laneys.info Beware of Yankees, drunks, and loose women.

It was all too much. All the pain, misery, and lies were too much for Sam to take anymore. It was six months ago that Sam’s father had taken him to work, and the world had turned inside-out. Six months.

“It might as well have been a lifetime ago,” Sam thought. He took another look around the barren, empty landscape, and then slid down into his seat from the top of his SoroSuub Seraph speeder. This had been a forest, once. Last year, for his birthday, the Garaviks had visited him and they came here for a picnic. Sam tried to picture it in his mind the way it had been.

He had been off-world with Boslan when it happened, on another of those trips designed to show him how great it would be when he started working for “the company.” When the news ‘net mentioned the rebellion on Bethany and Moff Boma’s response, they had returned to find Astara leveled by the orbital bombardment. Marcia had hidden in the mountains, but had escaped with only the clothes on her back.

Sam had to admit, his father knew how to bounce back and get business done. Within days, Boslan had contacted the new king’s court and legally acquired all of the land that had once been Astara, and began building a gigantic estate that he named after the ruined city. Astara was now the Kendall home; Boslan literally owned the city. With most of the former residents either dead or moving to Oranto, there was no one to put up much of a fuss, and Boslan had plenty of cash to silence anyone so inclined. The new compound included everything – even a private starport – and had been completely replanted according to Marcia’s whim within two weeks. It was like an oasis in a desert; a green spot on a grey world. Sam loathed it.

He didn’t know when, exactly, that he had decided to leave. Perhaps it was witnessing his parents’ new-found boldness in the wake of the destruction. The government had so many more pressing matters now; the Kendalls weren’t really even hiding much anymore. Perhaps it was his father’s increasing pressure for him to join “the company.” Almost every day, Boslan had some new suggestion for a position that might suit Sam within the organization. Sam feigned interest, but only because he had discovered that it took less time than protesting.

He wasn’t really even sure of how, yet. All he knew was that he had to get out of here, get away from his parents, get away from the Quarqan pirate syndicate, and get away from all that went with them. He floored it, and the speeder was soon approaching 250 kph. He smiled. The next fastest speeder around here was a Flash speeder used by the regional police. It was supposed to be faster than the Seraph, since it was the military and police model, but it topped out at 200 kph. His time on the Bakura had exposed him to some of the best mechanics and engineers in the galaxy, he thought. That was when the thought hit him.

“I was thinking about inviting Henry and Sheila over for my birthday again this year,” he announced one night at dinner. The room got very quiet. Marcia and Boslan exchanged looks. Marcia spoke first.

“Do you think they will be able to make it? This is a busy time of year for most freighters.”

“I asked them and they said that they could, but they wanted me to ask you first.”

“Will it just be them, or will they bring… the others?”

Sam could feel himself starting to simmer. Boslan and Marcia were infuriating in their deliberate ignorance and bigotry. They knew that Sam was good friends with Zerbajj, the Bakura’s pilot and navigator, but they didn’t want him around because he is Sullustan. They had made it clear that they had wanted to come get him from the Garaviks to spare him from having to associate with “those aliens.” Sam had made it clear that they were idiots and complete jerks.

“I’ll go into the ship if I decide to visit the others,” he stressed. “I wouldn’t want to get your nice, new estate all dirty.”

Sam waited patiently, as they exchanged looks.  Finally, Boslan silently nodded his approval.

"Make sure they park the ship in the back, near the maintenance building," Marcia said.  "I'll be having guests over that day."  Sam nodded, smiling inside.  He had counted on their intolerance.

When the day came, Sam was beside himself with joy. He got up early and prepared his container of things before breakfast, trying to act normal, trying to pack what few things he couldn’t leave behind, but without looking like he was packing. Then he went to his garage and got all his tools together. He wanted to be sure everything was ready ahead of time.

There weren't many Subla Ransom freighters around this part of the galaxy, so the Bakura’s engines had a distinct sound, and soon Sam heard them descending above the compound. The ship floated gently down, rotating slightly as it descended in Zerbajj’s trademark landing pattern – a pattern that Sam had adopted as his own out of respect for his teacher. Sam stepped out of the maintenance building to get a better look at the ship and to let the others see him. Sure enough, Zerbajj set the ship down with the passenger ramp right in front of Sam. Sam ran up the ramp as soon as it was down enough to let him in the door, right into Henry Garavik’s tremendous bear hug.

As soon as the initial greetings were over, Sam asked, “Dad, can we talk? Privately?”

Once in Henry’s office, Sam told him everything. Henry listened without comment until Sam was done.

“Sam, you’re not old enough to make this kind of decision.”

“What!? Dad, I’m 18 years old. I’ve graduated from school, there’s nothing more I need to do.”

“No, son, you’re not 18 yet. Your birthday isn’t until tomorrow.” Henry smiled. “And besides, we can't leave right now.  I heard our main repulsorlift generator going bad as we descended. We won’t be able to leave until tomorrow at the earliest.”  He grinned as he punched the intercom.  "Qusar, how long will it take to fix that problem with the repulsorlift generator?"

"Pardon me, captain, but there's nothing wrong with the main generator."

Sam wept for joy as Henry discussed the "obvious problem" with Qusar, the engineer.  “Just go fix whatever’s broken with the main repulsorlift generator. I’ll tell our hosts that we’re stuck here until tomorrow.”

"As you wish, sir."

That night, Sam smuggled his things on board the ship. He was especially glad that he would be able to bring his tools. Mesalli, the ship cook and primary gunner, helped him get set up in one of the passenger cabins. They arrived to find a sign on the door that read, “Sam G. Kendall, stowaway.” Sam smiled, but took the sign down.

“My name is Sam Garavik now, Messy. Just like it used to be.”

“That name always fit you better anyway,” the cook said, as he left. “It’s good to have you back, Sammy.”

Sam laid down, but he couldn’t sleep. He walked up to the cockpit and sat down in his old chair, the copilot’s seat. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep.

Zerbajj woke him while it was still dark. Henry was behind him in the doorway of the cockpit.

“Qusar says the generator is fixed,” Zerbajj said with a smile. “He’s so good, he even fixes things in his sleep. Why don’t you warm up the engines? If you remember how, that is…”

“Any old hack can fly like a damn fool…,” Sam muttered.

“…but only a great pilot can do the mundane consistently well,” Henry finished. “And don’t go rolling your eyes at me, son.”

When Sam looked back, Henry was all smiles, and Sam thought he might have seen a tear or two in his father’s eyes.