Star Wars
Chapter One- Turning tables
Moor's Cantina, Corellia.
30.6ABY
Corellia. I'd only been there once or twice, on official business.
The planet, as a whole, was dominated by small towns and lush, flourishing wildlife. There were a few large cities, each based around trade, tourism, and gambling. Some of the finest casinos in the galaxy were to be found on Corellia. The planet was well known for its skill in producing warships, and for its allegiance to the Galactic Federation of Free Alliances, or Galactic Alliance, for short. Also famous, was the Corellian Brandy, brewed and sold only from the city of Coronet, the planet's capital.
I happened to be in Coronet, sipping on said praised brandy, patiently awaiting in a cantina for the arrival of one Destrivan Kojuun, a businessman from the Outer Rim. Four...no, five hours had passed since he'd last contacted me. In my line, or lines, of work, this was extremely common. As the phrase went, "You don't understand patience until you've waited on a smuggler."
Seems to be true, I thought, nodding to the waitress droid to bring me another shot.
Ordinarily, I'd have left the cantina after being forced to wait for such a duration, especially for the simply moderate amount of credits at stake. However, the last month had not been kind to me. In the six months to date that I'd taken this life, I had worked a dozen jobs ranging from small time smuggling to my most recent: The assassination of a city governor on Toydaria. My skills had been tested, yet not strained. I knew I was far above the assignments I'd been receiving. I could, with great ease, shoot Kojuun on the spot and be done with him if I wanted. However, as I said, the past month had been very cruel, and quite deprived of work. The Galactic Alliance had put a blanket ban on all smugglers not serving under their flag. While I had other abilities, smuggling was the easiest by far, and the highest paying. So I'd ran into Destrivan here on Corellia, and since been taking small assignments from him to keep myself afloat financially.
I had skills, as I've said, that were far superior to even that of the great Han Solo, or Boba Fett. Unlike them, I had proper training.
I was born in 0 ABY, on the very day the Death Star was destroyed over Yavin IV, on Naboo. I grew up in the city of Theed, the son of a merchant and a painter. I had a fine young life.
Until the Empire came.
When I was ten, I was abducted from my home by Imperial agents, and my parents murdered. From there, I was taken to the remote planet of Jekato, where I was to spend the next two decades training under the watchful eyes of the Imperial Praetorian Program, an attempt to create a stealth tactical unit more deadly than any in the galaxy. They taught me, forcibly, the arts of hand to hand combat, how to handle a blaster better than any other, terminal hacking, a nearly impossible pilot school, demolitions, escape and evasion, wilderness survival, espionage, assassination, smuggling (or their view of it), the history of the galaxy, and many other topics. By the time I turned thirty, I was a machine. The perfect tool for the Empire. Top of my class.
And then, six months ago, the Galactic Alliance launched a blitz attack on the facility, leveling it completely. Of all fifty of my classmates, my brothers in arms, I was the only survivor. Since then, I'd been living on the Program's prototype stealth freighter, the DarkRider, bouncing from planet to planet seeking work. My long term plan? Make enough to settle down, and start a family. I had plenty of time to do so. Due to my being a Chiss, my lifespan was greater than that of a standard human, with an average lifespan of one hundred-fifty years (assuming he/she is not a Jedi, or does not take medical duration enhancers). This would allow twenty or so years of hard work and banking credits before I could buy an isolated plot of land on Naboo somewhere, and raise a farm in peace with the remaining two-thirds of my life.
It was a good a plan as any.
"I hope I'm not interrupting you, Fox."
I plunged a hand into my jacket, ready to snatch my heavy revolver from its hiding place and level the one who had spoken to me, for I did not recognize his voice.
Yet he knew me as the Blue Fox.
A human man stepped into view, his hands raised. "Easy, killer. Kojuun sent me."
I stared him down, slowly easing my left hand out of my flight jacket, while dropping my right to my thigh where a matching pistol was holstered. He was of average build, with one mechanical eye and a gloved left hand. He wore a wide brimmed hat over his pale face and scraggly beard, and a trench coat that no doubt was loaded with blasters and grenades. His boots were hard Bantha skin, like mine. Combat boots.
This man was, beyond the shadow of a doubt, a smuggler.
"Prove it." I demanded, unclasping my pistol.
The man cautiously retrieved a holodisk from his jacket, placing it gingerly on the table. The other cantina denizens had begun to stare. An image appeared above the disk, as expected, and the scarred Twi'lek face of Destrivan popped into view.
"Mr. Fox," the miniature said, crossing his arms, "You will not be meeting with me, for I am elsewhere dealing with more pressing matters. The man you see before you, Neslan Price, is my assistant. He will give you your instructions. Oh, and the passcode is: Endor."
The hologram faded.
"Endor" was the code word that would indicate that the message was recorded of his own free will, the code for a disturbance was "Bespin". The codes were changed randomly before each assignment, to prevent a pattern. I nodded to the man, Nelsan Price, and indicated for him to sit opposite me.
"Waitress," he said, his face now cheery and confident, "I'll have an inch of Corkscrew, on ice, if you'd please."
The droid acknowledged, wheeling away.
Price turned to me, meeting my eyes for the first time. He stared for a brief moment, before his gaze dropped to my arms, then to my drink. He's no rookie, I thought, deciding that he was sizing me up and creating a personality profile inside his head. Exactly as I had done to him. I was a "big guy" to most. I was just above average height, though the years of vigorous daily workouts had left me...completely ripped. My arms were large enough to stretch the fabric of my flight jacket nearly to the breaking point, and my chest thick and stocky. My lower body matched its upper counterpart, yet I was not nearly as large as some of the other races, or even as large as some of the humans who dedicated their lives to building muscle.
As the Empire put it, "You're big enough to handle almost any foe, yet still small enough to be stealthy and agile."
"Mr. Fox," Price said, trying to meet my glowing red eyes, "Shall we get to business?"
The droid had already brought him his drink, which was a bright, neon green.
Must've dazed off.
"Yes, let's."
Price reached into his jacket, and slowly, cautiously, retrieved a datapad. "These are the targets we wish for you to...handle."
He slid the datapad across the table. I cast a quick glance at it, daring to take my eyes off the other smuggler. There were two images, each of humans. The one on the right, I couldn't identify, though the name readBandor Ysilvanti. The man on the left was unmistakable. It was Han Solo. I stared hard for a moment, noticing the red "X" over Ysilvanti's face, and none on Solo's.
"Explain."
Price took a sip of his liquor, his face screwing up. "Always so sour," He shot me a grin, but caught the look of "No crap, just business", and he cleared his throat, "Well, as you can see, we want absolutely no harm to befall Han Solo. The man on the right, is a space pirate. Scum. He owes Kojuun a lot of money and refuses to pay. He must pay with his life."
I nodded, my face emotionless. "I understand. Why is Solo even a factor?"
Price shrugged. "They're together for a while. Our spies say that Ysilvanti asked the Alliance for protection, in exchange for information on how to catch Kojuun. That, in turn, would result in the capture of many more smugglers. So, just travel to Bakura, silence him, and meet me back here."
I nodded again. "Parameters?"
"Solo is alive and unharmed, and your hand is not detected."
"Payout?"
"Ten-thousand credits."
"Done."
Price extended a hand, which I left openly hanging, refusing to show any sign of emotion. I rose from my seat, placing a Five-Credit piece on the table. Price motioned to walk in front of me, as if to leave first, though I placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Price," I whispered, making sure that there wasn't anyone watching anymore, "If you cross me on this, you'll pay with your life. Clear?"
The man hesitated, his breathing calm. "Crystal, Mr. Fox."
...
Galactic Alliance Safehouse, Bakura
30.6 ABY
Bakura.
A temperate, average planet in the Wild Space region.
The locals exported mostly strategic metals and repulsorlift coils, fueling their economy. The Alliance had full control over the planet's profitable market, and judging by the deviation from the standard run-of-the-mill military base (this one being very clean and well kept), they were reaping the rewards. The sun-bleached duracrete walls stood at an impressive twenty feet, tall enough to keep out blaster fire from infantry, yet just low enough for an AT-AT to stand behind and level the base with impunity.
Morons, I thought, adjusting the rifle scope, And not even any ray shields.
The base was clean, expensive, and intimidating. Yet poorly designed. Merely a façade for anyone wishing to infiltrate it.
I doubled my grip on my sniper rifle, a Tenloss T-6 Disruptor, and panned the expanse of the military fort, my sights set to thermal signature. Ysilvanti's own DNA pattern would glow red in my sights, whereas the environment was green, and the other beings blue. From this distance, mere visual optics would not suffice, and I could not afford to miss and alert the target, or hit Solo.
An hour I'd waited, patiently observing the base from afar. Soon, very soon, Ysilvanti would have to make an appearance of some form, else the military personell at the base would become suspicious as to why one building was off limits, and they'd learn of the price on his head.
Nobody takes my kill, I thought, wiping sweat off my brow.
Movement by the third storage unit.
I slammed my eye onto the scope, focusing so intently on the slowly rising door that I thought my gaze alone would set it ablaze. It was opening so slowly…
A pair of boots were visible…no, two.
Black pants, and white pants with orange stripes.
Come on, hurry up.
A dark blue jacket, and a white shirt with black vest.
Han Solo and Ysilvanti.
"There we go, you bastard…" I whispered to myself, flicking the safety off on my rifle.
Solo had his hand on his blaster, walking parallel to Ysilvanti, his face stern. But that was strange…He was in an Alliance base, there was no need to be alert like that. The target's eyes were darting about, picking every detail of his surroundings apart like a rat in a hole. Come to think of it, Ysilvanti looks tense as well. Nobody knows he's here, or that I'm hunting him…
"Great."
I dropped the rifle in the dirt, and jumped to my feet. I needed to get back to the DarkRider.
I'd been sold out.
Solo was on edge, he knew I was coming. And Ysilvanti was nervous because he knew I was watching him.
Price was now a dead man.
I pounded down the hillside, nearly toppling over and rolling. The DarkRider was completely cloaked at the bottom, only identifiable by the large flat press marks in the grass from the landing skids.
I was less than thirty yards now. I tapped a button on my wrist bracelet, and the ship revealed itself. I tapped another, and the ramp lowered, and the engines hummed to life.
"Freeze!" A voice shouted from behind me.
The Alliance had learned I was here. Though they should have fired by now…
I plunged a hand into my jacket, drawing one of my heavy blasters. The sunlight caught the white wood handle and chrome finish brilliantly.
I fired twice over my shoulder, no doubt missing by a mile.
My feet hit the ramp, I was almost out of here.
Two blaster bolts struck the ground inches behind my feet, spraying my calves with molten bits of dirt. I grimaced, slapping the ramp controls behind me as I darted for the cockpit.
I'll be lucky to make it out before I get vaped.
I dropped into the pilot's seat, almost punching the controls. Snatching the headset off its holding rack beside me, I began jamming any outgoing communications within a thousand yard radius. I could not have them alert a squadron of X-wings to follow me, not that they could bring the DarkRider down anyways, but they could certainly track her. And for me, to be tracked was a death sentence.
A holographic monitor popped into view to my left, showing the exterior cameras. "Computer, scan the area for lifeforms."
A brief moment, maybe half a second passed, then a robotic female voice said, "There are three humans, one male, two females, advancing on your position. They wear the uniforms of the Galactic Federation of Free Alliances."
Scouting party.
I slammed the accelerator lever back, the ship launching forward, the engines retaining their near silence all the while. A holodiagram of my ship was brought up on the floating monitor, and was showing small red circles around the perimeter of the hull. The text beneath read, Hull receiving small arms fire. Shields 99%.
They're just wasting their time, I thought, the Navicomputer finishing the calculations for the jump to lightspeed, the information appearing on the monitor.
810561901045765010-1745
Destination: Corellia, port of Coronet.
ETA: 3 days, 1 hour, 16 minutes- Standard Galactic Time
One point(s) of rejump. Location(s): 66381104783B (Elrood Sector)
Damn right, back to Corellia.
I watched through the cockpit windows as the distant forests vanished beneath me, eventually fading into the vast expanse of space as I exited the atmosphere. I shook my head, frustrated at the failure, my first one. Grunting, I pressed the lightspeed lever forward, and the ship hurtled into the white-blue starlines of hyperspace.
Onwards to Corellia.
Someone, either Kojuun or Price, had alerted the Alliance of my presence. There was no other reason for Solo and Ysilvanti's behavior, and the sudden appearance of a scouting crew just happening to stumble across me and my invisible ship.
I swore violently, slamming a gloved fist on the console, the sound seeming unnaturally loud in the now silent cockpit.
Kojuun will pay for this, I thought darkly, some day, near or far, he will pay.