SMUGGLER'S BLUES
"Rendar, Dash Rendar." "Sir," Dash replied. The officer behind the desk glared at the young trooper. "The commander will see you now," said the officer. Dash stood and walked through the sliding door. Dash was in his eighth month of training at the Imperial Academy at Caridia. He had been called to Commander Vectra's office almost an hour ago. This was usually a good sign. The last three times someone had gone into Vectra's office they had come out promoted and with an assignment to a stormtrooper squadron. Dash entered into a brightly-lit office. There was a desk in the center, backed by a window looking out onto the training field. The swivel chair was facing the window. The only other furniture was a hard durasteel chair about a foot in front of the desk. "Take a seat soldier," boomed a voice from behind the desk. Dash did so as the chair turned around, placing him face to face with his commanding officer. Vectra was a large man, both in height and width. The little hair he had was graying along his temples. A scar from some past battle highlighted his face. "Rendar," he said, "have you heard about yesterday's tragedy on Coruscant?" "Yes sir," replied Dash. "A freighter crashed into the Emperor's private museum." "That's correct," replied the commander, a grin on his face. "Tell me, cadet, what would you suggest done about this?" Rendar looked at Vectra, trying to understand what he was getting at. "Well, sir, I would think the pilot should have to pay for the damage to the museum." "Yes, that's what I thought to. Cadet, the freighter has been identified. It was a Correlian transport by the name of," he paused, "Sand Panther II." Dash looked in shock. "That name sound familiar to you, Cadet?" Vectra asked. Dash stared at the officer in shock. "You see, Cadet, your brother piloted your family's main transport directly into the Emperor's personal museum." Before Dash could speak, a door in the far corner of the room opened. Dashes eyes grew wide with fear as he recognized who stepped into the office. The man walked to Dash with purpose and, within seconds, Rendar was standing eye to eye with Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith. "L-Lord Vader," Rendar said, saluting. "It is an honor to meet you in per.." Dash was cut off as an invisible hand took a death grip on his throat. He fell to his knees in agony as his throat cartilage started snapping. "Your brother made a foolish mistake, Rendar," hissed Vader, his breathing echoing off the walls. "I'm trusting you not to make another one. You have exactly one hour to get your belongings and get off this planet. A transport is waiting for you at Platform 12. The pilot will fly you to Tatooine. From there," Vader hissed, "you're on your own." The pressure on Dash's neck disappeared and in seconds Dash could speak again. "T-Thank you, Lord Vader," was all he could manage before stumbling out of the office.
On board the Cargo Transport Reliant, Dash awoke. He checked his wrist chrono. Three thirty in the morning, he thought. What a day. He got to his feet and walked to the cockpit. "Pilot, when are we going to arrive at Tatooine?" The pilot's chair spun around and a burly Twi'lek glared at Rendar through reddened eyes. "Noon," he replied. "And if you wake me up before then, I'll give you a first class trip out the exhaust vent." Dash nodded and went back to his quarters, if they could be called that. Dash had spent the night sleeping on a crate containing who knows what, in a cargo bay that smelled like ronto droppings. He only hoped this Tatooine place was more preferable.
He hoped wrong. The pilot dropped him off in the middle of a God forsaken town called Mos Eisley. Dash grabbed his belongings, a duffel bag filled with clothes and a one hundred-credit chip, and leaped off. All right, he thought, no need to panic. I'll just find a comm unit and call home. Mom and Dad will send a transport. Dash walked to the nearest establishment, Chalmun's Cantina. He walked down the steps into the dark, smoke-filled cantina. The air was rough with the smell of t'bac. He scanned the room and saw a large assortment of aliens. A band of Bith musicians was playing in the corner, and a large man was behind the bar. "Sir," he said to the man. The bartender turned gave Dash a questioning glare. "I was wondering if you have a comm unit?" "Look hear kid," the man growled. "The last person who said "sir" to anyone in this place ended up as dewback feed." "Sorry," Dash said. "Do you have a comm?" The man shook his head. "Got shot out last week." "Thanks," was all Dash said as despair flooded through him.
Dash wandered through the streets of Mos Eisley. None of the establishments he had been to had an active comm unit. He passed beggars holding out cups and bowls to him. The midday sun was beating down on the small city. He nearly stumbled over a small device on the ground. Rendar looked down and saw that it was a portable holovid. Ah well, he thought, might as well see what's going on in the galaxy. He picked it up and switched it on. A large Mon Calamari sat behind a desk in an image generated by the device. "New information has just been released concerning the crash of a freighter into the Emperor's museum," said the Mon Calamari. Dash turned up the volume. "The freighter has been identified as the Sand Panther II, a Correlian freighter owned by the prestigious Rendar family. The Emperor has yet to comment on the tragedy, which involved the deaths of over fifty Imperial citizens, including the pilot, Trent Rendar. Trent's brother, Dash, has been released from the Imperial Academy on Caridia. We are still waiting..." The Mon Calamari pressed his finger to his listening orifice. "We are now taking you live to the Rendar estate." The holo changed to a picture of Dash's house. The camera started to shake as a transport passed overhead. The transport landed on Dash's front yard. Dash saw his mother and father move to the front porch of the estate. The hatch opened and a brigade of stormtroopers marched out. The lead trooper moved to the house and started talking to Dash's father. The trooper put binders on his mother. In a blur of motion, Dash's father pulled out a pistol and shot the trooper. He shoved his wife down and shot wildly into the brigade of troopers. The troopers shot back. A bolt caught his father square in the chest. He spun and fell to the ground, a puddle of blood forming around his body. "No!" Dash yelled. He wanted to turn away but couldn't. His mother was crying over his father's body. Two troopers moved in and dragged her, screaming, away. Dash smashed the unit to the ground in a fit of pure rage. He saw a stall across the street. He stormed across and glared at the owner, a small Ortolan. "What kind of weaponry do you have?" he snarled. The Ortolan looked nervously at him. "I ain't got no weapons," he whimpered. Dash held up a hundred-credit chip. "I said, what kind of weaponry do you have." The Ortolan looked at the chip. "This way," he whispered. Dash followed the blue alien into the building behind the stall. The cool air inside contrasted with the one hundred plus temperature outside, but it still felt that hot to Dash. The Ortolan led him into a well-lit room covered with weapons and combat supplies from wall to wall. "Take your pick," said the alien. Dash wandered the room for a few minutes. From the shelves, he grabbed a BlasTech DL-44 blaster, a TaggeCo. blaster rifle, and a blue jumpsuit with a brown shoulder pad and utility belt. "I'll take these," he said, still fuming. "That'll be four hundred fifty credits," said the alien. Dash gave him the hundred-credit chip. "I said four hundred fifty," the alien snarled. Dash pointed the blaster at him. "But," he whimpered, "a hundred's fine." Dash paid him and left.
A stormtrooper patrol marched around the corner of a Mos Eisley building. The first one fell victim to a bolt to the heart. The dozen others were down before they drew their weapons. Standing in front of the massacre, behind two smoking blasters, Dash Rendar smiled.
"Rendar, Dash Rendar." "Sir," Dash replied. The officer behind the desk glared at the young trooper. "The commander will see you now," said the officer. Dash stood and walked through the sliding door. Dash was in his eighth month of training at the Imperial Academy at Caridia. He had been called to Commander Vectra's office almost an hour ago. This was usually a good sign. The last three times someone had gone into Vectra's office they had come out promoted and with an assignment to a stormtrooper squadron. Dash entered into a brightly-lit office. There was a desk in the center, backed by a window looking out onto the training field. The swivel chair was facing the window. The only other furniture was a hard durasteel chair about a foot in front of the desk. "Take a seat soldier," boomed a voice from behind the desk. Dash did so as the chair turned around, placing him face to face with his commanding officer. Vectra was a large man, both in height and width. The little hair he had was graying along his temples. A scar from some past battle highlighted his face. "Rendar," he said, "have you heard about yesterday's tragedy on Coruscant?" "Yes sir," replied Dash. "A freighter crashed into the Emperor's private museum." "That's correct," replied the commander, a grin on his face. "Tell me, cadet, what would you suggest done about this?" Rendar looked at Vectra, trying to understand what he was getting at. "Well, sir, I would think the pilot should have to pay for the damage to the museum." "Yes, that's what I thought to. Cadet, the freighter has been identified. It was a Correlian transport by the name of," he paused, "Sand Panther II." Dash looked in shock. "That name sound familiar to you, Cadet?" Vectra asked. Dash stared at the officer in shock. "You see, Cadet, your brother piloted your family's main transport directly into the Emperor's personal museum." Before Dash could speak, a door in the far corner of the room opened. Dashes eyes grew wide with fear as he recognized who stepped into the office. The man walked to Dash with purpose and, within seconds, Rendar was standing eye to eye with Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith. "L-Lord Vader," Rendar said, saluting. "It is an honor to meet you in per.." Dash was cut off as an invisible hand took a death grip on his throat. He fell to his knees in agony as his throat cartilage started snapping. "Your brother made a foolish mistake, Rendar," hissed Vader, his breathing echoing off the walls. "I'm trusting you not to make another one. You have exactly one hour to get your belongings and get off this planet. A transport is waiting for you at Platform 12. The pilot will fly you to Tatooine. From there," Vader hissed, "you're on your own." The pressure on Dash's neck disappeared and in seconds Dash could speak again. "T-Thank you, Lord Vader," was all he could manage before stumbling out of the office.
On board the Cargo Transport Reliant, Dash awoke. He checked his wrist chrono. Three thirty in the morning, he thought. What a day. He got to his feet and walked to the cockpit. "Pilot, when are we going to arrive at Tatooine?" The pilot's chair spun around and a burly Twi'lek glared at Rendar through reddened eyes. "Noon," he replied. "And if you wake me up before then, I'll give you a first class trip out the exhaust vent." Dash nodded and went back to his quarters, if they could be called that. Dash had spent the night sleeping on a crate containing who knows what, in a cargo bay that smelled like ronto droppings. He only hoped this Tatooine place was more preferable.
He hoped wrong. The pilot dropped him off in the middle of a God forsaken town called Mos Eisley. Dash grabbed his belongings, a duffel bag filled with clothes and a one hundred-credit chip, and leaped off. All right, he thought, no need to panic. I'll just find a comm unit and call home. Mom and Dad will send a transport. Dash walked to the nearest establishment, Chalmun's Cantina. He walked down the steps into the dark, smoke-filled cantina. The air was rough with the smell of t'bac. He scanned the room and saw a large assortment of aliens. A band of Bith musicians was playing in the corner, and a large man was behind the bar. "Sir," he said to the man. The bartender turned gave Dash a questioning glare. "I was wondering if you have a comm unit?" "Look hear kid," the man growled. "The last person who said "sir" to anyone in this place ended up as dewback feed." "Sorry," Dash said. "Do you have a comm?" The man shook his head. "Got shot out last week." "Thanks," was all Dash said as despair flooded through him.
Dash wandered through the streets of Mos Eisley. None of the establishments he had been to had an active comm unit. He passed beggars holding out cups and bowls to him. The midday sun was beating down on the small city. He nearly stumbled over a small device on the ground. Rendar looked down and saw that it was a portable holovid. Ah well, he thought, might as well see what's going on in the galaxy. He picked it up and switched it on. A large Mon Calamari sat behind a desk in an image generated by the device. "New information has just been released concerning the crash of a freighter into the Emperor's museum," said the Mon Calamari. Dash turned up the volume. "The freighter has been identified as the Sand Panther II, a Correlian freighter owned by the prestigious Rendar family. The Emperor has yet to comment on the tragedy, which involved the deaths of over fifty Imperial citizens, including the pilot, Trent Rendar. Trent's brother, Dash, has been released from the Imperial Academy on Caridia. We are still waiting..." The Mon Calamari pressed his finger to his listening orifice. "We are now taking you live to the Rendar estate." The holo changed to a picture of Dash's house. The camera started to shake as a transport passed overhead. The transport landed on Dash's front yard. Dash saw his mother and father move to the front porch of the estate. The hatch opened and a brigade of stormtroopers marched out. The lead trooper moved to the house and started talking to Dash's father. The trooper put binders on his mother. In a blur of motion, Dash's father pulled out a pistol and shot the trooper. He shoved his wife down and shot wildly into the brigade of troopers. The troopers shot back. A bolt caught his father square in the chest. He spun and fell to the ground, a puddle of blood forming around his body. "No!" Dash yelled. He wanted to turn away but couldn't. His mother was crying over his father's body. Two troopers moved in and dragged her, screaming, away. Dash smashed the unit to the ground in a fit of pure rage. He saw a stall across the street. He stormed across and glared at the owner, a small Ortolan. "What kind of weaponry do you have?" he snarled. The Ortolan looked nervously at him. "I ain't got no weapons," he whimpered. Dash held up a hundred-credit chip. "I said, what kind of weaponry do you have." The Ortolan looked at the chip. "This way," he whispered. Dash followed the blue alien into the building behind the stall. The cool air inside contrasted with the one hundred plus temperature outside, but it still felt that hot to Dash. The Ortolan led him into a well-lit room covered with weapons and combat supplies from wall to wall. "Take your pick," said the alien. Dash wandered the room for a few minutes. From the shelves, he grabbed a BlasTech DL-44 blaster, a TaggeCo. blaster rifle, and a blue jumpsuit with a brown shoulder pad and utility belt. "I'll take these," he said, still fuming. "That'll be four hundred fifty credits," said the alien. Dash gave him the hundred-credit chip. "I said four hundred fifty," the alien snarled. Dash pointed the blaster at him. "But," he whimpered, "a hundred's fine." Dash paid him and left.
A stormtrooper patrol marched around the corner of a Mos Eisley building. The first one fell victim to a bolt to the heart. The dozen others were down before they drew their weapons. Standing in front of the massacre, behind two smoking blasters, Dash Rendar smiled.