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.

Shipless

To relate everything that has happened since my last entry here and the present day would probably take an eternity, and certainly more energy than I have to spare. There are motions underway now that are more important, as well, that much is clear. I must focus my efforts on recording what I observe of my current situation; only then will I be able to understand it later. The events in between, while tumultuous, do not carry the same weight of destiny. And understanding the forces of my destiny is all that holds my interest.

How to summarize? I found myself, as the direct consequence of several misadventures, on a colossal space station orbiting Yormban Prime. I had never seen such a place before; once several individual stations, this one had been combined and connected over many decades until it now stretches a full quarter of the way around the circumference of the planet below. The station is home to 300 million people. It is truly an awe-inspiring place.

Sunrise behind Yormban Prime

I was, and indeed still am, in the company of a human named Ronin Sleek and a Wookiee named something that sounds like "Shakalakahh." I asked Sleek how it is written properly, but he doesn't seem the type to pay attention to such things.

The pair had a delivery to make to Jorkat the Render, a crimelord of ill repute (is there any other kind?) who made his headquarters at the station. Having joined the group only recently, I was only partially informed of what was going on. Some credits were exchanged, some acquaintances of Sleek departed, and the three of us were on our own in Yormban Prime Station.

Shipless.

I couldn't remember the last time I was without a ship. It must have been during my early days on Tatooine, but that seems like another lifetime now. You don't realize the truly life-sustaining nature that a simple starship can take on until you find yourself without one.

Yormban Prime Station did not prove to have very good prospects for finding a ship, either. The three of us had some credits all together, but short of hiring a privateer and his own ship and crew, there was almost nothing to be found. The only ship we could find for sale was a barely-functional ARC-170, in which we theoretically could have fit (though the Wookiee would have found it a tight squeeze). But that ship was essentially a snub fighter; we needed a transport more than anything, something for the long haul. And something that was ours.

Eventually, with reluctance, we decided there was nothing to be done but to return to Jorkat the Render (or "Mr. The Render" as Shakalakahh is fond of jokingly calling him). We had no connections in this place save him, and he happened to be the one person on the station who was truly connected. It seemed we had no choice, though the prospect of dealing with such an unpleasant character appealed to none of us.