The Rum Runner Tales
The Stowaway
The Kessel Sector - Aeneid System (44 A.B.Y.)
Wassail. When you were asked to describe the backend of the galaxy the grimy, filth covered, drunken, waste-laden spaceport city of Wassail was close to the image you would picture in your mind. Located a good 100,000 lightyears from the bright Core Worlds, past the Mid Rim, past Hutt Space and the Centrality, teetering on the very cusp of the edge of the galaxy was Aeneid, and upon it's rocky and stormy back was Wassail.
The city and it's sparse inhabitants meant very little to the rest of the universe. It was a backwater environment in which bred criminals and delinquents of all species and races, every walk of life you could imagine. It was good for little more than to bring up malfeasance and to serve as one of the forgotten shadowports of the Kessel Run. The latter of the two attributes it was currently providing for the crew of the BacchanalianVenturer.
Deep within the bowels of the forgotten city the ship's crew partied in the seedy cantina hotspot, TheVorlishMane. Inside blared old spacer melodies and the booming voices of over one hundred drunken beings singing, laughing, and having their way with fun. Ale glasses covered every table, desperate waitresses twisted around obliviously rude patrons, two Rodians danced upon the bar to an old Hutt ditty, a fight broke out between a Herglic and a Quarren, and twelve other forms of chaos ensued as the evening trudged into morning. Close to sunrise the salty captain of the Venturer, Bithen Vurr, a Chagrian man, rose up to the rooftop of TheVorlishMane. He stood, foot propped on the guard railing, and watched the distant black mountains as the first glimmer of sunlight peaked over their backs. The deep red sunbeams shone onto the dirty Wassail skyline and illuminated Bithen's deep blue skin. As the shining star of the Aeneid system rose above the planet's horizon a white point in the sky glowed into existence. At fist glance one might assume it to be small star still clinging to the last corners of the vanishing night, but in fact the pinpoint of light was the glimmering bow of the BacchanalianVenturer, catching the light of the coming day.
Bithen smiled at the sight of his faithful starship. The old girl had served him well for many years and she continued to do so today. She had gotten him out of more binds than any amount of credits or manpower ever had or ever would. Sure, one needed both workers and credits to run a starship, especially one the size of the Venturer, but a bow and a stern and a crew where only what made up the starship. The starship herself was freedom; loyalty. And that was exactly what the Venturer had been to Bithen for so long.
Behind Bithen the door to the rooftop opened. He was suddenly reminded of his responsibilities and turned away from the view of the Aeneidan sunrise and spun about to face his latest employer.
Or rather the representative of his latest employer.
"Captain Vurr, I come to you on the behalf of the venerable Lord Lungru of the Council of the Seven Hutt Gems," the squat Trunsk man said with a bow and a toothy smile, "My Lord regrets that he could not make your acquaintance personally this morning, but he has had . . . business to attend to in the Si'Klaata Cluster. I'm sure you understand, being a man of authority yourself."
"Of course," Bithen replied respectfully, "You realize this is the second time your boss has stood me up on a face-to-face."
"My deepest apologies on my Lord's behalf."
"Yes. Of course," Bithen was a bit more sardonic this time. He didn't appreciate being lied to or cheated by his clients. Especially ones that thought they could do whatever they wanted just because they were the old and wise leader of some gangster affiliation. Like the Hutts.
"So, I assume the previous agreement is still standing?"
Bithen paused, and smiled, "Yeah," he turned and faced the horizon again, "Twenty thousand kilos of Chandrilan Blue '439, twenty-four hundred of Urrqal, and thirty-two thousand of Vistulo Brandale. All sealed until delivery to Sakiduba." Bithen grimaced as he glanced over his shoulder back at the Trunsk, " . . . no questions asked."
"Good, Captain," Lungru's representative hissed with a smirk.
"It seems like all of Lungru's requests are 'no questions asked.'"
"Yes, well, my Lord as many dangerous people watching him very dangerously close. The less you know the safer it is for all of us."
"No, the less I know the safer it is for Lungru, and the safer it is for Lungru the more expensive it is for Lungru."
The Trunsk's upper lip twitched upward with irritation, revealing a sharp yellow line of jagged teeth. He quickly clasped his hands behind his back and composed himself. He closed his eyes and jerked his chin up with prideful arrogance, "Fine. You drive a hard bargain rumrunner but I think Lord Lungru can fine it in his budget to double your offer."
"Not double, triple."
"What! But you−"
"I'm runnin' triple the cargo we agreed upon in your first offer. I'm runnin' it through Desilijic territory, which means triple the security I'll have to pass through; triple the threat. We wouldn't want Lungru's good friend Pazda catching old Lungie haulin' fifty-five thousand kilos of rum through the Desilijics' space, now would we?"
The Trunsk gulped heavily.
"Plus, this is a 'no questions asked' op. Triple the chance I get tortured to death for information I didn't get to ask about."
Lungru's representative was furious, his small four-fingered hands balled into tight fists at his sides. But there was no denying Bithen's facts. This was a dangerous job, and dangerous jobs meant higher salaries.
The Trunsk angrily whipped around and headed for the door. He depressed the door controls and the portal whooshed open letting the loud commotion of the cantina's lower level float into the peacefully waning sky, "Tell your crew they have triple their pay," Lungru's representative finally said, through clenched teeth. And with that he exited.
Bithen smiled with satisfaction and turned back to the picturesque rooftop view. He pulled a comlink from his jacket pocket and flipped it opened, "Pylo," he called.
"Aye, Cap'n," the salty Corellian's voice came back over the small communications device.
"Prep the shuttles. We're headin' back up."
"But Cap−"
"Now, Pylo."
There was a disappointed pause as Pylo realized it was time to leave Aeneid's cantinas behind and get to business, "Aye, Cap'n," he finally responded begrudgingly.
Bithen smiled at his first-mate's child-like immaturity and paused just long enough for the Corellian to get ready to hang up the comlink, "Oh, and Pylo . . ." he interjected quickly.
"Aye, Cap'n?"
"Tell the crew we're getting triple pay."
Pylo's mood suddenly became much more chipper as he responded, excitedly this time, with a cheery, "Aye, Cap'n!"
Bithen grinned widely, placed the comlink back into his jacket pocket, and headed for the door.
The morning's pink had mostly faded from the sky now and had been replace by a light and airy blue. The motley crew of the Venturer proceeded with loading the shuttles with their appropriate supplies and their newly received cargo. A Vimmas hauler had dropped the 54,400 kilos off a couple of hours ago, fully sealed with specialized security systems and signed off for by the great Lord Lungru the Hutt himself.
Pylo stood at the top of the landing ramp of the Nobo issuing orders and ensuring the new cargo was being well taken care ofwhile Bithen was in the dock-tower, paying the dock-man their owed wages. Once Bithen had finished his haggling he descended from the tower and walked across the landing platform to meet with Pylo just as the last barrel was being loaded into the ship.
"That's the last of it Cap'n," Pylo announced, "55,000 kilos of the best rum."
Bithen sighed, "All being shipped to be wasted on the best people," he said with a sarcastic smile.
"Aye, Cap'n," Pylo agreed, a bit remorsefully, and then turned and walked back up the landing ramp into the shuttle.
Bithen turned to get one last look at land and at the rising sun before his three week excursion into Hutt Space. Not much of a view, just dirty old Wassail. Still, somehow the dump had worked itself into a tender place in Bithen's heart. He was sure he'd be back.
The Chagrian Captain turned to climb up the ramp when something caught his eye. One of a clump of six large fuel drums had moved slightly in his peripheral vision. He peered at it and then slowly stepped off the ramp.
"Hello," Bithen called.
No answer.
"Hello," he repeated as he eased toward the barrels. He cautiously wrapped his hand around the blaster in his belt holster and reached for the oily drum. He pushed it aside quickly moving himself into the center of the clump.
Nothing.
Suddenly he heard the metallic rasp of quick footsteps on the shuttle landing ramp behind him. He whipped around pulling his blaster on whoever may have been there, but it was only Pylo, cooly standing at the top; watching him quizzically, "Cap'n?"
Bithen relaxed, holstering his gun, and looked back at the barrels confused, "I thought . . . never mind. Let's get going." And with that Bithen walked to the cockpit of the shuttle, Pylo at his side. The two took the controls and pulled the Nobooff of the platform, the two other shuttles close behind.
The Aeneid sun burned brightly on the horizon of the great blue and grey world below as the three small Gamma-classassaultshuttles ascended to the Venturer. The Nobo, Bo, and the Dopa were three of the five landing craft of the BacchanalianVenturer. The Gammas were the primary mode of ship to ship transport and the means of making planet-fall if the Venturer were to remain in a fixed in orbit, like now. They had cost Bithen a small fortune back on Kuat, but they were a great asset to the Venturer and had been just as faithful as the great Lancer herself.
Within a few moments the beautiful silver-grey shape of the Venturercould be discerned among the stars, the blue tint of Aeneid's atmosphere lightly glowing on her hull. Bithen sighed at the sight of her. She was a long, elegant Lancer-classstarfrigate. Her design was similar to that of the famous Corellian dreadnoughts, but her bow was a bit higher and came to a flat top across the stern side. Four large teniline-powered drive engines gave her the ability to pull her full 250 meter length at a blazing frigate speed of 20 MGLT, and five quad-laser cannon platforms and two mark 3 deflector shield projectors gave her ample defensive powers to hold her own against ships more than four times her size.
Bithen and Pylo ran through the security checks on their approach, confirming their identity and so on, and then slowly eased the Nobo into the port-bow hangar bay. The Nobo's landing claws grabbed onto the steely deck of the hangar and the landing ramp descended as the gravity and life support were turned back on. As soon as Bithen stepped off of the ramp the doors to the hangar bay opened letting in the throng of crew members that had been in the hangar before the magnetic shield had dropped. Each one hurried back to their previous tasks while Bithen approach the supervisory mechanic aboard the Venturer, Gaina Karr. Gaina, an Immalian woman, had been part of Bithen's crew ever since he had snagged her of that Jalliisi cruiser in the Y'Toub system. She had been happy to go, the Yuuzhan Vong had done a number to the Jalliisi family−to pretty much every Hutt family for that matter−in the war and now she had no place among the crew. So she came with Bithen after a little coaxing.
"Gaina," Bithen called on his way to her with a smile. She smiled back and the two hugged. They pulled back and suddenly Gaina's demeanor changed to one of irritation. Bithen gave her a confused face as she pulled her open palm back and slapped him straight across the face.
Bithen reeled back.
"That's for not taking me down there with you," she explained.
Bithen paused, still a bit confused and stinging, " . . . right," he replied cooly and waled off.
"She has got to stop doing that," Bithen told Pylo rubbing his face.
"Aye, Cap'n," Pylo agreed.
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