Chapter 1
Five Years Before the Battle of Yavin
Cloud City, Bespin
He didn't have any clue where he was going, only that he was near what passed for the harbour district in this city. Now that his pursuers had lost direct sight of him, he had taken more or less random turns at every intersection but still slowly making his way to the upper levels of the city. Lelenvole, or Lel to the people who did not want to kill him, was very well aware that his best chance at getting off this planet was finding work and hiring or simply stealing some form of transport.
Likely the latter, as he had all of four hundred Imperial credits to his name.
The reason why he was both nearly broke and stuck on Bespin of all places was actually frustratingly straightforward. After almost getting killed in a firefight between the Yellow Hawks, the Merc unit he had been with, and the local Imperial garrison at the behest of an officer who was as corrupt as he was fat on the aforementioned Ukian, the only freighter Captain willing to take his money had been bound for Cloud City. He had also overcharged Lel to a degree that still had his head spinning. In the aftermath, the unit had been forcibly dissolved by the same Moff that had personally shot the corrupt officer that had started the whole mess.
Now here he was, out of a job, likely on a steadily growing number of wanted lists and with all his worldly possessions in his ratty old backpack.
Then again, it could have been worse. There were far worse places to get stranded on, such as Nar Shaddaa or any flavour of Imperial Penal colony. He still had the scars from his only visit to the smuggler's moon. Not an experience he ever wanted to repeat as long as he lived.
Yet at the same time, the criminal underworld of Cloud City, and therefore the pool of prospective employers, those willing to employ him without any awkward questions why he was so desperate for work and as broke as hell, was somewhat more limited. Tibanna gas aside, Cloud City marketed itself as a tourism and gambling hub. Still, he had seen enough Scorsese movies in his previous human life to know that both these things always bred some form of crime to take advantage of the gullible and unsuspecting outsider. He had been terrible at playing cards even before That Night and his BROB encounter, so he had stayed away from the casino district.
Once on the Concourse, finding a cheap vendor that sold food in his price range turned out to be pretty straightforward: Thus fortified by a warm meat pastry, he made his way to the part of the highest platform that passed for the poorer parts of town around here. There were several places where a passer-by out for a stroll could pause and take in the admittedly beautiful skyscape the city floated through. It didn't take him long to find one where he could be alone with his thoughts but for an ad for the Cloud City Sabacc Tournament at the Yarith Bespin. He grinned at that for a moment but quickly sat down on an outward-facing bench.
It was three months away, though, so waiting around wasn't an option. Getting into the "criminal" quarter of the city would be fairly straightforward, but beyond that… He wore what he owned in terms of clothing, leather pants in a blue so dark; they almost rated as black, a light brown pilot's jacket that he had won in a bet a few years ago over a generic dark grey shirt and lastly, black hiking boots that had chosen for their comfortable utility. His current outfit was far enough from the uniform the Yellow Hawks had worn and looked enough like "generic spacer outfit #743" that he was certain no one would make the and it didn't colour clash with his UN blue skin. The only addition to that was a single small holdout blaster and the contents of his backpack.
With that reminder, he reached for that and stood up. He wasn't going to get anything done by just sitting there, and now that he was no longer stuck being a semi-voluntary mercenary, he had greater tasks to carry out. He owed that to the people around him. Food and shelter was his most immediate need, and for that, the commercial district was his best bet for both.
On arriving here in Cloud City almost a week ago, that had been his first major decision. Be it standing behind a counter or shifting shipping crates. Going anywhere near the criminal element was… well he simply wasn't that desperate yet, especially since the experiences he'd had in that area both before and after BROB's visit. It may have worked out for the likes of Han Solo in original Legends, but he could do without spending months as a carbonite slab. He was also only too aware where that particular incident had taken place.
Since then, he had spent his nights on the ragged couch in the staff-room of a semi-seedy bar/pub in exchange for his evenings working as a bouncer, while spending his days hunting for work that he was actually paid for.
With no luck thus far, but at least he didn't have to sleep on a bench and got to eat his share of the day's leftovers together with the regular staff.
His luck had changed on his eleventh day on Bespin. Lel was standing in his usual perch next to the bar, at the other end from where the owner herself was preparing drinks. She was a middle-aged human woman who had first set foot on Cloud City sometime near the end of the Clone Wars, she originally hailed from one of the hundreds of colony worlds that spent their entire existence out of the limelight of galactic history, her personal history was a tightly kept secret. Lel had better things to do than dig down into that particular Gundark nest.
Most of the time, the work consisted of little more than occasionally glaring at a drunkard who was too forward with the female staff members, and occasionally throw them out when a polite suggestion wasn't enough. Both didn't happen too often, since the bar mostly served the more reputable, if less wealthy segment of the spacer community that came through town.
"Lel?"
The person that spoke to him slightly out of nowhere was said bartender/owner. Sitting next to her, and looking at Lel with evident interest was a middle-aged human male, with greying brown hair and appreciable beardage.
"What's up, Tane?" he asked.
"Come sit down with us," Tane said, "because my newest customer here has a request you might want to hear."
Neither showed the sort of tells that would lead to harsh words being exchanged, so he nodded politely and rested his arms on the wooden countertop.
"Well, in that case, my name is Lelenvole, or Len for short." he said, introducing himself.
The man studied him for a moment before reaching for his drink and tooka sip. "Tane here tells me that you're looking for work that gets you off Bespin?"
Lel nodded in affirmation. "Not to speak ill of those alive and who are actually present, but I don't feel like spending the rest of my days on Cloud City. I prefer my planets with more solid ground."
The man chuckled and took another sip. "Yes, I think I can see that," he said and finally introduced himself. "Ceron Harlan, independent trader, ship Captain and generally in the search of someone to back me up in the field for this next job."
With a mental frown, Lel studied Ceron. Was a trader in the same way that a certain Corellian was one? Or the sort who scraped enough to get by but never really hit it big in the way they dreamed of? Either way, it was Lel's best chance so far, and in a very real sense, he felt an almost raw, animalistic urge to finally get moving.
"And since it's relevant to the job at hand," Ceron said cutting through his train of thought, "she also tells me that you're a former Merc?"
"Oh yes, but that particular company failed the basic stress test of what to do when the commander is out-generaled on the field and off, so they and I parted ways," Lel replied with an angry grimace, having long since come up with a semi-true answer to the question. Paired with the right delivery, it should keep most people from digging any deeper right away. Hopefully that would do until he had worked out how he felt about everything that had happened with the Hawks.
"I think," Ceron said after seeming to be considering Lel's words, "that you're exactly the right sort of man for this job. You look like you can handle yourself, and I'm told you are a rated pilot? My ride is really made for two people in the cockpit."
Lel nodded again. "Officially I'm rated on hyper-capable shuttles and anything smaller, but I've helped out as a freighter pilot for my old employer more than once over the years." Said freighters had been the secret to the Hawk's success and relative wealth. But they had also drawn the wrong sort attention that had lead to his being here. He wasn't the best pilot out there by any means either, but if it meant he got off Cloud City, then all the better.
"Good to know," Ceron said, "but your main job would be to be an extra pair of eyes and to ensure that people know I'm not on my own."
"So, how much trouble are you expecting then?" Lel asked with a frown. The last thing he needed right now was being on any more wanted lists. At least out-system.
"Ideally? None," Ceron replied, but that didn't exactly make Lel feel any less worried. "There is no chance at all ´for any… Imperial entanglements, if that's what you're worried about. What we're doing is perfectly legal, but…"
"But this deal is potentially rare-slash-valuable enough to warrant taking extra steps against being screwed over." Lel finished.
Lel was very much tempted to tell him to go take a hike. He'd seen that particular movie often enough to be able to tell where this would probably go.
"Not any more than usual these days," Ceron continued, "I used to trade in strictly legal spices, and you wouldn't believe how often both sides of the law took a special interest in me because of that."
"People heard spices and thought Glitterstim," Lel replied, understanding becoming evident on his face.
"More or less," his prospective employer said with a frustrated nod. "Especially in the mid and outer Rim. It got so bad, even those profits just weren't worth it any more."
"I can see that.." Lel's response was truthful. Taint by association, however ridiculous, was hardly a new thing. "So what is this exactly all about?"
"Deactivated, but vintage droids, mostly pre-Imperial era," Ceron said taking another sip of his drink, "There's a collector's market for just about anything."
"So are we talking old CIS battledroids or…" Lel asked in an effort to deduce why he was being hired as a mixture of body guard and co-pilot.
Ceron's barking laugh disabused Lel of that notion. "I've got a line on someone who has a number of R-series droids still in their factory packaging, all New Old Stock. As far as my contact told me, they were meant for the Grand Army, but the company that acted as a go-between went bankrupt or was destroyed in the fighting near the end of the war. They've been sitting in a warehouse ever since."
He emptied his drink and motioned for a refill. "No, the reason why I'm not going there on my own is because of the location. Ever heard of Istroo?"
"Can't say that I have." Lel replied racking his brain for any reference from Legends.
"I'm not surprised. Sits more or less right between the mid and outer Rims, and was heavily fought over during the Clone Wars because both the Republic and the Separatists wanted it for their supply lines." Ceron said, "The planet never really recovered. So what passes for central authority there is hardly the most stable or able."
Lel nodded. That would explain a great many things, if true. It was hardly an unlikely story, nor the first time he'd heard it. There were countless systems like that, and the Empire had added some more to the mix since the war had ended. A part of him still didn't trust Ceron, but there was nothing too extremely obvious as he played the story back through his brain.
"And of course you will be well compensated," Ceron said when Lel didn't answer, and proceeded to quote a sum. A sum large enough to interest Lel, but not so large as to be unreasonable. In the end though… this was his first, and so far, best opportunity.
"Tell me more."
It wasn't any sort of special launchpad, nor was the ship. Intellectually, Lel knew that this type of ship was very, very common, almost to the point of being a stereotype for every smuggler and free trader ship. That didn't keep the human aspect of his personality from fanboying hard every time he saw one these up close. So as they walked closer, he soaked in all the details, from the almost pristine paintjob, light grey as usual for CEC with a number of blue hull panels, to the lack of hack-job welding all over the place and the sole turret being double-barrelled rather than quad. It made identification easy.
"This is a YT-1300F." Lel said.
Ceron looked back from where he was about to lower the ramp. "It is. What of it?" he asked with a shrug, and Lel grinned in response.
"Nothing, somehow I just pictured you more as a SoroSuub customer," he semi-lied. "But it certainly explains why you need a co-pilot."
"Have you ever flown one?" Ceron asked.
Lel shook his head. "Not personally, but the guy who taught me did. I've seen them often enough and was on board one a few times, and the cockpit layout is not very good for a single pilot."
"Fair enough." The ramp extended and Ceron picked up a crate with extra provisions they had bought. "He is right. For the record, you can do it, but it's a lot less efficient than with two," he said.
Lel readjusted his backpack and picked up another crate with the same contents. On the inside, the ship was just as well-kept on the outside, with nothing but the signs of wear and tear that went with this being a working ship. The biggest differences to the ship's soon to be much more famous cousin was the additional passenger spaces in one of the aft cargo holds and the lack of a ventral turret.
Ceron was standing next to the entrance to the cockpit as Lel returned from where he had stashed the crate in the forward freight compartment.
"Welcome aboard the Ultimate Argument," Ceron said with a gesture encomising the cockpit, "She is, as you clearly noted, an -F variant of the basic YT-1300 line, made less than twenty years ago, albeit with a few modifications. Such as the sublight and hyperspace drives being boosted as far as you can safely go, and of course the additional passenger bunks. Throw your stuff in there, we're not going to take anyone on any time soon."
Lel nodded, and being unable to help himself, asked: "So how fast does she go?"
"It is equivalent to a Class 1 drive," Ceron replied, "So she is a lot faster than the standard model, her armaments and defensive systems have been juiced up a bit too. Just your normal stuff for a loner hopping between the rims, you know."
After having disposed of his belongings in the additional passenger bay, Lel made his way to the cockpit where Ceron was already waiting for him.
"You good to go?" his employer asked, and Lel nodded as he sat down in the co-pilot's seat. He took a moment to ensure that his lekku weren't being squished accidentally if he moved around and quickly familiarized himself with the controls. The layout was typical for a CEC product of this class and vintage.
"Yeah, I'm good, Ceron," he replied. And he was. For all that he was doing this with a man he didn't fully trust, armed with little more than a holdout blaster and a DL-18 he'd bought with his advance from the lone merchant on Cloud City that legally sold them. It wasn't like he was having much of a choice. As the biggest producer of tibanna gas in the galaxy, Bespin invited far too much Imperial attention for any of the other shenanigans that he'd thought up. Such as simply contacting Mon Mothma through the public affairs contact information her Senate Office staff had displayed on the holonet for all to see. The best idea he'd had was hitching a ride to Alderaan and simply confronting Bail Organa, and he still kept that one in the back of his pocket as a plan for when he was done with Ceron's current job. The man was known to hold Open Court once a month, after all.
And then, he couldn't help himself. "Punch it."
tbc
Fair warning, updates for this will be slow in the long run. This is what I'm working on when I need to step back from something else or generally just want to work on something different for a few days.
Housekeeping:
The Wookiepedia entries for the tournament and Lando Calrissian himself contradict each other, stating 5 BBY and 4 BBY respectively for when he won the Falcon off her previous owner. Since a quick scan through book 2 of the Han Solo trilogy didn't reveal a firm date either, and the Falcon's article also places the tournament at 5 BBY, I went with that.
The pitch Ceron makes: It's based on something I saw online, where a dude was selling NOS IBM PCs from the late 80s that he had sitting in a forgotten warehouse. They were confirmed as legit.
The hyperdrive aboard the Ultimate Argument: As per wookiepedia, in Legends the YT-1300 has a Class 2 hyperdrive, while the Falcon is described as having a Class 0.5 one. I was tempted to have Ceron say something along the lines of "she makes .25 past light speed", but I promised elsewhere I'd cut down on the meta jokes.
Story rules and regs:
1) The SI is not Force sensitive, nor does he have any special ability to close his mind, unless taught to do so by someone who does. It's fairly high on his priority list.
2) The SI does not have access to any real world media beyond the Star Wars soundtrack. He has that because it was part of the Jumpchain CYOA I adapted for this.
3) While this is Legends only, I reserve the right to add stuff like the U Wing from Rogue One.
4) Random complaints about how the new canon sucks can be taken elsewhere, as that is in no way relevant. The only thing this has to do with Disney is me having seen some Disney movies.
5) The SI sometimes being foulmouthed, especially when angry, or nervous is very much something I'd be doing.
6) Pre-emptively rating this PG-13 or higher, because Star Wars sometimes be dirty, yo.
