Angels of Fortune
This story came about from the minds of my best friend and I. All the characters were thought up by us and we wrote this together. I hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars and This story was Co written with a friend's help.
Prologue
4 years Before Battle of Yavin
Corellian Engineering Corporation Shipyard Module 55
Corellian system
Corellian sector
Galactic Core
A tiny blue and green drop in a sea of infinite black, the planet Corellia hovered in space.
Corellia was a beautiful world, rich with plains, forests, mountains, seas, islands, and jungles. Aside from the capital city, Coronet, Corellian settlements were mostly rural villages and farms, living simply, some might say primitively. Despite this, Corellia was indeed one of the industrial powerhouses in the Galaxy, producing thousands of weapons and starships every year. The reason Corellia the planet was so undeveloped was that Corellian production took place not on Corellia, but in the space surrounding it.
The hulking shipyards of the Corellian Engineering Corporation (CEC) loomed over the planet like an umbrella shielding a small child. CEC had long prided itself on producing mostly civilian vessels, leaving military contracts to stiffer, less innovative corporations such as Kuat Drive Yards (KDY) and Sienar Fleet Systems (SFS). That being said, the shipyards of Corellia had attracted much Imperial attention for their impressive production speeds and gift for making transports and corvette-sized capital ships. As a result, the shipyards surrounding Modules 43 through 68 were mostly dedicated to producing CR90 corvettes, DP20 gunships, and occasional battleships for the Imperial Navy. Thanks to local resistance movements and a Corellian tradition of isolationism, the Galactic Empire did not have a firm grip on the Corellia system, and as such, few Imperial vessels patrolled the areas around the shipyards. Instead, the Corellian Security Forces (CorSec) kept the peace through a combination of efficient police work and the use of massive Star Cruisers to protect the shipyards from pirate or terrorist activity.
Module 55 was an impressive space station, nestled in the heart of the shipyard complex. Like most other module stations, it was dedicated to providing living space for spacedock workers, as well as providing lodging, repairs, and entertainment for passing spacers, merchants, and potential CEC clients. These Corellian stations were popular among spacers for their limited Imperial activity and lax customs enforcement. However, this frequently came at a price, for as limited Imperial activity and lax customs enforcement could benefit legitimate aspects of society, it could also draw seedier elements. As such, dozens of stations such as Module 55 had become havens for more smugglers, pirates, and mercenaries than CorSec forces could handle.
Then there were theives…
It started, as most things do, with money.
Specifically, the ragged 50-credit bill that rested on the bar at Entertainment Sector 3, neatly covering the cost of a glass of Corellian brandy.
Raskol Varoos sorted through his drink cabinet, hoping to find a bottle of said brandy. Corellian brandy was extremely popular in this system, so popular that it was actually rather hard to come by. Nevertheless, he kept his cabinet stocked for his clients, as it was all they ever drank. After all, why drink on Corellia unless you wanted strong brandy? Beer was for the weak or those who didn't want to get seriously drunk, and if you wanted fine wine, you went to some wussy bar on Alderaan or some other "cultured" world. This cantina was where Real Men (and Real Women) of all species came to drink.
Presumably, the cloaked and hooded figure standing at the bar had wanted a Corellian brandy. Varoos wasn't completely sure: the figure hadn't said anything, just pulled out the money and slapped it down.
"Ah, here we are!" Varoos exclaimed, pulling out a vintage bottle and pouring out a glass's worth. He pushed the glass towards the figure. Without saying anything, the figure nodded its head in a sort of grateful gesture, took the drink, and strode off into a corner, not even asking for any change.
Grinning slightly and shaking his head, Varoos picked up the bill and slipped it into the cashbox. In his 27 years of tending bar, he had seen a lot of unusual things. He had served drinks to bounty hunters, mercenaries, unemployed bodyguards, slythmongers, Imperial stormtroopers, and one being he swore had been a Dark Jedi. Enigmatic people like the hooded figure came about naturally when you worked in cantinas. That didn't make them any less mysterious…or dangerous.
Preparing a brandy for another customer, a female human in her early 20s, Varoos reflected on the enigmatic figure. Its mysterious nature was bothering him. Was it male or female? Human or alien? Could it be a droid? No, droids didn't drink alcohol as far as he knew. Was it just a thirsty spacer, or some fringe element of society scheming something?
Briefly, Varoos considered the possibility that the figure could be an Imperial agent. He/she/it certainly had an almost militaristic gait and manner of formality. That was unlikely, though: if it was an undercover Imperial Intelligence or Imperial Security Bureau (ISB) agent, he or she would take care not to be noticed, and that cloak would certainly stand out people's minds. It definitely wasn't an open Imperial officer-Varoos had tended bar on an Imperial Star Destroyer 10 years ago, and every officer he had met (with the exception of his fellow Corellians) had been snooty and condescending, never failing to lord their authority over mere civilians.
Varoos shrugged. Whoever the cloaked figure was, it didn't matter. Spacers, criminals, bounty hunters; they all passed through this cantina. All that mattered was that they paid for their drinks.
As Raskol Varoos prepared drinks and collected money, the cloaked figure sat in an alcove, brandy in hand, and took a look around his surroundings.
As far as cantinas went, the dully-named Entertainment Sector 3 was fairly clean and drew a somewhat respectable clientele. That was to be expected: this was the Core, after all. Other than the lack of t'bac smoke, Twi'lek dancing girls, Bith muscicians, and drunken brawlers, it was no different than the dozens of other cantinas he had stepped into. Pleasant jizz music played in the background, gamblers played sabacc, merchants and mercenaries made business exchanges, spacers swapped stories, and everyone else just wanted to enjoy his, her, or its drink.
Behind his hood, the figure took a sip of his brandy. It was good brandy, all right. Definitely aged for at least five years, maybe more. It wasn't the greatest brandy he had ever drunk, but it would suffice.
The figure laid back his head and relaxed. Relaxation was a luxury he did not usually have, but now, he was alone with a glass of strong brandy. What else did one need for happiness?
Feeling the warmth of the brandy, the figure listened to the conversations around him. It was the usual chatter one could expect from cantinas. Two visibly tipsy bounty hunters, a Rodian and a Trandoshan, were bragging about how dangerous their last quarries had been. An armored Blood Carver, most likely an assassin, was having a polite debate about local politics with an Ugnaut. Two off-duty dockworkers, a Draag and a human, were discussing recent trends in Imperial Fleet movements in the Core. And in the distant corner…
"…are in position."
The figure stopped drinking and looked ahead. The present tense was not that common in cantina chatter. The past tense was for stories and the future tense was for jobs. This was most…intriguing.
Three beings were seated around a table in the corner. Three glasses of brandy sat in front of them. Normally, that wouldn't be too unusual. "Two Corellians are a conspiracy, three a fight." That was how that proverb describing Corellian closeness went.
However, as far as the figure could tell, none of the beings were Corellians.
The one who had just spoken was a male human, young and mildly nervous. His accent sounded vaguely like a Core accent, but life in the Middle and Outer Rims had given it a bit of a gruff edge. He wore a black jacket, and an E-11 blaster rifle, standard issue among the Imperial army and the Stormtrooper Corps, hung loosely in his hand. He wasn't planning to use it, but he certainly seemed prepared to if things went wrong. He clearly wasn't a common spacer-few spacers carried military-grade firearms-but he didn't exactly have the aura of a hardened mercenary or pirate.
His companions were even more suspicious. Neither of them were species that the cloaked figure could recognize, and that was saying something. The being directly across from the human was a male near-human, but was not like any near-human the cloaked figure had seen: he had dark blue skin, piercing red eyes, and jet-black hair. The near-human wore a yellow-orange jumpsuit and appeared to be unarmed, but the cloaked figure had spent enough time in the Outer Rim to see a concealed hold-out blaster when it was there.
The other being at the table was concealed by the shadows of the alcove and was invisible to most persons. However, the cloaked figure was…gifted and could easily make him out. The third being was a saurian species unlike anything the cloaked figure had seen. He-the figure assumed it was male-was completely naked, save for two bandoliers filled with pouches, revealing nothing but pure black scales covering the creature's body. The saurian was the size of a Wookiee and appeared to have two tongues protruding from his nostrils on his long and imposing snout. In his clawed hands, he gripped a GLX Firelance, a blaster rifle popular among bounty hunters for it's light weight and powerful stun setting.
The human spoke, addressing the saurian:
"Ixetal, I've instructed Lunchtray to start mugging spacers throughout this space station. Given his speed and violent nature, it will probably be an hour or so before the cops catch up to him. Back him up and bail him out if things get hairy."
"Sure," the saurian chirped in an almost singsong voice. That surprised the cloaked figure a bit. With that imposing size, he expected the saurian to have a somewhat lower voice.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" the near-human asked, his voice calm, collected, and showing no emotion. "Given Lunchtray's erratic behavior, how do we know he won't strangle the spacers and eat their corpses?"
"We don't know that," the human sighed. "Ixetal, I told Lunchtray not to slaughter anyone, but I don't completely trust him. Make sure no one winds up dead. I'd rather have to deal with witnesses instead of homicide charges."
"Leave it to me," the being called Ixetal whistled.
"Right, then," the human turned towards the near-human. "Brainiac, you know what to do, right?"
"Yes," the being called Brainiac stated, matter-of-factly.
"Very well then," the human breathed, anxiety in his voice. He raised his glass of brandy, slightly trembling, his companions doing the same. "May fortune favor us."
"May fortune favor us," his comrades repeated.
They drank their brandy in one quick, collective gulp, put down their glasses as one, and walked briskly out of the cantina, splitting up and heading to different locations.
The cloaked figure finished his brandy, simply put down his glass and walked out of the cantina, carefully following the one they called Brainiac. According to their conversation, Brainiac was going to be alone, making this following easier. Besides, he was barely armed.
Yes, things were indeed about to get interesting…
The cloaked figure wasn't the only one who noticed the threesome in the corner. From behind the bar, Raskol Varoos reached for his comlink.
He had been a bartender for many years, helping to staff cantinas on dozens of worlds. Rodia, Taris, Coruscant, Nar Kreeta, Atzerri, Nar Shaddaa-he'd been everywhere. And it seemed no matter where he went, he always ran into actions of questionable legality being planned in the same room as him.
Those three were clearly planning something illegal. Varoos hadn't heard their conversation, but he knew the signs: the mixture of confidence and anxiety, the hushed voices, the toast and ritual drink before the deed-it was regular as clockwork.
When you ran cantinas, you ran into criminals. It was essentially an unwritten law. Part of that law was that, as a bartender, you did not get involved. You were there to serve drinks, not fight crime. You cooperated with the police if they questioned you and you stood in court as a witness, but you did not take preventive measures unless someone's life or the cantina's future was at stake. That was how things were usually done.
Varoos, however, had met that blue-skinned near-human before. And after their meeting, Varoos had been 5,000 credits poorer.
"This is Raskol Varoos of Entertainment Sector 3," he urgently whispered into the comlink. "Please put me in contact with Corellian Security…"
"I'm hungry!" Krob Meekit bellowed for the third time in 10 minutes.
"I heard you the last two times!" snapped Ziki Paromp. "But we can't leave until the shuttle gets here.
Meekit groaned and whimpered a little. Paromp sighed. He was being a little too hard on him again. He needed to stop doing that. It wasn't culturally acceptable for Duros to be this impatient, especially with a friend.
Krob Meekit was a Guineo, and as far as Paromp had gathered in their last few weeks together, he was pretty typical for his species. Meekit was strong as a Wookiee, and was a nice guy whose heart was usually in the right place, but he had the IQ of something scraped off a shoe, frequently complained, and was incapable of making any decisions more complicated than: "Do I use my vibroblade to cut my meat, or gouge out my eyes?"
Normally a construction project of this gravity wouldn't allow someone like Meekit within three kilometers of the dock. But, he was strong and could lift things, so exceptions were made.
The two mechanics sat in the bay waiting for the shuttle. It had been 11 hours since arriving on the mostly-constructed ship and they were both looking forward to lunch.
They didn't have to wait for very long. A small shuttle-no hyperdrive, no weapons, and only enough room for four people-arrived and docked with the incomplete ship.
"You see?" Paromp pointed out. "We'll be back on Module 55 soon. We just have to talk to our replacement."
They waited for three minutes.
"Where's the replacement?" Meekit blurted out.
"I…dunno, actually," Paromp muttered. He had heard the shuttle door open and footsteps on durasteel. Where was their replacement?
"Down here!" a peppy voice from the floor piped up in clear Basic.
Paromp looked down to see a small Sullustan, maybe only one meter tall, looking up at him.
"Aren't you a little short for a Sullustan?" Paromp asked condescendingly, instantly regretting it. Once again, he really had to learn how to control that tongue of his.
Much to his relief, however, the Sullustan merely let out a good-natured chuckle. "I am. That's why everyone calls me Shorty."
"A pleasure to meet you, Shorty," Paromp gestured to himself and Meekit. "I'm Ziki Paromp, junior engineer, and this is my partner, Krob Meekit."
"Always nice to meet a pair of fellow professionals," Shorty said amicably, clasping his hands together. "What's the situation on this ship?"
"Ah, yes," Paromp quickly recalled his last few hours of labor. "50% of the weapon emplacements are fully armed and operational, the sensors and communication arrays are set in place, the sublight drive have been installed, and unless the Imps are planning to use her in large-scale battles, she's got more than enough shields and armor to function. All she's missing is the hyperdrive. Did you bring that?"
"No," Shorty's lips curled slightly. "I was told that the hyperdrive was here, but needed proper installation."
"That can't be," Paromp scratched his head. "I'm sure we would have come across it…"
"Um, 'hyperdrive?'" Meekit spoke up. "Are you referring to the blue crystal thingy that was hanging in the engine room?"
Paromp blinked in surprise. Meekit noticing something his own trained eyes couldn't? He definitely needed a break.
Detecting Paromp's disappointment, Shorty spoke up, "According to the schematics I was given, it's apparently a new prototype." His eyes widened. "Apparently, it's a Class 0.5, faster than anything the Imps currently use."
If Paromp had been a Human, he would have raised his eyebrows in intrigue. 0.5 was certainly faster than any military-grade vessel on which he had ever worked. The more he worked on this ship, the more exotic it became. Now, with news of this prototype hyperdrive, it made sense that he had gone through three months of background checks before being allowed to work on it. Whatever the Imperial Navy had in mind for this ship, it was special.
"Very well," Paromp collected himself. "I leave the ship in your capable hands, Mr. Shorty."
"Actually, I need some help," Shorty pointed at Meekit. "Specifically, his strength. I've got a heavy crate full of parts that needs transportation to the engine room."
"Got it," Meekit rumbled, grabbing the large green crate the Sullustan gestured towards.
About 10 minutes later, during which Paromp explained some of the engineering behind the ship, Meekit fumbled with the crate, and Shorty nervously swore in Sullustese and kept telling Meekit not to drop the crate, Meekit lowered the crate on the durasteel floor with a thud.
"Thank you, good sirs," Shorty bowed in thanks. "I'll take it from here. I hear the restaurant in Entertainment Sector 7 is to die for. Have a nice break."
"Good-bye, Shorty," Paromp turned to Meekit and gestured towards the shuttle. "Let's get the hell out of here, Krob."
With a mumble of agreement, Meekit lumbered onto the shuttle with Paromp, and two minutes later, the shuttle left the docking bay. Now, Shorty was completely alone on the ship.
The first thing he did was immediately head back to the engine room and open up the crate. He had been honest with the engineers when he told them the crate was heavy.
He hadn't mentioned that that was because there was a person inside.
Releasing the electronic lock on the crate, Shorty removed the lid, allowing a diminutive Gossam to clamber out. As soon as she had adjusted herself on the floor of the engine room, she turned towards Shorty and began swearing at him in her native tongue.
Shorty sighed. "Look, I'm sorry, Dancer. I honestly thought the clearance and flight would only take 50 minutes, not two hours."
Dancer drew herself up to full height (which, considering that she was barely taller than Shorty, wasn't that intimidating), and began pointedly asking him something in Gossam. Dancer spoke no Basic, but she understood it perfectly well. Similarly, Shorty barely understood Gossam, but their last month together had taught him to understand what she generally meant whenever she addressed him. He was planning to teach her Basic one of these days.
"No," Shorty clarified. "We couldn't have you disguised as an engineer. No offense, but your kind usually travel the galaxy as merchants or pirates. People would have gotten suspicious, they would have asked questions, and we'd have to deal with CorSec. Putting you in the box was much easier."
Dancer croaked in annoyance.
"Look," Shorty cried out in exasperation. "This wasn't my idea. If you have a problem with this kind of plan, bring it up with Brainiac!"
Dancer trilled something inaudible, but Shorty was sure he could make out Brainiac's name and the Gossam morphemes for "mother" and "toilet."
Shorty sighed again. He couldn't blame Dancer for being bitter. Not only was she the newest member of the crew, but she also tended to get the least respect because she couldn't speak Basic.
What the rest of the crew didn't know, which Shorty had gleamed from "conversations" with her, was that Dancer couldn't speak Basic because she had never received an education.
Her parents had been servants, toiling on behalf of Commerce Guild bigwigs on Felucia. They had worked hard and tirelessly, making money and saving it in order to pull their whole family out of poverty.
At least, they had, until a Republic assault on the planet during the Clone War had robbed them of their lives.
Shorty shivered upon reflection. He had been only been 11 years old when the Clone War had ended, but the stories he had heard from his parents and the images he saw in the media had plagued many of his nightmares. The war had been an atrocity, plain and simple. For three years, the Galactic Republic and the Confederacy of Independent Systems (CIS) had both massacred tens of millions of civilians and left dozens of worlds burning. The worst part of the whole travesty, however, had been the ascension of Emperor Palpatine, leading to the formation of the Empire and the doctrine of Human High Culture.
As a non-human, Shorty already fell on the wrong side of sentient life, as far as the Empire was concerned. However, as a female non-human, Dancer was even worse off. Not only did xenophobia and sexism shape most of her everyday life, but also the galaxy at large considered her to be stupid and primitive due to her lack of Basic fluency. In truth, she was actually extremely intelligent and somewhat charming when you got to know her. She had to be-otherwise, she wouldn't have lasted so long as a pickpocket.
Just thinking about the Empire's barbaric treatment of non-humans and females made Shorty's blood boil. However, there was a time and place for everything…
"Alright," Shorty banished his broodings from his thoughts. "Let's check out the bridge of this thing."
Using a small maintenance shaft, Shorty and Dancer climbed to the upper deck of the ship. There was a turbolift, but the ship's main reactor was offline, meaning there was limited power and functions on board.
As they were approaching the bridge, Dancer trilled out a query to Shorty.
"This ship?" Shorty did his best to answer. "According to the schematics I filched, she's a FB10 cruiser, the first of her kind. Goes about 140 meters from bow to stern. Hasn't been named yet, as far as I can tell. The parts use to build her are pretty unique. Each of the four engines carries more sublight power than any civilian transport I've ever seen and the hyperdrive is an experimental model. There's also quite a bit of hangar space in the lower level."
Dancer asked something else, this time accompanying her question with a credible impersonation of turbolaser fire.
Shorty stifled a grin at the impressive sound effects. "Capital ship? Nah, troop transport if you ask me. The upper deck seems to be reserved for military-grade bunks and I saw a speeder bike garage in the lower deck. The hangars look like they're meant to accommodate even the largest troop shuttles. That should make our escape nice and simple," he added, tightly smiling.
Opening the door to the bridge, Shorty strode to the main computer station on the side. The bridge-it was more of a cockpit, really-had four seats, presumably for the pilot, co-pilot, captain, and navigation officer. An engineering station was just outside, located in the alcove of a small corridor. The main computer could be accessed from the pilot's station, but a much more detailed interface was possible on the side monitor next to the navigator's seat.
The main computer was protected by two passwords that, presumably, only the captain and navigator were supposed to know. However, this was not a problem for someone in Shorty's line of work.
Slipping a computer spike out of his pocket, Shorty activated the main computer. Plugging in the computer spike, his hand trembling, Shorty mumbled a short prayer to the gods. If this security system was more secure than he anticipated…
There was no problem. The security mainframe was overloaded with garbage data, giving Shorty complete access to all the ship's technical readouts.
"Good," Shorty murmured. "It appears those engineers were right. This ship is fairly spaceworthy. Looks like the Imps were picking her up in five days. All that needs to be put into place are the hyperdrive and some of the secondary weaponry ammo. Also, we'll need fuel." Shorty typed in several commands into the main interface.
"Pure Sabacc," he said, partially to Dancer, but partially to reassure himself. "We're fueling up as we speak and the corporate shift beacon is down. That means no one will come in to distract us while we work. As far as CEC is concerned, this ship's construction has been temporarily delayed."
In Shorty's experience, corporate security systems were always this pathetically predictable, regardless who utilized them. CEC, KDY, Sienar, Incom, Gallofree, SoroSuub…
Shorty's eye involuntarily twitched in frustration as his broodings returned to his mind. On his homeworld, Sullust, SoroSuub Corporation employed nearly half the entire population. Shorty's parents were SoroSuub employees and he himself had trained at the SoroSuub Business Academy in preparation for a career in engineering. Normally, there would nothing to be ashamed of to be part of such a large and impressive company, but in recent years, SoroSuub had been cozying up to Imperial authorities, acting as an accessory to the institutionalized slavery, genocide, mass pollution, and deprivation of basic rights that Empire committed on a regular basis.
It was for this reason that Shorty had defected from corporate service and joined a pirate gang.
Shorty felt a pang of painful nostalgia. For over two years, he had fixed engines and repaired weapons for the Celestial Marauders as they tore around the Brema sector, stealing the assets of spineless corporate rats, giving half the loot to the poor and downtrodden, liberating slaves transported by the Empire, and disrupting the movements of local Imperial squadrons. It wasn't exactly tearing apart the machinery of the Empire, but it felt right.
Times had been good for the Celestial Marauders, but then the Brema sector group had called for outside help and the full force of the Imperial Navy was brought down on their merry little band. For four months, zealous naval officers had systematically hunted down every Marauder they could, publicly executed their leader, Captain Rhod, and shipped the survivors off to Despayre, where they were never heard from again. Shorty himself had just barely escaped an Imperial ambush, taking refuge at a fringe mercenary hideout at Ord Ibanna. He was now a wanted being in 15 systems, and was certain there was probably a representative from the Bounty Hunter's Guild who was interested in the 10,000-credit bounty on his head.
Of course, since none of the authorities in the galaxy knew his real name, that wasn't really a problem.
Shorty slept well at nights, conscious that he was in the right and unafraid of getting caught. Still, one persistent little thought occasionally dogged him on those long nights in hyperspace:
Could we have done more?
The Celestial Marauders had certainly stung the Empire more than most pirate bands ever could, and had been motivated less by money and more by ideals. Nevertheless, there were others out there who had resisted the Empire's tyranny with more passion these past 15 years. Queen Apailana of Naboo and the Geonosian warlord Gizor Dellso had each put up quite a fight, until they were both brutally suppressed and annihilated by the 501st Stormtrooper Legion. The Wookiees of Kashyyyk and the Mandalorian Militia had never really surrendered and were still engaging the Empire in guerrilla warfare on their home turfs.
Most notable of all were the dozens of bands of rebels-"terrorists," according to the media-that were scattered across the Galaxy. If rumor was to be believed, one of these terrorist factions was under the command of the legendary Jedi General Rahm Kota, who had come out of retirement and was launching a crusade against military targets across the Empire.
On their own, none of these terrorists stood a ghost of a chance against the Empire. But if they were somehow to unite…
Shorty shook his head. That would just lead to more war, more death, and more resentment. The Empire was terrible, yes, but Shorty wasn't sure if the Galaxy could take another round of the Clone Wars.
Shorty smiled. Well, at least he and Dancer would be striking a blow against the Empire today.
"Right then," Shorty turned to face Dancer, slipping on a pair of mechanic's gloves. "Let's see what we can make of this fancy new hyperdrive…"
Deep in the bowels of Module 55, a pursuit was in progress, although the pursued party was unaware of the fact.
The blue-skinned humanoid known as Brainiac calmly walked through the maze of corridors, the cloaked figure from the cantina following him. Oddly enough, despite Brainiac's unique appearance and bright clothing, no one seemed to notice him or give him a second thought. Because he behaved like an ordinary spacer, people seemed to assume that he was an ordinary spacer.
After about 15 minutes of moving deeper into the station, the cloaked figure noticed that Brainiac's gait was changing. Before, he had walked casually, his arms swinging like a man just taking a walk. Now, his pace resembled that of a quick stride, not unlike that of a stern Imperial officer. His arms were behind his back, his hands clenched into fists.
Brainiac stopped in front of what appeared to be a security checkpoint. A corporate security guard, a young male human, stood at a terminal, logging in his shift records. Behind the guard stood an imposing durasteel door with "Security Station 5" painted on in large black letters. The cloaked figure ducked in a nearby shadow, avoiding detection of both the guard and a security camera overhead.
Hearing the sound of footsteps, the guard looked up, spotting Brainiac as he walked up to the door.
"Let's see some authorization," the guard intoned, his authoritative and somewhat bored tone sounding more droid than human.
"You don't need to see my authorization," Brainiac calmly replied, a small grin creeping onto his face.
The guard didn't even blink. "Yes, I do. Corporate policy. Either show me some identification, or I call CorSec."
"Very well," Brainiac huffed, the grin vanishing off his face. He turned to leave, pulled a datapad and a writing stylus off his belt, and began speaking to himself while writing something:
"Note: security on Levels 2 through 8 should be downsized. Guards are unnecessary due to inaccessibility of security rooms." Looking back at the guard, he added, "Guards also seem to be unaware of the identity of the new security foreman and fail to grasp the concept of 'inspection.'"
A look of panic immediately leapt onto the guard's face. He immediately pressed a button on the terminal, causing the security camera above to shut down.
"S-s-s-security foreman?" he gasped. Looking around nervously to see if there were any witnesses, he left his terminal and walked up to Brainiac.
"Please, sir, I'm sorry! I'm new here and they don't tell me everything. Please don't fire me, my wife is pregnant!" He was practically begging.
Brainiac looked up from his datapad and cocked an eyebrow. "I guess I can let it slide. Just this once, though."
"O-o-of course, sir!" the guard responded, relief washing onto his face. "You can go in."
"Very good," Brainiac replied. "For your sake, I recommend you delete the security footage of this encounter."
"Y-yes, sir! This never happened." The guard returned to his post and punched in a security code, opening up the door.
Without another word, Brainiac strode into a small corridor leading to the security station.
Before the guard could close the door, there was a thump, and the guard slumped to the floor, unconscious. When the guard woke up an hour later and was questioned by CorSec, he recalled that he never saw who-or what-hit him.
Leaving the hapless and unconscious guard on the floor, the cloaked figure followed Brainiac into the heart of the security station.
The security room itself was relatively small, consisting of a wall of monitors and several computer terminals. A pair of human guards were seating at the terminals, processing data and occasionally saying things into comlinks, giving updates on minor security breaches.
Brainiac approached one of the guards. The guard stood up and faced him, but before he could say anything, Brainiac stabbed the man in the shoulder with his writing stylus.
The man collapsed, looking woozy. Before his companion could react, Brainiac stabbed her in the back with what the cloaked figured now recognized as a fear stick, an ingenious Sabrashi self-defense weapon disguised as a stylus that delivered a fast-acting, but non-lethal, poison.
Completely alone in the room (as far as he was aware), Brainiac pulled out a comlink and dialed up a number while he scanned the monitors in the room.
"Ixetal, this is Brainiac," he spoke into the comlink. "I've located Lunchtray. He's heading down corridor Gamma-5A. That's where your ships are parked, right?"
"Yes, it is," the saurian's vaguely singsong voice responded over the comlink. "I'll take care of him. Worry about your own assignment."
Without answering, Brainiac pocketed his comlink, pulled out a computer spike, inserted it into a computer jack, and began fiddling with several input terminals.
From the shadows, the cloaked figure watched with interest. From what he could tell from the monitors, it looked like Brainiac was spreading some kind of program to the entire security network. Images of laser and missile defense satellites, common for defense of shipyards, flashed across the screens. Brainiac typed in a few commands and an image of a construction droid, flashing red, appeared on one of the screen with the word target flashing beneath it.
Brainiac pulled out his comlink, activated it, and began speaking:
"This is Brainiac, the security cameras on the station are down and the data is being erased. I've also rigged the automated shipyard security as we planned and our ships should have clearance to leave the station."
The cloaked figure was puzzled by this development. What in the Empire was Braniac doi-
Ah! Of course! The security system in these modules controlled the satellites outside and allowed them to identify threats. If the satellites began considering the construction droids, which were everywhere in the shipyards, including onboard incomplete vessels, as hostile units, the entire shipyard would erupt into an orgy of destruction and chaos.
And while that was going on, it would be easy to do something illegal…
"Interesting," the figure murmured, not realizing how loud his voice was.
It was loud. Brainiac spun around, his glowing red eyes wide with shock, hold-out blaster in hand. "Who's there?" he asked. Spotting the figure, he lowered his gun and fired.
The blaster shot hit the figure in the knee. He stumbled back a bit, caught off guard by near-human's reaction.
Not waiting for the figure's response, Brainiac rushed past him, exiting the security room and shooting the guard station's terminal outside. The durasteel door slammed shut, essentially trapping the figure in the security room.
Approaching the door, the figure sighed. This was going to be one of those days…
Brainiac was already sprinting down the corridor the moment the door shut behind him. However, upon hearing mechanical groaning that sounded like a durasteel door being ripped apart, he somehow found it in himself to run even faster.
Concealing his blaster, Brainiac pulled his comlink and dialed up his comrades.
"This is Brainiac," he urgently breathed into the comlink as he ran. "The mission's been compromised, we have to speed things up."
"Kriff!" a human voice on the other end swore. "What happened?"
"I don't know," Brainiac responded. "I think there's a local bounty hunter on my tail."
"A bounty hunter?" the voice asked. "Brainiac, I thought you weren't wanted in this system."
"Yeah…" Brainiac gritted his teeth. He was hoping this wouldn't come up. "Er, the thing is I-"
"STOP RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE!"
The booming voice had come from one of five humans standing in front of Brainiac. All five wore CorSec uniforms and were armed to the teeth with CDEF blaster carbines except for the one in the middle, who carried a CDEF blaster pistol. All five weapons were pointed straight at Brainiac's chest. Brainiac immediately froze, put his comlink on the floor, and slowly raised his hands.
"There a problem, officer?" he asked innocently, his accent resembling something one would find in the Mid or Outer Rim.
The middle human raised what appeared to be a holographic badge coming out of a projector. "Inspector," he corrected, his voice calm, but stern. "And yes, there is a problem. To be exact, your presence on this station, Blue Ponzo."
"Blue Ponzo?" Brainiac's eyes narrowed and his voice took on a loud and angry tone. "Merely because my kind has blue skin, you assume we all look alike and you accuse me of bein' a criminal? That's just typical of chauvinistic Core hum-"
Before Brainiac could finish his rant, the inspector pulled out a wanted poster. The security image of the subject was grainy, but it was easy to make out Brainiac's various facial features.
"Please don't pull this stunt with us," the inspector pointedly stated. "You're on the Empire's Most Wanted list, you're wanted in 36 systems-and you have a death sentence in this one."
That was too much for Brainiac. Giving up the charade of an innocent spacer, his voice revealed his shock. "Death? That's ridiculous, it was only money! No one got hurt!"
The inspector shot him a somewhat icy glare. "Your little stunt here resulted in eight banks and five insurance companies collapsing-not to mention millions of people losing their jobs or homes. Swindling of that magnitude carries a death sentence on Corellia. Half the system wants you to face the hangman, but I don't. I don't condone capital punishment for white-collar crimes, but that doesn't change the fact you are not getting away."
Brainiac sighed. So much for an easy getaway…
"Blue Ponzo," the inspector recited, "You are under arrest for starship theft, smuggling, fraud, forgery, bank robbery, and swindling. You have the right to remain silent, you have the right to an attorney-"
The inspector was cut off by his comlink beeping. He picked it up and activated it.
"This is Inspector Horn, what's the situation?"
"Hal, we got huge trouble!" a panicked voice on the other end shouted, "We have a major security breach in Hanger Bay Gamma. We have two violent suspects who aren't coming quietly!"
"Calm down," Inspector Horn ordered into the comlink, "Now, explain what's going on."
"Yes, sir," a somewhat calmer voice responded, "The first suspect is a male Clantaani who's allegedly been robbing several spacers across the station. We've identified him as Keith Delehanty, a convicted felon and known gangster who was placed on the Empire's Most Wanted list last year. Delehanty is wanted in 51 systems and has death sentences in seven for crimes ranging from jaywalking to premeditated murder. He's currently armed, and is being assisted by the second suspect, a male saurian of unknown species who is armed and dangerous. We need backup as soon as possible."
"Got it," Horn replied, deactivating his comlink and pocketing it.
"You four," Horn ordered, addressing his heavily armed companions. "Head down to the lower level and back up the squad. I'll bring the swindling suspect in."
The four officers left, leaving Horn and Brainiac alone.
Brainiac didn't show resistance as Horn cuffed his hands behind his back with a pair of binders, but spoke up when Horn put a hand on his shoulder:
"You said I could consult my attorney. Can I consult him now?"
"No," Horn said. "You'll have to wait until we're at the precinct."
"That'll take too long, I need to speak with him n-OBJECTION!"
Upon suddenly shouting, Brainiac grabbed his hold-out blaster, kicked the inspector in the shin, spun around, hands still cuffed, and shot the ceiling lights, bathing the corridor in darkness.
Staggering to his feet, Inspector Horn drew his blaster. This son-of-a-Kath-hound wasn't getting away on his watch…
Something knocked into Horn, causing him to fall down. It felt stronger than Blue Ponzo.
By the time emergency lighting activated in the corridor, it was too late. Blue Ponzo, the binders, the wanted poster, and the con artist's comlink were all gone.
Stifling a curse, Horn pulled his own comlink out and dialed up the captain of the module's security.
"This is Inspector Hal Horn of Corellian Security. Put this station on lockdown, now. We've got several major disturbances and at least two individuals on the Empire's Most Wanted list on this station. We can't let them escape."
"We can't do that, Inspector," the strained voice of the captain replied. "In case you haven't noticed, we've had to scramble our defense fighters to disable the malfunctioning satellites."
"Malfunctioning satellites?" Horn frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Look out the window, if you can."
Sure enough, there was a transparisteel viewport nearby, allowing Horn to look outside.
Outside was anarchy. Dozens of small capital ships undergoing construction had been obliterated by missile defense satellites and the remains of hundreds of floating construction droids hovered in space, freshly blasted by laser satellites. Several bulk cruisers were now coming around and were blasting the satellites, but the shields on the satellites were holding out.
Horn stared at the chaos in horror. "What's going on with the system?
"We're not sure. The whole system just went haywire less than 15 minutes ago. Plus, three of my security guards haven't checked in. I'm telling you, this whole module is going to entropy in a turbolift!"
Horn closed his eyes and reached out with his feelings. It had been a while since he tried this, but hopefully, he could still sense what was coming…
An image of a small corvette leaping into hyperspace came into his mind.
"Captain," Horn said slowly and as calmly as he could. "I've got a bad feeling about this. I can't believe I'm saying this, but we need to contact the Imperial Navy…"
Stumbling back, blood pouring from a wound on his head, a Corellian Security officer reached for his sidearm. Before he could aim properly, a well-placed blast of blue light pierced his abdomen and he fell to the ground, stunned.
Ixetal lowered his Firelance and inspected the unconscious man's prone form. "He's alive," he hummed. "His helmet absorbed most of the kinetic trauma. He'd be dead if it weren't for the helmet."
He twirled to face the Clantaani on his left and glared at him. "You idiot!" he hissed. "Mr. Lucky told us not to kill anybody. What part of 'don't kill anybody' don't you understand? The don't, the kill, or the anybody part?"
The Clantaani didn't respond, only breathing heavily, a hint of bloodlust in his eyes and a blood-spattered plastic tray hanging in his hand.
Ixetal didn't know very much about the various species of this galaxy. However, based on what he had heard from secondhand sources, Clantaani were a species that had little respect for any kind of rules and broke the law at any given opportunity.
Keith Delehanty, known in the criminal underworld as "Lunchtray," seemed to do everything in his power to enforce that stereotype at every opportunity.
Ixetal was an exceptional thief. As a result, he had never had to see the inside of a prison, local or Imperial. What he did know was that prisons were places where only the most powerful or savage could hope to thrive for long periods of time. As someone who had survived over a dozen prisons, sometimes beating a few guards or other inmates to death or near-death with his namesake weapon before escaping, Lunchtray's demeanor proved this maxim.
"Let's go!" Ixetal snapped. "Reinforcements will be here shortly!"
"Okay, let's roll!" Lunchtray responded, collecting what little composure he ever had.
The two thieves fled into the nearby hangar. Their starfighters were a pair of CloakShape fighters, outdated ships that were popular among smugglers and pirates for their resilient hulls and adaptability to modification. These fighters had been extensively (and illegally) modified, though one couldn't tell from first glance.
Ixetal and Lunchtray got into their fighters, powered them up, and lifted them into the air. Just then, CorSec reinforcements charged in, blasters blazing. With bolts bouncing harmlessly off the starfighters' armor, the two CloakShapes activated their sublight drives and zoomed into the black expanse of space.
As the grey mass of Module 55 disappeared behind them, Ixetal let out a snort of relief. Looks like Brainiac got the shipyard security defenses down. Let's hope Shorty and Dancer successfully infiltrated the target, or this flight will end really fast.
On the boarding ramp of a Lambda-class T4-a shuttle, the black jacket-clad human spacer lowered his comlink and turned to his two associates, a figure clad in red Mandolorian armor and a sea-green Mon Calamari, both female. "I just got word that Ixetal and Lunchtray are away. That's our cue to go."
"What about Brainiac?" the Mon Cal asked, a hint of horror in her voice. "He hasn't reached the rendezvous point. We're not going to desert him, are we?"
The human sighed. Brainiac was his friend, and it pained him to say it, but…"I'm sorry, but if we wait any longer for him, we'll all get caught. It's making a choice between friendship and freedom-"
"Why choose?" Brainiac's rather dry voice suddenly sprang out from behind the armored woman. "I'm right here."
"Oh, well, that makes things easier," the human's voice lightened up. "In that case, let's rendezvous with the others."
The four figures climbed the boarding ramp onto the shuttle. As the Mon Cal and the armored figure climbed into the cockpit, the human put a hand on Braniac's shoulder and hushed his voice:
"Oh, and Braniac, one more thing: you're gonna tell me why a drooling drebble was interested in you on this station. You're not off the hook yet."
Brainiac sighed. Between the police and his friends, it seemed like everyone was out to get him. Even if he hadn't ripped them off yet.
Space battles always made Shorty anxious, especially ones where he didn't have any kind of control. The havoc outside was no exception.
Installing the hyperdrive and fueling the ship had taken way less time than he had anticipated, meaning that he and Dancer were now in the vessel's cockpit, waiting and, for lack of a better phrase, enjoying the show.
As a half-finished Corellian corvette burst apart, Shorty couldn't help but gulp. Those kinds of ships took up loads of a mechanic's time. At least Brainiac had programmed the turrets to target ships with no life forms to prevent loss of life. Also, it was a good thing that the construction droids were memory wiped so frequently, they had nothing in the way of personality. Otherwise, Shorty would feel sorry for them.
When the ship's sensors picked a Lambda-class shuttle being escorted by a pair of CloakShapes, Shorty practically leaped out of his seat, opening the hangar of the cruiser with the push of a button. Leaving Dancer behind with instructions to close the hangar, he practically ran down to the lower level, taking the newly activated turbolift.
Out of the shuttle and the fighters clambered his comrades. Beaming ear to ear and giving a passable salute to the black-clad human, Shorty could only say, "She's ours."
"Excellent job, Shorty," the human replied. "Everyone, let's get the kriff out of here!"
Less than five minutes later, everyone was in the upper level, Ixetal and the Mon Cal at the controls, Shorty at the engineering station, Brainiac at the navigator's position, and the human leader sitting in the captain's chair.
"She's fully fueled and functional," Shory shouted into the cockpit. "I had Dancer disengage the external locks in a space suit. She's all ready to go."
"Wonderful," the new (and illegitimate) captain of the cruiser responded, turning to his other comrades. "Ixetal, Fishface, steer us out. Brainiac, prep the hyperspace coordinates. Looks like it's time to make our getaway and claim our reward."
Following his orders, Ixetal and the Mon Cal known as Fishface tapped in numerous commands and, ignored by the satellites and starships alike, the cruiser detached from the dock and began jetting to the edge of the system.
The Human leaned back in the captain's chair and relaxed, closing his eyes. It was over. Soon there would be money, alcohol, and women coming his way-
"What in space is that?!" Ixetal's garbled voice immediately ended his fantasies about fine wine and Twi'lek dancing girls and forced him to look outside.
Hovering in front of the corvette was an Imperial-class Star Destroyer.
"KRIFF!" the human sprang up, sweating bullets. "…Brainiac?" He turned slowly to the navigator. "I thought you said the Imperial Navy didn't have any warships positioned in this system."
"They don't," Brainiac stated matter-of-factly. "I think our little prank has alerted some important people."
A knot formed in the human's stomach. "I got a bad feeling about this…"
On the command deck of the Imperial Star Destroyer Omniscience, Senior Captain Morgan Duum gritted her teeth, staring at what had once been the Corellian shipyards. The malfunctioning satellites had almost been completely routed, but it would probably take weeks, if not months, before the shipyards would be in any state to build anything.
Duum had little doubt that terrorists were responsible for this. For that, they would pay dearly. Very dearly.
"Bring us in," she ordered down to the crew pits. "We will help the local authorities deal with this military threat immediately."
"Captain?" the voice of Commander Ryed Tkel, the Omniscience's executive officer, called out as the man approached her. "We've spotted an unidentified ship on our sensors. It looks like a transport or small capital ship of Corellian design and it's leaving the shipyards."
"Is it now?" Duum's eyebrow raised. "That sounds worth of investigation. Open up a hailing frequency and contact that ship. I'll speak to them personally."
"Should we scramble our fighters, Captain? They could easily disable that ship, in case they resist."
After pausing for a bit to think, Duum responded, "Negative. Instead, alert our ion cannon gunners to prepare for emergency engagement and move in for tractor beam range. We don't know what kinds of weapons that ship has and I don't want to risk unnecessary loss of life or military equipment."
"WHAT KIND OF WEAPONS DOES THIS SHIP HAVE!?" the human captain shouted out to Shorty, pure fear in his voice.
"Well," Shorty responded. "We have three dual turbolaser turrets, six quad laser emplacements, a fairly powerful ion cannon paired with a highly efficient tractor beam generator and 10 concussion missile and proton torp-"
Before Shorty could finish his weapons assessments, an icy female voice emanated from the communication speaker: "Unidentified vessel, this is Senior Captain Morgan Duum of the ISD Omniscience. You are suspects in recent terrorist activity. Stand down and prepare to be boarded."
For a second, the human blinked in surprise. Given the sexist positions of Human High Culture, he had never heard of a woman commanding a Star Destroyer. Maybe the Empire was starting to change. That, or she was extremely talented. Or had connections to powerful people.
Either way, he and his crew were royally kriffed.
"Any ideas, Brainiac?" he asked, fearing the answer.
"I have some," the near-human responded. "Unfortunately, they all involve dying nobly \or getting sent to Kessel."
"Fishface?" the Human turned to the Mon Cal pilot. "Can you outrun that thing?"
"I can try," she replied hesitantly. "Ixetal, full power to the shields. Shorty, divert all weapon power to the engines."
"Shorty, you said we have projectile weapons," the human added. "Can we fire them in order to distract the Imps?"
"No," Shorty said bluntly. "As I was about to say, the missile and torpedo launchers haven't been armed. Without the turbolaser and laser cannon power, we're completely defenseless."
"Then let's hope we can outrun them!" the human sat down, his fingers crossed.
The corvette passed the enormous destroyer, but as it was approaching, the destroyer had already begun turning around and was in hot pursuit. Flashes of ion cannon fire began pounding the corvette's engines, causing it to slow down with each barrage. Any minute now, the corvette would be in tractor beam range and at the mercy of the Imperial Navy.
As the seconds passed, the rest of the motley crew assembled into the cockpit, not saying a word. Deep down, they all knew it was over. Death, prison, torture, it didn't matter what the fate, it was always a risk of living the outlaw life…
"Something's comin' in!" Lunchtray yelled out, pointing to a green blip on the ship's sensor screen that was moving closer to the center of the screen.
Fishface scanned the dot. "Looks like a CloakShape fighter coming from out of the shipyard…except it's moving at a faster velocity more than any other CloakShape we've encountered."
On the screen, the green dot that represented the CloakShape touched a larger blue triangle that represented the Star Destroyer. Both blips started flashing.
"I-I can't believe it," Fishface breathed. "That CloakShape…is engaging that Star Destroyer."
The human's posture perked up. Apparently, it wasn't over yet.
"I guess they must be our friend. Let's see if we can put his distraction to good use!"
Senior Captain Duum was speechless as she watched the tiny starfighter fly rings around the Omniscience's command deck, laser cannons firing. "Is that ship actually firing on us?"
"Apparently, Captain," Tkel noted. "Of course, since we're at full shield strength, there's nothing it can do to us."
As if to almost debunk the commander, the CloakShape fired a pair of proton torpedoes directly into the heart of an ion cannon bank.
"Captain," a voice from the crew pits called out. "The targeting relays for 10 of our ion cannons have been temporarily disabled by the spray of unstable protons."
"Blast!" Duum flinched a little. "Alert our turbolaser gunners to target that ship. It should be large and slow enough to adequately target."
The Omniscience's turbolasers began lancing out at the tiny starfighter. A single shot would be adequate to annihilate it completely. The fighter weaved and dodged through the inferno of green blasts with what appeared to be little difficulty. Then without warning, it made a straight attack run for the bridge, firing a pair of proton torpedoes right at the command viewport. The projectiles missed by only a few meters, deflected by the destroyer's shields.
"Slow the Omniscience down so that we can target that fighter more adequately." Duum ordered. "Keep the ion cannons firing at that fleeing corvette. Divert more shield power to the bridge in case this scum tries that stunt again."
Much to her surprise, and pleasure, they indeed tried it again. This time, the torpedoes exploded harmlessly against the shield, not even close to endangering the bridge. Duum thinly smiled. "We have them. Commander, have the gunners project where they will fly based on their previous attack runs."
Sure enough, the CloakShape swerved around, like it had the previous two times. However, just before it flew within turbolaser range, it dived underneath the massive frame of the Star Destroyer, skirting close under its underbelly.
Duum shrugged. "I guess they gave up for now. Let's apprehend these suspected terrorists, then we'll de-"
Before she could finish, one of the consoles from the crew pits began flashing and emitting a wailing noise. Striding over, she stared down and the crewman manning the console. The man was beginning to sweat. "Captain, one of our primary drive engines has been badly damaged by a barrage of proton torpedoes. Our hyperdrive is malfunctioning and we're losing our lateral controls."
Lost for words, Duum stared helplessly out the viewport as the CloakShape sped overhead over towards the fleeing corvette.
In the precious seconds she had wasted in swatting this small craft, the corvette had just reached the edge of the system and was ready to hyperspace out.
It was too late.
"Incredible." Brainiac observed coolly, admiration in his voice. "That fighter just took on an Imperial Star Destroyer and won. That has to be a million-to-one chance right there."
"Try a billion-to-one chance," the armored figure next to him corrected. "That's a CloakShape fighter. In my experience, they usually don't last long against capital ships. I wonder what modifications have been made to that ship."
"We can ask that when they drop in," Fishface spoke up. "The fighter's coming towards us and is transmitting a request to dock."
"Grant it," the human said, tension still in his voice. "Once they're away, make the jump, Brainiac."
As soon as a beep from the main console indicated the new CloakShape was in the hangar and that the hangar was closed, Brainiac pulled a lever on the wall, the stars elongated, and the dark blue void of hyperspace engulfed the corvette.
Everyone in the cockpit let out a collective cheer. Lunchtray began laughing uncontrollably, possibly because he was happy, possibly because he was insane. Brainiac simply slumped against the wall, a huge grin on his normally emotionless face. The armored Mandalorian took off her helmet, wiping a lock of messy raven-black hair out of her eyes. "Kote!"
In the captain's chair, the human let out a deep exhalation. That had definitely been their closest shave yet.
He slowly got up and began walking down the corridor.
"Where ya goin'?" Lunchtray's voice followed him.
The human looked back. "I think it's time we meet our mysterious benefactor."
It was quite a walk from the cockpit to the forward hangar. During this walk with the rest of the crew, the human decided to get something awkward out of the way.
"Alright, Brainiac," he turned to the blue near-human. "Now, I'd like you to tell me why you're wanted in the Corellia system."
"Oh, that," Brainiac swallowed. There was no use in hiding it now. "You see, about nine months before I met you, I pulled off a job on Corellia. I made a lot of money, ripped off a bunch of people, and for that, a price was put on my head."
"You're hiding something," the human observed, annoyance in his voice. "Please tell me the details."
Brainiac closed his eyes and swallowed. "I spent a week going around the planet, telling people that Raxus Prime Engineering was becoming its own company again, asking them for a 5,000-credit investment each and telling them to find other investors to collect from. It was like shooting Mon Cals in a fishbowl; I made a total of five million credits in one week. Normally, that would be the end of that, but…"
"But what?" Fishface pressured. Brainiac's colorful and offensive Deal-slang expression had drawn her attention.
"Well, I started to get a little cocky and thought I'd increase my payoff. I started approaching banks and asked for larger investments. I used the money from those investments to pay back some of my previous investors, who gave more money, and then I had this cycle of swapping money between investors and banks, making more and more profits for a few weeks. Then, I just pulled the plug and left after I made about…" Brainiac's speech became a reluctant murmer.
"How much?" the human asked, quiet dread creeping into his voice.
"Um, maybe about…nine billion c-"
"NINE BILLION?!" the human and Fishface cried out in unison.
"Yeah, that's when I realized I had to leave. That lynch mob on Taris taught me not to stick around when one has too much money. I didn't know at the time, but apparently, the banks had been taking out insurance on their investments. All in all, less than a week after I left Corellia, several of the banks I ripped off went under, the insurance companies folded, and the entire star system went into a recession for about five months until the Imperial Senate bailed them out. Now, half the system wants me dead, as it turns out the penalty on Corellia for causing this kind of economic damage is death." Brainiac voice trailed off, his eyes desperately avoiding those of his comrades.
The human simply stared at him, lost for words. "Ho-"
"Outta curiosity, what did you do with the money?" Lunchtray asked, evidently not sharing the shock or horror of his comrades.
"I hid or disposed of it as quickly as possible. About two billion of it wound up in orphanages or charities, I blew a lot of it at Trugut Station, I spread some it across seven different bank accounts, and the rest I hid in secret stashes."
Ah, yes, the human thought, Brainiac's secret stashes. In his two years with the group, he claimed to have nearly six dozen hidden caches of credits across the galaxy. Because none of his comrades had seen a decicred of this hidden money, they usually believed that, as with anytime Brainiac opened his mouth, he was being less than completely honest.
"Brainiac, let me ask you a question." The human's voice seemed calm now, but was somewhat shaky.
"Yes?"
"WHY DIDN'T YOU MENTION ANY OF THIS WHILE WE WERE PLANNING THE RAID?!" The human gasped for air, recovered his composure, and continued, his voice still somewhat shaky. "We planned this raid for days, relying on your knowledge of the system. You couldn't have mentioned at some point that you're wanted there?"
"Well, the thing is…" If Brainiac were a human, and not so good at hiding his emotions, he would be blushing. "I, well, forgot."
"You forgot?" the human eyed him with disapproval. "How does one as intelligent as you forget where one is wanted?"
"I made a mistake, alright?" Brainiac's voice showed signs of being both defensive and irritated. "We all forget things from time to time. Sometimes, Ixetal forgets to flush the toilet on the shuttle. Sometimes, Fishface forgets that Murderess is allergic to bacta. And sometimes, I forget about the one time I caused a planetary system to fall into a recession for several months. No one's perfect."
The human opened his mouth to rebut, then thought better of it. It didn't really matter now. The job was done and the crew was out of the system. There was no use chastising Brainiac.
Besides, there were more pressing matters on hand. The crew had reached the new CloakShape in the hangar and everyone was visibly tenser. The Mandalorian gripped a blaster pistol in one of many holsters on her waist. Lunchtray raised his plastic tray to cover his face, peeking from behind it. Ixetal and the human slightly raised their rifles.
With a hiss, the cockpit of the fighter opened. On the other side of the fighter, a dark figure landed on the floor with a mechanical thud. In the shadows, the figure walked underneath the starfighter's wing and came into the light.
In front of the crew stood a vaguely familiar cloaked and hooded figure.
Almost instinctively, Brainiac raised his pistol, but before he could fire, the Mandalorian grabbed the gun from hand and stuck it into a utility pouch. "What the hell are you doing, Brainiac?"
"That's the bounty hunter I ran into! He's probably here to capture or kill us all!"
"He also just attacked an Imperial Star Destroyer. You're the expert on Imperial law, isn't that punished by life on Despayre?"
"Well, yes, that's true. But that doesn't change the fact that he was following me. It may be part of a conspiracy!" This, the Mandalorian reflected, was the eternal paradox of Brainiac. Most of the time, he was the most logical and intelligent of the crew, having an encyclopedic knowledge of Imperial law and bureaucratic procedures and speaking a dozen languages. For this reason, he was the unofficial second-in-command and chief strategist of the crew. However, as a professional con artist, he had also developed a great deal of paranoia over the years, which could be useful, but sometimes clouded his rational judgment, making him an interesting, if not annoying, colleague.
Brainiac continued justifying his paranoia. "I mean, why else would this stranger help us?"
"Because I genuinely wanted to help you and I'm interested in joining your group?"
Everyone froze. That last remark had come from the stranger, who, in a single flourish, removed his cloak and hood, scattering them on the floor.
What struck everyone about the newcomer, a male human, was that his face looked, to a certain degree, rather boyish. His facial features and short dark hair seemed to radiate a sense of youthfulness-until one noticed the cybernetic patch covering his right eye. On his face, where one might make out blood vessels under the skin, circuitry was visible. From the neck down, he was clad in heavy black armor, except for his arms, which were clearly mechanical. The man carried no weapons on his person, but was taller than anyone present except for Ixetal, and radiated an aura of strength. Despite his numerous mechanical parts and hulking presence, the stranger also seemed to have a calm and nonthreatening demeanor, as his face showed no sign of fear, aggression, or resentment at Brainiac's remarks.
The Mandalorian blinked in surprise. Only Fishface noticed. "What's the matter, you know this guy?" she whispered.
"No," the Mandalorian whispered back. "It's just that that armor he's wearing is Mandalorian Neo-Crusader armor. I didn't think any suits of those were left in existence."
After a lengthy pause, the human captain finally spoke up. "You're interested in joining us?"
"Yes. From what I can tell, this is a gang that steals from the Empire. I have no love of Imperial scum. Besides, it seems that you could use a man of my talents."
The captain narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean by that?"
"Don't get me wrong, from what I can tell, your plan to steal this ship was ingenious." The stranger's voice became very serious. "However, if the module's security had been any tighter back there, Brainiac here," he pointed at the blue near-human, "wouldn't have been able to infiltrate the network, as his computer spike would have been useless against the system. I can make sure you'll never need another computer spike or have to worry about secure networks."
"So you're a slicer?"
"Not really. I mostly wander around the galaxy, making my living from sabacc, but I know how to create computer programs, including programs of a…useful nature. I can also handle myself in a bar fight, speak hundreds of thousands of languages, make starship modifications, and as you've seen," he gestured to the CloakShape behind him, "I can fly."
"Well, I guess you're qualified to join us." The captain extended his hand. "What's your name?"
The stranger took the hand, clasping it tightly in a sort of informal handshake. Rather than answering, he simply asked, "What's yours?"
The captain grinned. "Congratulations, you passed the test. The truth is, none of us use our real names, as we're all wanted in multiple systems. Instead, we use nicknames that reflect our past, demeanor, or physical characteristics."
The captain put his hand on the stranger's shoulder. "Let me introduce you to the others."
One by one, the captain introduced the newcomer to the different members of the crew, briefly describing their role in the group. They went through Brainiac, the near-human strategist/navigator, Fishface, the Mon Calamari medic/pilot, Lunchtray, the Clantaani brawler, Shorty, the Sullustan engineer, Ixetal, the saurian technician/bodyguard, and Dancer, the Gossam master thief. Finally, there were only two crewmembers left.
"This," the captain gestured towards the woman in Mandalorian armor, "is our quartermaster, Murderess."
The newcomer smiled and extended his hand, as he had with all the previous crewmembers. "A pleasure to meet you, Murderess. How did you get such a colorful nickname?"
As she shook his hand, Murderess closed her eyes and smiled sweetly. "Do you really want to know?"
Although it was difficult to notice, the newcomer withdrew his hand a little quicker than he had with the previous crewmembers. He turned to his new captain.
"And what do I call you?"
The captain paused dramatically before replying in a serious voice filled with pride: "I'm a man who's traveled the galaxy. Since I was 17, I've waded through the galaxy's cesspools on the fringe, seeking fortune and battling for survival. I've been a thief, a smuggler, a mercenary, a gambler, and a pirate. I've survived encounters with police officers, gangsters, bounty hunters, and stormtroopers. All the while, I've flown by the seat of my pants, relying on luck to see me through. Luck hasn't shown any signs of giving up on me, which is why I'm called Mr. Lucky."
Mr. Lucky gestured broadly to the rest of the assembled crew. "And we are known, by a select few in the underworld, as the Angels of Fortune. Lady Luck brought us all together, much how she produced you from the darkness, for our benefit. As elite soldiers of fortune, we travel the cosmos, seeking out adventure, evading the law, and boldly going where no being has gone before. That is our eternal mission."
The newcomer looked at Mr. Lucky and the Angels of Fortune with a combination of awe and skepticism in his eye. "Really?"
As one, the Angels broke out laughing. Shorty laughed so hard, he fell onto the floor. Mr. Lucky wiped a tear from his eyes, his voice becoming more casual. "Nah, not really. Mostly, we just steal stuff, smuggle stuff, and sometimes shoot stuff because powerful people with money want us to. When we're not doin' that, we're hidin' in dark holes and getting shot at by whichever powerful people with money we're not workin' for that week."
Much to Mr. Lucky's relief, the newcomer let out a massive belly laugh. If he was in any way disappointed or embarrassed by the joke, he certainly didn't show it.
When the Angels calmed down, Mr. Lucky spoke up. "Alright, everyone. We'll be pulling out into the Bogden system in less than two hours. Let's get some rest so that we look good for Zordo."
The motley crew traveled across the hangar floor casually talking to each other in different languages. Mr. Lucky's deadpan joke had, on the whole, put them at ease. The only crewmember that seemed remotely stiff or troubled was Brainiac, but he was usually like that anyway.
As they shuffled onto the turbolift connected to the upper level, the newcomer realized one issue hadn't been resolved yet. "Mr. Lucky, what's my nickname to be?"
Mr. Lucky simply smiled. "I think that's already been decided. As I said, Lady Luck produced you out of the darkness for all our benefit."
As everyone else left the turbolift and began finding bunks to rest on, Mr. Lucky shook the newcomer's hand again.
"Welcome to the Angels of Fortune, Darkness."
That's my first chapter. Hope you liked it and please review.