Canto Bight [Star Wars]

by Saladin Ahmed

  Without wanting to, Anglang realized he and Shoklop were roughly of an age.

  “A hundred times over a hundred years, I entered my name into the competition. I worked harder than anyone. Followed the rules day in and day out. But every year, someone else won.”

  Shoklop wobbled in his antigrav seat then steadied himself. The little man was so boring it was almost engrossing. It should have made Anglang want to kill him more, but it just made Anglang tired.

  “Every year, you see,” Shoklop went on, “the winner is, let’s see, how does the announcement go? Selected by a completely objective algorithm that incorporates original sales, reorders, satisfaction reports, attendance, and other factors. I never won. I had the most sales, the best customer reports, the most hours logged, but I never won. I started to think it was all fixed. That I’d put in all those years of service to the company for nothing.”

  “I know what that’s like,” Anglang said before he realized it.

  “But this year, I won! I actually won!” Shoklop beamed, and if Anglang was honest with himself it was hard not to feel happy for the little man. And to feel a bit bad about what he was about to do.

  But there was work to do. Anglang smothered the guilty gnawing in his guts and raised his glass.

  “A toast, then,” he said. “To the big winner, Kedpin Shoklop!” They both drained their drinks. Anglang watched carefully to make certain the detonator had been swallowed.

  When he was sure it had been, Anglang moved on to part two of his plan—the contraband that would get his mark detained. From within his sleeve he produced a naturally adherent dermal patch the size of a human thumbnail. He discreetly slid it into the palm of his hand.

  “Salesbeing of the Year!” Anglang bellowed good-naturedly. Then he bent down and clapped Shoklop on the back. The little alien’s clammy skin felt repulsive to Anglang.

  The tiny dermal patch attached perfectly, though, and Shoklop didn’t seem to notice. Six vacced packets of raw condensed spice. They were only the size of sand grains, but they were a big enough score—and, from what Anglang’s inquiries had turned up, precisely the right kind of merchandise—to get Shoklop hand-delivered to Brawg. The spice was fake, of course—Anglang didn’t have money like that to burn on props. But it was a good fake, and Brawg would be dead before he could test it.

  Anglang let the little fool finish his drink. Then, under pretense of relieving himself, he sneaked off and contacted the back desk of CBPD with an anonymous tip about an easy bust: an offworld spice slinger having a drink at Klang’s before trying to unload product in Canto Bight without having paid Brawg his mandated, if unofficial, “licensing” fee. Anglang returned and bought Shoklop another crystalmead. Why not. They had perhaps ten minutes until CBPD arrived.

  “Master Shoklop,” Anglang said, handing the little alien the drink and trying to look obsequious, “I’m afraid I have to attend to a brief business matter, but please have another drink on me while I handle this. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

  That huge ugly eye blinked three times. “Oh! Well, I’ll be right here! And I keep telling you: Call me Ked!”

  Anglang grunted and left the bar. He moved swiftly to a discreet rooftop two blocks away, lay flat, and found the entrance of Klang’s through his binocs.

  Within moments two sleek CBPD lawspeeders pulled up, each with two big officers inside. They piled out and filed quietly into Klang’s, no blasterfire, no stun sticks. So neat and so polite until they are certain it’s okay for them to be monsters. It was a con, as sure as the one those twin orange aliens ran.

  Brawg wasn’t among the cops there, but it was still late afternoon. According to Anglang’s sources, he was probably still sleeping off last night’s stim-mist binge. Brawg’s cronies would probably stick Shoklop in a cell, maybe rough him up a bit, before Brawg came to deal with him. Poor idiot. The thought came to Anglang from nowhere, and he shoved it away.

  The entrance to Klang’s burst into activity. It took Anglang’s binocs a moment to refocus. When they did, he saw Kedpin Shoklop being dragged out of the bar.

  Anglang didn’t feel good about getting this rube locked up. He didn’t feel good about killing the fool, either. But he felt good about the money. He felt good about getting out of the life. This was still the best plan.

  THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING, KEDPIN Shoklop thought to himself as a human officer and a security droid led him from the barred back door of a police lawspeeder through the back entrance of the Canto Bight Police Department. This can’t be happening!

  But it was happening. How? Why? Kedpin had been sitting at a floating table sipping his second glass of crystalmead and waiting for Anglang Lehet to return as he’d said he would. The bar’s entrance had burst into activity, with uniformed officers shouting orders. Before Kedpin had had time to wonder what was going on, he was slammed onto the none-too-clean floor of Klang’s Place, and an officer removed some sort of sticker from his back. The floor had smelled of old liquids that came from bottles and beings’ bodies, and Kedpin recalled it with a shudder.

  After he’d been loaded into a lawspeeder and they were racing from the bar to police headquarters, Kedpin had tried his usual friendly approach on the officers. But he’d been told promptly and forcefully to shut up. They never even explained to him what crime he was accused of.

  Now Kedpin sat locked alone in an isolated cell under the guard of a sole human officer, a kind-faced older man. Kedpin’s throat, his eye, his entire epidermis was uncomfortably dry. He’d not had any water or vaporations since being dragged out of the bar. He had managed not to cry so far on this trip. But in the still and quiet, as the weight of everything that had happened today crashed down on him, Kedpin Shoklop was confused. He was upset. He was afraid. This was not at all how his vacation was supposed to be going. He felt a wail rise from his throat, and despite his dehydration thin tears began to spill from his eye.

  “Hey. Hey, shut up!” the kind-faced officer shouted. “You want me to zap you? You got busted with six grains, pal. I don’t know how they do things where you’re from, but in Canto Bight you don’t just walk away from that.” He gave Kedpin a nasty smile that burned away his kind features. “Officer Brawg is gonna wanna talk to you.”

  “Spice?” Kedpin could hardly believe his earholes. “Oh, dear, that’s impossible! There must be some sort of mistake!”

  “Yeah. Big mistake,” a new voice broke in from the doorway. It sounded like a garbage crusher. Kedpin turned and saw the most frightening being he’d ever beheld.

  More than twice Kedpin’s height and impossibly muscled, Officer Brawg was covered in coarse purple fur. Thick horns jutted from his temples, and his eyes looked permanently angry.

  Those eyes reminded Kedpin of his Level 3 managerial overseer, Laz Lazzaz. Laz was Kedpin’s least favorite thing about being a VaporTech vaporator salesbeing. He was cruel and lazy and had taken credit for Kedpin’s work more than once. Laz was also the Level 1 managerial overseer’s cousin, and Kedpin knew that he received special treatment because of it, despite the company’s rules about nepotism. Laz was a human, of course, not near as threatening-looking as this Officer Brawg. But they had the same eyes.

  To make matters worse, Brawg was dragging in another prisoner. One who looked like she was made out of knives. Oh, dear. It was the same blade-skinned alien Kedpin had seen being detained at the spaceport. She began taunting Kedpin as soon as she saw him.

  “Stinky boy! Sharpie remember yuh! Hooo this Sharpie’s best day! Sharpie gonna cuuuuut yuh!” Kedpin tried not show his fear, and he hoped desperately that he would not be left alone in a cell with this creature.

  “Shut up!” Officer Brawg bellowed at Sharpie, casually bringing a huge fist down on the smooth top of her head. The knife-edged alien collapsed in a whimpering pile, her blades flattened in what Kedpin took to be a show of docility.

  “Alabash!” Brawg shouted at the human officer who’d been watching Kedpin. “Get Sharpie here processed and b
ooked. I’m done talking to her.”

  The human officer lifted Sharpie from the floor with surprising gentleness, then turned her toward the hall she and Brawg had come from. “How long you want me gone, boss?”

  “Come back in an hour,” Brawg said, turning to smile menacingly at Kedpin. “This little creep and me, we’re gonna have a talk.”

  Alabash left, pushing Sharpie ahead of him. Kedpin was alone with Brawg now. In all Kedpin’s long life, it had never once occurred to him that one might need to fear the police more than one feared criminals. It occurred to him now, looking into Officer Brawg’s eyes.

  “Officer,” Kedpin began, “there’s been some sort of mistake! If you’ll just let me—”

  Brawg didn’t answer. He kept his eyes locked on Kedpin’s and slowly began opening the cell door. Kedpin didn’t realize he was backing away from the entrance until his back bumped against the wall.

  Officer Brawg put one massive fist around each of Kedpin’s biceps and lifted Kedpin into the air. Kedpin felt like a doll. He tried not to release his waste fluids, for he knew instinctively that this would make Officer Brawg hit him.

  Officer Brawg put his fanged face next to Kedpin’s. His breath was hot and dry and it burned Kedpin’s face.

  “You know what I spend most of my time doing?” Officer Brawg asked, pressing his face even closer to Kedpin’s. Kedpin was not the smartest being in the galaxy, but he was smart enough not to answer. “Protecting special people,” Officer Brawg continued. “Making sure they get to do whatever weirdo escapades they want to do, without them getting hurt. That’s what we do at CBPD! Make sure the special people and the beautiful people stay safe and happy and spending money.”

  Kedpin tried to stay quiet, but it just wasn’t in his nature. Win them with warm words. “Well, that sounds nice!” he said.

  Brawg threw him to the cell floor. It was hard plasteel, and it hurt a lot more than landing in the synthmud had this morning. Had that only been this morning? It felt like he’d been in Canto Bight for a week already.

  “You?” Officer Brawg continued. “You ain’t nobody special. Maybe you’re a big-dung spice slinger back home. Here you don’t even rate. And you sure as hell ain’t beautiful. You’re just mine.”

  He kicked Kedpin in the stomach. It hurt badly, and he began to cry. “W-why—” he began, but Brawg cut him off.

  The huge alien paced back and forth over Kedpin’s prone form. “You listen to me now, ugly-meat. Listen good because if I have to say it again I’m gonna be annoyed: You’re going down. No way outta that. Question is, how hard are you gonna go down? You ain’t gotta take all the pain yourself. Who are you working with? You got a partner? No way you’re slingin’ all that spice by yourself. Who is it? Another little creep posing as a tourist? Or a local?”

  “Officer,” Kedpin said, getting to his feet and getting his tears under control, “I told you, there’s been a mistake. I would never—”

  Officer Brawg’s huge fist knocked Kedpin back to the ground. It hurt, but it wasn’t as bad as the kick. To his amazement Kedpin found he was growing used to pain. “Stay down there till I say you can get up, creep,” Brawg said. “Now let’s try again. You had six grains of spice skinned to your shoulder. That don’t exactly happen by accident. Who are you working with?”

  Kedpin didn’t understand crime. He barely understood what he was being accused of. But Kedpin was beginning to realize that someone had set him up. And he was beginning to suspect that it was Anglang Lehet. That friendly moment when he’d clapped Kedpin on the back had felt so wonderful. But now Kedpin wondered how friendly it had been. He could have planted something on me then, Kedpin realized.

  Should he name the tall alien in black to this Brawg, then? Perhaps that would straighten everything out. There were rules, after all. Criminals were punished and innocent people weren’t.

  But…what if it hadn’t been Anglang? The tall alien had been so kind to Kedpin, and he tried to think the best of beings. And Kedpin had been in close contact with plenty of others since arriving in Canto Bight—what if Kedpin’s tiny masseur, or the friendly-seeming being who’d stolen his luggage, had been the one to plant contraband on him? Kedpin was sure that anyone he named would be subjected to worse brutalities than he had been, their pleas of innocence similarly ignored. That was wrong.

  Criminals were punished and innocent people weren’t. But Kedpin was innocent and he was in jail. Well, perhaps not innocent, exactly. How many vaporators had he sold by exaggerating claims? How many service contracts had he established by being perhaps less than completely honest about the terms? But these things were just part of the vaporator business, and Kedpin certainly wasn’t a criminal!

  There were rules, but if he was being honest with himself—and Never lie to yourself about a sale! was one of his Salesbeing’s Sayings—Kedpin knew that sometimes—sometimes—the rules were bent. Maybe, he managed to admit to himself, even twisted. This Officer Brawg was a policeman. Kedpin was supposed to listen to him. To tell him everything. That was what the rules said…

  “Give me a name, little creep.” Kedpin looked into this Officer Brawg’s eyes and saw the cruelty of his Level 3 managerial overseer Laz, amplified by a hundred. He knew then that naming another wouldn’t save him; it would only condemn a second poor soul to this pain. Just as Laz was never reprimanded, the rules would not punish this monster.

  Anglang Lehet had bought Kedpin a drink and toasted his success. When was the last time something like that had happened? He couldn’t damn the man to Brawg’s clutches. What if he was wrong?

  Brawg twisted Kedpin’s arm behind his body. Kedpin yelped in pain. He had to tell the officer something. He smacked his lips together, working up enough saliva to speak.

  —

  Anglang’s room near the CBPD wasn’t much, but it was cheap and inconspicuous, rare qualities for lodging in Canto Bight. A good place for him to monitor Shoklop’s audio signal and to trigger the thermal detonator when the time was right. Shoklop should be at the back desk alone with Brawg by now. Anglang’s research had found that Brawg always questioned low-rent offworld detainees with contraband personally. It was about confiscating their goods, but it was more than that—it was practically a compulsion. Anglang knew Brawg’s mentality, had seen it in cops on other resort worlds: furious at having to babysit their vacationing social betters, they took out their fury on the few offworlders low-ranking enough to be vulnerable to their predations.

  Anglang turned on the detonator’s audio monitor and set the detonator remote before him on the table.

  “Yeah. Big mistake.” Brawg’s voice through the detonator’s audio monitor was crackling and muffled, but his words were still clear.

  Anglang listened to an exchange between Brawg and another officer, waiting for Brawg to be alone with Shoklop. Beneath the talk he heard a strange metallic scraping sound and what sounded like Brawg roughing up another prisoner.

  Mostly he heard Kedpin Shoklop fretting and whining. But beneath it all, as a soft background pattering, Anglang could hear Kedpin Shoklop’s hearts beating in terror. It was more upsetting than it should have been. Anglang had heard plenty of men beg for their lives over the course of his career. He’d killed most of them without a second thought. This shouldn’t have bothered him so much. I’m getting old, he decided. Long past time to get out of the life.

  Anglang listened for a few minutes while Brawg roughed up Shoklop, wanting to be absolutely certain that the big cop and the little alien were the only ones left near the back desk when he pressed the button. He was raising his hand to press it when Brawg’s voice broke in again.

  “Give me a name, little creep.” Anglang was astonished that Shoklop hadn’t mentioned him yet. Why hadn’t he? Did he not get that Anglang had been the one to set him up? Had the crystalmead and the shock done things to the little man’s memory?

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Shoklop’s voice said, sharper and crisper than before
. “But I’m not going to help you hurt anyone else.”

  Anglang moved his hand away from the detonator. This, he was not ready for. The rube was showing some backbone! Refusing to snitch. Amazing. Anglang would’ve put the odds at ten thousand to one.

  Anglang wished he hadn’t heard that bit. He wished he’d pressed the button a few moments earlier.

  It was time to do his job. He’d been paid an advance. There were rules. Brawg wouldn’t be alone much longer. If he didn’t do this now, he would be botching the job. Anglang looked at the detonator.

  A hundred years of work. Clean work. First-class targets. One of the Syndicate’s best. This is how it’s going to end? Snuffing some rube who refused to snitch on you?

  It couldn’t be. He couldn’t let it be. Anglang had done a lot of things he wasn’t proud of over the years, but this just couldn’t be the note he ended his career on. Rules or no.

  Cursing himself for a fool, Anglang disarmed the nano-detonator.

  Anglang dug through his belongings and pulled out his old Syndicate sigil patch and the little lockbox that held his advance from the Old City Boys. The Syndicate wouldn’t be happy about him invoking their name now that he was freelance, but Anglang had earned a few indulgences.

  He shut off the monitor, headed out the door of his rented room, and prepared to break the rules.

  KEDPIN SHOKLOP WOKE FEELING WORSE than he ever had before to see Anglang Lehet speaking to Officer Brawg across the back desk of the Canto Bight Police Department.

  Kedpin remembered saying, I’m not going to help you hurt anyone else. He didn’t know where the words had come from, but they’d felt right. Then he remembered a flurry of blows from Officer Brawg. Kedpin realized he must have blacked out in the cell.