Author Notes: This fanfic is the result of me sitting around being bored
one day, and deciding to write something that had to do with one of my
favorite movies. For the most part, I have tried to keep everything in
this fanfic as true to the Star Wars universe as possible. There are some
minor details that wouldn't hold up to the accepted canon, and avid Star
Wars fans will be easily able to pick them out. However, this was what I
came up with as I was writing, and I think the story would have been much
duller if those things were pulled. Anyway, please read on and enjoy, and
please do leave a review. More of this story will be posted later, and
there might even be other stories afterward. Thanks.
Star Wars: Gunrunners
Blazing brighter than they had in a long time, the twin suns of Tatooine beat mercilessly down on the barren desert world. The great sand mounds of the Dune Sea shifted constantly, driven by the hot breeze that withered away everything green. Herds of huge banthas tromped their way among the dunes, seeking shelter from the suns. The oppressive heat settled over the Judland Wastes like a heavy blanket, smothering everything that was too weak to resist.
In the sprawling, haphazard settlement that was Mos Eisley, things were little better. Saeryn Farth had the misfortune of experiencing it first hand as she made her way through the streets. The warren of prefab shelters, alleys, cantinas, and vehicle parts shops that had sprung up around the local spaceport was not a pleasant place. Only the brave or the foolish dared to come here, and none but the unfortunate and those hiding from something or someone actually lived here.
Saeryn liked to think of herself as brave, but she hadn't come to Mos Eisley to prove it. She was here on business, the type of business that could only be carried out in a remote and innately dangerous place like this. Smuggling was nothing new on Tatooine, but Saeryn Farth didn't give the first impression of being the usual smuggler. Most smugglers were dirty and unkempt, hiding out in dark holes away from prying eyes. Most weren't human females either, but were instead men, or various cunning and crafty alien species. And then there was the fact that most smugglers weren't the daughters of Imperial Grand Moffs.
Saeryn Farth was tall and well built, still slender, but endowed with finely toned muscle. Her raven black hair was done up in a tight, business- like braid, and her ever shifting gray eyes sparkled in the light of the suns with tiny flecks of green. She wore a black pilot's jumpsuit, and strapped low about her hips were twin DX-97 blasters. Not surprisingly, the weapons were illegal on most civilized planets, but so were the holdout blasters she had concealed up each sleeve.
This wasn't her first job on Tatooine, but it felt like it was. It always felt like that. There was something about the desert world, about its generally low-life populace that set her on edge. Perhaps it was her Imperial upbringing that had instilled some sort of repugnance toward this sort of place deep inside her. She was used to it, but she would never like it, and she would never feel at home with it. The glittering towers of Coruscant and luscious green landscapes of planets like Naboo were more her element, but she had long since learned that a smuggler could never afford to be choosy when it came down to when and where a job went down.
Born on Bilbringi, Saeryn's early life had been closely structured in its ideals and its politics, but the lifestyle had been lavish. Her father, Aeryn Farth, was the Imperial Grand Moff of the Inner Rim Territories, and he had had access to nearly everything he had ever wanted. Which meant Saeryn, as his only child, had access to much the same thing. But although she had been brought up in the ways of the Galactic Empire and she called many of the Imperial ideals her own, she did not agree with all of them. She showed a rebellious streak early in life, finally leaving her home, her father, and a bright future in the Imperial Navy before she was twenty.
And so it was that, while Saeryn didn't exactly like places like Tatooine, she couldn't imagine not going to them every now and then. Her job called for it, and no matter how different her tastes were, she wouldn't give up the job for anything.
That thought helped to calm her a bit. She was nervous, but she didn't show it; her gait was more like that of a wary predator moving through dangerous territory than that of an anxious woman. She kept her guard up, constantly studying her surroundings, which required much attention indeed.
The street she was on was one of the busier thoroughfares in Mos Eisley, but it was not the widest, by far. The drab, tan stone walls that made up the unevenly spaced shelters, which in turned formed the sides of the alley, were little more than four meters apart. The scores of grubby stands and shops lined along them made it even narrower.
Hundreds of beings streamed by, their species ranging from Human to Hutt to ones Saeryn had never seen before. The dust their various forms of movement created was stifling, rising in clouds to pollute and contaminate everything it touched. And the noise was incredible, coming from the hundreds of voices and the tunes of off-note instruments from some of the many bars. A spattering of blaster fire could even be heard in the distance as well.
"Ichuta wanzi utuu?"
Saeryn stopped short, her way bared by an obviously inebriated being that had stumbled from a nearby bar to her right. It was a Rodian by the looks of it.
The creature smiled foolishly. "Ichuta wanzi utuu, sa?" it repeated.
"Get a life, creep," Saeryn growled. If it could not understand her words, at least it would understand the dangerous tone of her voice.
But apparently, its drink had clouded its ability to judge such things. The taller being stepped closer, apparently wanting money, but Saeryn dropped a hand to one of her blasters. Giving another smile, the Rodian shrugged carelessly and staggered off in the opposite direction.
Making sure her holster guards were unsnapped, Saeryn continued on. Before long, she caught sight of her destination through the teeming throng of beings, a few hundred meters farther down the alley. It was a small, musty cantina, indistinguishable from the other drab, tan buildings except for the crooked sign slapped hurriedly over the door that read "Pad 87." She kept walking until she was close enough to get a good view of everyone going in and out of the door, then she ducked into the entrance alcove of another building across the street and sank back into the shadows. For a long time, she just stood there, casually leaning against the wall while scanning the entire area.
The exercise served two purposes. One was to make sure that no one was following her or paying too much attention to what she was doing. The second was to make sure that no one else was watching the place. As far as she could tell, no one was watching her, and only customers were interested in the cantina. Of course, scoping a place out could only do so much, and was no guarantee of security. She would have to be ready for anything, at any time.
After a few more minutes of watching, Saeryn stepped out from the shadows of the alcove and headed across the street, keeping her pace measured and easy. As far as anyone else was concerned, she was just a woman who decided she could use a cool drink after a hot day's work. Quickly casting a glance over her shoulder to double check that no one was paying any particular interest in her, she stepped into the darkened main room of the cantina.
Pausing for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dim light, she surveyed the patrons. Most were humanoids, either gathered at the bar at the back of the main room, or seated at tables and booths scattered around. Smoke hung in a cloud near the ceiling, and brightly colored lights made it glow in strange hues. Some ear-wrenching version of one of the latest Jizz hits was playing loudly in the background. No one seemed to have noticed her arrival, and she wanted to keep it that way.
Her partner was not hard to find, and she made her way over to his booth, about halfway back along the right wall.
"Did that brukalli do something bad?" she asked casually.
Kaybin looked up as he vengefully stabbed another piece of his food with what passed for a fork. "Saeryn. 'Bout time."
Saeryn slid onto the bench across from him and rested her elbows on the table. "Come on, Kaybin," she said soothingly, "what happened?"
The Bothan looked up at her again, his brown fur rippling. "I'll tell you what happened, they lifted my wallet, that's what happened. Got the creds, the ID, everything."
She smiled. "That's it? Well, they didn't get much. You had, what, five credits in the wallet? And the ID was fake anyway."
Kaybin stabbed another piece of the brukalli as if he were afraid it was still alive. "It's not the fact that they got it, it's how they got it. I fell for the oldest trick in the book: the 'oops-I'm-terribly-sorry- sir' one. I mean, the guy had a klick's worth of free room."
She simply smiled again. "Yeah, well, it happens to all of us." She lowered her voice and leaned closer to him. "You see our friend yet?"
The Bothan nodded. "Behind and to your right, toward the back of the place."
She took a quick glance in the direction Kaybin had indicated. Sure enough, there he was, a diminutive, four-armed alien, sitting alone at one of the booths. His smooth green skin glistened with sweat in the dim light, which suggested he had been there a long time. In one of his right hands, he held a frothy drink of some sort, while with two more hands, he shuffled a deck of sabacc cards. In his mouth hung an expensive Corellian cigarra, longer than any of his own arms.
"He clean?" Saeryn asked her partner.
"He's alone, if that's what you mean," Kaybin replied. "He could be armed though."
She snorted. "Not likely; he couldn't lift anything bigger than a toy vibroblade with all four of his arms together. Come on, let's give him some company."
Quietly, the two slipped from their booth and headed across the establishment to stand in front of the alien.
"Hey, old buddy," piped Saeryn.
The alien jumped, spitting out his cigarra and spilling his drink all over the table. His squeal was high pitched and grating. "Aaaahhhh! Go 'way! I don't know nothin'! I don't know nobody! I don't even know what yer talkin' 'bout! And I sure don't owe you nothin'!"
He jumped up on the table and made as if to run for it, but Saeryn reached out and grabbed him by his two antennae, easily lifting him off the stone surface. Putting on his most fierce face, the creature lashed out with all four arms and both feet, but none of the blows even got close to the woman.
"Cool it, Chjivjeebs," she laughed softly, bringing him up to eye level. "Some one might get the idea that you're guilty of something."
Chjivjeebs stopped kicking, blinking his two big, black eyes. "I don't know what yer talkin' 'bout, but I ain't done nothin'!"
"I doubt that," she replied, "but regardless, we're not here to vape you." She gave him a solid shake. "Promise you won't run."
The little alien winced, but nodded as best as he could. "Yeah, sure." He rubbed his head as Saeryn set him down on the back seat. "Who're youse guys, anyhow?"
The other two slid in on either side of him, cutting off any easy route of escape.
"Come now, Jeebs," said Kaybin genially. "I've got twenty creds that say you know who we are, and what we're looking for."
Chjivjeebs snatched up the proffered credit chit and bit it. "I mayt know who yer are, but I ain't certain what youse two're lookin' fer."
Kaybin slid out another chit.
The other alien secreted it away. "Info, is it?" He hefted his cigarra and took a puff. "Fine, what'll it be?"
Saeryn leaned closer to him, lowering her voice but keeping the tone easy and casual. "We're the ones hired to smuggle out that load of guns that came in here a week ago. Problem is, a little something... unexpected... went down at the loading bay, and they disappeared. We need to know where they are."
Chjivjeebs scratched one of his antennae. "Guns, er, what guns?" He winked a bulbous eye at Kaybin.
The Bothan sighed and handed out another chit.
"Oh, yeah, those guns. I ain't certain, but I think Jabba the Hutt has hold of 'em o'er at his place. Lots of 'em, I heard say."
Saeryn raised a dark eyebrow and sat back. "Jabba? What's he doing with them?"
Chjivjeebs shrugged. "Howse I ter know? Him's got most everthin' 'round here!"
Kaybin didn't need another hint, but slid across a fourth chit, one worth fifty credits this time. "How can we get hold of him, Jeebs?"
"Er, docking bay 92. Talk ter some Garbag the Hutt er somat like that. Him's Jabba's contact. 'E'll get yer the guns."
Saeryn stood and nodded to Kaybin. "Thanks, Jeebs. As always, a pleasure doing business with you."
Chjivjeebs waved two hands at them as they left. "Bye-bye, youse guys. The pleesure's all mine!"
Saeryn snorted under her breath as she and Kaybin walked away. "I'm sure it is," she muttered.
Star Wars: Gunrunners
Blazing brighter than they had in a long time, the twin suns of Tatooine beat mercilessly down on the barren desert world. The great sand mounds of the Dune Sea shifted constantly, driven by the hot breeze that withered away everything green. Herds of huge banthas tromped their way among the dunes, seeking shelter from the suns. The oppressive heat settled over the Judland Wastes like a heavy blanket, smothering everything that was too weak to resist.
In the sprawling, haphazard settlement that was Mos Eisley, things were little better. Saeryn Farth had the misfortune of experiencing it first hand as she made her way through the streets. The warren of prefab shelters, alleys, cantinas, and vehicle parts shops that had sprung up around the local spaceport was not a pleasant place. Only the brave or the foolish dared to come here, and none but the unfortunate and those hiding from something or someone actually lived here.
Saeryn liked to think of herself as brave, but she hadn't come to Mos Eisley to prove it. She was here on business, the type of business that could only be carried out in a remote and innately dangerous place like this. Smuggling was nothing new on Tatooine, but Saeryn Farth didn't give the first impression of being the usual smuggler. Most smugglers were dirty and unkempt, hiding out in dark holes away from prying eyes. Most weren't human females either, but were instead men, or various cunning and crafty alien species. And then there was the fact that most smugglers weren't the daughters of Imperial Grand Moffs.
Saeryn Farth was tall and well built, still slender, but endowed with finely toned muscle. Her raven black hair was done up in a tight, business- like braid, and her ever shifting gray eyes sparkled in the light of the suns with tiny flecks of green. She wore a black pilot's jumpsuit, and strapped low about her hips were twin DX-97 blasters. Not surprisingly, the weapons were illegal on most civilized planets, but so were the holdout blasters she had concealed up each sleeve.
This wasn't her first job on Tatooine, but it felt like it was. It always felt like that. There was something about the desert world, about its generally low-life populace that set her on edge. Perhaps it was her Imperial upbringing that had instilled some sort of repugnance toward this sort of place deep inside her. She was used to it, but she would never like it, and she would never feel at home with it. The glittering towers of Coruscant and luscious green landscapes of planets like Naboo were more her element, but she had long since learned that a smuggler could never afford to be choosy when it came down to when and where a job went down.
Born on Bilbringi, Saeryn's early life had been closely structured in its ideals and its politics, but the lifestyle had been lavish. Her father, Aeryn Farth, was the Imperial Grand Moff of the Inner Rim Territories, and he had had access to nearly everything he had ever wanted. Which meant Saeryn, as his only child, had access to much the same thing. But although she had been brought up in the ways of the Galactic Empire and she called many of the Imperial ideals her own, she did not agree with all of them. She showed a rebellious streak early in life, finally leaving her home, her father, and a bright future in the Imperial Navy before she was twenty.
And so it was that, while Saeryn didn't exactly like places like Tatooine, she couldn't imagine not going to them every now and then. Her job called for it, and no matter how different her tastes were, she wouldn't give up the job for anything.
That thought helped to calm her a bit. She was nervous, but she didn't show it; her gait was more like that of a wary predator moving through dangerous territory than that of an anxious woman. She kept her guard up, constantly studying her surroundings, which required much attention indeed.
The street she was on was one of the busier thoroughfares in Mos Eisley, but it was not the widest, by far. The drab, tan stone walls that made up the unevenly spaced shelters, which in turned formed the sides of the alley, were little more than four meters apart. The scores of grubby stands and shops lined along them made it even narrower.
Hundreds of beings streamed by, their species ranging from Human to Hutt to ones Saeryn had never seen before. The dust their various forms of movement created was stifling, rising in clouds to pollute and contaminate everything it touched. And the noise was incredible, coming from the hundreds of voices and the tunes of off-note instruments from some of the many bars. A spattering of blaster fire could even be heard in the distance as well.
"Ichuta wanzi utuu?"
Saeryn stopped short, her way bared by an obviously inebriated being that had stumbled from a nearby bar to her right. It was a Rodian by the looks of it.
The creature smiled foolishly. "Ichuta wanzi utuu, sa?" it repeated.
"Get a life, creep," Saeryn growled. If it could not understand her words, at least it would understand the dangerous tone of her voice.
But apparently, its drink had clouded its ability to judge such things. The taller being stepped closer, apparently wanting money, but Saeryn dropped a hand to one of her blasters. Giving another smile, the Rodian shrugged carelessly and staggered off in the opposite direction.
Making sure her holster guards were unsnapped, Saeryn continued on. Before long, she caught sight of her destination through the teeming throng of beings, a few hundred meters farther down the alley. It was a small, musty cantina, indistinguishable from the other drab, tan buildings except for the crooked sign slapped hurriedly over the door that read "Pad 87." She kept walking until she was close enough to get a good view of everyone going in and out of the door, then she ducked into the entrance alcove of another building across the street and sank back into the shadows. For a long time, she just stood there, casually leaning against the wall while scanning the entire area.
The exercise served two purposes. One was to make sure that no one was following her or paying too much attention to what she was doing. The second was to make sure that no one else was watching the place. As far as she could tell, no one was watching her, and only customers were interested in the cantina. Of course, scoping a place out could only do so much, and was no guarantee of security. She would have to be ready for anything, at any time.
After a few more minutes of watching, Saeryn stepped out from the shadows of the alcove and headed across the street, keeping her pace measured and easy. As far as anyone else was concerned, she was just a woman who decided she could use a cool drink after a hot day's work. Quickly casting a glance over her shoulder to double check that no one was paying any particular interest in her, she stepped into the darkened main room of the cantina.
Pausing for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dim light, she surveyed the patrons. Most were humanoids, either gathered at the bar at the back of the main room, or seated at tables and booths scattered around. Smoke hung in a cloud near the ceiling, and brightly colored lights made it glow in strange hues. Some ear-wrenching version of one of the latest Jizz hits was playing loudly in the background. No one seemed to have noticed her arrival, and she wanted to keep it that way.
Her partner was not hard to find, and she made her way over to his booth, about halfway back along the right wall.
"Did that brukalli do something bad?" she asked casually.
Kaybin looked up as he vengefully stabbed another piece of his food with what passed for a fork. "Saeryn. 'Bout time."
Saeryn slid onto the bench across from him and rested her elbows on the table. "Come on, Kaybin," she said soothingly, "what happened?"
The Bothan looked up at her again, his brown fur rippling. "I'll tell you what happened, they lifted my wallet, that's what happened. Got the creds, the ID, everything."
She smiled. "That's it? Well, they didn't get much. You had, what, five credits in the wallet? And the ID was fake anyway."
Kaybin stabbed another piece of the brukalli as if he were afraid it was still alive. "It's not the fact that they got it, it's how they got it. I fell for the oldest trick in the book: the 'oops-I'm-terribly-sorry- sir' one. I mean, the guy had a klick's worth of free room."
She simply smiled again. "Yeah, well, it happens to all of us." She lowered her voice and leaned closer to him. "You see our friend yet?"
The Bothan nodded. "Behind and to your right, toward the back of the place."
She took a quick glance in the direction Kaybin had indicated. Sure enough, there he was, a diminutive, four-armed alien, sitting alone at one of the booths. His smooth green skin glistened with sweat in the dim light, which suggested he had been there a long time. In one of his right hands, he held a frothy drink of some sort, while with two more hands, he shuffled a deck of sabacc cards. In his mouth hung an expensive Corellian cigarra, longer than any of his own arms.
"He clean?" Saeryn asked her partner.
"He's alone, if that's what you mean," Kaybin replied. "He could be armed though."
She snorted. "Not likely; he couldn't lift anything bigger than a toy vibroblade with all four of his arms together. Come on, let's give him some company."
Quietly, the two slipped from their booth and headed across the establishment to stand in front of the alien.
"Hey, old buddy," piped Saeryn.
The alien jumped, spitting out his cigarra and spilling his drink all over the table. His squeal was high pitched and grating. "Aaaahhhh! Go 'way! I don't know nothin'! I don't know nobody! I don't even know what yer talkin' 'bout! And I sure don't owe you nothin'!"
He jumped up on the table and made as if to run for it, but Saeryn reached out and grabbed him by his two antennae, easily lifting him off the stone surface. Putting on his most fierce face, the creature lashed out with all four arms and both feet, but none of the blows even got close to the woman.
"Cool it, Chjivjeebs," she laughed softly, bringing him up to eye level. "Some one might get the idea that you're guilty of something."
Chjivjeebs stopped kicking, blinking his two big, black eyes. "I don't know what yer talkin' 'bout, but I ain't done nothin'!"
"I doubt that," she replied, "but regardless, we're not here to vape you." She gave him a solid shake. "Promise you won't run."
The little alien winced, but nodded as best as he could. "Yeah, sure." He rubbed his head as Saeryn set him down on the back seat. "Who're youse guys, anyhow?"
The other two slid in on either side of him, cutting off any easy route of escape.
"Come now, Jeebs," said Kaybin genially. "I've got twenty creds that say you know who we are, and what we're looking for."
Chjivjeebs snatched up the proffered credit chit and bit it. "I mayt know who yer are, but I ain't certain what youse two're lookin' fer."
Kaybin slid out another chit.
The other alien secreted it away. "Info, is it?" He hefted his cigarra and took a puff. "Fine, what'll it be?"
Saeryn leaned closer to him, lowering her voice but keeping the tone easy and casual. "We're the ones hired to smuggle out that load of guns that came in here a week ago. Problem is, a little something... unexpected... went down at the loading bay, and they disappeared. We need to know where they are."
Chjivjeebs scratched one of his antennae. "Guns, er, what guns?" He winked a bulbous eye at Kaybin.
The Bothan sighed and handed out another chit.
"Oh, yeah, those guns. I ain't certain, but I think Jabba the Hutt has hold of 'em o'er at his place. Lots of 'em, I heard say."
Saeryn raised a dark eyebrow and sat back. "Jabba? What's he doing with them?"
Chjivjeebs shrugged. "Howse I ter know? Him's got most everthin' 'round here!"
Kaybin didn't need another hint, but slid across a fourth chit, one worth fifty credits this time. "How can we get hold of him, Jeebs?"
"Er, docking bay 92. Talk ter some Garbag the Hutt er somat like that. Him's Jabba's contact. 'E'll get yer the guns."
Saeryn stood and nodded to Kaybin. "Thanks, Jeebs. As always, a pleasure doing business with you."
Chjivjeebs waved two hands at them as they left. "Bye-bye, youse guys. The pleesure's all mine!"
Saeryn snorted under her breath as she and Kaybin walked away. "I'm sure it is," she muttered.