May the Fourth. Sijan Lancer Ch. 1

The Empire and I have had a, shall we say, complicated relationship. I didn't much care for it, but without it, I wouldn't have been able to generate the credit-flow that I had. With the credit-flow came flexibility, luxury and fun.

            When you want to keep a low profile, sometimes you go to the farthest point you can, like Tatooine. Sometimes you want to go someplace where even your predilections and diversions seem tame, like Nal Hutta. Once in a while, you take a chance and hide in plain sight, sliding down into the undercity of Coruscant.

            I had chosen the entertainment paradise of Tyrena, on the Planet, Corellia. All right, I admit it, I was slumming in The Skids. There's a place I know there called the Gravity Well, where one can escape for a while by watching holovids, drinking the local potables, or admiring Twi'lek dancers at the tail end of  their careers.

            I found a booth in the corner where I could keep an eye on the door. The waitress took my order. The outfit she was almost wearing looked uncomfortable, and the drab, grey tone of her lekku made it obvious she wasn't exactly having a great time.

            "I'll have 12-year Coronal Ejection, and just bring the bottle," I said.

            She gave me a second glance. Scanned me a little more closely. "You want that with or without the Plasma," she asked with a certain edge in her voice.

            "Without." I glanced over her shoulder. 'Does Hendon still run this joint?"

            She looked around, "If by running you mean taking naps upstairs and making the waitresses 'model' new uniforms, then yes."

            I smiled in spite of myself. "Tell him that Sijan wants to see him, and that it's a business call."

            I watched as she went back to the bar to order my drink. She picked up a com-link and glanced over at me while she spoke. She brought the bottle of CE back with two glasses. She put them down on the table and slid in to the booth, next to me. "Hendon said I was to give you whatever you wanted," she almost purred as she said it. Her color had improved some, too.

            "Whatever I want, eh?" I leered over my glass at her, trying my best to look as Huttish as possible.

            "Anything," she giggled as she swirled the liquor in her glass.

            "Then how 'bout some privacy, leks? Send your boss over so I can discuss matters of financial import. Scoot. Now."

            She tossed back the CE and didn't even blush. She could handle the stuff. Maybe I had mis-judged her. She slid out of the booth and strode back to the bar, lekku twitching in irritation.

            "All business and no pleasure? What are you, a junior Moff on the career ladder?" A booming voice almost too big for the room asked. Hendon stood almost as tall as Wookiee and almost as wide as a Hutt. He wore an expansive and expensive clothes of white material and if you didn't know him, you might be inclined to make a joke about his resembling a cloud. Those that knew him, and what he was capable of, would never make that joke, even if there was the slightest chance it could get back to him. "Sijan Lancer, It's been a while, but not long enough," he moved his mouth in such a way that it might, in certain light, be considered a grin. 

            "Well, Hendon. Good to see that you do drag yourself down to see a few of us undesirables. I was beginning to think I wasn't welcome. What's with the 'Lek?"

            He laughed. A deep, throaty rumble that seemed to well up from within, like magma. "I had to make sure it was you, my boy. There has been a considerable up-tick in Imperial interference, lately."

            "Like what," I asked? This kind of information could make or break someone in my line of work.

            "More armed patrols. Low-altitude flights of TIEs to remind everyone of who is in charge. More 'requests for information' from the local garrison. I usually provide credits instead of information, but it's beginning to eat into my profit margin."

            "What? A corrupt Imperial official? How shocking," I said, trying to conceal my delight with sarcasm. "Just how corrupt is this future Admiral Ozzel?"

            "He's doing a good job of concealing it, so far. I'm sure I'm not the only one to have an arrangement with him. He seems discreet enough. Now then, enough small talk. What can Hendon do for my esteemed guest?"

            I swirled the CE and watched as it clung to the sides for just the right length of time. "I'm looking to make a run. An associate of mine told me there is a Trandoshan that goes by the name of Essekss that is in need of a transport and delivery service."

            Hendon's brow crinkled. The folds on his crinkles crinkled. "Yes, I know him," he said slowly. "He deals in weapons, mainly."

            "That's what I have been told. Ever since the end of the Clone Wars, stockpiles of equipment have been left unattended for anyone enterprising enough to find and acquire them."

            "You want to set up a meet. Discuss exchange of goods and services in the spirit of improving economic outcomes?"

            "If you get him here, set us up in one of the private rooms and I will convince him that you earned a 10% brokerage fee."

            "10% of what?" Hendon asked, his eyes darting as he made calculations on current going rates.

            "Right now, it's 10% of nothing," I said. "Get us together and I will make the deal. I will get you your share, just like always."

            He laughed his deep, rumbling laugh. "Very good. I will contact Essekss, and let you know when to be here. I trust your schedule is flexible?"

            "You know my com-link setting." I stood to leave, taking the Coronal Ejection with me.

            "Are you sure you don't need someone to help you, with that?" Hendon leered.

            "Quite sure. It's mostly for show, anyway. If I want someone to help me with it, I know where to look." I scanned the room. "It's not here." I tucked the bottle and made for the door before Hendon could decide to be insulted.

            The Sundodger looked a little out of place in Tyrena's spaceport. Light transporters, a few pleasure craft, and a trash hauler were docked near her. A Barloz class freighter, she took up more room than most of the ships and the gunmetal grey made her look faded compared to the polished, attention-grabbing vessels, nearby. Even the trash-hauler was painted a vibrant green with scrolling letters that read, "Tyree and Sons Waste Management".

            Everyone has to have a line of work.

            I entered the pass code and boarded my ship. The cool, climate respondent life support air felt refreshing after walking through town. I heard the sounds of hydrospanners clattering in the back. Some cursing and then bickering between Krendall, my co-pilot, and G8-R8, an astromech that i didn't really need, but won in a Sabaac game in Cloud City.

            I let the two of them continue working on whatever they were working on and logged onto my holonet to do some background checks on Essekss.

            According to the news feed, he was one bad Trandoshan. Weapons was his big revenue stream. He would supply anyone if the price was right. He had even accepted a job to recover and return an AT-AT for the empire, apparently they didn't expect him to return from that job.

            They made good on the offer sheet.

            His biggest, boldest claim to fame was supplying both sides in a civil war. In the span of three years the planet went from small-scale infantry skirmishes with blasters to full scale air-ground assaults with gunships backed by heavy artillery.

            He also had tiers to some old Banking Clan houses that got into levels of financial murk that I didn't have the time or brain capacity to sort out. Let's just say that if the Imperials had wanted to make an example of someone, he'd be a prime candidate.

            I ran some inquiries through the Bounty Hunters Guild and made sure that nobody, especially the Hutts, had placed a Death-Mark on him. I checked with several of my contacts who also specialized in the delivery of grey and black market products and asked about his standing. He got a AAA rating, among the best. I was pretty proud of my AA rating, so he had a reputation amongst his fellow professionals in good standing. 

            I told Krendall about meeting a potential client. "Good," he said. ""I think we're going to have to switch the powerplant over to that new, liquid metal fuel the YT's use. The fuel cells in Sundodger, here, just aren't attaining maximum flow-through, anymore."

            "Don't speak ill of a fine lady," I said. "She's pulled your butt out of plenty of close calls."

            "I'm not speaking ill of her. I'm being realistic. Some of the older parts are degrading rapidly. If you push your luck, you're going to find yourself stuck in an asteroid field, unable to jump to Hyperspace with a Star Destroyer closing in."

            I knew he was right. Krendall was as good a mechanic and engineer as there was. He had survived an Imperial round-up on Alderaan. His family had been a little too close to Senator Bail Organa's family. Some orders got issued and sometime, in the middle of the night, an Imperial party bus with a dozen Stormtroopers raided the family home. Mom, Dad, and kid sisters got shipped off to some penal colony, if they were lucky. Krendall had been off the grid, amping up power converters for speeders. The mod was highly illegal, risks of explosions and all that, but Krendall had made quite a reputation and credit flow among the 'not-so-desirable' element of Alderaan.

            That's where our vortices intersected. I had just completed a run to Alderaan, when Krendall, escorted by a contact of mine named, Trendall Mowbray, showed up to arrange passage off-world. Krendall had to be discouraged from going to stay with relatives on Dantooine. Mowbray had set up a safe-house for him to stay at until some credentials could be created for him.

            Once we launched, I got right down to it. "What is your credit situation like?" I asked.

            "It's good enough," Krendall replied, warily. "Why do you want to know? You already got paid.

            "Relax. I'll get you to your destination. I was just wondering, because with the right amount of cred-sticks, I know some people that can give you a whole new identity in under a standard cycle."

            He continued to look me over, trying to read if I was telling the truth. He was cautious, which is good. Caution is a quality that can keep you alive. "What kind of prices are we talking about?"  He asked.

            "You can get a false Imperial Pass Card for about 500. False entry in the Imperial Database will run you about a thousand. For two thousand you can get a spoofed account with bona fides. Or you can get all of that and slicers can modify your retinal scans and fingerprints with a ghost identity for about five thousand."

            He sat back and thought for a minute. "I'm going to need a job, and I can't just lay low in some safe-house, forever."

            I let him ponder the situation. He had stayed calm and collected, during his ordeal. He had a realistic assessment of the situation and wasn't ranting about what he was going to do to the Imperials and he wasn't spinning out rescue fantasies. One does not simply walk into the Coruscant detention facility and 'rescue' anyone.

            "Let me make a counter-offer," he said, breaking the silence. "I have some credits stashed away in an account the Empire hasn't found, yet."

            I looked at him with what must have been a confused look, because he laughed and explained, "It's a business account my friends and I set up for our modifications. Rather than having credit sticks actually change hands, we allowed clients to transfer credits to our account, where we could verify payment and it also allowed us to operate with lines of credit with parts suppliers. Suppliers will sell you parts as a business, that they won't sell to a bunch of street kids no matter how many cred-sticks you wave under their noses."

            "Slick," I said. "Whose idea was that?" I asked. "You could also get parts under an invoice, sell it or modify it, and increase its value before the bill came due, which would maximize your profit-margin."

            Krendall nodded. "My idea. I bit of speculation involved, but my friends never complained when they saw the balance sheet."

            "Nice. Ever engage in any credit laundering?" I asked.

            Krendall turned his head slightly, "I don't think so," he said, very evenly.

            He probably hadn't, but I'd be willing to bet the ship that he could, if someone explained the basics to him.

            When we got planet-side, we docked and I told him to get his payment together while I met with all my people that were necessary to forge a new identity. After I got my contacts in order, I had to bring the final link in the chain back to the ship. Yuri was a Bothan who managed to conceal his equipment in the folds of his fur. When we got back to the Sundodger, Krendall was waiting, he looked anxious and tired.

            "What's the matter?" I asked.

            "Just jumpy, I guess," he said, trying to convince himself, but realizing for the first time that he was going on the lam, maybe permanently. "I withdrew the entire balance. My friends will not be happy when they find out."

            "That was a smart move, just the same. You don't want to leave the Empire too many cookie crumbs to follow.

            Yuri was finishing up with getting his gear set up. Several small, hand-held devices that had a modular, purpose-built appearance. "Now then, young sir, if you would please come over here, so we can get started. It should only take a couple of minutes."

            Krendall stood in front of Yuri. Yuri looked him over, stared at his face and leaned in and peered at his eyes. Satisfied, he went back to his gear. He deftly moved his hands over the devices. He picked one up, showed it to Krendall. "This is what your new identity will be. Do you like it?"

            "My first name is the same," Krendall said. "Isn't that, you know, kind of dangerous, and a bit stupid?"

            Yuri rippled his fur in the way Bothans do when they get annoyed. "I have done this many times before," he almost growled. "I do my research. I decided to make you a Corellian. Why, you might ask? I tell you. Corellia is considered by the Empire to be a Category IV loyalty planet, much self-administration permitted. Your general eye-color is prevalent among 62.3% of Corellians. and your specific shade is common among 23.75%. There are roughly 4 billion Corellian males. The name Krendall is somewhat common on Corellia, at .05%. Given all of those factors, there are 4.75 million Corellians named Krendall with you specific eye-shade. And forgive me if I am mistaken, the Empire, if it decides it really wants to seek you out, is looking for an Alderaanean, yes?"

            Krendall nodded, but was looking down. I could tell that he felt bad about offending Yuri, but the only way to placate a Bothan is to ride out the storm.

            "There is a psychological aspect as well," Yuri continued. "There is an reflexive response among you furless types, that if your name is called out, you turn to seek the one calling it, even if there is no reason for anyone to know you in a situation, you do it. So, I have kept your given name, to help prevent such a slip up, which would be disastrous." Yuri's fur was returning to normal. He had asserted his abilities and shamed his questioner. All was right, again.

            "Before we finalize the, how would you say it, overhaul, there is the small matter of collecting my fee," Yuri said with just enough blend of courtesy and menace that marks a good Underground businessman.

            Krendall stepped over to the table and held out a cred-stick. "This cred-stick is everything I have in the galaxy. I have now betrayed my friends, 'cause some of them are their credits. Bills are coming due, that they will have to answer for. I have nothing else beyond this, so this new identity had better be solid."

            Yuri reached out, took hold of the cred-stick, but Krendall refused to release it. "It is a good identity, and if it doesn't work, what are you going to do about it?"

            Krendall smiled a wry grin. "Identities cut both ways, Yuri Eska'dra, Imperial Registration number BO847555-IL-2, 4 Municipal arrests, no convictions, 1 planetary charge, no conviction. Imperial Surveillance level: 3. You're kind of a bad guy, but you keep getting away with it and haven't drawn too much attention."

            Yuri curled his lip, exposing some of his sharp, forward teeth. "How did you..."

            "Did I say cut?" Krendall tossed out rhetorically, "I meant sliced. Data is everywhere, you just need to know how to find it, right?" He let go of the cred-stick.

            Yuri stared at Krendall, his teeth bared and his legs tensing, I really didn't want a fight in my ship, blood gets on stuff and is so hard to properly clean. I was about to step between them when Yuri burst out laughing. Bothan laughs are somewhere between a bark and a wheeze. "Not bad, kid, not bad," Yuri seemed well pleased. "You HAVE done business like this, before. Come over here, let's get you what you paid for."

            The rest of the process didn't take very long. Yuri had everything he needed to give Krendall a fresh identity, he even pulled up the info and image on his datapad and let him scroll through the info. "Most of this is just filler that will not even be looked at by anyone except for the dedicated investigator, and then only if they are really after you. It won't hold up to real scrutiny, but, like I said, it is good enough to get you access to most facilities under Imperial supervision; customs, fuel service, docking facilities, etc."

            Krendall allowed Yuri to finish scanning his data into the endomorphic recognition database. For a few extra credits, Yuri added in a recognition baffler, which sent an electronic 'spoof' version of the suspect every time it detected a scan. The baffler was embedded in the wearers identicard, so as long as the two were together, any remote scanning of Krendall's features would show up as unknown/incomplete on a monitor.

            Yuri finished and stashed his gear within his folds. As he was heading down the gangway, he turned back to us, "Keep an eye on this one, Sijan," he deadpanned. "He'll either make you a ton of credits, or he'll end up taking over your business."

            "Good one," I laughed as Yuri melted into the cityscape. I had a nagging feeling as I watched him disappear that he wasn't joking.

            The chirp of my com-link jerked me back to the present. Five years doesn't seem like a long time when you've been bouncing all over the Galaxy like a refugee fleeing wars of your own declaration. "Yeah, I answered."

            "The meet is on. My place, 2300 Standard," Hendon's voice emitted from the com-link.

            "Gotcha," I hissed in pidgin Jawa-ese. I had a couple of hours to kill before heading over to the meeting. I double checked our balance; very good. We had enough to turn down the project, if necessary. I reviewed our current cargo capacity; as long as he didn't want us to ship large parts we could accommodate him. Finally, I checked to see if we were both in good standing with the Guild. We were. I can handle the risks involved being on the Empire's bad side. Being on the Guild's bad side was suicide.

            I made my way back to the Gravity Well. The place was jumping. The music was so loud it spilled into the street like cheap beer, warm and foamy. The Wookiee at the door sniffed me and gave me a cursory glance as he opened the door, allowing more sound to overflow. The crowd was a mix of humans who obviously played as hard as they worked and an assortment of races from all parts of the empire; Twi'leks, Rodians, and even a couple of surly-looking Aqualish, then again, Aqualish always look surly. The bartenders were working at a furious pace, filling glasses with a prismatic spray of drinks that artists could would die for. Three stages had dancers, a Twil'lek female, a human female and a Togruta male displayed their wares for appreciative clusters of customers. The Empire has rather rigid attitudes toward overt displays of hedonism, but Hendon was a very open-minded guy and following the credits was his primary philosophy.

            I caught sight of Hendon sitting in the corner booth, raised like a dais where he could keep an eye on the proceedings. 'Leks' was leaning against his left side, with a look of either boredom or chemically altered consciousness. Hendon's right hand was free, either for the drink on the table, the expensive Shento cigar he had on the table, sending wisps of smoke into the air, or the blaster I knew he kept strapped to his side.

            I made my way back to the table, sliding through the crowd with a bit of effort, being careful not to spill anyone's drink, which could lead to any kinds of trouble. The haze in the room was palpable, but never did bother me. In fact, it was almost comforting, given the amount of time I spent in places just like this, all over the galaxy.

            I stood off to the side of the booth, so I didn't obstruct Hendon's line of sight to the door. "Hendon," I said, amicably. "The Well is really drawing them in, tonight."

            He snorted a short laugh, appreciating the humorous opening. "Welcome, Mr. Lancer," he said, formally. "Please enter and partake of the entertainments offered by the Gravity Well. There are drinks, dancers to watch, private entertainments can be arranged and we even have Sabaac, upstairs, if you are interested."

            "Sabaac, eh? I have not played in a long time, but might be willing to stake some credits if there were an opponent worthy of my skill level."

            "Upstairs. Third level, room at the very back. There is a Trandoshan who seeks a high-level opponent. Perhaps he will give you a game. Remember that the House receives a 10% facilitator's fee."

            I nodded at him, and acknowledges 'Leks' before heading for the stairwell. I made my way to the second-floor landing, where another Wookiee and a human female occupied a kiosk at the head of a long hallway. The human wore a long, red dress with a slit running almost hip high. The dress' collar was high and she wore her hair pulled back into a neat and elaborate bun. She smiled at me as I paused. "Have you arranged for private entertainment sir?" she asked in a smooth, golden voice.

            "Nope," I replied. "I'm on my way up to third floor. Although, after seeing you, I'm thinking I made the wrong decision," I said,  in what was supposed to be a charming voice.

            She laughed a well-practiced, disarming laugh. "We'll be here if you change your mind. Just remember, I'm merely a hostess, and not an entertainer," and smiled a beaming smile that could guide ship to land in socked-in, zero visibility.

            "Oh, I would never make that mistake, " I said. "With that smile and that dress, I would be foolish to suggest anything that would make your furry friend want to pull parts of me off, and I'm not worried about my arms."

            The Wookiee chuffed and placed his hands behind his head, displaying his long, hairy arms in the time-honored display of Wookiee strength. I nodded at him, "I know you'll take good care of hostess..."

            "Niobe," she beamed again.

            "Niobe. Lovely name," I said and smiled. "I'm heading upstairs to play some Sabaac. A little luck is always appreciated."

            "Very well. Good luck, then."

            I touched my eyebrow in a mini-salute and headed up the stairs. Business places such demands on my time. I pulled myself back into focus as I heard the Wookiee growling softly to Niobe. She whispered something back that I didn't quite catch.

            I rounded the landing to the third floor. A hallway stretched before me with two doors on either side and a door at the end of the hallway. Two Trandoshans stood beside the door. One of them let his tongue spill out of his mouth. It flicked, wavered, and receded back into its owner's toothy maw. I approached them evenly with my hands open, palm out by my sides. Trandoshans are notoriously bad at reading human facial expressions, or it's possible they just don't care. Many a meet has gone bad when a Trandoshan has felt threatened and unnecessarily ended a conversation with a blaster or a sudden plunging of a Slaver Blade into a vital organ.

            The Trandoshan on the right stepped forward with his three-digit hand extended in the pan-Galactic sign for 'Stop". So I did. He slung his rifle and produced a scanner and waved it around me. He hiss-growl-hissed and a translation device on his collar stated in a not unpleasant voice, "Unarmed. Go into room, now."

            The 'literal' setting must have been set on high.

            I stepped forward and through the doorway, giving the second Trandoshan a glance as he licked the air, again. I have seen plenty of things you never get to see on Corellia, but a six-foot, bipedeal lizard performing a primal, thermal targeting acquisition sub-routine still makes me a little uneasy.

            He shut the door behind me, at least.

            The room was dark except for a cone of light that emanated from somewhere above the large, ornate Sabaac table in the precise center of the room. The legs were carved from some ancient, dark, hardwood tree and the playing surface was covered by a smooth, green material that allowed for the cards to glide along its surface. I briefly wondered how many personal fortunes had changed hands when I realized why I was here and centered my thoughts on the task at hand.

            Sitting at the other side of the table was Essekss. Esseekss was large, even for a Trandoshan. His scales were primarily olive on his face, but his hands, which he kept open on the table, were darker. He wore the standard Trandoshan travelling attire, which was something that looked like an Old Republic flight suit, faded with age, and the legs cut off to accommodate the Trandoshans large feet with their massive claws. His vest held a number of devices, some practical, some lethal. He also had several Wookiee pelts on his belt and I wondered briefly how Hendon's security staff handled that. Pragmatism probably ruled the day since Hendon had a broker's fee at stake and wouldn't let a silly thing like principles get in the way.

            Essekss pointed at the chair in front of me, so I sat down, directly across from him. He swung his right arm forward in a 'come here' gesture and I heard the whine motors and gears as a ram-shackle protocol droid lurched forward. "Allow me to introduce myself," it said. "I am C-VO9. I am fluent in 60 forms of communication and  have been programmed for Trandoshan language and courtesies."

            This thing had definitely seen better days. It was about four feet tall, covered in some sort of metallic plating that had corroded badly. A large blaster burn radiated from the center of its chest in a black, smoky scar. You had to get really mad to blast a droid, but the proof was right there. Only one of its visual sensors was lit and a mass of wires protruded from where it's left arm should have been.

            I sat down across from Essekss. "Let's get right down to business," I said. "I have a ship, an experienced crew and landing permits for most of the places that need them. If I don't have the permits...well, that's why it's called smuggling."

            Essekss briefly tested the air, then growled and hissed at me. The droid translated. "I appreciate your directness. You mammals are usually so ambiguous and evasive. I like that you know what this is and why we are here."

            "Trandoshans are known throughout the galaxy for their 'no-nonsense' approach to financial matters. You have need of a service. I can provide that service. All that remains is that we arrive at a price we both deem fair."

            The droid was motionless. His one operational visual sensor was fixed on me, but it made no move to translate. It didn't need to. Essekss growled and hissed again. He understood common, but couldn't speak it. Interesting.

            CV filled me in on what Essekss said. "I have acquired some surplus Imperial weapons. They are neatly crated and still in their original packaging. I have enough blasters to arm a company of Stormtroopers. They will not miss them, the Empire will just make more. I have a contact, on Lothal, that is always asking me about weapons, of any kind. Now, I have some that he would like to have."

            Lothal wasn't exactly high risk. It did have a small Imperial base and some reputation for Rebel activity, getting in and out shouldn't be too much of a problem. "Let's see, if we take the standard shipping fee for that kind of weight, we are talking 6,000 credits. Fuel surcharge of 600. Lothal isn't too tough to get in to, only 2,000. We are talking about arms, Imperial arms at that. If I get apprehended, it's likely a Death Mark," I said, trying to calculate in my head. "With that in mind, I'll do it for 100,000 credits."

            Essekss' claw dug into the table. CV's metallic voice chimed in, "That is not an acceptable price. You are worried that if you are caught, you will be executed. I have heard that you are good at avoiding getting caught. Lothal, as you say, is not very difficult to get on to, and has a small Imperial presence. I will offer you 50,000 credits to complete the task."

            I sat back and remained silent, thinking the proposal over. "Make it 75," I said. "I'm not worried so much about being intercepted en route, I have contingencies in place for that. I have other concerns, once planetside, that make dealing in arms risky."

            More hissing and growling. "You mammals are not renowned for your bravery--"

            "In this line of work, bravery gets you killed. If you're dead, you can't spend credits."

            "60," the droid said. "Final offer. You will accept or decline."

            Essekss didn't like to haggle, it seemed. I drew little circles on the table with my finger, pretending to make up my mind. "Half up front, half on delivery, as is customary," I said.

            Essekss reached into one of the pockets on his gear and pulled out a small device. He fiddled with it for a moment and then tossed it into the center of the table. A Burner. I'd only used them a few time but they were very effective. I pulled out my datapad, accessed my financial setting and opened up a transfer channel. I picked the burner up and held it next to the datapad. Once both devices beeped I confirmed that my account now had 30,000 more credits. I rolled the burner back to the center of the table. A sequence of lights flashed. Green, yellow, red, pulsing red. The burner started to smoke. I could just make out the mirage as the waves of heat before a quick flash of light dazzled the room. A pile of ash remained where the burner had been. Scorch marks radiated from the center of the table. I hoped that Hendon wouldn't be too mad, but that was an issue for him to resolve with Essekss.

            "My ship is on landing pad 4. Have the merchandise there by 0300 standard, and we'll load up. Transmit the name of your contact to me once we've lifted off. It's just safer, that way."

            I stood up, Essekss hissed, briefly. "Is it not customary to conclude an agreement by touching each other?" the droid translated.

            I had never thought of it that way. The way he said it made it sound almost distasteful. "Yes," I replied. "Shaking hands on a deal is a tradition among us."

            He held out his right claw, I extended my hand, and we shook hands. I was close enough to look into his eyes. The vertical pupils were partially expanded, I felt like I was being assessed as a meal more than a business partner.

            I realized how the dancers, downstairs, felt every night.

            I broke contact and turned, heading back through the door. As I passed the two Trandoshans, outside the door, one of them bumped me so hard I stumbled. I maintained my balance and glared back at him. He growl-hissed something that was more than likely, "watch where you're going, buddy." They were both armed. I wasn't and I now had a job to do. I waved back at them and made my way downstairs, through the throng, and into the night, where the cool air helped me clear my head.

            I headed for the docks, and activated the comlink, once Krendall answered, I told him to power up the ship and complete the pre-flight checks.

            "What's going on?" He asked.

            "We have to make a delivery," I said. "The product is being handed over to us at 0300, so I want to have the engines hot, and ready to launch by 0330 at the latest."

            "Do you want me to file a traffic report with customs?"

            "Yes, but list it as 'Nothing to Declare'. We haven't ticked them off and they haven't come sniffing for a bribe, since we've been here. While I'm thinking of it, transfer 3,000 credits to 'The Gravity Well'. List it as Sabaac losses."

            "I'll have everything ready," Krendall said as he clicked off. He'd have everything up and ready to go, just like always.

            When  I got back to the dock, the Sundodger was lit up, the vents from the fuel coolant seeped a fine, white vapor, the pumps hummed quietly as the fuel circulated. She was poised, ready to leap into the air, like a cat, if necessary.

            Two heavy-lift speeders approached. They were the big ones, and I began to wonder just how many crates it would take to equip and Imperial company. I knew it was about 100 blasters, which could fit in 20 crates or so, but if this was a unit's complete Table of Equipment, it would be a lot more.

            Over in the next dock, the 'Tyree and Sons' hauler was lifting off, but the pilot didn't seem to be in too much of a hurry to get into orbit. Maybe it was a sub-orbital flight.

            The heavy speeders pulled into the docking area and came to a halt. They sat there, engines idling. I was trying to see into the cab of the lead vehicle when I heard the passenger door, open, and shut again. Slow, measured footsteps clicked off the duralloy dock floor. They didn't sound Trandoshan. At that moment, I was actually hoping to see an ugly, faded flight suit with a big lizard in it.

            Not so.

            It was an Imperial lieutenant. He wore the perfectly tailored grey uniform of the occupation force. His peaked cap sat perfectly aligned over his sharp, beak-like nose. His polished black boots threw back the lights as if they were not worthy of touching them. "Sijan Lancer, you are under arrest for violation of Imperial Occupation Code 31-dash-8315 and will be transported to headquarters for questioning."

            I waved a mock salute at him as I turned toward the ship. I tabbed the comlink as I started to sprint back, "Hot! Hot! Hot!" I yelled as I accelerated toward the gangway. I saw the lower auto turret pop out of its nacelle and bring the speeder to bear. I could hear the clatter of plastisteel as a squad of Stormtroopers piled out of the speeders. They opened up on me and the ship. The ship could handle it.

            I was closing the gap, ready to dive on board and have Krendall zoom us into orbit when I caught sight of the trash hauler, and my blood froze. The trash hauler ejected metal panels from its side and revealed a turbolaser turret. The turret spat green bolts that detonated in front of me. The blast tossed me aside like an unwanted toy. I smelled the burned ions in the air around me and got to witness the end of my life as I knew it. The Sundodger's  auto turret had taken out one speeder, and I saw several white-armored heaps, lying on the ground.

            I heard the gang plank snap shut as Krendall made the right decision and tried to get out of there, without me. He had the shields up, and I watched as the twin green bolts from the turbolaser got absorbed by the shields like someone punching a pillow. I thought the shields would hold, but I didn't know for how long.

            He got off the ground and retracted the landing gear. The engine was struggling with trying to provide energy to all the systems at once, the power cells would definitely need to be replaced. The turbolaser spat again, stabbing the Sundodger in the side. I thought I heard her howl in pain and realized that she was doomed, the shields had failed. The Barloz class is never graceful in the atmosphere, and under attack, with all systems competing for attention, it was like watching an marine mammal on land, lurching forward, if it could just make it to its natural environment it would be sleek and fast, again.

            The next shot from the turbolaser connected with the engine. As Sundodger continued to gain altitude, coolant and parts sprayed out. I willed Krendall to just go. Just punch the acceleration and hug the deck, use buildings as shields to cut off the line of fire. Just run.

            The turbolaser spat once more, connecting again with the aft of the Sundodger. She lurched to starboard and a series of explosions ripped her guts out. The flash nearly blinded me as bits of metal and plastic began to rain down on the district. The ship plunged to the surface, destroying several structure and initiating fire alarms and distress signals across town.

            Sundodger was dead.

            "As I was saying," the lieutenant said very formally. "You are under arrest, and will be taken in for questioning."

            My ship was destroyed. My co-pilot was dead. I had been sold out by the one person I thought I could trust.

            "You know," I said, looking up at him as sirens wailed in the distance. "This is why nobody likes you."