Anywhere but Corellia

"Ronin, where's the Wookiee?" I said hastily into my comlink.

Ronin's voice chirped back at me. "He's up top, why?"

"You mean on the roof?"

"That would be the hull. Yes. He's working on the power routers."

As forcefully as I could manage, I replied, "Make sure he stays there. Imperials."

Sure enough, at that moment a group of Imperial stormtroopers burst through the hangar door, followed closely by an officer, a lieutenant by the look of him. They moved a few meters into the hangar, then took up a formation that gave them covering positions on the hangar exits.

The officer took two troopers with him and headed for our ship.

"Lofor, they're boarding," Ronin's voice squawked at me from the comlink. "Where are you?"

"I'm in the cockpit," I replied.

"Well," he said, "You're the schmoozer. Get to the gangway and start schmoozing. We're not hiding anything; this should be quick."

"Where are you?" I said, getting up and heading for the rear of the ship.

"I'm up top with Shaks. Hurry up, I don't want to be horizontal next to this smelly carpet for any longer than I have to." There was a quiet growl that cut off as Ronin's transmission ended. I switched the comlink to mute just as I came into the main compartment above the gangway.

The lieutenant and the two troopers were already in the ship. The lieutenant motioned to one of them, and the pair split in opposite directions. They began moving slowly around the perimeter of the room, obviously searching. For what, I wasn't sure.

Thoughts about the previous owner of this ship and the things he might have stowed away in it flashed through my mind. I forced them away as quickly as I could.

"Afternoon, Lieutenant," I said. "I see you found your own way in."

He sneered back at me. "I'd hold your tongue if I were you. Associates of Jorkat the Render are not highly regarded these days."

"That's a bit of a stretch," I said as nonchalantly as I could. "We only just met him a few hours ago."

The officer pointed a finger at me. "For your sake, that had better not be a lie. Jorkat has been nothing but trouble lately, and-" He stopped himself, hearing more footsteps on the gangway. We both turned to look.

Walking up the ramp, ahead of six more troopers, was a man dressed entirely in black armor. The only part of his body not covered was his head, which sported a long mane of jet-black hair and steely, cold eyes. A cape flowed behind him.

Immediately upon seeing him, I felt cold. This confused me, but I did my best to ignore it.

The man stopped just short of the lieutenant, who had snapped to attention, and then barked an order to the troopers. "Search it," he said sternly, "thoroughly." Then with his eyes on me, he told the lieutenant, "That will be all."

"Yes, Lord Cath," the officer said. Obediently, he headed down the gangway.

He looked me over slowly, saying nothing. Finally, he spoke. "What is your name?"

I sensed that deception might get us into even worse trouble. "Lofor," I told him.

"Where are you from?"

"Well," I said, "That's sort of a difficult question. Originally, I'm from Rori." I ventured a question, hoping my cooperative gestures would cause him to allow it. "Who might you be, if I may ask?"

"My name is Maxon Cath," he answered. "Have you been in contact with anyone matching this description?" He showed me a datapad with what appeared to be a composite image on its display. I looked at it, but did not recognize the person. I told Cath as much.

"He is a rebel spy," Cath said gruffly, "We are hunting down the lot of them. If you were to provide information on them, there would be a reward. There are bounties on the lot of their heads."

I shrugged. "Wish I could help you," I said.

He looked me over again, then said, "What is your next port of call?"

"Corellia," I said, citing the first planet that came to mind.

Just then the troopers returned from their search.

"It's clean, sir," one said. "There's no sign of them."

"Very well," said Cath. "I would advise you to depart immediately," he said to me. "Things are about to get very bad for Jorkat the Render."

"Right," I said, "We'll be out of his hangar directly. No reason to hang about anyhow."

"Goodbye," he said. A strange thing for an Imperial Lord to say to a common denizen, it occurred to me later. But I wasn't about to press my luck.

"Ronin," I said into my comlink as soon as Cath and his troopers were gone, "Get inside and get us out of here."

"Uh, okay," came his reply. "Where to?"

"Anywhere," I said, "but Corellia."

What a Piece of...

The phoenetics of Shakalakaah's disdainful roar would be difficult to reproduce here. Suffice it to say, his meaning was clear enough. And I wholeheartedly agreed.

"Are we really going to try to fly that thing?" I said to Ronin. "It looks like...well, junk."

Ronin shrugged. "I don't see as we have much choice," he answered.

The ship appeared to be a freighter, some variant of the standard YT series. It had obviously been altered to a significant degree from its original configuration. Whether some of those alterations were intentional or unintentional was not entirely clear. The ship had obviously been through a lot. Some parts of the hull seemed to be outright damaged.

"I know a thing or two about flying" Ronin said. "Let's not judge until we get inside the thing and see what's what."

Unfortunately, the inside of the ship wasn't much of an improvement. Apart from the rather unpleasant state of general disrepair and neglect (we even saw what appeared to be Bith undergarments discarded in one corner), Ronin soon discovered that the operational systems needed some work. Checking the main computer revealed that one of the internal stabilizers was bad and the hyperdrive was faulty. It would run, Ronin said, but only on its backup function, which meant we wouldn't be getting anywhere in a hurry.

"But she can fly?" I asked.

Ronin nodded, looking at Shakalakaah, who agreed. "I'll have to mend that stabilizer first," he said, "But she'll fly."

Leaving them to it, with instructions to hail me if they needed my help (which would be, admittedly, limited when it came to mechanics), I had a look around the ship.

For the most part, the interior seemed to be standard build for a YT freighter. A few partition walls had been removed to make room for extra cargo. A secret compartment in the captain's quarters had been fortuitously left open. While it was empty now, I noted its presence, as such a thing could easily come in handy.

I returned to the cockpit, intending to learn what I could about the vessel's history from its computer records. As soon as I sat down, though, I saw something that made me forget all about it.

"Ronin," I said hastily into my comlink, "Something's up."

Through the windows of the cockpit, I saw a small, greenish being running into the hangar, flailing his arms wildly and wailing in what sounded like Rodese. I knew very little of this language, but there's one word that seems to be universally understood:

"Empire!"

A Bad Feeling; A Worse Deal

To steel ourselves before returning to visit Mr. The Render, we made a stop to a local cantina, a place called "The Hold-Out Saloon." An exciting name that proved less than appropriate for what turned out to be little more than a self-service bar. A deserted one, at that. Not even a bartender on to which we could dispense our woes.

We retrieved our drinks from the dispenser and sat down around a table in the corner. There was little conversation. We were tired, essentially stranded and not altogether looking forward to dealing with a crime lord for the second time that day. It's not that any of us were champions of virtue; quite the contrary. I think Ronin Sleek and Shakalakahh have seen their fair share of entanglements. But the simple fact of Render's status required that we be constantly on our guard, on the lookout for tricks and traps. The stress, added to Render's unpleasant disposition, did not make for a pleasant experience.

I suppose it was these thoughts that led me to have the feeling. I wasn't sure what else it could be at the time.

All I knew is that as we were sitting there, each of us lost in our own thoughts, I began to develop a very bad feeling. It came from the core of my being and radiated outward, affecting every pore and hair on my body. It was a distinct feeling of unease. I felt like a troop of soldiers had just walked into the room, each of them carrying blasters pointed directly at me. I even looked around to see if anyone had, in fact, walked in. But we were alone, as ever.

Before long, Sleek threw back the last of his drink and muttered, "Alright, let's get this over with." We left the cantina. I wondered if we might leave my uneasiness behind, as well, but it followed me, to my dismay. There was definitely something wrong. Without knowing what, though, I was reluctant to say anything to the others.

Then, however, we passed by a viewport to the outside of the station. To our surprise, we saw three Star Destroyers very close by, hanging in space in a tight formation. I felt a moment of relief, as I now realized that my uneasy feeling was not imagined. Somehow, I had known that the Empire had arrived. My thoughts flashed briefly to my days at Aurillia.

We found our way back to the turbolift leading to Jorkat the Render's palatial suite. A few words from Ronin Sleek got us past his guards. And before long, we were before him, for the second time that day.

"The long and the short of it, Jorkat," said Ronin, "is that we need a ship."

Jorkat laughed. "As if I had ships to spare, Sleek. Besides, haven't you seen our neighbors?" He motioned at a nearby viewport, where one of the newly arrived Star Destroyers could be seen. "There will be no ships leaving this station. Not today, anyway."

"So it's a blockade?" Shakalakahh growled.

"Of course it's a blockade, you hairy beast," answered Jorkat, who apparently understood Shirywook. "Three Star Destroyers is a little much for a routine trade inspection, wouldn't you say?" His voice was thin and raspy.

"Look," said Ronin, "Let's save the games for another day. I know you've got ships, you just don't think we've got anything worth trading. Well, I can tell you, we do."

The Render scratched his chin. "I'm listening," he hissed.

Ronin proceeded to explain that he and the Wookiee had in their possession an additional amount of the substance they had recently been commissioned to obtain for Jorkat, some unique compound that was apparently a cure for an illness that he had. I was not party to this mission, so the details were somewhat unclear to me. But it appeared that the pair had held an "ace up their sleeve" after delivering the mission's prize.

"You held out on me, Sleek," growled Jorkat the Render after hearing this information.

Ronin shook his head. "No, I held out on those saps we came back with. I had to make sure I didn't get screwed over. They could have taken my share and bolted."

Jorkat scowled, but appeared to accept this. "How much do you have?" he asked.

Sleek nodded at Shakalakahh, who produced a container. It appeared to hold about a liter or so of a bright, shining liquid. "Enough for you to synthesize," said Ronin, "And to then sell. It could make you a lot of money, if this stuff is as rare as you say."

Jorkat considered, eyeing us over. "Well," he said finally, "I do happen to have a ship in hangar now that isn't being used. It's here for repairs. I suppose we could work something out for it. The compound, say, plus twenty thousand credits?"

Inside, I winced. I had a feeling we were being taken. But there was little choice.

"Fifteen," said Ronin, "and launch codes to get us past the blockade."

Jorkat laughed. But he eyed the canister with a greedy squint. "You drive a hard bargain, Sleek. For seventeen, she's yours. I can't give you launch codes, because I don't have them myself. But I can get you past the blockade. I have an understanding with the Imperial governor of this station."

"Fair enough," said Ronin, and just like that we had purchased a ship we had never seen, which was reported to be damaged, for the price of a canister of compound that was probably worth untold riches to the right person.

Desperate times, as the saying goes, call for desperate measures.

We headed for the hangar to inspect our purchase.