> Disclaimer: Star Wars and all of it's Intellectual Properties is owned by George Lucas and Walt Disney, This fictional work and all of it's original characters are however mine.
----------------------------------------
The market corridors of Vannis Delta Space Station were a cacophony of noise, barter, and chaos. Traders shouted over one another to hawk their wares—scrap parts, unrecognizable gadgets, relics from distant worlds—and the air was thick with smoke and the scent of burning plasma. Jake and Rina navigated the tightly packed aisles, flanked by Nick-01 and Nick-02, whose glowing optics cast faint light on the dim surroundings.
Rina took the lead, her calm demeanor masking the sharp, calculating mind behind her eyes. Jake followed a few steps behind, his cloak shifting slightly as he moved, his hand never far from his holstered blaster. The two droids followed in perfect formation, their servos humming softly. They exuded menace—an effect that Jake had programmed specifically for situations like this.
Rina approached a group of salvagers clustered around a ramshackle stall, where parts from an old fighter craft were being sold. She leaned against the counter, projecting nonchalance.
“Nice setup,” she said casually, glancing over the goods. “Bet you’ve got stories to go with them.”
The salvagers exchanged wary looks, their gazes flicking between Rina and the imposing figure of Jake standing behind her.
“Depends who’s asking,” one of them said gruffly, crossing his arms.
Rina smiled faintly. “Just someone who likes stories. Maybe about places like Malachor V.”
The name drew an immediate reaction—a twitch in the salvager’s expression, a flicker of unease. Before he could respond, however, his companion’s eyes locked onto Nick-01, its frame glowing faintly as it scanned the area.
“Where’d you get those droids?” the man asked, his voice dripping with curiosity.
Jake tilted his head, feigning boredom, but his arm brushed the device on his forearm. The droids immediately snapped to attention, their blasters deploying with an audible click. The movement was so fast it was almost a blur. The salvagers froze, their faces draining of color.
“Not for sale,” Jake said flatly.
The droids held their pose for a moment longer before retracting their weapons, resuming their passive stance. Rina shot Jake a subtle glance, her amusement clear despite the tension.
“Back to Malachor,” Rina pressed, her tone firm. “Anything interesting about it?”
“Just stories,” the salvager muttered, his earlier bravado gone. “Cursed place. Dangerous. Pirates and junkers who go there don’t come back. If you’re smart, you’ll steer clear.”
Rina nodded thoughtfully, then moved on. As they walked, her voice came through Jake’s comm discreetly.
“Wasted intel,” she said. “He didn’t know anything useful.”
“Figures,” Jake replied, his voice low. “But at least they’ll think twice before trying anything.”
As they continued through the market, Jake’s attention was drawn to a stall selling advanced circuitry and modified power cores. His gaze lingered on a shield generator that looked like it could fit neatly onto Skew-01.
Rina noticed and whispered, “We’re here for information, not shopping.”
Jake shrugged, muttering, “Could be both.”
A sudden commotion erupted nearby—two traders arguing over a piece of machinery. Their voices escalated quickly, and within moments, fists were flying. A small crowd gathered, watching with detached interest as the fight spilled into the aisle.
“Let’s keep moving,” Rina said, steering them away.
Eventually, they found themselves at a quieter corner of the market. Rina approached a lone vendor with an array of artifacts spread across his table—some of which bore the telltale signs of being far older than they should have been.
“Looking for something specific?” the vendor asked, his voice smooth but guarded.
“Information,” Rina replied, keeping her tone casual. “Relics. Ancient sites. Anything that might lead us to something valuable.”
The vendor’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Illegal, I take it?”
“Depends on who you ask,” Rina said with a sly smile.
The vendor leaned forward. “Malachor V?”
Jake and Rina exchanged a glance.
“You know something about it?” Jake asked, stepping forward.
The vendor smirked. “I might. But information like that doesn’t come cheap.”
Rina tilted her head. “We can pay.”
Jake nodded in agreement, his focus shifting to the vendor’s wares. Among the scattered relics and artifacts, he spotted a fragment of what looked like an ancient droid component. His curiosity deepened, but he kept his attention on the conversation.
“Alright,” the vendor said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “There’s a trader deeper in the station. Deals in the kind of items the Hutts would kill to get their hands on. If anyone knows about Malachor V, it’s him.”
Rina’s lips curled into a smile. “And his name?”
“Zarok,” the vendor replied. “But watch yourself. He doesn’t take kindly to strangers.”
Rina thanked him and motioned for Jake to follow. As they walked away, she whispered through the comms, “Looks like we’ve got our lead.”
Jake’s response was brief but determined. “Let’s hope it pays off.”
----------------------------------------
The winding corridors of the Vannis Delta Space Station buzzed with activity as Rina and Jake, accompanied by Nick-01 and Nick-02, pressed onward through the bustling market. Traders of all kinds yelled over each other, advertising everything from starship components to ancient trinkets, creating a sea of sights and sounds that were almost overwhelming.
Jake paused at a stall displaying an impressive array of droid components, his attention caught by a sleek modular arm that could enhance one of the Nicks’ functionalities.
“Jake,” Rina’s voice cut through his thoughts, tinged with exasperation. She crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Mission first, upgrades later.”
Jake sighed, reluctantly tearing his gaze away from the stall. “You’re no fun.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said, smirking as they moved on.
As they navigated the labyrinthine aisles, Rina made good use of her sharp negotiation skills, engaging with traders who might have crossed paths with Zarok.
“Zarok?” a grizzled Rodian trader repeated, his antennae twitching. “Yeah, I know him. Runs a spot deeper in the station, near the red sector. You’ll know it when you see it—shady as hell and full of relics that shouldn’t be here.”
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Another trader, a gruff human with a mechanical arm, leaned in conspiratorially. “Zarok’s a slick one. Loves to size you up before he talks business. Watch your pockets, and don’t let him see you flinch.”
The picture of Zarok grew clearer with each interaction. By the time they reached the red sector, Jake and Rina had a good idea of what to expect.
“Confident, but not condescending,” Rina said quietly as they approached a dimly lit stall surrounded by shadowy figures.
“Guarded but flexible,” Jake added, glancing at the Nicks.
“Exactly. Let me take the lead.”
At the center of the stall sat Zarok, a wiry Twi’lek with mottled green skin and piercing yellow eyes. His lekku twitched occasionally, as if in tune with his sharp, calculating mind. He was surrounded by a bizarre collection of artifacts, some of which gave off faint glows or emitted strange hums.
Jake and Rina stepped forward. Zarok’s gaze shifted to them, his expression unreadable.
“Zarok?” Rina asked, her tone casual but confident.
“That depends,” Zarok said, leaning back in his chair. His voice was smooth and slippery, like oil on water. “Who’s asking?”
Rina smiled faintly. “Someone who heard you’re the person to talk to about certain... rare opportunities.”
Zarok’s lips curled into a smirk. “You heard right. But rare opportunities don’t come cheap. What exactly are you looking for?”
“Information,” Rina replied. “We’re heading to Malachor V. We hear it’s a place of interest for people in your line of work.”
Zarok’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he tilted his head as if weighing their worth. “Malachor V, huh? Dangerous place. Full of relics and wreckage from a time most folks would rather forget.”
“Which makes it valuable,” Jake interjected, his voice steady but firm.
Zarok’s smirk widened. “You’re not wrong. But value comes at a price, my friend. And I don’t mean credits.”
“What do you mean?” Rina asked, her tone carefully neutral.
Zarok leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “A trade. You want what I know about Malachor V? Then you’ll give me something in return—information, a favor, or perhaps... one of those impressive droids you’ve got trailing you.”
Jake stiffened slightly, and Rina quickly spoke up. “The droids aren’t on the table. But we can talk about information.”
Zarok chuckled, his lekku twitching with amusement. “Fair enough. But make it good, or we’re done here.”
Rina glanced at Jake, her mind racing as she prepared to negotiate with the wily Twi’lek. Jake’s hand brushed his forearm device, silently instructing the Nick droids to stand at attention, their presence a subtle reminder that they weren’t to be trifled with.
“Let’s see what you’re worth, then,” Zarok said, his yellow eyes gleaming.
----------------------------------------
The cantina’s dimly lit interior was a chaotic fusion of flashing lights, loud music, and the heady mixture of alcohol and desperation. Salvagers, mercenaries, and bounty hunters lounged at scattered tables or leaned against the bar, their conversations blending into a constant murmur that filled the air. Mira and Davik entered cautiously, Skew-02 looming behind them like a silent sentinel.
They chose a table near the back, strategically positioned to observe the room without drawing too much attention. Skew-02 stood menacingly by their side, its glowing optics scanning the room. From time to time, drunk patrons stumbled into their space, drawn by curiosity about the intimidating droid, only to be firmly shooed away by Davik.
The first hour was mostly uneventful, with the pair nursing drinks and watching for anything useful. Mira’s sharp eyes caught snatches of conversation at nearby tables—mostly mundane gossip about salvage runs or exaggerated stories of battles fought in deep space. Davik was growing impatient when a nearby table caught their attention.
A group of gruff-looking individuals was deep in conversation, and the snippets Mira overheard made her sit up.
“...treasure buried on Malachor V...” one of them said, their voice hushed but just loud enough to carry.
“Pirates sweeping the routes... clearing competition,” another added.
Davik leaned in slightly, his focus narrowing on the mention of pirates. Mira gestured subtly, and the two decided to relocate closer to the group. Skew-02 followed, its presence earning a wide berth from the other patrons.
The new spot was better for eavesdropping. The group of salvagers spoke in low tones, but Mira’s and Davik’s keen senses picked up enough.
“They say it’s a relic cache,” one voice whispered.
“Enough to make anyone rich, if you can survive the damn planet,” another countered.
“The pirates are making it harder, though,” a third chimed in. “They’ve been running patrols near the system for weeks now, locking it down.”
Davik focused on their talk of the pirates, noting down details about routes, crew sizes, and patterns. Meanwhile, Mira keyed in on their speculation about the treasures, her mind racing to connect dots between this rumor and the crew’s mission.
After gathering enough, they exchanged subtle signals and moved away from the group to discuss in relative privacy.
“Doesn’t this seem... planted?” Mira mused, leaning in toward Davik.
“Yeah,” Davik agreed. “The timing is too perfect. Gardulla could be spreading this to bait people there—or worse, she’s already sent someone to Malachor V.”
Before they could dig deeper into their theories, a loud commotion broke out near Skew-02. A drunken patron stumbled into the droid, slurring insults and eventually trying to shove it.
“Please cease and desist,” Skew-02 droned in its mechanical monotone.
The drunk, undeterred, squared up to the droid, swinging a sloppy punch that barely reached its torso.
Mira and Davik approached to intervene, but the drunkard’s companions—a group of equally rowdy individuals—closed in, brandishing weapons.
Skew-02’s optics flashed as it registered the threat level. “Hostility detected. Activating defensive protocols.”
With a single, mechanical motion, the droid delivered a backhand swing to the nearest drunk, sending him sprawling across a table.
The situation escalated instantly. Weapons were drawn, and blaster fire erupted in the cantina. Other patrons, either caught in the crossfire or eager to join the chaos, added to the mayhem.
----------------------------------------
The cantina’s dim lighting flickered intermittently, casting strange shadows over the chaos. Skew-02 stood in the middle of the ruckus, its unmoving frame a sharp contrast to the flurry of drunkards swinging wildly at each other or ducking for cover. A shattered glass somewhere nearby punctuated the rising tension, and the air quickly filled with the sharp scent of spilled drinks and ionized air.
Mira and Davik crouched behind an overturned table, Davik cursing under his breath as stray blaster bolts whizzed overhead.
“This,” Davik grumbled, checking his blaster’s power pack, “is exactly the kind of nonsense Jake always manages to drag us into.”
Mira smirked despite the situation, firing a warning shot toward the ceiling to make nearby aggressors think twice. “You’re not wrong, but we’ve got bigger problems than assigning blame.”
“Like surviving long enough to blame him later?” Davik retorted, ducking as a bolt scorched the wall behind them.
Mira rolled her eyes, activating her comm. “Jake, we’ve got a situation here. Drunks, blasters, and bad decisions. Get your shiny butt over here with the Nicks before this spirals out of control!”
Jake’s voice crackled through the comm. “On our way. What happened?”
“Let’s just say Skew-02’s unflinching diplomacy didn’t sit well with a drunk, and now we’ve got a full-blown firefight.”
“Got it. Hold tight,” Jake replied before the comm went silent.
Meanwhile, Skew-02 had shifted from its passive stance to defensive mode. The droid’s next move was precise: it deflected an incoming attack with a calculated sweep of its arm, sending another drunk stumbling into a nearby table.
“Please disperse. Violent actions are unnecessary,” it repeated mechanically.
The offenders, however, were not interested in diplomacy.
One particularly belligerent man aimed a blaster point-blank at Skew-02. Before he could pull the trigger, the droid raised its arm and struck with a decisive backhand, sending the attacker sprawling unconscious.
“I’m starting to like this droid,” Davik muttered as he fired a shot to disarm another combatant.
“Don’t get too attached,” Mira replied, her eyes scanning for an exit. “We’re going to need to retreat soon. Cover me!”
Davik shifted his fire, providing a distraction as Mira vaulted over a fallen patron and sprinted toward the bar’s rear exit. She peeked around the corner, finding a narrow corridor that could lead them out.
“Exit secured!” Mira shouted back.
Before Davik could respond, another group of patrons, likely mercenaries judging by their coordination, joined the fray.
“Oh, great. Reinforcements,” Davik muttered sarcastically.
The two quickly regrouped, Skew-02 following after dispatching another would-be attacker with mechanical efficiency. Mira took the lead, signaling for them to move toward the exit.
The sound of boots clattering against the metal floor announced the arrival of Jake, Rina, and the Nick droids. The Nicks immediately assessed the situation, their targeting modules locking onto aggressors.
“Nick droids engaging,” Jake announced, his blaster already in hand. “Rina, cover Davik and Mira!”
The Nicks moved like a well-oiled machine, firing precision shots that disarmed the remaining attackers without unnecessary casualties. Jake and Rina provided support, covering Mira and Davik as they made their way out.
Once outside the establishment, the group regrouped in the station’s quieter corridors. Jake glanced at the others, catching Davik’s glare.
“This is absolutely your fault,” Davik snapped.
Jake raised his hands defensively. “Hey, I wasn’t even there!”
“You built Skew-02!”
“And you brought Skew-02 to a cantina filled with idiots! Call it even?” Jake replied, his tone half-apologetic, half-amused.
Mira rolled her eyes, cutting in. “Enough. We’ve got intel to sort through and a lot more to worry about than whose fault this is.”
Jake nodded, his expression growing serious. “Right. Let’s get back to the Stellar Envoy. I don’t think this station’s going to be very welcoming for much longer.”
“Agreed,” Rina said. “Let’s move before someone else decides to test our patience.”
With that, the crew made their way back to the hangar, Skew-02 trailing behind, its servos whirring softly. The droid’s mechanical voice broke the tense silence.
“Please note: cease and desist protocols are effective at a 92% success rate.”
Jake couldn’t help but chuckle despite himself. “Good job, buddy. Good job.”
----------------------------------------
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
61 Chapters are available on my patreon
you can support me and become a patron
P A T R E O N . C O M / TofferPlays
(but only if you want to, okay?)
This fanfic is also on:
SpaceBattles
SufficientVelocity
RoyalRoad
ArchiveOfOurOwn