Chapter Two
(please refer to diclaimer on Ch.1 OP JHunter)
The old Corellian freighter dropped out of hyperspace, leaving the entrancing blue swirls behind. Once the confusing star lines transformed once more into the distinct points of light, the blue and green orb of Corellia came into view. It had been a few years since his last visit to his homeworld, and the widely un-urbanized expanses of the planet were a welcoming sight to him.
The last time he had seen Corellia from space, he had been piloting his TIE Defender. This time, however, he was behind the controls of a YT-1300, a freighter built in the shipyards that orbited the world. He had borrowed it from the stock of ships that Tarentum kept on hand. Instead of making the appearance that he had last time and drawing unwanted attention to himself, he had opted for a nondescript, run-of-the-mill freighter, so that he could slip in under the guise of yet another star pilot seeking refuge on Corellia. He did have his TIE with him, though: it was strapped into an expanded section of the cargo hold, built specially by the technicians in Castle Tarentum. In a pinch, he could deploy himself in the agile Imperial starfighter, to either make a quick get-away or to fight off whatever pursuit he might find.
He wasn't a big fan of the ship's layout, with the cockpit situated off to starboard. It was something that he was just going to have to deal with, though, if he was to keep some modicum of anonymity. The freighter was quick, though bulky, and he never knew if he'd have to make use of the cargo and living spaces.
Once he was closer to the world, he flipped the switch that began blinking at him, indicating that he was receiving an incoming transmission.
"Corellian freighter, state your business," the masculine voice of the traffic controller said, made tinny by the outdated communications package.
"Bantha Herder to control," Jason responded, keying the headset mike he wore. "Just coming for a pleasure trip."
"Control to Bantha, transmit your ships manifest." Jason did as requested, sending the small document down the invisible comm line. "Copy receipt, Bantha Herder...you are clear to land at Tyrena spaceport, docking stall 23-4. Have a nice stay on Corellia."
"Roger, Control...Bantha Herder out." He then closed the link, severing contact to the surface and leaving him in the relative silence of the cockpit again. Jason angled the ship towards Corellia, heading towards the coordinates the homing beacon provided him. Within moments, the ship turned into a fireball, the friction of entering the atmosphere buffeting the freighter as it descended towards the surface. It only took about a minute for the flames to die off, and he was soaring effortlessly through the clear air.
The Tyrena spaceport came into view, situated near one of Corellia's expansive seas. Having been a youth in Coronet, and never really came home after leaving, Jason had never been to Tyrena before. He knew where it was in relation to Coronet, and its significance as far as spaceports were concerned.
The beacon lead him down to his allocated docking stall, and, kicking the repulsorlifts to life, he settled the ship down on the black duracrete. Flipping all sorts of switches and toggles, he powered the generator down, but left the security systems online, and the engines and weapons warm but powered-down. Leaving the stiff pilots chair, Jason headed aft towards the crew quarters. He entered one of the small rooms, and checked himself in the mirror.
He had never really worn the robes that the Brotherhood supplied him, and this time was no different. He was decked-out in clothes more suited to the smuggler persona he was attempting to create, with his long hair tied back, the pony tail sticking out the back of the dirty cap he wore. On top of his dark purple shirt he had a dingy, Han Solo-esque jacket that concealed his handgun and lightsaber, and a pair of horribly worn-in, dingy pair of tan nerf hide pants, the supple leather worn at the knees and buttocks. The only thing that seemed "new" in the whole ensemble were his boots, which had the bottoms of the pants tucked into them.
Taking one last look to make sure his gun was full of bullets and that his lightsaber was tucked away so no one could see it, he tossed his duffel over his shoulder and trod down the lowered ramp and into the bright Corellian sunlight. He pulled a pair of dark sunglasses from an inside pocket in the jacket and placed them on his face, protecting his eyes from the glaring light. Looking around, he took in the layout of the spaceport in a series of quick glances. There were a few other freighters nearby, but that particular section of the port seemed largely unpopulated.
Good, Jason thought as he slapped the switch on the underside of the hull that raised the ramp again. It slid up into the fuselage silently, giving a dull thunk when it stopped and the locks engaged. I don't need anyone getting all suspicious in here.
Before heading for the exit, he took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the familiar air of Corellia. A complacent grin came to his lips as he reached into a pocket and removed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He stuck the filtered end of the cigarette between his lips, and took a couple of puffs to get it lit by the fire that he produced from the worn, metal lighter. Taking a deep drag, he inhaled the smoke and held it, and, as he let it slowly drift out of his mouth, he allowed himself to open up to the Force, its familiar and reassuring power permeating every fiber of his body.
Holding the butt of his cigarette between his lips, Jason repositioned the duffel on his shoulder and started for the customs kiosk. He would have much rather just avoided all the formalities of landing on Corellia, but he had to bite his tongue and do as the law dictated, so that he didn't draw that unwanted attention.
The female Twi'lek at the kiosk looked horribly bored, her lithe frame slouched in her chair and her eyelids appearing too heavy to keep open. The clicking of Jason's boots hitting the pavement must have caught her attention, though, for she turned an eye towards him and immediately jumped to her feet.
"Welcome to Tyrena Spaceport, sir!" she exclaimed, a little happily for Jason's liking.
"Slow day, eh?" he replied, sending her a lopsided grin.
"Oh, you have no idea," the woman said, slumping back down into her chair and grabbing a nearby datapad off the desk. "Please, sir, put your bag on the table and walk through the scanner."
Jason did as instructed, setting his duffel down on the desk in front of the Twi'lek, and took the couple paces forward to walk through the scanner. As he passed through the metal rectangle, he sought out the particular wavelengths the scanner used to detect weapons and other undesirable items, and, by virtue of his training in the Force, found them and moved them subtly around the distinct signatures of his slugthrower and lightsaber.
"All right, you're clean," the Twi'lek said once Jason had passed through the bio scanner. "And so is your bag. Have a nice stay in Tyrena."
Jason thanked the woman, procuring his duffel and putting it back over his shoulder before exiting the kiosk. A few minutes more of walking, and he found himself in the busy streets of the city surrounding the otherwise slight spaceport.
"So this is Tyrena," he muttered to himself, looking around. "Eh, Coronet would kick its ass in an instant." Setting off towards the east, he head in the direction of what he knew to be the location of a nearby speeder rental operation. Walking across a road, he meandered his way through a simple, grid-like city block, and came upon the dealership. It had speeders of all shapes, sizes, makes and colors sitting outside, lined up in compact rows, but with enough space between to allow any speeder to be boarded and driven away.
The Dark Jedi in him told him, as he set foot on the black duracrete of the lot, to just jump in the fastest, most flashy vehicle, hot-wire it and just drive away. But, the sensible, Light Jedi side of him told him to do things the legal and right way.
A compromise, then, he thought, as a portly, middle-aged human male in a casual suit started his way. And here comes the salesman
"Welcome!" the man beamed, his aging face twisting into a oversized smile. It was obvious he was trying a mite too hard to be friendly, but Jason just returned the favor and greeted him with a firm handshake. "What can I do for ya?" he asked, shaking the Obelisk's hand enthusiastically.
"I'm looking to rent one of your fine speeders," Jason replied, snaking slender tendrils of the Force into the man's mind, weakening his trained salesman defenses, and making Jason appear to be the friendliest customer to have ever existed.
"Well, come right this way, and I'll show you what we've got." The salesman led Jason through the lot, pointing to the speeders he had for rent and sale. After winding through three different aisles, Jason had decided he'd seen enough, and turned back towards a hot, fire-engine red sports speeder they had passed in the first row.
"What about that gee-tee back there?" he inquired, pouring the Force into the man's head, making him think that he could just about give it away to him.
"Yeah, I've had my eye on that one myself," he replied, smiling broadly. "Tell ya what...I'll go get the keys. You can take it for a test drive, and if you don't come back, well...let's just say that it never happened." A sly grin crossed his lips then.
"How 'bout that, eh? Sounds good to me," Jason said, grinning back just as slyly. Man, I love the Force sometimes. Well...all the time, really.
"Alright, back in a minute." The rotund human bounded off towards the sales office, retreating into the building only to return a few moments later with a set of keys. He came back up to Jason, who had crossed over towards the speeder he was about to "borrow," and handed the young Corellian the keys.
"There ya go, buddy," he said, his breath coming harder than before. He must have run all the way into his office. "Take her easy, okay? And tell your friends about Psycho Sam'ia's, Home of the Whammer Deal!"
"Ok, will do," Jason responded, once again having to endure another of the weak-minded salesman's over-enthused hand shakes.
Climbing into the driver's seat, Jason took inserted the key into the appropriate slot and turned it, turning the engine over, and being rewarded with a deep, throaty exhaust. He gave the accelerator a couple of quick taps, and the engine responded instantly. A confident smirk gracing his lips, Jason popped the manual transmission into its first gear, gave a quick wave to the salesman, and took off.