Interlude

PERLEMIAN TRADE ROUTE: SPACE STATION OBELYSK

There hadn't been a great deal of action at the space station since the two senior mercenaries had left to ferry their spoils back to base. Max, one of the youngest but most skilled splicers of the Massassi group, had elected to stay behind instead of joining them. Partly because he preferred the silent isolation of space to the chaotic buzz of the newly refitted Yavin 4 Temple. But mostly because he'd just wanted some time away from Roland.

Friend of Commander Delto's or not, the obtuse man was a neanderthal. Taking his height out of the equation, he reminded him of an angry dwarf. Right down to the dirty chest-length red beard and bald head. He had no decorum, spoke like an uneducated simpleton and dressed like a well-weathered combat soldier — dripping with ammo-belts and tactical equipment. He even carried a crumpled canteen; which going by the acrid smell that always lingered on his breath, was most likely filled with whiskey rather than water.

Max glanced around the command center. The four others who'd joined him in commandeering the Imperial facility— who he was rapidly discovering were not a great deal better company than Roland —were now kicking back playing Sabaac. He rolled his eyes. Personally, he had no interest in the ridiculous slide-of-hand card game. Nor the gambling and opponent deception that seemed to be such an integral part of it. He preferred strategy over chance. Which was why, while the others were engrossed in their little game of one-up-manship, he was busy monitoring the nav-display and listening in on the com-frequencies. If a ship approached, he wanted to know about it.

An angry yell came from behind. Then a weighted thump followed by what sounded to be a glass breaking. He spun around. "Will you lot keep it down?" he snapped. "Unlike yourselves, I am actually trying to work over here!"

A roar of laughter filled the air. "Yeah right!" the biggest one blurted, slamming his thick hands onto the table. "Whaddya know boys, little splicer ova there seems to think he's all that."

They laughed harder.

Another looked over his cards at Max. "Delto should've taken his pet with him. I ain't nobody's babysitter."

Max returned to the nav-computer and turned the volume up on his headset. Idiots. All four of them. Ok, so maybe he should have gone back with the Commander. At least then, he could've retired to his private sleeping quarters for some space. He reached down, pulled a ration bar from his knapsack and ripped it open. Taking a bite, he rested his cheek on his hand and stared at the display.

A green blip appeared on the radar. He blinked. It was still there. He leaned forward and put his ration bar on the console. The static hiss over the headset changed; a warbled chime blasting his ears. Quickly turning the volume down, he stared at the blip, watching as it drew closer.

An official sounding voice rang through the earpiece.

"ISS Obelysk. This is ICF–221. Requesting clearance to dock. Do you copy?"

Max shook his head in disbelief. That was no mere civilian craft.

"I repeat. ISS Obelysk. This is ICF–221. Requesting clearance to dock. Do you copy?"

He spun in his chair. "Will you all just shut up!" he yelled. "We've got incoming!" Quickly turning back to the nav-display, he put his hand to the earpiece as the other mercs rushed to join him at the console. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself and cleared his throat. "Come in, ICF–221. This is ISS Obelysk. Transmit ID marker and await confirmation."

"Copy that. Transmitting ID marker. ICF–221, standing-by."

The nav-display lit up. Max brought up the identification charts and put it through the console holo-projector. He stroked his chin and stared at the transparent image of the ship as it rotated mid-air. "An Imperial Cargo Freighter..." he muttered, glancing to the four men at his back. "Enclosed hull. Not one of the big ones — but still..."

The biggest merc leaned forward, scratching his wiry black moustache. "Crew compliment?" he grunted.

"Ten. Pilot, co-pilot, few officers and some freight-hands," Max replied, looking back to the nav-display. "No evidence of flight escort either."

"Hmmm... Cargo and destination?" the big merc asked.

Max shrugged and keyed the transmitter. "ICF–221. What is your cargo and destination?"

"Cargo is classified. Routine drop and run. Final destination: Raada Outpost."

"Practically gift wrapped," the taller, leaner of the four mercs commented, turning to gaze out the viewport window as the approaching freighter slowly became visible. "If we play our cards right, we should be able to unload their cargo and send them back on their way without any resistance."

"Then we tear into the crates and see what presents they brought us," black moustache said.

Max nodded in agreement. "We'll need to change into some of those Imperial uniforms. Or else, they won't buy it," he said. Going back to the nav-display, he keyed the transmitter again. "ICF–221. Docking clearance confirmed. Maintain current course and proceed to Port Six. Prepping Air-lock for hold transfer."

For the most part, the cargo transfer seemed to be going according to plan. One of the ship's officers stood by the air-lock access door, busily checking off the moving crates on his data-pad, while another was supervising the freight-handlers and mercs as they stacked them in the port hold.

Max wiped his palms on his trousers. Haxen had warned them all to play it cool if the Imperial's decided to show up, cautioning everyone on the risks of their operation being exposed. Trying to stay in character, he walked up to the officer standing by the air-lock and crossed his arms. "What's the total count?"

The officer didn't bother to look up. "Twenty-three standard and fifteen reinforced," he said curtly, his words clipped and tight.

Reinforced. That meant they were military. Possibly ammunitions or power-packs destined for the trooper corps. "How long before they are scheduled for pick-up?" Max asked, masking his interest.

"Three to four days," the officer said, glancing up from the screen. "It all depends on how long it takes them to get the return shipment ready."

"The return shipment?"

The officer raised his brow. "Have you not consulted your shipping logs? As the commanding officer of this station, one would think you would be well aware of all expected transfers, both to and from this facility."

Max fought the urge to shuffle his feet. He glanced around once more, watching as his accomplices headed back through the air-lock to retrieve more of the crates. "Yes, well... unfortunately our systems have proven to be rather unreliable of late." He shrugged and forced out a fake chuckle. "You know how it is; nobody cares about the Outer-rim territories. Hard to get a tech on-site to look at it."

"Indeed..." the officer said, his stare narrowing.

It was hard to say if he'd bought the story. Not that it was a very good one, but it was the best he could come up with on the spot. Hopefully he'd bought it.

"Your men, they are quite... unique. Not the usual candidates for simple station assignment."

Max gulped internally. So he had noticed. Was it the ill-fitted uniforms or their needlessly impolite and stand-offish body language that had given them away? Whichever it was, he was aware that at any moment the whole operation could suddenly take a steep nose-dive. "I do what I can with the resources I'm given, Lieutenant. As I'm sure, so do you." He started to ease away, slowly putting some much-needed space between him and the now-suspicious officer. With a shrug, he casually called over his shoulder: "You know... it seems they'll let just about anyone join the Empire these days."

The officer's steely grey eyes followed him across the room. He waited until Max had almost reached the port control console before finally speaking up. "Before you leave, Commander," he said, lifting his chin high. "Your code cylinder. Do you have it?"

Code cylinder? What code cylinder? He numbly patted his top pocket and to his relief, felt a small cigar-sized tube sitting inside it. "Yes..." he said, trying not to sound nervous, "of... of course I have my code cylinder."

"Good. You will be needing that to authorize this transaction," the officer drawled.

"Yes. I know," Max lied. He turned to carry on to the small console when a commotion startled him. He stopped and spun in place. Oh no. This didn't look good. One of the freight-handlers had rammed into the black moustached merc with his reinforced crate, sending him tumbling.

"Hey! Watch where you're going!" black moustache yelled as he pushed up from the floor.

"Sorry. I didn't see you," the freight-handler apologised.

"You didn't see me? I was right in front of you, you moron!"

The disagreement brought the whole transfer to a standstill. Two freight-handlers and the other three mercs were stuck waiting by the air-lock looking at each other.

"Get a move on!" the supervising officer demanded, grabbing black moustache's arm. "The Empire does not have time for petty scuffling."

"Take your scrawny hand off me you Imp!" he snarled, wrenching his arm free. He swung his off-hand and punched the officer square in the jaw.

And in an instant, their cover was blown.

"Pirates!" the officer by the air-lock yelled. "I knew this felt off!"

Crates were shoved aside. Blasters were drawn. Even the freight-handlers were armed. Chaos erupted in the port hold. Max cursed under his breath and dove for cover behind a nearby crate.

"MAX! JAM THEIR SIGNALS! HURRY!"

He popped his head up. Blaster fire coursed from everywhere. A slew of red bolts slammed into the air-lock, narrowly missing the officer. The officer fired back.

"Max, now!"

He ran for it. Dodging the cross-fire, he scrambled to the console and crouched down to catch his breath. Someone screamed. It was impossible to tell who it was over the roar. Shaking off panic, he jumped up and started tapping furiously on the port console, his eyes flickering between the controls and chaos.

"Get back on the ship," one of the officers ordered. "The station is compromised."

The jamming confirmation alert buzzed on the screen. "Transmissions jammed!" Max sang triumphantly. He looked up just in time to see the officer by the air-lock running for the ship. He went to fire when a stray bolt slammed into his chest, catapulting him back into the wall.

"MAX!"

IMPERIAL CARGO FREIGHTER

"The station is compromised. Launch!" an officer yelled running through the bridge blast door.

"But sir. The air-lock is still attached," the pilot said from his seat. "If we break dock now, we risk damage to the hull."

"I don't care! Get this ship moving. That is an order, Captain!"

Pilot and co-pilot exchanged glances, then prepped for take-off. "Initiating sublight thrusters. Prepare to break dock," the captain announced, his hands flying across the switches. Both men grabbed the sticks and pushed.

A loud rumbling filled the bridge. The ship shuddered. Interior panels rattling, it shunted and stopped; shunted and stopped. Amidst the cracking and screech of metal, a loud bang sounded from the hold and the freighter tore free.

"Docking clamp clear. Hull integrity at ninety-one percent. She's loose," the captain called over his shoulder. "Orders, sir?"

"Increase aft shields and take us back to Capitol. We have to alert High Command."

"Yes sir. Prepare for lightspeed."

In a flash the cargo freighter lurched forward and vanished into the stars, leaving a small trail of debris in its wake.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

A brief break from the main story. Bit of a slow start as we gear up for the action. Thank you to everyone for your follows/favourites/reviews.

Guest: Vader is heroin.

I love that analogy. So, so true. Powerfully addictive and controlling.

Sfloresf: yes, Padmè and Vader are struggling with their marriage. It would be unrealistic, I believe, for it to be all smooth sailing for them. They have been under each other's feet for nearing 4 weeks solid, not something they were used to. I think that would put stress on any relationship, let alone theirs.

sunmoonwindandstars: I am so glad to hear you are enjoying it. As for his dream, always changing the future is. Lol.

Back to the main storyline next. Thank you for reading and as always...

MTFBWY