Chapter 1: Primum Impetum

Blaster fire ricocheted off the walls, barrelling from the corridor up ahead. Black scorch marks stained the once pristine Imperial grey panels, one just centimetres above his head; the one that almost got him. Almost.

"What's your guess?" a gruff voice called from behind, "ten? Twenty?"

Haxen glanced over his shoulder. The heavy-set, tank of a man at his back, Roland, had been with him through countless tight situations. His brown eyes glittered with feral excitement. His somewhat chubby face, framed by singed greying-red beard and side-burns, twisted into a wild, toothy grin.

"Closer to twenty," Haxen said, leaning into the wall and taking a deep breath. "Not too bad for a remote transfer station."

"Piece of cake," Roland barked, cocking his rifle. "Blasted Imps won't know what hit 'em!"

Being long-standing members of the Massassi Group, tight situations were something they were both more than accustomed to. Piracy and smuggling weren't careers for the light-hearted. Every job carried risk. Some with big payoffs. Some with really big payoffs.

This one promised to be worth it. Many ships, both Imperial and Commercial alike, traversed the Perlemian Trade Route. It was one of the major bloodlines into the Outer-rim. Controlling it meant free access to some of the most heavily loaded supply vessels in the known galaxy. Food, medical supplies, Kyber crystals; nothing was off the menu. With the Empire's forces predominantly busy in the Core worlds, focused on quelling the riots and spot fires brought on by its sudden acquisition of any civilization with anything of value, the outlying systems were ripe for the picking. For now, at least.

"So, what's the plan?" Roland asked.

"Have we got that jamming confirmation yet?" Haxen said. "If they get word out, we could be in for a whole lot more than we bargained for."

"All signals out. Have been since we docked. We doin' this thing or what?"

He peered around the wall. Another volley of blaster fire pummelled the air, whirring straight past them and down the corridor. He turned back, assessing the faces of the five men behind them. Seven to twenty were pretty good odds, better than what they were usually up against. Roland was right, this should be a piece of cake. He nodded and readied his blaster. "We make a run for it and shoot anything that moves. Then we shoot it again," he said, getting into position. "Nobody stops until we secure that Command Center." He gave the signal and ran out yelling.

Bolts littered the corridor, surrounding them with thick smoke. The troopers fired at the men charging forward, their wild shots hitting nothing but air.

Dodging and firing, Haxen and his team made short work of the armoured squad, jumping over the fallen bodies as they neared the Command Centre door. Roland took out the last trooper, standing over him with his rifle ready when his helmeted head finally hit the floor. He fired off two more shots, piercing the white duraplast armour at point-blank range, then spat on him. "See you in hell, Imp!"

"Roland, that's enough," Haxen said, waiting for him by the hatch. "Have you forgotten about the Command Center?"

He shook his head and moved to join them. One of the younger mercs knelt by the security panel, working on the door release. Seconds later it burst into life, the blast door sliding open and revealing the Command Center.

Two Imperial officers, dressed in their typical grey uniforms, shakily aimed blasters at them. "You are interfering with an Imperial Facility!" one boldly exclaimed from his chair, his fingers trembling. "Drop your weapons and get down on the ground!"

A guttural laugh tore from Roland's mouth. He lifted his rifle and took aim. "Get on your feet, Imp. I don't want your dirty Imp blood splattered all over my new seat!"

The Officer rose to his feet. Roland opened fire.

• • •

"I worry about you sometimes," Haxen said, sitting at the main navi-computer, switching on the communication signals and retrieving the shipping logs.

"I hate Imps," Roland grunted, leaning back and crossing his boots up on his new desk. "So, what."

"They were no clone troopers," the young slicer merc called out from behind them at the security console. "I don't think they managed to land a single shot."

"No, Max," Haxen agreed, checking the logs. "Clone Troopers are much more precise. I've seen them in action alongside the Jedi. They were definitely not the same."

Roland lurched forward and spat on the floor. "Damned Jedi! At least something good came out of that war of theirs."

Haxen shot him a stern glare before returning to the terminal. Old comrade or not, sometimes he really couldn't stand him. And that spitting habit of his was downright disgusting. But he had to admit, if he was heading into a dogfight, he wouldn't have anyone else at his back.

The comm-scan lit up. Max had worked his magic once again. He smiled.

"We're in!" the young merc sang triumphantly from his console.

"And it looks like we've got our first customer, lads," Haxen said, staring at the ID marker on the screen. "Light Corellian freighter. Could be that whiskey shipment you wanted, Roland."

"Good, I'm thirsty," Roland said, dropping his boots to the floor and getting ready. "How 'bout you, boys? Fancy a drink? My buy."

• • •

The seven members of the Massassi group sat back, enjoying their appropriated whiskey and watching as the Light Freighter broke dock. Its thrusters ignited, sending it hurtling into the stars beyond.

Haxen drained his glass and leaned back in his seat. He glanced at Roland as he twisted his empty glass around on the desk, his expression blank.

"Roland," Haxen said, and the bearded man met his stare. "How come you hate the Jedi so much?"

He spat on the floor again, like the very thought alone repulsed him. "Blasted hypocritical sorcerers," he said, thumping his glass and reaching to pour himself another drink. "They preached peace and justice. Proclaiming themselves to be protectors ... guardians." He rose from his seat and started to angrily stomp around the Command Center. He spun around and threw his gauntleted hands in the air. "Where was Molly, Lily and Grace's justice? Where is their peace? Where is my peace? Where were the Jediwhen our village was destroyed?"

Haxen quickly went to him and placed his hands comfortingly upon his shoulders. "You can't blame the Jedi for what happened to your family. They weren't the ones who ransacked your home."

His brown eyes went fierce, brimming with furious tears. He gritted his teeth. "Our government pleaded the Republic for their help. They denied us! Those pompous pricks denied us, Hax! And do you want to know why?"

"Why?" he asked, keeping his tone gentle.

Roland pulled out of his touch and collapsed back into the seat, grabbing his drink and staring at it. "Because we weren't part of that infernal Republic. Because they were too busy bringing them peace." He gulped his drink and slammed the glass down. "Peace is a lie. There is no peace in this Galaxy. Only chaos. Man, versus man. Everyone out for themselves. Good riddance, I say. The blasted liars got just what they damn well deserved."

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Chapter one is out.

I'm going to keep the chapters shorter on this one to try and keep a more consistent update schedule.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy and happy May the 4th.

MTFBWY

Always.