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