SMUGGLER'S ENCOUNTER
By T. D. Wolff
All rights to the Star Wars intellectual properties and characters are owned by Lucasfilm, and no infringement is intended. This is a work of fan fiction, written by a fan, for fans.
This work of fiction takes place in a timeline alternate to that of the MMORPG video game Star Wars: The Old Republic, by Electronic Arts and Bioware.
However, this timeline draws nearly all inspiration from Legends, and attempts to faithfully recreate the spirit of aforementioned series.
—DRAMATIS PERSONAE—
Nicklis Grandr, star pilot, smuggler
HK-633, a.k.a. 'Bee,' assassin droid
Commander Garson Termor, Sith investigator
A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. . . .
SSP Reliant, Taris System, 3674 BBY
A whiteish-gray streak smeared into existence, as a small passenger freighter dropped out of hyperspace on the fringes of the Taris system.
"Bee, what's our status now?" the freighter's pilot, Nicklis Grandr, demanded irritably into the small earpiece he was wearing, running a hand through thick blond hair, as he tried to trace a small power loss in the navicomputer to an unknown source.
"Only marginally better than the last time you asked, Master Grandr," HK-633—or 'Bee' as the pilot called her—the HK series assassin droid, replied over the comlink, from her position in the small engineering section located aft of the passenger area.
He rolled his brown eyes, then replied sarcastically, "Thank you. You are so helpful, Bee. I should've traded you for an astromech at the last spaceport."
"Hmh." She snorted. "Well, if you wanted one of those little rust-buckets so badly, why didn't you just go buy one, instead of using me for all these dirty tasks?" her tinny, Inner Core accent inquired back haughtily over the comm.
Nicklis grunted. "I was, but that was before you killed the last buyer, who, if you recall, hadn't even paid us yet. And after that, his bodyguards inconveniently started shooting at us."
"My internal sensors indicated he had a small holdout blaster tucked up his sleeve, so it was either you dead, or him dead. Besides, that's one less sleemo to have to deal with."
He gave a sigh. She was right, in a way. He'd seen the suspicion on the buyer's face as soon as they'd gotten off the public transport on Nar Shadda anyway.
"Still, you could have waited until after he'd paid us. The Hutts weren't happy about the lost credits, on top of the fact that some of the guards ran off with the stims during the fire-fight."
"Well, when you put it that way, master…" Then she added a moment later, "Master, the passengers are complaining about the rubbish bins again."
"Alright, alright! I'll take care of them when we dock. Sheesh."
He shook his head, then reached an arm under the console, and quickly discovered the troublesome short. After a slight shock, and a few uncomplimentary remarks about Hutts, he poked his head under the ledge and began a quick fix, recalling briefly as he did so, how the droid had come into his possession.
She—for that was how he thought of the droid—had been left to him by his late Twi'leki mate after her tragic accident and subsequent death the year before. It seemed like she'd worried about him and his excursions into Sith-controled space, though she should've been more worried about herself, actually. Now that he thought about it, however, Nicklis wondered how he'd ever managed to hook up with a bounty hunter, of all people. Usually they were after him, not after him. And it seemed that she'd installed some sort of personal bodyguard protocol into the droid's memory banks, before leaving on her fatal hunt. Along with a copy of her personality…
"Well, hopefully this time the buyer will survive long enough to pay us for actually delivering the stuff," he muttered from under the console, his lanky body contorted into an 'only' slightly uncomfortable position.
"Whatever makes you say that, Master?" the droid asked innocently over the comm.
"Oh, it's just that a certain droid I know seems to have an itchy trigger finger, and has this nasty habit of killing people."
"Well, I wouldn't know what you are talking about."
Nicklis grunted a laugh, as he crawled out from under the console, then leaned backward to glance at the navicomputer readout. "I'll bet you don't," he muttered. "Anyway, I believe I'll leave you here this time, Bee."
"But why Master?"
"Because I don't want anything to happen to our credits this time."
She sighed in disappointment. "As you wish, Master."
He reached up, and turned off the shields, as sensors indicated only normal commercial traffic in the system. Well, normal for the Taris system anyway. As was standard starship operating protocol, all starships had to be equipped with a shield generator, and shields had to be raised to at least fifty-percent before entering hyperspace, and could be lowered upon exiting only after sensors showed no signs of debris in the immediate vicinity. Unless in an emergency situation, like a pirate attack, or accidentally emerging into a heated conflict, then it was permitted to make a jump without shields raised, though it was not recommended. Space is a dangerous place, filled with random debris, particles of matter, and all manner of hazardous material that could punch holes clean through an unshielded ship. Though much effort was put in by both the Republic, and the Sith at clearing the hyperlanes, not everything would be cleared, not for millenia, possibly not ever.
After a few moments, he flipped a switch, which turned on the intercom, and said: "Attention passengers. We are coming up on Taris Commercial Station. ETA fifteen minutes, so sit down, strap in and please, don't rock the ship while docking procedures are engaged. Thank you."
Sounds of scurrying feet could be heard from behind the cockpit, as the passengers scrambled to follow his instructions.
The Reliant was a mid-sized Corellian Engineering Corporation WR-4302 freighter, that was produced for a brief period a decade and a half before, as an experimental craft designed for civilian use. It was to be used as both a cargo hauler, and passenger transport. The hull was shaped like a flattened disc in the center, with an angular dorsal 'fin,' and a center mounted cockpit with room for a four-being crew. From the sides two wing-like protrusions extended horizontally from starboard and port, which could be folded up for docking maneuvers. On both top and bottom of the 'wings' were mounted two BlasTech individually rotating cannons. Two additional cannons were mounted on the top and bottom center of the 'disc'. All cannon were controllable from the cockpit, an addition made by Nicklas. Two sub-light engines, and one large hyperdrive provided the power for the bulky craft, with additional micro-maneuvering thrusters on fore edge. The common paint scheme for the ship was usually a spartan gray, but the Reliant had been custom painted by the previous owner to a simple white, with red and orange details.
A slight tweak of the controls a few minutes later, and there, silhouetted against the system's primary star, was Taris Commercial Station.
Taris Station was, from the top an ovoid shape, almost like an egg. From the side, the egg-shaped layer was actually quite thin, being shaped somewhat like an airfoil, thick at the widest part, thin at the narrowest. From the bottom of the thickest part, there hung what seemed to be an inverted skyscraper, and from the top, a shorter, stubbier tower stood, both of which were streamlined into the main body to provide a somewhat aesthetically-pleasing look.
Construction had been completed within the last five standard years, by a couple of private investors who hoped to develop some new trade in the surrounding systems by providing a neutral ground for both Sith-bound, and Republic-bound business persons to conduct transactions.
A burst of static came over the ship's comm. "Unidentified vessel, this is Taris Station control. Please state your business, vessel ID, and destination."
Nicklas reached up and flipped the comm switch to open a reply channel.
"Taris Station control, this is SSP Reliable, on course for regularly scheduled docking at Taris Station. Transmitting vessel ID now."
A few moments passed, as the computers aboard the station processed the information, then the reply came back.
"Reliable, you are cleared for docking procedures at docking section four."
"Thank you." He flipped the switch back, and increased the sub-light speed slightly for maneuvering. Slowly, the lumbering ship closed with the docking port, where Nicklas toggled the starboard wing closed, and as it pulled parallel to the indicated section, small grappling arms extruded from the surface of the docking area, grasping the hull with heavy magna-grav couplers. After the ship was secured, a docking tube extended from the center of the grapple cluster, and attached itself to Reliant's airlock with a clang and a hiss.
After waiting for a moment for the airlock to pressurize, the door slid open, and the passengers began to somewhat calmly exit the ship.
Nicklas heaved a deep sigh. Well, now I just have to wait for the call to come in from the buyer, then I'll take the shipment of glitterstim, and go meet whoever the buyer is, get the credits, and get the heck out of here.
He didn't have to wait long. Within a half hour, the comm chimed. Slowly, he picked up the device, and toggled the switch.
"Is that you, Tauntaun?" asked a male-sounding voice. It was hard to tell however, because whoever it was was using a filter mask to change their vocal pitch. But what could be heard was the distinctive Inner Core accent.
"Yes. Bantha, I presume?" he replied, instantly wary. In most of the previous deals, the buyers had only been careful to not be seen. They hadn't seemed to care if someone heard them speak. Well, except for that one time…
"Indeed. You bring the stuff?"
"I have it in a safe place."
"Good! Bring it to docking bay fifteen in an hour."
With that, the connection cut out. Nicklas sat there for a moment, thinking. Something didn't seem quite right. Oh, the code-names were all correct, but something about the voice filter disturbed him. It sounded altogether too familiar. And the apparent pleasure at hearing that he had the glitterstim with him. Almost as if…
"Bee, I've changed my mind. I think I'll bring you with me after all."
She walked into the cockpit.
"Why the sudden change of mind, Master?"
He grinned slightly. "I think you might have to kill someone after all."
"Oh goody! Shall I bring a flamehurler?"
He thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't think so. Not this time, anyway. Just bring your sniper rifle."
Somehow, the droid managed to convey her disappointment on her expressionless metal face.
"And while you're at it, check the Sith comm frequencies," he added.
Again, the droid managed to convey a very humanoid expression: surprise.
"Why, Master Grandr?"
He smiled grimly. "Oh, just call it a hunch."
Then he stood up, and walked back toward the cargo compartment. "Come on, we still have a 'shipment' to deliver."
The droid shrugged slightly, then followed. Her late mistress had said that Nicklas could be unpredictable. Now was an instance that proved she'd been correct in her assessment of the Human.
Upon arriving in the hold, she found him packing a small case with various odds and ends that he had grabbed out of some small canisters.
"What are you doing, Master?"
He looked up. "Anything on the comm yet?"
She shook her head. "Not yet."
He continued packing the stuff into the case. "I'm going to play it safe." He paused his packing, and stared off somewhere only he could see. "I'm not going to lose any stims this time if I can help it. I suspect that this is a Sith trap." He grinned suddenly. "I don't think they like all the Hutt glitterstim that keeps getting by their patrols."
He shook his head, then stuck a couple more pieces of junk in the case, and snapped it shut. "There, that should do it. A case-load of garbage." He hefted the case up, then tapped it. "Can't arrest a man for that."
He'd just started for the airlock, when Bee twitched suddenly.
"Got something, Master. Sounds like chatter from a couple of Sith patrols." She was quiet for a moment then spoke again, "It seems they are looking for any odd vessels that have passed through the system, including passenger vessels."
"Great." Nicklas grunted, setting the case down. "I'd bet a thousand creds that the buyer you killed last time around was an agent of the Sith Empire."
He tapped his finger in sequence on the inner hull, and a hidden compartment slid open. From it, he pulled a custom wrist blaster out. He took his coat off, slid the blaster on his right arm, strapped it on firmly, then carefully pulled the coat on again.
Then he rolled up the sleeve, extended the thin strip of metal that was the triggering mechanism, attached it to a special ring, and slid it on his index finger. After testing the action a couple of times, he slipped a tibanna gas cartridge in place, and stuffed a couple more in a pocket for good measure.
He also pulled out a small blaster, and slid it into his coat.
Then he moved into the docking tube, and walked to the end, into the dimly lit, matte gray interior of the docking section, where he waited for the droid.
Finally she appeared, lugging a long-barreled blaster rifle of a make that Nicklas was unfamiliar with.
"Ready to go whenever you are, Master."
He nodded. "Okay, let's go attempt to fool some Sith."
So, they moved off, first down the short corridor that connected that docking section to the rest of the station, then upon arriving at the better lit main corridor, they turned left, taking the long way around to the meeting place.
"Okay, Bee, I want you to go ahead and find a place to set up where you can see everything, and get good, clear shots off. Just in case."
The droid nodded an affirmative, then moved off in the direction of the deck engineering section.
Nicklas took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, then walked a bit further, until he came to the bulkhead marked '15,' where he waited a few moments to let Bee do her thing, then he keyed the pad on the side of the doorway, and it slid open with a hiss.
Carefully he stepped through the door, into the dimness of the section corridor, and a thick mustiness washed over him, as if the section had not been used in some time.
A single light shone in the center of the room, but all else was in black. A small bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck, as nervousness and uneasiness began to overcome him.
A lone figure stood just outside of the light, from what he could see, now that his eyes had adjusted to the dimness.
"Ah, Tauntaun, I see you've arrived early." The figure still wore the mask, and moved around the edge of the light slightly. "Good. Come closer, if you would."
He could just make out the figure motioning for him to move closer.
"No thanks, I like it here just fine, Bantha."
The figure laughed a hearty booming laugh, that echoed throughout the large room.
"So suspicious." Then his voice turned deadly serious. "But really, I must insist that you move over here, smuggler."
"Smuggler?" was all that he got out, before another figure, this one in shiny silver and black armor appeared behind Nicklas, and shoved a blaster into the small of his back, then did a quick search for weapons, pulling out the small blaster from the coat pocket, and the extra cartridges from where he'd put them.
"Hey, what's the big idea, huh?" Nicklas feigned surprise, as he was roughly shoved toward the light in the center of the room, once the guard was satisfied that he no longer had any weapons.
"Oh, come now, I'm sure you know what the big idea is, Nicklas Grandr." The figure moved closer, and indicated the case now in another Sith trooper's hands. "You are a smuggler working for the Hutts, bringing your cursed glitterstim," the figure spat out the name like moldy nerf-milk, "into the Empire. For a huge profit I might add."
"Oh, really?" This time he feigned innocence. "I thought I was smuggling garbage, whatever-the-heck-your-name-is."
One of the troopers smacked him across the back of the skull with his blaster just hard enough to make him see stars and flashing lights.
"Yes, revel in your false innocence while you can, smuggler," the figure jeered. "But when I, Commander Garson Termor open the case, I shall prove you are lying! The other officers shall laugh no more when I unveil the Hutt ploy to undermine the great Sith Empire, and receive my promotion!"
Nicklas snorted. "You sir, are officially delusional."
"Oh, we'll just see about that now, won't we?" With that, the Commander crossed through the light, and taking the case from the trooper, set it on the deck, unsnapped the latches, and flung the case open.
And there, packed tightly in the case, were the entire contents of the wastebaskets of the passenger freighter.
"Hah!" Termor laughed. "I'll bet you have the stims hidden under all the rubbish, so that some idiot that only gives a cursory glance might miss them!"
With that, Commander Termor began digging through the garbage.
After five minutes, he stood up, and was trembling with barely restrained rage.
"Where is it?" He pronounced each word slowly, coldly, and menacingly, beginning to advance toward where the smuggler was being held
Nicklas was just grinning. "I couldn't say. It might be here, or it might be somewhere else." He shrugged, raising his hands slightly
The Commander snapped his fingers, and more troopers appeared around him.
"Arrest him. Now."
Nicklas just grinned wider. "'Fraid I can't let you do that."
With that, he raised his arm, twitched his finger, and a bright ruby bolt of plasma leaped from his arm, punching a charred hole through the Commander's chest. A look of shock crossed the Commander's face, before his dead body toppled over with a slight moan. Before the two troopers hands could tighten their grip on his arms, he jerked his left arm out of that trooper's grip, smashed his elbow into the soldier's helmet, then punched the other in the gut, all in one semi fluid movement. Once both arms were released, the quickly disabled the two troopers by shooting them in the legs.
The other troopers were in a slightly shocked state, caught off guard by the suddenness of the attack. They quickly snapped out of their stunned state, but by that time, three other troopers were out of commission, also killed by Nicklas, as he leaped for cover behind a convenient pile of crates that stood nearby.
Shots echoed around the room, as blasters discharged in the direction of where he'd just jumped, producing smoking scorch marks in the walls behind him.
Filtered shouts came from another direction, as more troopers were called over. They soon began to make a push toward where he was hidden, when all of a sudden, troopers began dropping left and right, as Bee joined the fray from her hidden vantage point in the ventilation ducts in one side of the room.
Soon, the remaining troopers fled the site of the massacre, leaving behind only their dead and wounded to their fate.
Slowly, Nicklas stood, and gingerly stepped though the bodies strewn about the deck, heading for the door leading away from the carnage.
After reaching the corridor, he walked to where their docking section was, and waited for Bee to join him.
She did a few minutes later, then they headed back to the Reliant in silence.
An hour later found the duo releasing the docking clamps, with a full load of passengers.
"Well, I guess I'll have to be a bit more careful about who I do business with in the future," he commented wryly over the comm, as he guided the transport through the traffic around the station. "At least I didn't lose the stims. The Hutts may let me live."
"Are you sure about that?"
He thought about it for a minute as he punched in the coordinates to their next destination, then shrugged. "Well, I still have the goods, I just couldn't make delivery. That's something. Unlike the last time."
Reaching up, he turned the switch that activated the shields. "Shield status?"
"Optimal percentage in three minutes," came the droid's reply.
A red light flashed on the navicomputer a moment later, indicating that it's computing was complete.
"Well, I think I'll worry about it later."
With that, he flipped the switches, and the stars outside the vessel streaked into lines, and then the vessel Reliant vanished into hyperspace.
A while later, as he was walking to the 'fresher, he paused at the engineering compartment, and said to Bee humorously, "We may not have sold the chizk, but hey, I did get rid of the garbage."