Chapter Fifteen

Time: Twelve minutes after the start of the Denon-Ryloth Hyperspace incident.

HK-47 didn’t know what to say about his master’s plan. The title was certainly deserved, at least for the few hours she was likely to survive before being disintegrated. It was at once mad and certain to, at the very least, cause chaos in the ranks of their enemies.

With a flick he turned off the safety on his blaster rifle and raised it to his shoulder. His calculations suggested that they were going to go out in a blaze of glorious, fiery death. And that was good enough for him.

“Announcement: Piracy protocols loaded and ready, master.”

***

Time: Six minutes before the Denon-Ryloth Hyperspace incident.

When Skarsk Nek told Darth Khepri and her terrifying protocol droid that they were, in all likeliness, going to be boarded and held in place until the Hutts came to destroy them, he had imagined that her reaction would be something normal. Fear, perhaps, or maybe anger and desperation.

He didn’t expect her to start asking questions about the number of enemies they were going to have to deal with or whether any of the slaves would be so kind as to assist in what was, to his mind, little more than a very elaborate suicide attempt.

But she said it with conviction, laying out ideas that quickly grew and changed as he pointed out new problems that she would have to face, each issue an attempt to convince her that it was all a horrible, horrible idea.

Then Sib Nark got involved and decided that if he was going to lose his precious asset, it would be because the asset got rid of herself, and that he, as little more than a mercenary, would assist her.

That’s how he came to be standing before the yet-unopened universal hatchway set at the end of a white-walled corridor, fidgeting on the spot with his claws digging at the ground and hands twitching towards his blasters. All of his instincts told him that he was going to be in the fight of his life.

He could feel the trepidation coming from the so-called freedom fighters behind him, all of them slaves freed by Khepri who had volunteered for the daredevilish stunt. Thay had to reject dozens of them, even after telling them of the odds.

Maybe, if he forgot all else and let himself sink into unreasonableness, he too would be willing to trust in the mad Darth’s plan. But for now he would keep his wits about him and play his part. He just had to still the eager beating of his heart.

The door hissed.

***

Time: One hour before the Denon-Ryloth Hyperspace incident.

“So, you’re telling me that not only are we going to be boarded by the space IRS,” Taylor said as she eyed first HK-47, then Skarsk Nek and the ex-slaves that had decided to follow him. “But we’re being boarded to hold us in place until the people we pissed off on that desert planet come around and enslave us all, again?”

“Compliment: A wonderful summation of events, master,” HK-47 said. “Suggestion: The boarding ramp the so-called inspectors will be using would serve as an excellent chokepoint to gun down the undesirables as they rush into this vessel. We could use their vehicle to escape and leave all these useless meatbags behind.”

Taylor glared at him, then looked at the Trandoshan and the Falleen behind him. They were in one of the main corridors of the ship, one that bisected it from prow to stern and that branched off into the massive holds along the sides.

The ex-slaves looked nervous, an almost palpable scent of fear coming off of them as if they knew that they were about to be caged, or worse, again.

Taylor’s mind raced. She never meant to take responsibility for that many lives and still didn’t feel as though she deserved the burden being shoved onto her back. But she was responsible, and she had to do something about it.

The problem was finding something she could do that would keep the people in the Super Freighter safe.

“HK-47, could we fight off the Republic ship?”

“Suggestion: If we deactivate all security precautions aboard this vessel we could ram the enemy ship at such a velocity as to render it, and any planetary body directly behind it, unusable.”

Taylor glared. “That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard from you.” She shook her head. “How much trouble would we be in if you killed the inspectors and tried to make a run for it?”

“Answer: Lots.”

She pinched her eyes closed. “And if we didn’t kill, but instead captured all of them?”

“Concern: Master, are you suggesting that we capture an entire ship’s complement of soldiers in order to make a point about assaulting any vessel you’re on? Conjecture: I suspect the Hutt forces will still attack us even with Republic hostages, though it might sow more chaos. Always a desirable outcome in a battle where you are heavily outgunned and outnumbered.”

“And what if we made a run for it?”

HK-47 shook his head from side to side. “Statement: From what I have gathered you, my master, are the main target of the Hutt’s ire. No matter where you run the Hutt forces will chase you down. Addition: This vehicle, as large and fuel efficient as it may be, it not fast enough to escape the Hutt’s attention.”

Taylor slowly crossed her arms, then looked down. It... wasn’t helpless. Not yet.

The Profits of Merchandising was still on a direct course for a section of space relatively busy with traffic. There were plenty of larger ships there, all on a course towards the same destination they were on. Apparently plotting a course took time and was easier if done from certain key locations.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Which meant that the battlefield wasn’t as random as she might have originally thought. “I have a few ideas,” she said. “But they’re going to be strange, and I’m going to need Sib Nark’s help, as well as any volunteers from the freedom fighters that know anything about piloting a ship.”

***

Time: Three minutes before the Denon-Ryloth Hyperspace incident.

The boarding ramp shuddered and hissed as the pressure between the two ships stabilized. He passed a hand over the front of the uniform, then stopped to scratch at a stain decorating the soft material.

It would probably leave in the wash. He could get some of his subordinates to do that now because he was the head honcho here, the captain, the Gungan in charge.

Straightening his back a little, he shifted from foot to foot and glared at the still-closed airlock door. “Yousa all know whatsa you be doings?” he asked.

“Yes sir, Captain N'koala,” his assistant said. She was a human, as were most of the crew aboard his ship, but there were plenty of aliens too. Truly, the cultural diversity laws that the Republic were pushing were a great boon to the smaller species across the galaxy. He would certainly not have risen to his rank without them.

And now, thanks to that rank, he found himself in a position where opportunities abounded. At first he was leery and confused about the strange habits his crew had of taking little gifts in order to facilitate the traffic through the sector, but soon he came to see that it was all for the best.

After all, if a merchant wanted to gift him some fine grist mollusks for his services in keeping the Republic safe, then helping them along, or giving them a discount on their taxes was the least he could do.

Yes, he was going to be the best officer the Republic had ever seen, or at least the best Gungan captain to tax the stars. “Oh, mesa think wesa about to board,” he said as the airlock finished cycling and began to open.

This was just a routine stop. His assistant said that there were rumours that this ship held a whole lot of slaves, and that was just terrible. So he was going to inspect the ship like a hero of yore, and then hand over the vile slavers to the nice Hutt people who would take care of them. And then he would be gifted many credits and praise for his assistance.

Yes, he was the best.

He stopped scratching at the stain on his jacket and looked down a long corridor with off-white walls, a lone trandoshan with chromed armour over his chest and legs and upper arms, with a sickly green uniform underneath. The trandoshan was looking at him and his assistant and his two guards with narrowed eyes. “Welcome aboard the Profits of Merchandising,” the Trandoshan said. “I am Skarsk Nek, this ship’s chief of security.”

“Mesa Teers N'koala,” Teers said as he stumbled forwards, one hand rising to shake. “And wesa the Intersector Revenue Services, da mostest important service of the Republic.” He nodded along at his own words as his guards trooped in, blaster rifles held low, but ready to come up in case of trouble.

“I’m sure,” Skarsk Nek hissed. “Why are you here?”

“Wesa just inspecting disa ships for any illegal con-tra-band and for suchlike things.”

Skarsk Nek nodded. “And our ship was the one that was chosen out of all the ships in this sector?”

“Yesa. Wesa received a report dat yousa bongo was carryin' sum suspicious cargo. Yousa wouldn't besa tryin' ta hide sumptin from da Republic, would yousa?” He leaned forwards, ears flopping on both sides of his head.

The Trandoshan snorted. “Not at all. Follow me, then,” he said.

Teers clapped and followed after the Trandoshan, his guards and assistant right on his heels. As soon as they discovered something suspicious, he would be able to call the ship and they would lock this vessel in place with their tractor beams and ion cannons. That was, if they didn’t listen and shut off their engines on their own.

He strutted around the corner, then stopped.

Standing behind raised crates and large boxes were two dozen Falleen and a mixed bag of other aliens, most of them standing shoulder-to-shoulder with skeletal battle droids. “Oh, dat's rilly notsa hot.”

In a move so swift he couldn’t even follow it, the Trandoshan spun around on the ball of one foot, tore out a blaster pistol from around his hip, and snapped off five shots into his guards and assistant.

They all flopped to the ground while the Trandoshan pointed the warm barrels of his blasters right at Teer’s head. “We’re bringing you with us.”

"You're makin' a boopjak hair,” he said as he slowly raised his arms.

The Falleen and others rushed forwards and started dragging his guards away while taking off all their gear. He was going to protest but Skarsk poked his ribs. “My blaster was set on stun,” he said. “We didn’t kill any Republic soldiers, we took out some pirates disguised as Republic officers. At least, that’ll be our story.”

“Yousa're goen to besa in doo-doo per doen disa,” he said. “Da republic isn't goen to take disa”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. But we’ll be going out with a fight, and that counts for a lot.”