was always the master planner, especially for our ground operations during the war. She planned and gave orders. Everyone jumped to obey, or else. She hadn’t changed much since the war.
By 17:30, we were back at Mallory’s and I explained to Aron that we had some VIP showing up for a meeting. We like to use the private dining room for the night. I also talked to our other people and asked them to come fully prepared as a precaution. I did not think Ranker would do anything funny; he knew us too well. I did not know about anyone else with him.
By 19:15, we were all present downstairs at Mallory’s. No one was saying much, and the drinking was kept to a minimum. At 19:31, a long ground car pulled up outside and four rather husky men wearing long robes with obviously padded armor underneath got out. They were wearing pistols and dressed in local garb, but they also had something under the robes.
"A Security Delta-Team," Sutub called out. "I guarantee they are heavily armed and armored."
I saw Ranker get out of the side door and come inside. He was wearing local clothes, with his DL-44 at the hip. By instinct, some of our people started to stand, but Ranker motioned for everyone to sit. He came over and sat at our table.
"Major, Allen," he said. "Nice to see you all again."
"General," Ilene said, "Upstairs is a private meeting room. We can talk there." She then turned to Gomez. "Bring the Delta Team up on our current relations with the locals. I do not want any accidents."
"Yes, Major," he said.
Ilene got up, and the three of us went upstairs to a small room with two four-person tables. We all sat down at one. Immediately, Ranker reached into his pocket and took out a 10-centimeter orb and put it on the table, and hit the power stub. It rose in the air and started to move around the room. After checking the room it hovered over our table.
"Safe," it called out. "Protection field up."
"Thanks for meeting at short notice," Ranker said and started right in. "We have run into some problems, especially from Corel about your freighters. It appears they are not happy with some of the equipment you placed on them. Those ships are designed to be unarmed, not have four dual laser mounts and two concussion missile launchers mounted on each of them. Those freighters are armed like an escort."
"Yea, they are," I said. "When we first started, we had one freighter damaged by a pirate gang near Fondor. After we repaired it, I decided to start arming our freighters. Sorry if the other planets get upset, but if you guys did a better job of going after these pirate groups, I wouldn’t have to do it."
"I figured it was you," Ranker said. "Damn few techs have the brains and skills to modify the power grid, computers, hull mounts, and software to mount that kind of firepower. I would also like to know, where did you get all that firepower?"
"For now, that is our business," Ilene jumped in. "I don’t understand the problem. Alliance regulations allow freighters to be armed; there is no law about how."
"True," Ranker said. "However, there are laws about installing that kind of equipment in Alliance space."
I saw what he was getting at. "I will remind you, General, that Alengor is not a member of the Alliance and likely will never become a member other than by your invading them. They have come to the same conclusion as we have about the Alliance. They see our glorious leaders in bed with the big shippers, megabanks, and supercorps, and they, and the other marginal planets, know that they will never get a fair deal as Alliance members. I can hardily agree. This Alliance is not what the hell I fought for."
"I know," Ranker said, holding his hands up. "I am not happy either, but the Alliance was broke at the end of the war. The big shippers and megabanks had the money to get us started, but that money came with strings. It was that or total chaos. As for the pirates, yea, we are thin on ships in this part of the galaxy, and that will not change any time soon. But Corel and its neighbors do get upset when you start building freighters like light cruisers. They wonder what will come next. A few Alliance ports are also getting a little antsy when your people show up."
Ilene spoke up in a voice that was getting angry. Apart from the attack on our freighter, Gizar Fadorian, there haven't been any other incidents involving pirates. The raiders now leave our ships alone; maybe the other planets should take the hint."
"That was my suggestion," Ranker added. "But they are still anxious about you. I'll admit that the Star Swoopers, or should I say ex-Star Swoopers, were a nuisance in a half-dozen systems until they attacked your freighters. No one has seen that kind of firepower from freighters. Other than that, I know your people operate according to local laws. Legally, they can’t find anything against you. However, if you are willing to put that kind of firepower in a freighter, the nearby planets are thinking about what else you might shove inside one of these so-called unarmed ships. I wonder about that too, especially from you, Allen. "He then stopped and looked around. "Unofficially, I am glad you named one of your freighters after Gizar. He was a good man and did not deserve to be treated the way he was."
"He was just another grunt poorly treated by our leaders," I complained bitterly. "Just because you say something is wrong with our government does not make you a traitor. The Empire thought that way. We are not supposed to. I am glad the courts released him from prison. As for our ships, General, a BFF-1 and a DF-9 are hardly Star Destroyers. We are here to make money and to help out our former comrades in arms. Something else the Alliance conveniently forgot to do. We are not here to start another war, although God knows we have enough Imperial troops and pilots around here to try it. You can tell the Alliance and the local independent planets that as soon as the pirates are eliminated, I will take some of the hardware off the freighters, but not until then."
"My people still want to know where you got all that Imperial equipment," Ranker repeated.
"I said before, that is our business, and I meant it," Ilene growled. She would have never spoken to Ranker like that back at the base, but sometimes peace can change you as much as war.
"I will tell you this," I added. "We did not buy it off of anyone." I then motioned to Ilene to follow me and said, "Excuse us, I wanted to talk with Ilene privately." I had an idea that might solve our problems. Ilene heard it and agreed. I then went back to the table.
"How about this?" I said to Ranker. "We will sign a corollary to our operating license from Alengor saying we will not increase the armaments of our freighters without the approval of the Alliance Department of Transportation. Since they will either never approve it, or take so long to approve it, we will all be dead for two hundred cycles, then the fears of the nearby independent planets that we are taking over this part of the galaxy will go away. I will file that paperwork at the Alliance Embassy under our names and direct it to you."
Ranker thought about it for a moment. "I think that will work for everyone," he said. "I will approve it. I will let the others know about this and see if there are any objections."
"Anything else?" Ilene said, still sounding non too happy with our former CO.
"That was the main point," Ranker said.
"Good, because I have a question for you," she said. "When are my people going to get their discharge bonuses? The Alliance promised them that money four years ago. Some have given up hope of ever seeing it."
"Your people and millions of others," Ranker answered. "That money is just not around to pay. I have no idea when or if it will be paid."
"You had enough money to rebuild the Senate House as a palace," I added. "That was half a billion credits. Our leaders found that money fast enough."
Ranker leaned forward toward me. I could see red around his temples also. "If you are going to start an argument about the moral implications and priorities of Alliance policies, I will tell you I am only two steps up the power pyramid from you. They do not tell me much more than they tell you. This part of the Galaxy was in the armpit of space as you once told me Allen, and you are right. No one at the core gives a crap what happens here and I honestly doubt if anyone is ever going to give a crap."
Ranker then paused and looked to calm down a bit. "Believe it or not, I admire you two. You at least took some of our people and gave them a better life than if they depended on the Alliance to help them. They have jobs, they seem happy, and they aren’t being treated as human refuse. I wish we could do that with all the people who fought in our group, but we can’t. I don’t know if we will ever be able to help all of them. My duties are to keep things quiet in this part of space. For some reason, Alliance High Command thought since we operated out here for almost a decade, then I would be perfect as the sector military leader. I did not ask for it, but I thought it was still my job to try. That is why I am now a general without troops and a diplomat rather than a soldier. As for conditions for discharged veterans, they are a hell of a lot worse for some of the others in our group. I found Colby Tylor begging in the street on Baterreim two weeks ago. His artificial eyes broke down, and he didn’t have the money to pay for new ones. The Alliance Veterans Bureau had no money to do any medical procedures. I managed to get his eyes replaced so he can at least see. If you are trying to convince me that things suck, well don’t bother, they do. We are doing the best we can with what we have, just like back in the war."
The outburst took both Ilene and me back. I knew things were bad, but they were worse than I even thought.
"So what is the answer?" Ilene said.
"You are the answer," the General said, pointing at both of us. "You and maybe thousands of others like you are rebuilding your lives and the lives of the millions who fought in this war. Eventually, maybe we can even rebuild the galaxy itself. Intel tells me some of the old Imperial Moffs are trying to do much the same with their people. That is when the Moffs are not disappearing without a trace," he said and looked directly at Ilene.
"Point taken," she said. "Very well, you may assure Corel and the rest of the independent planets that we are not putting together an invasion fleet. We are transporters, plain, pure, and simple. We do not shoot at anyone who does not shoot at us. All we care about is running cargoes, getting paid, and maybe making life better in this armpit of the galaxy. If they still have problems, they can come here and talk to us. Along with the corollary, is that good enough to satisfy you and them?"
"It should do," Ranker said, and got up from his chair and put the still floating orb back in his pocket.
"All right," I said. "Business is over. Why don’t we go down, have dinner, a couple of drinks, and talk about how we saved the galaxy during the war?"
"I like that idea," Ilene said.
"You always did talk sense," Ranker said and went with us.
We had a good meal and a few drinks and carried on talking about our time together fighting the Empire. Everything went fine until about 23:45 when Ranker’s comm-watch chimed.
"Yes, S-358," Ranker said.
"Sire, I have scanned for outside activity near your location. At either end of the block, there are two groups of people gathering. Most are wearing biker jackets. My long-range multi-spectrum scanning identifies the writing on the back of the jackets as Blue Dwarf. There are also multiple energy sources associated with each group that are consistent with blaster power packs."
"These guys do not quit," I said.
"They appear to be getting ready to move toward your location," the security/driver droid reported.
"We are going to have company," Ilene called out. "Bravo two defensive formation."
Tables overturned, chairs were moved out-of-the-way, and all of us, including Ranker and the security team, got behind them. Blaster pistols came out. Each of the security Delta-Team personnel pulled out cut-down heavy blasters. What surprised me the most was that Mallory was kneeling behind the bar holding an A280 Blaster rifle. I never knew he had it.
"Coming your way now, Sir," the droid said.
"Safeties off," Ilene ordered.
"I hope this does not turn into a blood bath," Ranker said. "I have enough problems with the locals."
Ranker communicated through his communication watch."S-358, contact local port security. Tell them we are under attack by the Blue Dwarf Biker gang and are requesting immediate assistance."
"Contacting them now, sir, shall I activate the blaster cannon on the vehicle?"
"No!" Ranker yelled, knowing what damage would occur if that started to fire.
"Acknowledge," the droid answered then added. "Both groups consist of twenty-two individuals each; both groups will arrive at the front door simultaneously."
"Stay alert in case they hit us from another direction," Ilene barked out.
A few seconds passed, and then the droid spoke up. "Both groups have stopped at the front door. I am using long-range audionics to listen to them. I am putting their conversation through to you."
In the speaker, a tinny voice could be heard, ".... hard and fast. Just remember, these are ex-grunts, so be careful... We move on three... one... two... three! The front door flew open and in ran their leader, followed by four other tuffs. He raised his pistol to shoot and saw more than twenty weapons pointed at him. His eyes went as wide as a ten-credit piece.
"Oooppppsss," he whispered.
The End
Author's note: I have had some contact lately from some old friends I knew in the 60s and 70s. They went to Vietnam and none of them had a pleasant experience. That is where I got the idea for this story. I used characters from two of my star wars stories, 'The Guy in Back', and 'Using What's Available." Hope you like the story.
Refuse(Wilbur Arron)
Refuse (Reff-fuse)
By
Wilber Arron
There is an uncomfortable fact about war.
Sooner or later, they all end.
The bad thing is not that they end; most should never have started in the first place. The bad thing is what is left behind:
Broken cities,
Broken planets,
and Broken people.
Not just broken in the physical sense, but broken in spirit as well. I never had to do much of the real fighting, but living on the edge for years with the certain knowledge that a large part of the galaxy wants nothing more than to kill me in the most violent and painful manner possible, tends to gnaw at your soul. Some of us have seen scenes of repeated bloody deaths at close range for years on end. All of us have lost friends and even relatives. It is no wonder some of them developed a hard exterior and an even harder interior. A clear example of this happened last week at Mallory’s.
A bunch of us were relaxing. Ilene was sitting with me at a table, and about a quarter of our maintenance and flight crews were with us. About twice a month, we try to give everyone a three-day rest on Alengor. Our base was isolated in the local asteroid field, and the recreational facilities are bad, so these trips keep our people from blowing their drives out. All of these people served with Ilene and me during the rebellion. After the war, no one wanted them and no one had a place for them. It was, ‘Thank you very much for your service, now that we no longer need you, please get lost.’ That is where Ilene and I stepped in. These people had skills. We knew all of them personally, and so we decided to use them.
As background, let me explain that right after the war, Ilene and I were in our DF-9 doing recon in the asteroid field for the local planetary authority. The two of us had appropriated this freighter when we took over the Imperial base at Toffs. No one seemed to care if we took it, so we did. Ilene knew about the Alengor system from before the war, so we went there. They are an independent system that was occupied by the Empire, but mostly left alone during the rebellion. They are not known as being too meticulous when it comes to Alliance spacing regulations, so we had the freighter we took registered to us. Then Alengor’s Planetary Council hired us to look for inactive Imperial weapons. The Empire had used the local asteroid field during the rebellion as a base and a source of resources and kept everyone else out of it. They also never shared with the local government why they were there. After we blew up the second Death Star, the Imperials here all packed up and left one day, telling no one. They also did not bother to deactivate their minefield. Both Ilene and I had experience in clearing Imperial mine fields, so they hired us to go look. After blowing up a few mines, we stumbled upon an intact Imperial maintenance base. No one had a clue it was there. It was unknown on our charts, totally deserted, almost completely operational, and loaded with enough Imperial equipment to outfit a hundred or so fighters, blast boats, and light cruisers. There were even three almost completely unused BFF-1 freighters there.
This was an instant shipping line. Ilene and I could not believe our luck, so using the funds we had from our military service along with the half-million credits Ilene got back from the former Moff that appropriated her late father’s shipping business (more on that later), we decided to go into business for ourselves. Ilene and I put a claim in for the asteroid and the surrounding area and got it. Of course, we did not mention the auxiliary equipment we found. We needed flight, maintenance, cargo, and office crew, and fortunately, we knew where to get them. We hired the people who had served with us at our rebel base. They were mostly discharged in mass on Corel and were all unemployed and unwanted. They jumped at the chance for a job since no one else seemed to give a crap about them. They were going to do the same shitty jobs they did for years, only now we were going to pay them. All of them were also hard-nosed, gristly veterans and combat trained.
Anyway, back to Mallory’s. We were all sitting together when someone yelled out at the top of their lungs:
"INCOMING!"
As one person, the fifteen of us dove flat on the floor by reflex and waited. I was not even in the ground forces and I still did it. Nothing happened until we heard the laughter of maybe twenty young tuffs of the Blue Dwarf Gang. They were hysterical with laughter. We were covered in dirt and other crap from Mallory’s floor, which is not exactly kept spotless.
We stood up and looked at the Blue Dwarf hoodlums, who were still laughing as if this was the funniest thing they'd ever seen. They think they are a real speeder gang because they shake down some local store owners. Ilene, by now, was beet red and started to walk over. I and the rest of our crew did the same. Ilene walked up to some fat slob who looked like their leader.
"Think that was funny?" she growled.
The laughter stopped. The slob rose. He was maybe 20 centimeters taller and twenty kilos heavier than Ilene. He rose to tower over her and then started to laugh. “Yeah, bitch, I think it was funny. I love to see you grunts wallow on the flow like Andubian Sea Slugs. Now, what are you going to do about it?"
With that, he reached for her. That is when Ilene’s right arm connected with the side of his head and her foot with his knee cap. I threw an open palm strike into the face of the one in front of me, and half a dozen other members of our crew threw punches into their counterparts. Their leader, my guy, and others collapsed on the floor like they were hit with a proton torpedo. The others drew back, and I saw them start to reach into their jackets. I stepped back and drew my DL-44 and threw off the safety. There was a resounding click in the air as fifteen safeties came from fifteen blasters.
"Next!" I called out.
The rest of the gang froze in place. They wanted to act, but even as dimwitted as they were, they saw they were surrounded by people who knew very well how to use those guns.
"Put the weapons on the table," Ilene said with an icy cold tone that almost froze my blood. Her green eyes looked hard, ready to kill all of them.
"You can put your cash there too," I said. "It will help pay for having our clothing cleaned. Then you can pick up your friends and leave before we body bag all of you."
Slowly, the blasters, knives, shi-wire garrotes, and a few hundred-credit chips ended up on the table.
"Now leave," Ilene said, like a drill sergeant ordering new recruits. "Do not come back here while we are here. If I see any of you in here again, I will start shooting and call it self-defense."
They picked up the ones on the floor and walked out the door carrying them. Four of our guys started taking the power packs out of the blasters and gathering the money. By now, the owner had come down the stairs.
"Any problems, Major?" he asked. He knew our background.
"I do not think so," she answered, and then addressed the rest of our party. "When we go back to the hotel, lock yourselves in and keep your blasters nearby. No one goes out in the streets alone or with any group of under four."
"Yes, Major," former staff sergeant Gomez called out.
I went over and collected all the blasters and vibro-knives and helped remove the power packs. After making them inert, I then collected them in a garbage bag and then accidentally dropped the bag down in the heavy-duty recycle bin nearby. I paid Mallory with the hundred credit chits our friends left us. When we got back to the hotel, we went to our rooms, two to a room. Everyone chose their own roommate. Ilene and I always slept together. We gathered all the dirty clothes and gave them to the servo-rob watching the hotel. The last two hundred credit chip paid for their cleaning and some of the rent.
The next morning, after we got up and showered, we were heading back to Mallory’s when one of the local security patrol cars stopped as we were leaving the hotel and two people, a young woman, and an older man, stepped out and flashed their holo-badge.
"Security Supervisors, Alengor Internal Security Bureau, we want to talk to all of you," the woman said.
So we all went back into the hotel and assembled in the lobby, which made it a bit crowded with about twenty people standing there. Ilene spoke up. "What's the problem?" she inquired.
"About that incident last night at Mallory’s," the woman barked out. "We got a complaint from several people about how you shook down several citizens."
"You mean the Blue Dwarf Speeder group?" I asked. "What is on their alleged minds?"
"They say you started a fight with them last night," the security woman said. "Now before you object, we have already talked to Mallory and found out what happened. We also examined the security vid so we know what they did and what actually happened."
The other security drone added, "We also already know that the Blue Dwarfs are not exactly Class A citizens."
"Then what is the problem?" Ilene repeated.
The security woman looked her right in the eye and said in a cold, harsh voice. "The problem, Major Marcom, is that we will not allow a group of ex-Alliance soldiers to run roughshod over our citizens. All of you are former combat troops and were trained to be killers. We know from similar incidents from other ex-combat groups, both Alliance and Imperial, that all of you are known to have short fuses. We are not going to allow you to threaten our citizens. We are getting too many of these incidents from ex-grunts from both sides of the war, and we are sick of them."
Ilene’s face again went about three shades of red. Before she said something that could get us all thrown into confinement, I spoke up. "That was not our intent, officers," I said. "However, we are hardly trained killers, and none of us really like being called ex-grunts. We also do not like being insulted, and we certainly will not allow weapons to be pulled on us."
"I don’t give a damn," the security woman went on. "There is a new administration now on this planet, and we are not going to allow ex-combat troops to run riot here. This is happening far too much in this starport and we are going to start cracking down. We are under orders to warn you, as well as the other ex-military ground pounders, that this behavior will not be tolerated even here at the starport. You and the other ex-grunt groups are warned if this keeps up, we will start closing the starport to many of you. You keep your people in check, or we will do it for you. Do I make myself understood?"
Somehow, I doubted they would close the starport to anyone since revenues from sales, ship maintenance fees, cargo transfer fees, and the usual sale taxes help keep this planet afloat. Ilene was still red as the local star, so I stepped in.
"We understand, Security Supervisor," I said with a phony smile on my face. "Perhaps you should also mention this fact to that sterling example of Alengorian citizenship, the Blue Dwarfs. Also, explain to them that yanking the chain of any ex-military group is likely to get their faces permanently rearranged."
"We told them," the older security man said calmly. "Personally, I don’t think it will do any good, but we talked to them last night at the first aid center as they were putting some of them back together. Granted, that pile of Banta shit called the Blue Dwarfs have the collective brains of a retarded amoeba, but that still does not excuse you from wiping the floor with them for a verbal insult. By the way, I assumed you recycled the blasters and knives."
"Yes," I replied simply.
"At least that is some weapons off the street," he said, and then looked at me, and his face mellowed a bit. "Look, we do not want to hassle your ass, but we are not going to start picking up bodies in mass from the street. Insults, you are going to have to tolerate. If the blasters and knives come out, that is something else. We have hundreds of highly trained ex-troopers in this port at any one time from both sides, and the last thing we need is to fight the rebellion here again or to shoot up the local crime gangs. Just keep the violence to a dull roar and no one will bother you. Hell, you guys bring in the business that keeps this planet going. There won't be any legal consequences from what happened last night, and this conversation did not happen. Any more questions?"
I know when to quit while I am ahead. "No officers," I said and grabbed Ilene’s arm and, using all my strength, pushed her along before she said something that get us all shot. After a few steps, I saw her face return to normal color and the resistance on my arm disappeared.
"Thanks," she finally said. "I was about to deck that security bitch. I do not like being called a grunt or a trained killer. What did they think; the Empire and the Alliance were going to settle who rules the galaxy with a game of Sabacc?"
I looked behind and saw our group of sixteen people talking in low whispers and mumbling.
"Troops look restless," I whispered in her ear.
"I know," she said, "but we have to keep it down. I think a late breakfast will calm things."
"An excellent idea, Major," I said, and we all walked back to Mallory's.
Our group hangs out a lot at Mallory’s. There are a couple of reasons for that. One is the hotel we usually use when we have these shore leaves is next door. You don’t have to stumble too far if you spend too much time at Mallory’s. Both Aron Mallory and Jacque LePet, the hotel owner, are former Alliance soldiers. Mallory was stationed at headquarters and was hurt at Hoth, just like me. LePet was in Alliance Intelligence and managed to squirrel away a few thousand credits as part of his work. We have a lot of ex-military from both sides in this starport, and they can't help but rub shoulders. Since the mix of alcohol, ideology, and lots of weapons usually leads to high body counts, an informal arrangement was made between both sides. The ex-Alliance troopers had their places to go, relax, and stay, and the ex-Imperials had their places. Mixing the groups was not encouraged, but it happened. Many times, I almost felt more at home among the Imperials than the locals. At least most of them knew what we went through. All the locals knew was that we were all grunts.
After my breakfast of oatmeal, honey, and some real coffee, Ilene and I took former Sergeant Gomez and Soro Sutub, our Sullustant former intelligence officer, with us. We were going to see Ilene’s mother, who runs the business office of M & W Shipping, the company we set up. Her mother was an outstanding business and shipping clerk and took care of the business side of the company. Iglow Walain, our Ithorian Quartermaster for our old rebellion base, works with her and has been good at picking up the finer points of the business. Before the Empire, Ilene’s dad had been the CEO of Starliners, a medium-sized shipping company out of Corel. They did well until the local Moff wanted the company for himself, had the father arrested, and the holdings confiscated. Ilene and her mother never saw their father again. After the war, Ilene went back to reclaim the business. The old Moff, now a local counselor, laughed in our faces. Then, a few days later, the old man disappeared into thin air and was never heard from again. We then brokered an agreement with the Moff’s son for half a million credits, or perhaps he would follow his father. He agreed immediately. That was right after the war, and in those days, you could get away with almost anything in the chaos.
It was less than a click to the office from the hotel, so we made good time getting there until we got to the warehouse district. That is when Sutub whispered to us.
"We are being followed," he said. "There is one person wearing a dark cloak. He is not very good."
"About fifty meters in front of us is a major utility corridor. There is room for us if we go single file," Ilene said.
The three of us just grunted our approval. We walked as if nothing happened until we reached the corridor and then turned into it. We walked single file among the pipes, wire conduits, and AC units. Sutub hid behind one of the AC units as we walked on. We walked until we were about fifty meters from Sutub and started to look like we were having a conversation. We kept this up until we heard the muffled sound of a blaster being fired. We three ran back and saw the man with the cloak lying on the ground right next to the AC unit that Sutub hid behind.
"I hit him with a stun blast from my hold-out blaster," the small Sullustan said. "He will only be out for a few minutes."
We sent Gomez out to see if there was anyone else lurking around and then started to work on our friend. A little muscular stimulation woke him up.
"Hi idiot, care to tell us why you are following us?" Ilene said.
"I wasn’t following……ufff," he grunted as Ilene slapped him so hard across the face his lip started to bleed.
"No bullshit," she said, and took her DL-44 out and pointed it against his right temple. "I've got no time for you," she said and took the safety off the blaster. "Last chance: who paid you to follow us?"
There were a couple of seconds of hesitation, and then he blurted out, "Blue Dog told me to follow you and see where you went so they could find a place to ambush you."
"Better," she said and put the safety back on. "I assume Blue Dog is that worthless piece of human sewage I floored last night in Mallory’s."
"Yea... yea," he told us, still wide-eyed.
"Then what?" she asked.
"No clue," he answered. "He just said, follow you and make notes on where you went."
This guy was a drone, I thought. I looked at Ilene. "Anything else?" I asked.
"Nope, it would be nice if he did not follow us anymore," she answered.
"No problem," I said, and took out my DL-44 and aimed it at the center of his chest.
His eyes bulged. "Wait!" he yelled.
"Goodbye," I said, firing. Of course, I turned on the stun ring first. Unlike a holdout blaster, a full power stun from one of these heavy blaster pistols will keep this joker in la-la land for hours.
"We are going to have to do something about this," Sutub said.
I added, "I do not like running around with a target on my back."
"I need to think about this," Ilene said. "Meanwhile, this creep will sleep it off for hours; let’s get our business done."
Once past the warehouses, we walked into the town of Arburndale that lies outside the starport, but still within the boundaries of the special district the government of Alengor set up years ago to act as a buffer between their territory and the aliens that come and go on starships. While the locals had no problem collecting the revenues from the starport, they did not want any outside alien influences on their population. Therefore, while any outsider is free to move inside the special district, no aliens, even humans, are allowed outside it. The locals think we outsiders spread unwanted alien ideas the locals do not want to deal with. For us to travel to the rest of the planet requires a visa that is hard to get unless you have business with the government. In turn, the local population is not allowed into the special district unless traveling off world or doing business there.
Our office is in a general-purpose, ten-story, gray, and featureless business condo that acts as both office and living quarters for Ilene’s mother, and three other workers for M & W Shipping. We went inside and showed our holo-badges to the security bot and went to the third floor.
Ilene’s mother, Mary, handles the customer contact, pricing, taxes, and registration paperwork assisted by Iglow. The other two people handle scheduling and routing making sure our four freighters are in the right place at the right time to pick up and deliver cargos. The two schedulers used to work for Iglow back at the rebel base and came personally recommended by him. With the four freighter crews, maintenance staff, and office staff, we employ fifty-three people, all former members of our old rebel base. No one is here that either Ilene, I, or Iglow did not personally know and trust. All were smart, level-headed, and dependable. All were also broke after the war. No one wanted ex-rebels and for that reason, many of us are still unemployed. Everyone thanked us for getting rid of the Empire, but no one wants anything to do with us now. It is up to people like Ilene and me to help them out. Why you may ask? Because like in war, you take care of your own.
We walked inside the office, and there sat Mary, with the large bulk of Iglow looking over her shoulder. The other two were in the back of the large room on comm-links and computer screens.
Ilene kissed her mother, who then returned the kiss and proceeded to kiss my cheek.
"How is business?" I asked.
Iglow spoke through his voice box, which gives his voice a tinny sound. "We are 100% booked for this period, 87% booked for the next period, and 70% booked for the period after that. We have long-term contacts that guarantee we will be at least 50% booked until the end of the next cycle."
"Excellent," I said. I knew we needed to be at least 60% booked to break even; we were going to be making credits to the end of the next quarter.
"Great work, Mom," Ilene said.
"My pleasure, dear, now how are you and Allen?"
"We are fine, Mom," Ilene answered.
"Any problems?" Mary asked.
"Yes, one," Ilene answered, and proceeded to tell her about the Blue Dwarf encounter and our conversation with the law.
"I heard they were going to start cracking down at the starport," Mary added. "We will take precautions. However, if those thugs come here, they will have problems."
With that, she opened her desk drawer and there was a Blas Tech DL-18. Iglow showed his Sullustan version of my DL-44 from his days at the base. The other two men also had the DL-44 they were given at the base.
"Good," Ilene said, nodding. "There was one good thing about Colonel Ranker; he always insisted base personnel were armed to the teeth and knew how to use them."
Mary cleared her throat, "Speaking of Colonel Ranker." She reached down and opened a security drawer. Inside was an armored box. She let it read her DNA and it opened. On top was an official message packet. Mary picked it up and handed it to Ilene.
"This arrived yesterday by special courier from the Alliance Embassy," Mary told us.
"It is from General Ranker," Ilene said.
"General," I asked, "What the hell does he and the Alliance want with us? We did our part and they ordered us discharged."
The note was addressed to Ilene, who opened the packet and took out a piece of white high-grade paper. She read it and then looked up. She did not look happy. "Let me read this," she said, clearing her throat. "Memorandum from Sector Military Commander General Arkenn Ranker to me and Allen: Greetings. This is a formal request to meet with me at a place of your choice between the dates 141 to 146 on the local calendar. Both former Major Marcom and Technical Supervisor Wilson are requested to attend this meeting. This matter is of great urgency and may involve your company’s operations. You are asked to contact me at 347-35-18714 ASAP." Ilene then stopped.
"That’s it?" I asked.
"That is it," Ilene answered.
"I do not like it," I went on. "It is obtuse and the one thing Ranker never was is vague."
"It could be a setup," Sutub said. "I agree, it does not sound like Ranker."
"One way to find out," I said. "Let's make the call; do you have a video screen we can use?" I suggested to Mary.
"In the spare office we use for storage, just move things around if you need to."
The four of us went to the office and moved a few things around so we could sit down. Ilene then punched the number into the comp-link. A voice but no picture appeared.
"Alliance Embassy, please state your business." It sounded mechanical.
"Major Ilene Marcom, returning General Ranker’s message," she replied.
"One moment," came the reply.
A few seconds later, the familiar face of Arkenn Ranker appeared. I had not seen the man since our demobilization five years ago. Instead of the shoulder patch of a Colonel, he was now wearing the full uniform of a General of the Alliance Army. He looked a little grayer around the eyes and maybe not as hard and fit as he once was, but that chiseled face was still there.
"Good morning, Major," he said cheerfully. "I also see you too, Wilson."
"Good morning, General," Ilene said. "I got your message. What’s the problem?"
Without hesitation, he answered. "I need to talk to you and Wilson about your business. It is raising some eyebrows in some ports, especially Corel. The Alliance Department of Transport has received some inquiries and asked me to talk to you. Preferably in some out-of-the-way place."
"What about Mallory’s?" I suggested.
"I have heard of it," Ranker said. "Can we talk there in private?"
Ilene added, "It is private," although I would not show up there in an Alliance uniform or an Alliance ground car. There are too many former Imperials nearby. I also bring an undercover security team in case someone recognizes you."
"Very well, I will be there at 19:30. Until then." The screen went blank.
"He’s a fountain of information," I said.
"He always was," Ilene replied.
"Yes, but he never went in for subterfuge," Gomez added. I am sure it was Ranker, but he sounded different. I do not like it. Something is up."
"We will take precautions," Ilene ordered and looked at her comm-watch. "It is 09:35. Good, I want to go over the books with Mom and Iglow, and I want you to go over scheduling with Gizza and Ronlow here. Gomez and Sutub can help; they know the schedule. I want to leave here no later than 17:00. No way am I going back to Mallory’s in the dark."
Ilene was always the master planner, especially for our ground operations during the war. She planned and gave orders. Everyone jumped to obey, or else. She hadn’t changed much since the war.
By 17:30, we were back at Mallory’s and I explained to Aron that we had some VIP showing up for a meeting. We like to use the private dining room for the night. I also talked to our other people and asked them to come fully prepared as a precaution. I did not think Ranker would do anything funny; he knew us too well. I did not know about anyone else with him.
By 19:15, we were all present downstairs at Mallory’s. No one was saying much, and the drinking was kept to a minimum. At 19:31, a long ground car pulled up outside and four rather husky men wearing long robes with obviously padded armor underneath got out. They were wearing pistols and dressed in local garb, but they also had something under the robes.
"A Security Delta-Team," Sutub called out. "I guarantee they are heavily armed and armored."
I saw Ranker get out of the side door and come inside. He was wearing local clothes, with his DL-44 at the hip. By instinct, some of our people started to stand, but Ranker motioned for everyone to sit. He came over and sat at our table.
"Major, Allen," he said. "Nice to see you all again."
"General," Ilene said, "Upstairs is a private meeting room. We can talk there." She then turned to Gomez. "Bring the Delta Team up on our current relations with the locals. I do not want any accidents."
"Yes, Major," he said.
Ilene got up, and the three of us went upstairs to a small room with two four-person tables. We all sat down at one. Immediately, Ranker reached into his pocket and took out a 10-centimeter orb and put it on the table, and hit the power stub. It rose in the air and started to move around the room. After checking the room it hovered over our table.
"Safe," it called out. "Protection field up."
"Thanks for meeting at short notice," Ranker said and started right in. "We have run into some problems, especially from Corel about your freighters. It appears they are not happy with some of the equipment you placed on them. Those ships are designed to be unarmed, not have four dual laser mounts and two concussion missile launchers mounted on each of them. Those freighters are armed like an escort."
"Yea, they are," I said. "When we first started, we had one freighter damaged by a pirate gang near Fondor. After we repaired it, I decided to start arming our freighters. Sorry if the other planets get upset, but if you guys did a better job of going after these pirate groups, I wouldn’t have to do it."
"I figured it was you," Ranker said. "Damn few techs have the brains and skills to modify the power grid, computers, hull mounts, and software to mount that kind of firepower. I would also like to know, where did you get all that firepower?"
"For now, that is our business," Ilene jumped in. "I don’t understand the problem. Alliance regulations allow freighters to be armed; there is no law about how."
"True," Ranker said. "However, there are laws about installing that kind of equipment in Alliance space."
I saw what he was getting at. "I will remind you, General, that Alengor is not a member of the Alliance and likely will never become a member other than by your invading them. They have come to the same conclusion as we have about the Alliance. They see our glorious leaders in bed with the big shippers, megabanks, and supercorps, and they, and the other marginal planets, know that they will never get a fair deal as Alliance members. I can hardily agree. This Alliance is not what the hell I fought for."
"I know," Ranker said, holding his hands up. "I am not happy either, but the Alliance was broke at the end of the war. The big shippers and megabanks had the money to get us started, but that money came with strings. It was that or total chaos. As for the pirates, yea, we are thin on ships in this part of the galaxy, and that will not change any time soon. But Corel and its neighbors do get upset when you start building freighters like light cruisers. They wonder what will come next. A few Alliance ports are also getting a little antsy when your people show up."
Ilene spoke up in a voice that was getting angry. Apart from the attack on our freighter, Gizar Fadorian, there haven't been any other incidents involving pirates. The raiders now leave our ships alone; maybe the other planets should take the hint."
"That was my suggestion," Ranker added. "But they are still anxious about you. I'll admit that the Star Swoopers, or should I say ex-Star Swoopers, were a nuisance in a half-dozen systems until they attacked your freighters. No one has seen that kind of firepower from freighters. Other than that, I know your people operate according to local laws. Legally, they can’t find anything against you. However, if you are willing to put that kind of firepower in a freighter, the nearby planets are thinking about what else you might shove inside one of these so-called unarmed ships. I wonder about that too, especially from you, Allen. "He then stopped and looked around. "Unofficially, I am glad you named one of your freighters after Gizar. He was a good man and did not deserve to be treated the way he was."
"He was just another grunt poorly treated by our leaders," I complained bitterly. "Just because you say something is wrong with our government does not make you a traitor. The Empire thought that way. We are not supposed to. I am glad the courts released him from prison. As for our ships, General, a BFF-1 and a DF-9 are hardly Star Destroyers. We are here to make money and to help out our former comrades in arms. Something else the Alliance conveniently forgot to do. We are not here to start another war, although God knows we have enough Imperial troops and pilots around here to try it. You can tell the Alliance and the local independent planets that as soon as the pirates are eliminated, I will take some of the hardware off the freighters, but not until then."
"My people still want to know where you got all that Imperial equipment," Ranker repeated.
"I said before, that is our business, and I meant it," Ilene growled. She would have never spoken to Ranker like that back at the base, but sometimes peace can change you as much as war.
"I will tell you this," I added. "We did not buy it off of anyone." I then motioned to Ilene to follow me and said, "Excuse us, I wanted to talk with Ilene privately." I had an idea that might solve our problems. Ilene heard it and agreed. I then went back to the table.
"How about this?" I said to Ranker. "We will sign a corollary to our operating license from Alengor saying we will not increase the armaments of our freighters without the approval of the Alliance Department of Transportation. Since they will either never approve it, or take so long to approve it, we will all be dead for two hundred cycles, then the fears of the nearby independent planets that we are taking over this part of the galaxy will go away. I will file that paperwork at the Alliance Embassy under our names and direct it to you."
Ranker thought about it for a moment. "I think that will work for everyone," he said. "I will approve it. I will let the others know about this and see if there are any objections."
"Anything else?" Ilene said, still sounding non too happy with our former CO.
"That was the main point," Ranker said.
"Good, because I have a question for you," she said. "When are my people going to get their discharge bonuses? The Alliance promised them that money four years ago. Some have given up hope of ever seeing it."
"Your people and millions of others," Ranker answered. "That money is just not around to pay. I have no idea when or if it will be paid."
"You had enough money to rebuild the Senate House as a palace," I added. "That was half a billion credits. Our leaders found that money fast enough."
Ranker leaned forward toward me. I could see red around his temples also. "If you are going to start an argument about the moral implications and priorities of Alliance policies, I will tell you I am only two steps up the power pyramid from you. They do not tell me much more than they tell you. This part of the Galaxy was in the armpit of space as you once told me Allen, and you are right. No one at the core gives a crap what happens here and I honestly doubt if anyone is ever going to give a crap."
Ranker then paused and looked to calm down a bit. "Believe it or not, I admire you two. You at least took some of our people and gave them a better life than if they depended on the Alliance to help them. They have jobs, they seem happy, and they aren’t being treated as human refuse. I wish we could do that with all the people who fought in our group, but we can’t. I don’t know if we will ever be able to help all of them. My duties are to keep things quiet in this part of space. For some reason, Alliance High Command thought since we operated out here for almost a decade, then I would be perfect as the sector military leader. I did not ask for it, but I thought it was still my job to try. That is why I am now a general without troops and a diplomat rather than a soldier. As for conditions for discharged veterans, they are a hell of a lot worse for some of the others in our group. I found Colby Tylor begging in the street on Baterreim two weeks ago. His artificial eyes broke down, and he didn’t have the money to pay for new ones. The Alliance Veterans Bureau had no money to do any medical procedures. I managed to get his eyes replaced so he can at least see. If you are trying to convince me that things suck, well don’t bother, they do. We are doing the best we can with what we have, just like back in the war."
The outburst took both Ilene and me back. I knew things were bad, but they were worse than I even thought.
"So what is the answer?" Ilene said.
"You are the answer," the General said, pointing at both of us. "You and maybe thousands of others like you are rebuilding your lives and the lives of the millions who fought in this war. Eventually, maybe we can even rebuild the galaxy itself. Intel tells me some of the old Imperial Moffs are trying to do much the same with their people. That is when the Moffs are not disappearing without a trace," he said and looked directly at Ilene.
"Point taken," she said. "Very well, you may assure Corel and the rest of the independent planets that we are not putting together an invasion fleet. We are transporters, plain, pure, and simple. We do not shoot at anyone who does not shoot at us. All we care about is running cargoes, getting paid, and maybe making life better in this armpit of the galaxy. If they still have problems, they can come here and talk to us. Along with the corollary, is that good enough to satisfy you and them?"
"It should do," Ranker said, and got up from his chair and put the still floating orb back in his pocket.
"All right," I said. "Business is over. Why don’t we go down, have dinner, a couple of drinks, and talk about how we saved the galaxy during the war?"
"I like that idea," Ilene said.
"You always did talk sense," Ranker said and went with us.
We had a good meal and a few drinks and carried on talking about our time together fighting the Empire. Everything went fine until about 23:45 when Ranker’s comm-watch chimed.
"Yes, S-358," Ranker said.
"Sire, I have scanned for outside activity near your location. At either end of the block, there are two groups of people gathering. Most are wearing biker jackets. My long-range multi-spectrum scanning identifies the writing on the back of the jackets as Blue Dwarf. There are also multiple energy sources associated with each group that are consistent with blaster power packs."
"These guys do not quit," I said.
"They appear to be getting ready to move toward your location," the security/driver droid reported.
"We are going to have company," Ilene called out. "Bravo two defensive formation."
Tables overturned, chairs were moved out-of-the-way, and all of us, including Ranker and the security team, got behind them. Blaster pistols came out. Each of the security Delta-Team personnel pulled out cut-down heavy blasters. What surprised me the most was that Mallory was kneeling behind the bar holding an A280 Blaster rifle. I never knew he had it.
"Coming your way now, Sir," the droid said.
"Safeties off," Ilene ordered.
"I hope this does not turn into a blood bath," Ranker said. "I have enough problems with the locals."
Ranker communicated through his communication watch."S-358, contact local port security. Tell them we are under attack by the Blue Dwarf Biker gang and are requesting immediate assistance."
"Contacting them now, sir, shall I activate the blaster cannon on the vehicle?"
"No!" Ranker yelled, knowing what damage would occur if that started to fire.
"Acknowledge," the droid answered then added. "Both groups consist of twenty-two individuals each; both groups will arrive at the front door simultaneously."
"Stay alert in case they hit us from another direction," Ilene barked out.
A few seconds passed, and then the droid spoke up. "Both groups have stopped at the front door. I am using long-range audionics to listen to them. I am putting their conversation through to you."
In the speaker, a tinny voice could be heard, ".... hard and fast. Just remember, these are ex-grunts, so be careful... We move on three... one... two... three! The front door flew open and in ran their leader, followed by four other tuffs. He raised his pistol to shoot and saw more than twenty weapons pointed at him. His eyes went as wide as a ten-credit piece.
"Oooppppsss," he whispered.
The End
Author's note: I have had some contact lately from some old friends I knew in the 60s and 70s. They went to Vietnam and none of them had a pleasant experience. That is where I got the idea for this story. I used characters from two of my star wars stories, 'The Guy in Back', and 'Using What's Available." Hope you like the story.
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