3,655 BBY
2 YEARS BEFORE THE TREATY OF CORUSCANT
Benevolent Risk cruised through the blackness of space, shrouded in the shadows of the rusty-coloured rock, Ord Mantell. Far away, the system's sun, Bright Jewel, shone with a beautifully radiant light. Within the Risk, pilot and co-pilot sat in private thought, observing the bruised world plagued by civil war — and their cargo's final destination — through the ship's large viewports. Bend Carriggan, captain of the Benevolent Risk, an XS stock light, was uneasily shifting in his seat, obviously restless and bothered by inner anxiety, as he guided the Risk frombehind the ship's stiff controls. Most of the movements were automatic, controlled by the Risk's auto-pilotmainframe. The cause of their discontent was due to the daunting presence of a hulking Imperial starship floating above the war-torn planet — immobile, menacing, and unyielding.
"Incoming freighter, Blind Harlot. You're flying through a restricted Imperial military zone. This is Deck Officer Moomba. Please identify yourself and your cargo, or you will be sanctioned with travel violations," requested the voice of an Imperial officer through their open comm channel. He carried the distinct accent of a sentient from the Galactic Core. They hadn't bothered to check travel restrictions applied to the Bright Jewel system before take-off. They silently hoped such a foolish mistake would not be their insignificant last.
Seated behind the co-pilot's controls, and next to Carriggan, was Jekk Casol, his shaking hands hovering above a complicated switchboard, a hidden anxiety climbing up his own throat, and licking at a dumbstruck mind. Jekk knew that the Blind Harlot was an unceasingly solid mask around the Benevolent Risk's true identity. Carriggan had been kind enough to indulge on tales of a few of his riskier missions aboard the Risk during their final flight to the Mantell system. Every good smuggling ship needed it's assortment of complimentary fake ID's, but Imperial presence, especially a military blockade, was a crushing obstacle for a washed-up old smuggler and his rookie co-pilot ... and even such a strong and trusted alias.
When Carriggan had stepped into the dingy cantina in the lower levels of Coruscant, looking for a partner crazy enough to join him for his final shipment, Jekk Casol hadn't hesitated to procure his own "good" fake ID and jump aboard for the chance to swim across the galaxy. Jekk Casol desired more than ever to become a smuggler. But, the opportunity to tag along with a veteran was difficult to come by, so with an elaborately conceived and fraudulent biography, he became Makar Serund, expert smuggler-pilot and space combat adept. He even added that he'd trained for the Imperial Starfleet, but was booted out for lack of discipline and obedience — the smuggler heart. He had enough foresight to predict that no smuggling operation ever concluded without a hitch, but Jekk was a quick learner. Nevertheless, Imperial heat wasn't something either of them had bargained for, and the threat of capture wasn't anticipated. In truth, Jekk didn't even know the specifics regarding the cargo in their hold.
"I said identify yourself, Harlot," persisted Moomba. "Answer me. I'm only giving seconds to comply, citizen. I'll repeat. This is a restricted Imperial military zone. We do not fire warning shots."
"Er. Hey, Cap'n?" Jekk nudged. "We don't exactly got all day here."
Bend Carriggan surveyed his co-pilot through ageing eyes. Eyes that had no doubt witnessed many terrible atrocities in the past and paid them no heed with the promise of compensation. He was a confusing old man, with graying hair, blue cataract-filled pupils and a hardened face. He wore dull, gray pants, worn black boots and a dusty, red pilot jacket. Jekk pegged him for a miserable character, one who'd lost the thrill of his life many standard years ago. Stoic, the Risk's lifelong captainmotioned with his hand to proceed. Without hesitation, Jekk flipped a switch and the ship's comm channel opened to respond to the increasingly agitated Imperial officer.
"Sorry about that, Deck Officer Moomba," Carriggan said, with an ambidextrous apology. "We had a slight computer glitch. I actually meant to have that corrected during our last stop. This is Captain Nem Phoshii, independent merchant trader. Requesting permission to land on Ord Mantell for an urgent shipment of industrial machinery. How do you read?"
Static.
Carriggan rubbed his jaw with a work-worn hand, scratching at his five o'clock shadow. "Luckily, I rigged the Risk's travel manifest to display Raxus Prime as our last refuel." He rubbed at the back of neck as he thought about any possible exploit for the alias he hadn't remembered to carefully work out. Jekk didn't need to ask for enlightenment, as Carriggan added, "Raxus Prime exports most of the galaxy's prime construction equipment."
"Denied."
The punishing negation seemed to sting the air like a punctured canister of synox poison. With obvious annoyance, the officer scolded, "This is a restricted Imperial military zone. You and your employer should have done your research beforehand. To avoid any future mishaps, citizen, all public Starfleet deployments are tracked via HoloNet. Note your landing vector has been authorized for docking bay 75 aboard the Shadows Grand. Follow the co-ordinates on your nav computer immediately, Captain Phoshii. Moomba out."
Jekk cut the connection calmly, slapping the switch back, as he bit at his lip. "Smooth job, Cap'n Phoshii."
"Hey, I'm not paying you to make snarky comments, boy," Carriggan chided. "I'm paying you to press buttons. So, do your job. Pull up those co-ordinates."
"As you wish, Cap'n. Imperial prison barge it is."
Carriggan grumbled as the mainframe automatically powered up their forward thrusters and started their foreboding approach to imminent demise. Carriggan clenched his fists and grinded his teeth. Jekk grumbled in mock vexation. "Hey, can't we just swing around and fly the Hell out of here? It's not like we're in range of their tractor beam yet. Er, well, nevermind. Maybe I spoke too soon?"
Carriggan irritably clenched his fists tighter, powerless to control the Risk, as shebegan to tremble and shake in fright, almost as if she was pleading in vain for them to rebel. Jekk quietly imagined the faceless deck officer's sly smile as he observed their dot of a vessel, caught like a fly in his tractor beam, effectively cutting off any notion of an impulsive, desperate and last-minute escape attempt. It would be a wasted effort. They were trapped.
"Alright, alright — let's just stay calm," he insisted. "This ain't my first encounter with these suit-clad, protocol-sucking pricks. Hell, I've flown my ass through the Maw and back again. Once. This is nothing."
The trembling captain ran wrinkled fingers through his fading, grayed hair. "There's no possible way we can turn around," he said. Maw or no Maw, a barefaced edge of despair crept among his words. "But we can't go aboard that ship. Once they find out we're carrying illegal goods, they'll have us executed. And our jamming relay is gone. Those damned pirates that ambushed us in the Perave system blew it apart."
The gripping terror of the pirate ambush had burned itself permanently into Jekk's memory. The crisp, clean streams of lasers flying through space from an assortment of precisely organized starfighters, rotating around a central yacht, the shining metallic gleams giving away to sparks and spacefyre, the horrific lurching of the Risk as it threatened to explode, engulfing Carriggan and Casol in a fiery casket. But the Imperials didn't need a squadron of starfighters to slowly beat down upon the little freighter's shields, a single shot could pound the Risk into submission — and that was more frightening than a thousand pirate ambushes. And Jekk still couldn't believe they managed escaped the devastation of just one.
"Maybe if we hurried, we could toss whatever cargo will fit into the hidden compartments and dump the rest into space," Jekk offered weakly. Even to him, it sounded like a hollow shot. "It ain't much, but it's worth a try. They can't sanction what they can't prove, right?"
"They're part of the Empire, and they can sanction whatever they want, boy. Besides, we aren't just carrying a couple of modified circuits and your typical smuggling contraband back there in the hold, Serund." Carriggan said. "Think about it, there's a war being fought below."
"Wait a sec, you're running weaponry?" Jekk said incredulously. He just couldn't admire such blind stupidity. "In this goddamn hunk of junk? Do you usually get that lucky? Man, you must really need those credits. That, or you're just crackpot crazy."
"Everybody in the galaxy is looking for their little bit of cake, boy. This is how I make a living. I'm just trying to get by, it's a crazy galaxy," Carriggan preached, as a red light began to blink on the nav computer, signaling the recommended manual takeover for their landing in docking bay 75. He looked dangerously strained as he grabbed the controls. "If you don't like it, you're welcome to dump yourself into space. I won't stop you."
"Right. You know, I'm betting that'll be the only way I'll get to see any more of it."
Jekk could see Carriggan turn his hard sharply through his peripherals at his aggressive retort. But upon meeting the old spacer's eyes, he noticed that Carriggan wasn't staring in anger at his co-pilot; Carriggan was staring in awe through the Risk's starboard viewport. Jekk turned to glimpse out into the blackness of lonely stars and watched, awestruck himself, as a legion of Republic starships emerged like war heroes from hyperspace, and hundreds of small starfighters poured from their bellies to engage the Galactic Empire. Jekk shouted out in alarm, reflexively shielding himself from the flurry of approaching starfighters.
With a cry, Carriggan wrenched hard on the control yoke, tearing from the grip of the Imperial tractor beam and sending the Risk into a barrel roll, dodging the incoming laser blasts as they were caught in the crossfire. But the bulky freighter was no match for the speed and agility of the starfighters surrounding them, and caught a stray spray of laserfyre directed at the opposing Imperial starship's aft. Luckily, the Risk's illegally upgraded shield systems deflected most of the impact. The rest rocked the ship without mercy, like a bobbing cork hit by a powerful gust of wind, bringing upon them the converging thunderstorm of war.
The gigantic starship, Shadows Grand, responded swiftly and methodically, fighting off the little fighters like gnats in a midday Tatooine summer, using mounted cannons, proton torpedoes and laser turrets as they struggled to mount a counter-offensive. Starfighters began to cascade from the docking bays, some shot out of space before they were able to speed away from the hull. Soon, the blackness was altogether ablaze with green and red streams of energy, explosions and charred debris. The display reminded Jekk of a Corellian Victory Day fireworks show, except his lungs were caught in panic and fear instead of wonder. He couldn't help but imagine in amusement, the deck officer struggling to effectively order his lieutenants into counter-action.
Without physical warning, an emergency light began to blink upon the switchboard, and Jekk Casol managed to flip it as he wrenched his frozen eyes from the fury of the battle. A series of green lights began to flicker as the Risk's astromech droids were deployed to stoke fires and hold the ship together. Carriggan was sweating profusely, all his focus bent on surviving the ambush, as he twisted and pulled the control yoke into different hair-trigger manoeuvres, while Jekk called out various status updates and technical readings. Cursing, Carriggan strained the engines to maximum thrust and fled as quickly as possible towards the looming surface of Ord Mantell.
"Republic capital ship, Avenging Hand to fleeing freighter, Blind Harlot." The emergency comm channel frequency crackled under the strain of hundreds of communicating starfighter pilots in it's vicinity. "Is your crew alright?"
"Erm, affirmative, Hand," said Jekk shakily. "Just a bit battered. We're lucky you guys came when you did, those Imperials were giving us a bit of flak. Something about a restricted Imperial military zone and criminal sanctions drivel, yadda, yadda."
"Acknowledged, Harlot. Always glad to lend a hand. We're going to extend it a palm further, citizen. We're sending a convoy to escort you aboard. We suggest you tag along. This sector is going to get real ugly real quick."
"Uh, negative, Hand. We're expected for an urgent shipment on Ord Mantell. We've still got a couple moves left." Jekk directed a cautious eye at Carriggan, who was not-so-silently concentrating on flying a complicated, improvised pattern of weaves and dodges through the triangular blips on the cockpit's overhead targeting computer. He was cursing the outdated readout screen and every exploding starfighter's mother. "I think."
"Yeah, that's strongly ill-advised, Harlot," said the officer impatiently. "As you can see, Ord Mantell is not a vacation spot. We're just about to begin the —"
Carriggan cut the connection with the Republic starship, throwing a menacing look in it's direction through the viewports. "Imprisoned by the Empire, or imprisoned by the Republic? Take your pick, boy." He began to laugh bitterly, teeth still clenched in strenuous effort. The lurching and bobbing of the heavy freighter, struck by constant barrage of stray laserfyre, was more rapid and intense than any pirate ambush. The precision of the opposing factions was ultimately unmatched; the brutality of combat utterly unprecedented to any of the other skirmishes Jekk had experienced in the past. Suddenly, warning lights and alarms began to fill the cockpit, as the ship wailed in pain like a wounded wombat. Jekk watched in horror as, one by one, the Risk's astromech droids' status lights flickered and died, and cindered scrap metal casings floated dismally into the fray.
"Blast!" Jekk exclaimed. "We're losing shields! Starboard's begun taking direct hits!"
Carriggan grunted in exasperation and mounting frustration, as he pulled the ship out of a particularly difficult weave, crying out as a massive explosion rocked the Benevolent Risk's cramped quarters, activating another series of red lights and castigating alarms. "Carriggan! Dammit, we're losing cabin pressure; we've got leakages in all four fuel cells!"
"Calm down, boy!" Carriggan yelled back, slamming the autopilot switch. "It's over, dammit. We're going to have to jump. The Risk's gone. Now, get ahold of yourself. Let's go."
As the ship's strained stabilizers began to crash, and the ship fell into a violent keel that tugged Jekk's churning stomach along with it, Carriggan unclasped himself from his seat and stumbled out of the cockpit, using the bulkhead as a crutch. Jekk struggled to follow, unbuckling his own seat restraints and using his boots to kick himself up from the co-pilot's chair. With a wailing shriek, the ship jumped upwards suddenly and Jekk was thrown off-balance, crashing hard into the duraplast ground. His chest tightened. Forcing himself to breath, he half-crawled, half-limped through the cockpit. He could feel the anxiety and adrenaline pumping through his arms and legs, as he stumbled through the chaos of the dying ship. The smell of scorched metal, thick smoke and hissing wires filled the passageways. Reaching the cargo hold, Carriggan had climbed into the only undamaged escape pod, and extending a firefighter grip, pulled him along as the ship began to fall dead towards Ord Mantell's atmospheric tug.
Once inside, battered and gasping desperately for air, they slammed and pressure-locked the pod bay doors, and jettisoned.
With a hiss, the escape pod launched from the Risk's slackened hug, as it uncoupled from the ship's failing magnetic seal, falling away from the broken old girl. Through the rear viewport, they watched as the ship exploded behind them in a brilliant display of starship coolant, battery acid, and spacefyre. They caught their breath in reprieved silence for a long moment.
"Well, hey — at least the worst is behind us now, eh, Cap'n?" said Jekk confidently, gesturing with his hand.
Bend Carriggan smiled bitterly, cringing, as he massaged his aching knuckles, pulsing with arthritic misuse. "Trust me, boy, we're not out of this yet."
As if to add insult to injury, the pod began to jerk unpleasantly, disturbing their settled stomachs, as the rust of Ord Mantell reached out with a precarious hand to claim them, and they plummeted, along with the sad starfighter wreckage falling away from the raging battle, into the shadow of the planet's taunting, and miserably dark mocking embrace ...
