Chapter Fourteen

When Taylor thought of ‘space travel’ she mostly had vague memories of Star Trek ships darting through the empty void of space, or of the classic novels that her mom had left her that always talked about moving from planet to planet as a series of incredibly complicated and precise calculations done by supercomputers so as to not waste an ounce of fuel.

Sib Nark’s ship, the Profits of Merchandising was basically a huge cigar in space, with cargo areas along its flanks and sides that could, in a pinch, serve as american football fields. Those were now filled with thousands of beds and blankets on which the rescued slaves were huddled and waiting for their nightmare to end.

She, on the other hand, was still on the ship’s bridge, staring into the blue expanse flashing by them and trying to reconcile the ease with which the ship was moving through space with everything she knew of space travel.

She had bugs just about everywhere aboard the vessel, and more were being bred as she stood there, and yet she still had a hard time wrapping her head around the size of the freighter.

“Comment: We are going to exit Hyperspace in one minute, master. We need to transfer from the Tatooine-Gamor lane to the Denon-Ryloth pass.”

“You’ll have to explain how all of this works one day,” she said with a gesture to the space beyond them. “It’s... impressive, to say the least.”

“Assessment: At the rate of learning that your inefficient meat brain processes things it would require millenia to teach you all of the intricacies behind the function of a ship of this scale. Suggestion: Some organics find it easier to merely assume that machines just function as they ought to and not question things any more than that. This is of course because they are too stupid to understand things the way a proper machine can.”

“Right,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Well, maybe we can find some simple education programs. I want to at least know the basics. Stuff like kids shows and the like. My mom used to tell me that it was a great way to start learning a new language. Which is something else we’ll have to work on.”

“Query: You said ‘we’ master. Unless my translation protocols are failing me that assumes that I will have to assist you through the bumbling first steps of learning Basic.”

“I can’t have you translating everything for me. What if we need to split up while assaulting another castle?” she asked. She thought that maybe she was getting the knack for talking to HK-47.

The ship rocked a little, just a tiny shiver that she felt in the soles of her feet and across all the bugs tucked away in nooks and crannies. Then, between one heartbeat and the next, the view outside the screen changed from the hypnotising blue of hyperspace to a pallet of uncountable stars with oceans of hazy whiteness stretching out in intricate constellations.

She could have stared at the void for hours, but the sudden shift to real space had all of the robots on the bridge, all of them the jackal-headed droids that Sib Nark favoured, suddenly moving and talking between each other in a babble that broke her calm.

“There’s a ship over there,” she said, pointing off into the dark depths where a slim white form was barely visible.

“Observation: Indeed. Though my current sensor suit isn’t enough to pick out its make and model. There are seventeen other vessels within viewing range, but your poorly evolved organic eyes will not be able to differentiate them from specks of dust caught in your meaty ocular devices.”

“That’s fair, I suppose,” she said before turning back towards the bridge proper. The entire area was lined with stations with holographic displays and computer monitors on which numbers and graphs were flashing by, all of it being observed by a few dozen droids with yellow-striped heads. There was some sort of colour-coding with the robots, but she hadn’t figured it all out yet.

At the far end of the room, standing with arms crossed near the exit, was the trandoshan lizard-man that had greeted her when they boarded. Narrowed eyes were fixed on her as if she was about to jump into the pilot’s seat and ram them into a sun at the drop of a hat.

Not that she could have even if she wanted to. The more time she spent in the merchant ship, the more she felt inadequate. There was a gulf of technological knowledge between her and even the slimmest possibility of being independent.

The more she saw that, the more she realized that she had to start catching up, and soon. “HK-47,” she began. “You can transmit your protocols to other droids, right?”

“Disparaging Remark: As if other droids would be able to process the breadth and width of my capabilities.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“What about your translation from English to Basic? I’ll ask Sib Nark for one of these.” She paused to gestured towards the nearby droids. “To act as a teacher. It’ll free up time for you to enjoy yourself.”

“Reluctant Acceptance: Very well, master. I suppose acting as your translator does grow tiring. Query: What do I get for this valuable information?”

She paused. “What do you mean?”

“Statement: The translation protocols are the only way for you to communicate. Therefore they are valuable to you. What will you give me in exchange for them?”

She frowned and held back on the urge to rail against HK-47 for being unfair. But in a way the argument was sound. “I don’t know what you want, exactly. Maybe I can ask Sib Nark to have his maintenance droids look you over? You could use a washing, and I’m certain your combat efficiency will rise considerably once your joints are cleared of sand and you’re all oiled up.”

She had a flash of the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz acting like a murderous psychopath instead of a jovial ditz for a moment and had to suppress a grin.

She was about to start walking back towards her cabin, a little space set aside just for her and HK-47 apart from all the holds where the freed slaves were sleeping when the tone in the room shifted. The droids started speaking faster, their voices rising in pitch. Not panic, but certainly enough to hint that something interesting was going on.

The Trandoshan moved forwards, being sure to keep a fair amount of distance between himself and her even as he started barking orders. He paused for a moment, looked out the main viewscreen, then spun on a heel and ran out of the bridge.

“Assessment: It seems as though something interesting is finally happening. How wondrous.”

***

Sib Nark was not having the best few days and the constant irritation was starting to draw out his ire. At least, that’s what Skarsk suspected as he watched the over-the-top Neimoidian’s lips pucker and his brow draw down. “And their transponder codes are confirmed?” the merchant asked.

Skarsk nodded. He didn’t like this job, but it was easy, supposed to be low-risk, and paid relatively well. Not the glamour and excitement he expected when he started working as a mercenary, but enough to keep his account topped up and afford a few meals a day between this job and the next. The fact that his only coworkers were droids was almost a blessing. “The droids confirm that it is a Republic code. Intersector Revenue Services.” He hissed a little. “They claim that we triggered their random search parameters.”

Sib Nark scoffed. “That is as likely as me winning the Grand Coruscant Lottery.” He waved a hand dismissively. “No, they know that our cargo are slaves. They must.”

Skarsk nodded. He knew no such thing, but he was willing to allow his boss the benefit of the doubt. “And what will they do when they discover our cargo are freed slaves?”

“Nothing good,” Sib Nark said. “If they stopped us because they knew we had the slave aboard then they are most definitely being informed by the Hutts.”

Skarsk nodded. “We cannot fight them off. The Republic ship is faster and better armed than we are. If we launch all our fighters we might be able to make a run for it, but I would not gamble with those odds. Reinforcements might not be far.”

Sib Nark hummed. “No, if they are being bribed to board us and steal the slaves, then they wouldn’t call for aid. They would just kill us and be done with it.”

Skarsk hissed. “Could they? We have droids aboard, and many of the slaves are armed.”

“Don’t be a fool,” Sib Nark said. “They would hold us in place while the Hutts bring their own vessels to board. No, they are going to stall us, and perhaps disable our engines and hyperdrive if we do not obey.”

“A distress signal?” Skarsk said.

“And what, announce to the galaxy that the Republic is corrupt?” He scoffed again. “They know this already.”

“Then what?”

Sib Nark looked around his extravagant office, the room meant for the captain of the superfreighter converted into a luxurious cabin and workspace for the Neimoidian. “The ship’s model,” he began.

“It is Corellian, a CR70, or 90. There are also six CloakShape fighters with--”

“I don’t care about that,” Sib Nark barked. “Tell our jedi friend. She may have a solution. I will contact the Trade Federation. They might lend assistance. And activate our droids to repel boarders and the Vulture droids. We may have to fight our way to the next sector. The Hutts wouldn’t dare attack in Falleen space.”

“Yes, sir,” Skarsk said nodding once before stomping out of the room.

Perhaps, he began to think, he would finally be able to score some Points.

***