The Escape

“Teck Bof’fle’s here to see you, boss,” the Aqualish thug said.

“Thank you, Serl. Send him in.”

Serl bowed and ushered Bof’fle into the room. The Balosar’s eyeballs bounced around the room, suspicious of anything and everything.

“You look agitated, Teck. Why don’t you sit down and tell me all about it?”

The Balosar slowly moved toward the proffered chair and sank into it. “Well…I’ve got some bad news. Uh…really bad news.”

The man leaned forward. “Yes?”

“It’s about Kale…”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Yes?”

The Balosar gulped. “He’s gone.”

“What do you mean?”

“He bugged out. Left with some Nautolan smuggler name of Rajam. Last I saw him,” Bof’fle continued, glancing at Serl, “he was in Sliv’s bar looking for a mark.”

“Why didn’t you stop him, Teck?”

“Well, I…I had another engagement. A meeting.”

The man nodded slowly. “A meeting, eh?” He took a sip from his glass of wine. “A meeting. You know what the guys on my end of the deal call you, Teck?”

Teck shook his head.

“The Maggot. They call you the Maggot, Teck.”

Teck stared. “Well…that’s not very nice of them.”

“No, it’s not. It’s not nice at all, Teck.” The man set his glass down. “Your ‘other engagement’ cost me a fine employee, Maggot. I might be willing to forgive you.” He grinned, the pointed tips of his teeth glinting. “That is, if you find him for me.”

Teck’s eyeballs bounced again, floor, ceiling, the man, Serl. “Alive?”

“Find him alive. Bring him back alive. Then I’ll deal with him.”

Teck nodded, eyes bulging. His fingers dug into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a death stick. “Okay,” he said and stuck the death stick between his lips. “Okay.”

The man leaned forward. “Oh, and Teck? I want him back within three planetary days from now. Got it?”

Teck nodded. “Okay.” He stood up, then sat down again with a sheepish look on his face. “Can I…can I go now?”

The man nodded. “Yes, Teck. You can go now.”

Teck shot up out of his seat and scurried to the door. Serl hardly had time to open it before the Balosar was gone and disappearing into the darkness of the night.

Serl looked at the man. “Boss…”

“Yes, Serl?”

“Whattaya want me to do with Sliv?”

The man grinned. “Bring your brother here. I’m sure he’ll have an interesting side to this story.”

“Alright, boss,” Serl replied as he left the room.

The man picked up his glass, downed what was left of the wine, and crushed it in his hand.

“If you had one wish, what would it be?” Kale asked Aarkr as the Cobalt Arrow left the spaceport.

“A clean record and drinks on the house,” Aarkr replied, grinning.

“That’s two.”

Aarkr wagged a finger. “One wish…for two things.”

Kale laughed as he sat down in the co-pilot’s chair. “With all those credits, we can get you a new record.”

Aarkr laughed and started punching coordinates into the navicomputer.

“Where to now?” asked Kale, eager for more excitement.

“Back to Nar Shaddaa,” Aarkr said. “We’ve got to get you back to your job,” he continued, cutting off Kale’s cry of protest.

Kale slumped in his seat, sullen and frightened. “But why? You said I was your co-pilot…your partner! Look,” he said, fear in his eyes, “I can’t go back to him. The Big Man. If I do, I’m dead for sure.” He paused. “And you.”

“Your concern for my safety is enlightening, Kale. Fortunately, I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t think so, Aarkr. You wouldn’t have gotten this rustbucket off the ground if I hadn’t been trying to get her prepped. Who knows…you might have become a praying man.”

Aarkr scoffed. “Don’t bet on it, kid. I’ve gotten away from worse scrapes than that. Besides, I haven’t had the creds to get the Arrow fixed up yet.”

Kale rolled his eyes. “Well, now you do. And maybe, just maybe, this thing can get us away from Nar Shaddaa before the Big Man’s ships blow us up. With all these credits, maybe…” He trailed off. “Say…you never checked these credits to see if they’re real…did you?”

Aarkr’s eyes widened and he bolted out of his chair.

“Great,” Kale said, following. “Just great. I knew you were forgetting something.”

“Oh, really,” Aarkr replied as the two hurried to the passenger area. “If you knew, why didn’t you say anything before we entered hyperspace?”

“Well, it didn’t cross my mind.”

“But you knew I forgot something.”

“Oh, shut up and check the credits,” Kale snapped.

Aarkr grabbed the bag from the table and opened the drawstrings. Pulling one of the chips out, he held it on both ends and pulled down. The chip bent in half. He twisted it, but it didn’t break; rather, it stretched. “Rubber,” he groaned, collapsing into a chair. “Why’d it have to be rubber?”

“They’re fake,” Kale said, hardly able to believe it.

Aarkr nodded. The despair on his face quickly replaced by an expression of rage. “They swindled me!”

Kale whirled on him. “They swindled you? They swindled me!”

The two glared at each other for a second, then looked away and muttered in unison, “They swindled us.”

Aarkr stood up. “What do you say we go back to Kragnos and find those two?”

Kale nodded. “Once we get back to Nar Shaddaa—” Kale’s statement was cut off by a sudden lurch and a screech of metal. The two were thrown against the side of the ship and fell to the floor as it shook again.

“What the…” Aarkr said, stumbling towards the cockpit.

Kale followed. “Whoa,” he said, gaping out the viewport. Before them was a cruiser, one that the boy didn’t recognize. “What is that?”

“Interdictor,” Aarkr said, gritting his teeth. “Detainer CC-2200. They used a gravity well projector to pull us out of hyperspace. Empire’s looking for somebody.”

“Yeah, well they found somebody.”

“Not a good thing, kid. I’ve got the death sentence in three systems.”

Kale instinctively took a step back.

Aarkr just shook his head. “Look, kid, it was all a big misunderstanding—”

Kale sat down. “Yeah, sure…convince me later, okay? Let’s deal with this thing first.”

Aarkr nodded. “Yeah. Let’s.”

A light on the console started flashing in time with a beeping noise. “Incoming message,” Kale said, looking to Aarkr for approval.

“Let’s hear it.”

Kale hit a button and an authoritative voice emanated from the speaker. “Unidentified freighter, please respond. This is Imperial Interdictor cruiser Dependable. Stop your vessel. Identify yourself, your destination, and your business.”

Kale looked at Aarkr, who gestured for him to answer and reached down to slowly move the ship towards the edge of the projected gravity well. The boy hesitated a bit, then began. “Dependable, this is Kart Marian, captain of the Shining. My co-pilot and I are headed to a funeral on Nar Shaddaa for a dear friend of ours.”

“I see,” the voice replied. “May I ask who this friend is and how he died?”

Kale squirmed. “Uh…his name is Jufed Veck. He was…shot. By a smuggler. On Nar Shaddaa.”

Aarkr groaned and put his head in his hands.

“Yes. I see. Well, we’ll have to search your vessel, Captain Marian. Please stop your forward movement.”

Aarkr’s head shot up and he mouthed an emphatic “No”.

“Uh…is that necessary, uh…say, what’s your name, anyway?”

“I am Commander Sarn of the Imperial Navy, commanding the Dep—”

“The Dependable. Yes, I know. Look, Sarn…we’re already late for this funeral.”

“Sorry, Captain. Standard operating—“

“Procedure. Yes, I’m sure. But Sarn…have a heart.” Kale, now having fun, looked at Aarkr, who mouthed how far they were from the edge of the gravity well. “We need to get there. You see, we’re the pallbearers.”

“Oh. Well, Captain…I’m afraid I still must inspect your ship and your cargo. It won’t take long.”

“Commander Sarn, I beseech you: let us go. I have to give the eulogy. Would you care to hear it?”

“No, Captain, I don’t think I—”

“ ‘Would you believe that this man couldn’t die? He was shot four times once, right through the chest. He didn’t die. What a guy, huh? What a guy Jened was—’ ”

“Captain, I thought you said his name was Jufed Veck.”

“Yes, he changed it when he was twenty. ‘What a guy Jened, who changed his name to Jufed at the age of twenty, was. He could drink a Wookiee under the table and—’ ”

“Captain Marian, I don’t need to hear this. I’m sending a shuttle over to inspect your—”

“We’re clear,” Aarkr said, hitting buttons on the console.

“Sorry to break up the party, Sarn, but we’ve got another one to get to. Have fun explaining this to old Palpatine!” Kale shouted as the ship fled past the cruiser.

Aarkr gave a whoop and sent the ship into hyperspace, leaving the Dependable behind. “Back to Kragnos, kid.” Aarkr laughed. “You did great, Sandra.”

Kale collapsed into his seat and looked at the Nautolan. “Two things, Aarkr: one, it’s ‘Sendra’, and two, never make me do that again.”

Aarkr just laughed.

©December 2010, Josh Scheibe

Encounters: Part II

Kron Shepson hated bars.

He’d always hated bars. They were filthy, dingy pits full of outlaws, spies, and faulty lighting. They were, however, a very good place to be when one didn’t want to be found.

Kron readjusted his shabby grey robe and sipped his glass of what passed for the local ale, wincing at its bitter taste. He’d already been through two glasses of it in the past four hours and was almost finished with his third. He wasn’t sure where his contacts were or what was holding them up.

“Hey. Greycloak. You wanna buy some death sticks?”

Kron shifted in his seat to view the Balosar hovering over his left shoulder. “No.”

“Oh, come on. One death stick can’t hurt.”

“There’s a reason they’re called death sticks. I don’t want any.”

The Balosar slid into the seat opposite him. “I’ve got ‘em in liquid and crystal forms. Which do you prefer?”

“Neither,” Kron said, severely annoyed now. He wasn’t used to pushy drug dealers.

The Balosar prattled on. “Or I could hook you up with a friend of mine…”

Kron was about to convince the Balosar to go away, but he felt something dark enter the bar. An unwelcome presence, vaguely connected to the dark side of the Force…not truly dark, but not truly light. He looked towards the entrance and saw three—no, four—figures entering: two Devaronians, a Human, and a strange-looking droid. Kron counted out both the droid and the Devaronians—droids were not sentient and therefore could not be felt in the Force, and the Empire would not hire aliens to hunt Jedi. No, it was the Human he had to worry about. Time to be scarce. He pulled his hood over his head and stood up to leave.

The Balosar stood up and walked with him. Unfortunately, Kron couldn’t convince the dealer to go away with an Inquisitor around. I’ll deal with him outside. The dealer was still talking, apparently not having noticed or not caring about Kron’s lack of desire. Kron adjusted his cloak and headed toward the entrance.

Aarkr was muttering to himself when Kale entered the cockpit. “Our passengers must be hotter than we thought.”

“It’s the fur,” Aarkr replied as Kale took his seat. “Do they know who was shooting at us?”

“They have no idea. Supposedly. I don’t trust them, though.”

“You don’t trust anyone.”

“Especially not you.”

Aarkr grinned. “Good.” He leaned back in his chair. “We need to figure out who was trying to kill us, though. How many were they supposed to meet with?”

“Five,” Kale replied. “Two Wookiees and three other wolfmen.”

“Scruffy crowd,” Aarkr said, pulling on his gloves.

“Shesh still wants to go back.”

“Out of the question. We don’t know who was shooting at us or why. We need to get them to Kragnos as soon as possible.”

“What we need,” Shesh growled, entering the cockpit, “is to go back and find the others.”

“You don’t seem to understand,” Aarkr said, irritated now. “We have to assume that your friends are captured or dead. Besides,” he added, cutting off Shesh’s rebuttal, “we’ll be at Kragnos in ten seconds.”

Shesh snarled and sat down. Jaxel entered the cockpit area, oiling his blaster. “How long?”

The Arrow came back into realspace. “Welcome to Kragnos.”

Kron walked towards his landspeeder, the death stick dealer still chattering away. He hopped in and gunned the engine. The Balosar came up alongside the driver’s side and waved some death sticks in his face. “Come on, man. Only ten credits for five sticks!”

Kron grabbed the dealer by his lapels and looked into his terrified eyes. “Get away. Now.” He shoved the Balosar away from him and into the dust. The dealer scrambled away as Kron careened away. Maybe I can find them at the spaceport, Kron thought.

“Well, we’re here,” said Aarkr. “Hope you enjoyed the trip.”

Shesh woofed. “Yeah…right.”

Jaxel silenced him with a glare and pulled a small pouch from his belt. “Here’s the rest of your payment, Rajam.”

Aarkr grinned and stuffed the pouch into a pocket. “Thank you kindly, Fang.” Looking at Kale, he said, “Let’s go.” The two went back up the ramp. The wolfmen watched as the ship lifted off.

Shesh sniffed the air and muttered, “He’s here.” Jaxel nodded and the two moved toward the shadowy figure in the corner.

Kron didn’t enjoy intimidating people, but that Balosar had been putting both of their lives at serious risk. Perhaps it wasn’t the Jedi way…but these are dark days. The war had changed the Jedi just as much as it had changed any political system or individual species. The Jedi Order had been destroyed, its members scattered or killed, and the memory of it was being erased from the public’s eyes. For a time Kron had believed that its ideals would live on in the few remaining fugitives and those they encountered, but his hopes had been dashed almost a year before, when…

…he stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down on the crystalline sea. A woman stood beside him, clutching her blaster. “I’m not going, Kron.”

He scowled. “You have to.”

“No—“

“You’ll die if you don’t!” he roared, turning towards her. “Now go!”

The woman looked at him, tears in her eyes. “Kron…” she whispered, “…I love you.” She turned away and began to walk down the mountain path.

Kron looked down at his feet and felt a hot tear run down his cheek. Then…his back arched and the hairs on his neck stood on end. His head snapped up and his eyes flew to her disappearing back. “No…” he groaned, moving forward. The side of the mountain exploded with a rumbling roar and gouts of flame, sending her flying. “NOOOOO!” he screamed…

…and jumped at the beep from the landspeeder behind him “Hey, keep it moving, buddy!” the driver screamed as he zipped past. Kron pressed his foot on the accelerator and the landspeeder lurched forward. It had been a long time since he had gone into a haze like that. Thankfully no one had been hurt…

Kron pulled the landspeeder up beside the entrance to one of the docking bays. He saw his two contacts exit what appeared to be the remains of a ship. He remembered the old spacers’ saying: A starship is a weapon, but it’s the crew that makes it deadly. Kron doubted that the ship would be deadly to anyone but its crew. He moved through the shadows and waited until the junk heap blasted off. One of the wolfmen sniffed the air and looked in his direction. Kron detached himself from the shadows and moved forward. Jaxel greeted the Jedi with a quick bow. Shesh followed suit and the Jedi returned the greeting. “Greetings, Fang, Shesh. Care to follow me? I know a place where we won’t be disturbed.”

I hate bars. They stink. Not that I can really smell their stench. My olfactory sensors are made up of wires that are connected to other wires that connect to other wires in my body. My mind, however, is something else entirely. It tells me that bars stink because I’ve been in them before. You don’t need a nose to remember smells.

You see, I’m a Human. I’m also a droid. Hard to comprehend, right? Well, as far as I can tell, I’m sentient. The fact that I can wonder whether I am should suggest something. My body is that of a droid, circuitry and all, but my mind is that of a Human. It’s not a brain, not like some would perceive a “mind” to be. Rather, it’s more of a…a…consciousness. It’s almost a spiritual thing, not a physical one. It doesn’t age like a physical brain would. My processor, however, my droid brain, does. My mind argues with my processor a lot.

My mind says my name is Nova. My processor gives me a string of numbers. My mind tells me I’m 23 years old…but the rusted state of my body says otherwise. I’ve done my best to clean myself up, but the rust keeps coming back. I’ve decided to just leave it for now. It’s not like I have to worry about looking good. Ever since the war started, organics have begun to hate droids. I’m talking full-scale riots and mobs. I’ve seen droids ripped apart and burned, shot to pieces, thrown into pits of acid. I’ve seen droids cannibalizing others for parts. I’ve done it myself…but only when I didn’t have a choice.

Kragnos is just one stop, one part of a long journey. I’ve been on it for as long as I can remember…which, admittedly, isn’t long. Like I said…my mind tells me I’m 23. How long my mind has been 23 is the question. The journey has been long, that I know. My body has been through many overhauls. The first I remember was to remove my hands. They hadn’t been hands, though; one had been long and sharp, pointed like a knife or a shard of glass. The other had been merely a large ball, like a crude hammer. I had been forced to destroy a Trade Federation battle droid, but it was fairly simple to replace my hands with those of the battle droid. I’ve undergone many modifications since then, many of them self-inflicted. Whoever did this to me would hardly recognize me, I’m sure.

This bar is dark, says my mind. This bar is dark, agrees my processor, and it sends a signal to my photoreceptors to brighten. The room is now bright, my processor cheerfully says. The room is still dark, my mind gloomily states. I believe the processor. The room looks bright to my optics.

A Devaronian couple slips past me and a cloaked Human ambles down the steps. He moves with such grace, such dexterity. Meanwhile, the claw on my left foot scratches along the ground—that is, until I retract it. My right leg is the only part of me that appears Human. The flesh, though, is just a covering for the wires underneath. I can pretend, though. The leg is droid, says my processor. The leg is as Human as you will get, says my mind. I believe the mind.

I sit down in a chair near the door. Droid need not sit, says my processor, puzzled. Sitting is Human, says my mind. I put my head in my hands and sigh. Very Human, says my mind. Droid need not sigh, says my processor.

If a droid is capable of despair, I’m feeling it.

Kron and the wolfmen stepped out of the landspeeder in front of another bar. “Sogo’s an old friend. He’ll make sure we’re left alone.” The Jedi pushed open the door and the three were barraged with the intense stench flooding the place.

“Yeah,” Shesh muttered, sounding sick. “I wouldn’t want to go near this place, either.”

Jaxel rolled his eyes and followed Kron into the darkness. His eyes adjusted easily to the lack of light. The Jedi walked over to the bar and asked for the owner.

A Bith came out of a back room and greeted Kron. He silently ushered the three into the room, left, and closed the door.

“Well, let’s get down to business,” Kron said, sitting down at the table. “How many have you two managed to gather?”

Jaxel leaned forward. “I have twelve good soldiers ready to fight.”

Kron cocked an eyebrow. “Including yourselves?”

Shesh shifted uncomfortably. “Yes.”

Kron made a little O with his mouth and blew out a long breath. “That’s not much to work with, you know. The Empire’s big. Bigger than twelve people, that’s for sure.”

Jaxel bared his teeth. “My men are good fighters. Better soldiers than most of the Empire’s. Besides, we’re just looking to take over one outpost.”

The Jedi shook his head. “A battle for one outpost can easily turn into a battle for the entire world. Trust me…” He trailed off and seemed to sink into a memory. His head snapped back up and he continued. “The Empire won’t like losing the Kragnosian outpost. They’ll fight back with every bit of firepower they can muster.”

“We’re aware of our enemies’ capabilities,” Shesh growled. “We are not afraid.”

“We have weighed the risks,” Jaxel continued. “We have presented them to the others. They know them…and they want to fight.”

Kron nodded once, slowly, thinking. He looked down at his hands, then looked into Jaxel’s eyes. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

©December 2010, Josh Scheibe

Encounters: Part I

Aarkr Rajam hated bars.

He'd always hated bars. Especially the ones on Nar Shaddaa. They were, however, one of the best sources when one was looking for...employment.

The Nautolan smuggler was currently out of work--a fairly normal state of being for him. The Empire was concerned about smugglers. Not as concerned as it was about the Jedi, but nevertheless concerned. Hopefully somebody here needs somebody to run some cargo, thought Aarkr. After all..this is the Smuggler's Moon.

Aarkr stepped up to the bar. "Hey, Sliv," he called.

The burly Aqualish bartender gave him a tired look, wiping a dusty glass with a dustier rag. "What do you want, Rajam?"

"Hydro-beer?"

Sliv glared. "You got cash?"

Aarkr tried not to squirm. "Credit."

Sliv threw his rag down onto the bartop. "You know your credit ain't good here no more, Rajam."

Aarkr sighed, pulled out a credit chip, and waved it in Sliv's face.

The bartender immediately pulled out the bottle and started filling the dusty glass. He pushed it over to Aarkr, who took it and put the credit chip back into his pocket. Aarkr ignored Sliv's protest and started heading over to an empty table.

A blonde young man barrelled past Aarkr and grabbed a seat at the table, carrying a glass of what looked like water.

Aarkr immediately stalked over to the table. "Hey! Hey, kid! That's my table!"

Kale Sendra hated bars.

He'd always hated bars. Of course, he'd never been off Nar Shaddaa in his life, so his experiences were limited. They were, however, one of the best sources when one was looking for somebody who needed help with a ship.

That was what Kale wanted the most. A ship. Some way to get off-planet and into the wider galaxy. He didn't care how dangerous it was; in fact, that was one of the biggest draws for him. He just needed to get off-world, to do something more than fix rustbuckets for the rest of his life. Maybe somebody'll take me on as a crewman, thought Kale. It's worth a shot.

Kale stepped up to the bar. "Yo, Sliv!"

The Aqualish looked over at him. "You know you're not supposed to be here, Kale."

Kale shrugged. "Hey, it's my fault if the Big Man doesn't get customers. I gotta start somewhere, right?"

Sliv shook his head. "You want your water?"

Kale grinned. "You know me too well, Sliv."

Sliv filled a glass with water and slid it over to Kale. Kale turned to find somewhere to sit, but the bartender grabbed his shoulder. "You know, Kale," he said, "I think there's better things for you to be doing than rounding up suckers for the Big Man. I think," he continued, leaning forward, "that you could go far in just about anything you want to. You find a way out of here, you could go far. You know that? I just wish...well, I wish your parents were here to see you now."

Kale didn't answer for a few seconds. Simply put, talking wasn't his favorite pastime. Especially not about that. Kale looked back at the Aqualish's humorously earnest face and chuckled. "Stop drinking your own brew, Sliv. It won't take you far." He turned his back on Sliv, knowing that he sounded callous.

It wasn't that he didn't miss his parents. It was because he missed them. He did miss them--even though he had never known them. From everything he'd been told, they--or at least his father--hadn't been worth knowing anyway. He'd essentially left his son to a con man, a two-bit thief who'd somehow picked up a business--and a failing one, at that.

Kale stopped brooding when he saw a young Nautolan step through the doorway. "Enter the sucker," he muttered, watching the Nautolan order--steal--his drink. Kale grinned when he saw the Nautolan gyp Sliv. "My turn." He hurried past the Nautolan, bumping into him on the way to the only open table.

The kid looked up at Aarkr. "What? I don't see your name on it."

Aarkr bared his teeth. "Not funny, squirt. Scram."

The kid just sipped his water and looked up at Aarkr with big blue eyes. He's too old to have eyes like that, thought Aarkr. He's almost as old as me, for the Force's sake!

"Look, kid...can't you run along, find some friends? I've got bigger things to worry about than you."

The kid grinned. Aarkr realized he could have gone far in the holo industry. "I think I'm your biggest problem right about now. Really." An ID card magically appeared in his hand. "Trau Toornt, Nautolan Tour Service. Four years with the company. Oh, and what an original ship name, too: Glee Anselm TourBoat A. Wow. Impressive. Did anybody actually check this out?"

"Give me that!" Aarkr growled, snatching at the ID card.

"Uh, uh, uh," the kid scolded, wagging a finger. "Next time, pay the 'tender." A credit chip--Mine, Aarkr realized--appeared in his other hand. He flipped the chip over the heads of several Trandoshans and onto the bartop. "That should take care of all those drinks you had on credit, Nautolan."

Aarkr grudgingly sat down in the chair opposite the kid. "Who are you, kid?"

"Sendra. Kale Sendra."

Aarkr grinned. "Sandra? Sandra! Haha! I knew a girl named Sandra once...she nearly shot off my head."

The kid rolled his eyes. "Sendra. With an 'e'. Sendra."

"Sandra. San...Saaaaaaandra."

The kid sighed. "Just call me Kale." He leaned forward. "And who are you? You're obviously not Trau Toornt, Nautolan Tour Guide. At least, I wouldn't gladly take a tour to Nar Shaddaa."

Aarkr conceded. "I suppose not." He looked around, eyes on the seedier characters in the establishment. "Aarkr Rajam. Smuggler. And what do you do?"

Kale lowered his voice to a more conspiratorial tone. "I work for a guy who sabotages ships and then gets paid to fix them. I'm the one who gets sent out to find the suckers."

Aarkr whistled.

"Truth is, though," Kale continued, "I don't want to stay here. I want to get out and...do something." Then he said, almost to himself, "I don't know what."

Kale couldn't figure out why he was talking to this Rajam about his ambitions. He wasn't a talkative person, to say the least. In fact, he'd never actually expressed his dreams to anyone.

That could possibly have been because he himself wasn't quite sure what they were.

Maybe he'd gravitated to Aarkr Rajam because he was a sucker, a great target for the big man's operation...or maybe it was something else. Maybe it was...hope.

Jaxel Fang hated bars.

He'd always hated bars. They could offer nothing like the bloodlust that came with a hunt, the feeling of power, the feeling of achievement. Nothing could rival that.

Led Shesh, however, loved bars. He was perfectly willing to hang out in one for a day or two...as long as they served Treldanian Blood-fizz and had an open place at the bar.

Unfortunately for Jaxel--and the mission the two were on--Sliv's had both.

"We can't be here for very long, Shesh," Jaxel growled as the two entered the dimly-lit room. The air reeked of alcohol, blood, and gunsmoke. Not unlike the rest of Nar Shaddaa.

"Don't worry, Jaxel. Establishments like this one are the places to go for good pilots. And besides..." He put his arm around Jaxel's shoulders. "They're great fun."

"Well, Shesh...this isn't the place to find a designated pilot."

Shesh barked a laugh.

Jaxel wasn't sure whether or not that was true. He was sure that their mission was not to get drunk. Unfortunately, Shesh was already well on his way. Jaxel scanned the bar for likely candidates. Most of them just kept their heads down. Good plan, thought Jaxel. Informants are everywhere these days.

"Want anything?" Shesh asked, motioning for the bartender to wait.

"A pilot."

Kale's eyes were darting. He was up to something. Aarkr could tell. "What do you think of those two?" the kid asked, pointing with his chin.

Aarkr slowly and carefully cast a glance over his shoulder at the newcomers. "Shistavanens. Wolfmen. Usually don't see them off of Uvena Prime."

"I wonder what they're doing here," Kale said, wiping a drop of water off his lips.

Aarkr nodded. "So do I. Let's find out," he said, rising.

Kale half-rose, grabbing Aarkr's arm. "Wait...what?"

The Nautolan shook him off. "Hey, don' werrrry aboudit, mon," he said, slurring his speech and showing more teeth than a rancor. He stumbled slightly, weaving between--and into--tables as he made his way to the bar.

"Anudder one, Sliv," he said. "My credit should be good now."

Sliv shook his head. "That chip only covered the regular fees. You forgot all the tips you owe me, Rajam."

Aarkr laughed good-naturedly. "Tell me you're jokin', mon."

Sliv just stared.

Aarkr sighed. "Fine." He slid a credit chip over to Sliv and leaned closer. "Who are the wolfmen, Sliv?"

The Aqualish shrugged. "Beats me, Rajam. I heard they were looking for a pilot, though."

Aarkr grinned. "Thanks, Sliv."

Sliv leaned back. "Enjoy the drink."

Aarkr sauntered over to where the wolfmen were standing. The one farthest from him, obviously the leader, stared over the shoulder of the one in the middle.

"What do you want?" he growled, baring his teeth.

Aarkr smiled back. "I heard you two were looking for a pilot."

"We still are," the talkative one said, and pointedly turned his back on Aarkr.

"Shouldn't we at least hear him out?" said the other. He turned to Aarkr. "What's your name and occupation? The real ones," he added, "not some fake ID."

"Aarkr. Aarkr Rajam. Smuggler." He gestured with a thumb to Kale. "That's my partner. Kale Sandra."

The one in the middle looked at the talkative one. "This might be our best shot."

The talkative one growled. "Fine. Let's talk business."

Kale couldn't help but feel apprehensive as the two wolfmen followed Aarkr to the table.

The Nautolan took his seat and the others followed suit. "This is Kale Sandra."

"Sendra," Kale corrected.

"That's what I said," Aarkr said, throwing a quick glare in Kale's direction. “Kale here’s my new co-pilot.”

Kale barely managed to keep himself from spitting out his mouthful of water. One of the wolfmen noticed his surprise, bearing his teeth in a grin.

“So…what’s your cargo, boys?”

The unsmiling Shistavanen said, “The two of us…and a few others.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Aarkr. “You’re not talking…” He lowered his voice. “You’re not talking slavery, are you?”

Smiley barked a laugh. “No. Not at all.”

The other wolfman said, “We need to get to a little planet called Kragnos. There’s an important…meeting there.

Kale caught Aarkr’s eye. Had he noticed the wolfman’s slight hesitation?

Aarkr leaned forward. “What kind of ‘meeting’?”

The talkative wolfman matched Aarkr’s posture. “That’s our business. Your business,” he said, pulling out a stack of credit chips, “is to get us there. Can you do it?”

Aarkr eyed the credits greedily. “Certainly. And you’ll never find a better ship than the Cobalt Arrow. She’s the envy of the Emperor himself, and—”

“Cut the sales pitch, Rajam,” said Smiley. “Where can we meet you?”

“Got any flimsi?” Aarkr asked, pulling out a pen.

“I’ve got a pad,” Kale said, handing it to him.

“Thanks, kid.” Aarkr scribbled down a few words and handed it to Smiley. “Meet me there and then tomorrow. Got it?”

“‘The envy of the Emperor himself’, eh? I didn’t know the Emperor collected buckets of bolts.”

“Watch it, kid,” Aarkr said. “The Arrow’s gotten me through a lot of tough scrapes. Made a lot of special modifications to her myself.”

Kale continued to inspect the ship’s exterior. “Yeah, I noticed that. What did you do, weld a pair of park benches onto a trash can and call it a ship?”

“Look,” Aarkr replied, angered now. “She may not look like much—”

“Got that right.”

“—but she’s got it where it counts.”

“Oh, good. I was worried that I’d have to manually calculate hyperspace routes.”

“I could arrange that. You just watch yourself, kid.”

“Rajam,” said a gravelly voice from behind them.

“Ah!” said Aarkr, turning on all his charm. “Good to see you, gentlebeings. Where are your friends?”

Smiley, who’d been introduced as Led Shesh, growled softly. The other, Jaxel Fang, snapped, “They’re not here yet?”

Kale spun around. “What do you mean?”

The wolfmen drew their blasters. “We sent them ahead of us,” Jaxel said. “We figured it would be too dangerous for everyone to be together in one group.”

Aarkr pulled out his own blaster. Shesh was approaching the passageway by which they’d entered. “Shesh, get back to the ship!”

“What?” the wolfman growled, turning towards Aarkr.

“Now!” the Nautolan screamed, pushing Kale up the ramp. A blaster bolt nearly seared Shesh’s ear and he started running to the Arrow. Several screamed past Jaxel and Aarkr as they hastily retreated, shooting over their shoulders. Several bolts hit the decaying wall, shattering it and filling the passageway with dust. “Kale! Let’s get out of here!” yelled Aarkr as he and Jaxel charged up the ramp.

“I’d love to,” came the reply, “but she’s not responding.”

“What? You’re joking, right?”

Kale glared at the wide-eyed Nautolan. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

“Try it again.”

Kale powered the ship up while blaster bolts rebounded off her hull, but the power immediately flickered and went out. Aarkr reached up and banged his fist on the ceiling. The power came back online. Kale just gaped at him.

“Careful, kid. You’ll catch a mynock.”

“Don’t say that, please,” Shesh muttered, head in hands.

“How do you keep this thing together?” Kale asked, still incredulous. “Spit and prayers?”

“Not quite,” Aarkr said, grinning. “I’m not a praying man.”

“Can you two cut the chatter and just get us out of here?” Shesh roared.

“Yessir, Mr. Passenger, sir,” Kale muttered.

In the next docking bay over, a figure listened to the commotion and grinned. Perfect. He climbed into his own ship and powered it up. Fastening himself into his chair and strapping on his headset, he said, “Initiate cloaking device.” His own voice, slightly modified by the computer, confirmed the order. He raised the landing gear and lifted the ship above the rim of the docking bay. He watched the crate next to him shakily lift off and blast its way out of the spaceport. “Computer, track them and try to determine their course.” This is where the fun begins.

©August 2010, Josh Scheibe

Lethal Engagement: Sidewa's Story

“Sabacc!”
The other Rodians at the table groaned and pushed their cards over to Sidewa. His bulbous eyes were glazed over, his suction-cupped fingers shaky. Downing another glass of Merenzane Gold, he shuffled the cards and slurred, “Plaze yer bets, people.”
The extremely attractive female directly across from him squeaked, “I’m out. Unless you’ll take a rather…insultingpersonal piece.” She pulled out a shimmering box in her hand. It had an inscription on the top. The box swung open with a touch of her fingertips, revealing a cheap crystal ring. “Tann crystal,” she explained. “Not as rare as some other types, but it’ll bring a good price.” She sat back and steepled her suction-cupped fingertips. “Good enough, you drunken fool?”
Sidewa leaned forward and hiccupped. “Miztrezz Cryztal-Giver, I accept.”
She placed the box, now closed, in the middle of the table. Sidewa read the inscription silently as the others placed their bets. It was in Rodian and said, You are the only one I love. That love is boundless, rising with the suns. Sidewa suppressed a gag and passed out the cards. A hand landed on each of his shoulders and he looked up. “Hello, boys.”
The huge Rodian on his left growled, “Deal us in.”
Sidewa shook his head, his snout flapping. “Bets’ve been plazed, boys.” He hiccupped. “Wait’ll da next hand, willya?”
The two exchanged a significant look and the smaller one on his right whispered in his antenna, “Glendo the Thrice sends his greetings.”
The words cut through the haze the alcohol was casting in Sidewa’s mind and he sat up straighter in his chair. He swallowed against the lump forming in his throat and he gulped, “I’ll be withca afta’ dis hand’s ova’, okay, boys?”
The one on his left nodded and moved swiftly over to a table where he could watch both the door and his target. A holo-advertisement above the table showed a picture of the holo-star, Naftrat D’an and his newborn son, Figrin, making it one of the few tables in the bar with a source of light next to it.
Sidewa laid down a negative twenty-three and raked in his winnings, stuffing them in his jacket. Sidewa’s escort, the smaller Rodian, shoved him towards the table. Sidewa raised his glass to his lips to finish his drink, but found it ripped out of his hands by the small Rodian. It crashed into the mirror above the bartender’s hastily ducked head. The bartender was showered in shards of glass as he boomed, “Hey that’ll cost you!”
The short heavy dug in his pocket for a credit chip and flipped it to the bartender. “Here,” he rasped, “and a little something extra!” He roared, drawing his blaster. A blaster bolt ripped into the bartender’s stomach and he fell backwards, smashing a line of booze bottles.
Sidewa gasped, but found the blaster in his back very quickly. “Move it!” hissed his escort. He sat down, sandwiched between the two heavies.
The other patrons of the establishment left in a hurry. The big one was evidently itchy to use his disintegrator, but Short was apparently the one in charge.
Throughout the night they talked, the two heavies wheedling and threatening, cajoling and bullying Sidewa, offering him money, starships, personal planets, anything…if he would only marry Glendo’s daughter (and Sidewa’s lover), Prassi Glendo. When Sidewa’s tongue slipped and he called her “Prissy”, he got a quick punch in the chest from the big one, who’d been introduced to him as Guido. The captive guessed it had cracked a rib or two. The small one, called Pampli, said, “I saw you win that ring at the sabacc table. I also saw its inscription. You know, Prassi loves poetry.”
Sidewa thought derisively, As if I didn’t know! Then, Pampli’s meaning clicked in his brain. Of course! The ring! The box! He pulled out the box and squeezed its edges. It snapped open and he grabbed up the ring, frantically searching. Finally he found it, on the bottom of the box. An engraving that read, Will you marry me? He replaced the ring and closed the box. “Give this to Prassi with my undying love and regards.” He slid it over to Pampli. He looked over at Guido. “May I leave now?”
It was the worst thing he could have said. Guido cackled and grabbed him up like a sack of topatoes. The heavy launched him towards where the bartender lay dying or dead.
Sidewa curled up into a little green ball to protect what wasn’t already broken. As he smashed into the wall, the last thing he saw was the bartender’s motionless face staring at him.

Sidewa groaned and coughed, a flat noise that sounded like an offkey Fizzz. He sat up, stretched and looked around at his dimly lit surroundings. His head was throbbing, but as his multifaceted eyes passed over the broken mirror and dead bartender, the events of the previous night came back to him. He found it extremely hard to breathe, which did not make his hangover any better. When he tried to stand, he felt his chest erupt in flaming pain. He grabbed the base of the bar with his fingers and hauled himself up. His knees, shaky as they were, would not hold him for long. Pain coursed through his left leg when he moved, starting at the ankle and moving upwards.Probably either sprained or broken, he thought as he limped to the exit. He stumbled out the door into a knot of loud people. Apparently, they were watching a fistfight and cheering on their favorite. Only one, another Rodian, saw him fall to his knees. Fighting back against the crowd, he carried Sidewa off to the side, away from the crowd.
The other’s smooth voice rose above the din. “Well, hello there, friend. What happened to you?”
Sidewa croaked, “Barfight.”
The other nodded sagely. “Ah.”
Sidewa squinted up at him. “You a Jedi?” he asked, gesturing at the brown robe and cream-colored tunic.
“No, this is just a disguise. I prefer not to let people know who I really am, especially this low in Coruscant.”
Sidewa sat up a little straighter as he watched the fistfight apprehensively. “Can we get out of here? I’ve got a bad feeling about this place. It’s just a hunch, but…”
The other nodded as he broke off. “I understand. Let’s go.” The other helped Sidewa up, then looped Sidewa’s left arm around his shoulders. When they had traveled but a few blocks from the bar, the other started to take them higher. “I know a good medic,” he said, “a few levels up. He can help you.”

Thirty standard minutes, four levels, and 100 credits later, Sidewa had been bandaged up and sent off. He had also overheard the doctor talking with the friendly Rodian, catching the other’s name in the process. It was Honka, a very common name on Rodia.
Sidewa pondered how he could repay Honka for his kindness while cleaning Hutt suites, a job acquired through Glendo’s “generosity”. Glendo had actually arranged for him to be fired from his previous job as an air taxi driver and put in a good word for him at his current job. He was now working for less pay and fewer hours. After a hard day of scrubbing suites, made harder by his hampering injuries, Sidewa decided to check out another diner on a higher level--of Coruscant and of clientele. The diner was run by a greasy, four-armed Besalisk by the name of Dexter Jettster.
As Sidewa took a seat at the only available table, a waitress droid rolled up to him. “Ya wanna cup of jawa juice, hun? This week’s special.” Sidewa nodded absently. “Be right back, hun!”
A finger tapped Sidewa on his shoulder. He reluctantly looked up, gingerly remembering what had happened the last time he had done so. The helmeted man next to him grunted, “You mind if I sit here? Sidewa shook his head and the man slid into the seat opposite him. “You Sidewa?”
Sidewa nodded slowly. “Who are you?”
“You can call me Silver Wolf. Bounty hunter.”
Sidewa’s eyes widened slightly. “You looking for me, Wolf?”
Wolf cocked his head like a confused goor hound. “You don’t remember me? I was at that bar the other night.”
“I don’t remember much from that night.”
“You remember the ring, of course.”
“Of course.”
“You remember how you got it?”
“From a female Rodian. A very attractive one, too.”
“You remember the inscription?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
Wolf chuckled. I gave that to her. Naturally, she wouldn’t stoop down to my level and marry a human. So, she lost the ring in a sabacc game. No doubt on purpose.” He leaned forward. “Sidewa, here’s the deal…”

The next day, Sidewa went back to Dex’s Diner. He had grown rather fond of their jawa juice and he had been told it was a good place to get information. He quickly sunk into deep thought. Being too recognizable at Glendo Manor, he had thought of hired help. Now to go about implementing his plan. When the serving droid returned with his cup of juice, he inquired, “May I talk to the owner of this establishment?”
The droid nodded and yelled in the general direction of the kitchen, “Someone to see ya, Dex!”
The burly Besalisk strolled over to Sidewa’s table and slid in across from him. “Mr. Jet--”
“Call me Dex.”
“Alright, Dex. I need some information. Do you know of a Rodian named Honka? His whereabouts?”
Dex drummed one set of fingers on the tabletop. “That depends. What’s in it for a poor restaurant owner?”
Sidewa slid a five-credit chip across the table.
Dex rumbled, after a bit of thinking and lot of stroking his thick black mustache, “I’ve heard of him. Comes here, on occasion. In fact, I think that’s him now!”
Sidewa spun around in his chair, half expecting a “Made you look!” from Dex. But no, there was Honka, standing in the doorway. Sidewa gestured to Honka to join him. “Thanks, Dex.” Dex pocketed the chip and sauntered back behind the counter. Honka sat down in the seat the Besalisk had just vacated.
“Hello, Sidewa.” Apparently Honka had been doing his own research. “How’re the upper levels treating you?”
“Decidedly better than the lower ones, Honka.” With a touch of pride at Honka’s hastily hidden surprise, Sidewa leaned forward. “Listen, Honka. I know you don’t owe me any favors, but there’s 2000 credits in this for you. It’s just a little…retrieval mission.”

Sidewa took the next workweek off so that he could take a trip to Yasooka, the largest inner moon of Rodia.
When he arrived on the moon, he immediately went to a public computer terminal. By comparing what he gleaned from his memory and what he found on the computer, he was able to compile a complete set of blueprints of Glendo Manor, the sleeping patterns of one wing of the manor, and the locations of various pieces of furniture in Prassi Glendo’s bedroom and bathroom and download it onto his datapad. He also went to the bank and got 4000 credits out of his account. This information and money gathering took most of the day, but he managed to get a full night’s sleep for once.
Within two days he was back on Coruscant. He and Honka met again at Dex’s Diner, and they transferred files from Sidewa’s datapad to Honka’s.
Honka left the next day for Yasooka.
Meanwhile, Sidewa went back to scrubbing Hutt suites. After another particularly hard day at work, he was visited at Dex’s by Silver Wolf. Wolf seemed to have a knack for picking out days on which he was completely exhausted to speak with him.
“Do you have the ring, Sidewa?” Wolf asked hungrily.
“No, Wolf, not quite yet. I have all the information I need, however. Just one more piece in this game of wit and intellect has yet to be played. You need to be patient, Mr. Wolf. Patience is ever a virtue, Mr. Wolf, and you’ll realize that soon enough.”

Within five days of his departure from Coruscant, Honka was back. When Sidewa greeted him, he was a complete mess, with his clothes tattered and torn, stained black by the many different forms of terrain he had traversed. Many parts of the exposed flesh on his body were also scratched open and raw. Saying he’d meet up with Sidewa later, Honka went home to clean up and put on a fresh change of clothes.
Sidewa went to Dex’s to wait and to talk to Silver Wolf. “It is being transported now, Wolf. It will be here soon. You will need to wait outside, however.”

Sidewa ordered a cup of jawa juice. “I’ll have the same, and a large pastry,” said Honka and sat back in his seat. He rubbed at a particularly annoying patch of raw flesh on his left cheek. A few minutes of small talk led into a discussion about Honka’s mission. “You know how hard it was to get this thing? I nearly got disassembled by a giant with a disintegrator.”
Sidewa winced and replied, “He’s one of the two who beat me up at the bar the other night. Calls himself Guido.”
Honka nodded and chewed away at his pastry.
Sidewa cocked his head. “Where’s your blaster?”
Honka snuffled. “I lost it climbing in a bathroom window. It fell out of the holster and landed on the grass. I had no time to pick it up.” He sighed and absentmindedly tapped the box on the tabletop. “I’ll have to find another one somewhere.”
Sidewa snuffled with laughter. “That I can’t help you with. Sorry.” He slurped at his jawa juice, finishing it off. He heard Dex greeting a brown-robed female senator who had just walked in. He greeted her personally, coming out from behind the counter to do so.
Sidewa pushed the glass away, wiping his snout on the sleeve of his jacket. His hand shot out and, with barely restrained excitement, he said, “Can I have it, Honka?”
Honka’s eyes narrowed. “Where’s the chip first?”
Sidewa had forgotten all about the money. He slapped his head with his sucker-topped hand. “Of course! How could I forget?”
Honka snorted derisively as Sidewa dug in his pocket. His fingers brushed the credit chip and he slid it over to Honka. The other inserted it in his wrist reader. Apparently it was the correct amount, for the other stated, “This seems to be in order. Now we’re even.”
Sidewa snatched up the box and opened it. The ring glinted at him. “Consider it so.” He leaned back up against the wall. “Good work, my friend.”
“Here’s a suggestion,” Honka proffered as Sidewa sealed up the ring and pocketed it. “Next time you want to propose to an heiress, be ready to get your hands dirty.”
Sidewa laughed and held his hands out like a professional Ommni Box player. “These are the hands of an artiste, not a Hutt scrubber.” He chuckled as a thought came to him. “Thanks for breakfast, by the way.” He heard Honka’s exclamation of surprise as he walked out the door. Slipping to one side of the door, he hissed to Silver Wolf, “He’s coming. No blasters…yet.”
Honka ambled out the door, but Wolf was already upon him, his helmeted head next to Honka’s antenna. Wolf growled, “Back in the diner, bub. Now!”
Honka’s face was a mixture of horror and disappointment. He shot Sidewa a questioning look, but the other only shrugged. With a shake of his green head, Honka turned around and walked back into the diner.
Not thirty standard seconds after they had all seated themselves, another brown-robed human entered, this time a male. Judging from the lightsaber hanging from his belt, he was a Jedi. He was, in short order, given a huge hug from Dex and they sat down in the seat behind Silver Wolf.
Grinning mischievously, Wolf said in Rodian, “You are Honka?”
Honka nodded.
“I’m dreadfully afraid I’m going to have to kill you.”
Honka’s flesh tone paled slightly, and he looked over at Sidewa.
Sidewa grimaced and nodded slowly.
Honka snuffled in indignation. “Many have tried, for one reason or another,” he spat. “All have failed.”
Sidewa said gruffly, “I’m sorry, Honka. Really, I am. I needed to get the ring back. Otherwise, he would have killed me. You see, the woman he proposed to…she was the one I got the ring from. He wanted the ring back, I subcontracted it out to you.”
Honka glared at him. “Thanks for the setup. But why kill me?”
Silver Wolf grinned. “No one except Sidewa here was supposed to know about this little operation. I trust him, but not you. Sorry, Honka. Out we go, now.” The three walked out the door, a few minutes behind the Jedi. Silver Wolf spun Honka around and pushed him backwards. Honka stumbled. Silver Wolf pulled his blaster and fired twice. One hit Honka in the stomach, doubling him over. The other caught him full in the face, knocking him backwards, off the ledge, sending him plummeting to his death.
Sidewa forced down the bile that shot into his throat as he saw his friend gunned down. He pulled out another 2000 credit chip and the box and tossed them to Silver Wolf. The bounty hunter pocketed it. He grabbed Sidewa’s shirt front and snarled, “You were supposed to keep it between us, you green goon! You agreed not to subcontract!”
Sidewa whimpered, “I altered the deal! You’ll find due compensation on that chip!”
Silver Wolf fired once into Sidewa’s belly. The Rodian fell to his knees, clutching his stomach. Wolf’s knee came up, smashing into Sidewa’s face. Blood flowed freely from it. Sidewa rolled over on the ground. “I held you to that deal, alien. You lied to me!” Wolf holstered his blaster and walked away.
As black fog started eating away at the corners of his vision, Sidewa wished Honka was there to take him to a good medic.

©July 2007, Josh Scheibe

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