STAR WARS

Rebel Alliance Special Operatives

(R. A. S. O.)

It is a dark time. The destruction of Alderaan has sent a shockwave across the galaxy, even though the evil Galactic Empire has finally called it a victory against the rebels, after denying it for weeks as just an accident. The victory of the Rebel Alliance and the destruction of the Death Star at the Battle of Yavin has ruffled many Imperial loyalists and officers throughout the Imperial military. The Emperor’s war machine and propaganda system is struggling to keep it a secret. But many across the stars have finally realized that the Emperor’s tyranny can be fought and the time to strike has finally come. Many heroes will rise, forged by adversity, to take the fight directly to the Empire . . .

Chapter 1: “Nothing ever goes exactly as planned.”

Opening scene

Imperial Customs frigate Raptor patrolling the outer planets of the Gammalin system (Vish sector in the Mid Rim near the Enarc Run).

The man wearing the Imperial Customs uniform was bent down over a protocol droid’s shell propped on a simple chair. Its right leg covering was removed and the officer was poking inside its mechanisms with a small energy probe. Something didn’t make sense in his opinion, and he just mentioned it with a light, short indecisive hum, to the other droid in the tech room currently watching him. The astromech droid getting a cue, focussed his spotlight slightly lower trying to follow a connector to the knee actuator.

“No. Nothing there, except for that piece, but still no reading. Maybe if we power him back on...” the officer chimed. He’d dismantled a protocol droid when he was younger, a few other droids too, making him knowledgeable of basic droid engineering, but this 3PO unit had him stomped. Its arrival at the Imperial Customs base was the first mystery, its weird attitude when they first activated it was the second and now this strange piece that didn’t register on the probe was the third.

The astromech was about to make a suggestion about latching the droid to the chair by picking up a cargo strap with an extended grappler arm, when the ship’s alarm started blaring: Red alert.

“Battle stations!” came a rigid voice over the intercom. The room’s luma panels dimmed slightly: power was diverted to the shields.

The officer straightened himself up, dropped the probe on the diagnostic table, tightened his uniform on his way out while glancing at the tech monitor on the wall beside the door – it had been set to display the ship’s information: status of engines, sensors, navigation, shields and weapons. Flipping a switch that turned the display back to standard diagnostic modes, he looked back at the astromech: “Close him up, wipe the logs and get to the bridge.”

The astrodroid beeped an affirmative and quickly got to work.

The officer punched the door release, got barely into the corridor when a young blondish haired officer came jogging up to him.

“Sir.” the young man said saluting and waiting for an acknowledgement. On a ship with a small crew, having to perform multiple functions was a standard practice: rotation of duties was necessary to keep key stations crewed at all times by rested personnel while others went off-duty and so on. But during alerts, it was all hands on deck.

While the young ensign did look like he had gotten some sleep, the jog seems to have got his blood pumping: “Get your sidearm, then assist in engineering.”

“Aye, sir.” the young officer said then sprinted to the armory – on the other side of the ship.

Barely 21. And yet Parkhoval’s record has some quite somber events dating all the way back to his early days in SAGroup.

Not wanting to have his mind dwell on COMPNOR partisans, the Customs officer focused his mind on the moment – ship, battle, ... the plan – while running to the bridge.

R2-T4-I28 had picked up the leg cover plate and was already re-bolting it (for the 3rd time since they’d received the protocol droid 4.7 weeks ago, his memory files confirmed), when he heard the short exchange with ensign Parkhoval. He barely turned his dome head to glance at them, making sure the executive officer of the Raptor was blocking the view inside the technical room from the shorter officer with his large frame physique (1.84 meters, 1.86 with his officer’s cap the sensors on his dome registered).

R2-T4, or simply T4 for short when called by the XO in private – all the other crewers just called him ‘droid’ or ‘astromech’ even though there were an R5, a WED Treadwell and 3 MSE-5 mouse droids on board – was glad when the door finally closed behind the departing XO. As a matter of fact, nobody onboard was using actual names, just ship functions: captain, first officer or XO, pilot, com-scan, navigation, engineering 1 and 2, gunner 1 to 6 and trooper 1 to 10. The droids only heard names in passing from off-duty crew members who barely tolerated hearing droidspeak or servomotors while trying to rest – staying away was a silent rule among the droids.

Finished with the protocol droid, he turned, extended his scomp-link arm and plugged into the diagnostic table’s socket and wiped any recorded logs: the XO preferred to keep his hobby of droid and computer programming off the “Imperial books,” he had said. In fact, T4 was more than happy to oblige: he hadn’t had a memory wipe in 1.43 years, even though as an Imperial droid he was supposed to be wiped regularly. The other droids did receive memory wipes – they’re working too close to the other crewmen for them not to notice – but since T4 was assigned mostly to bridge duty and working closely with the executive officer who was the only Human who cared about them, he’d been spared. While the XO couldn’t do much but make sure the droids weren’t abused in any way, he had coached T4 to keep mostly silent and minimize his movements after his scheduled “memory wipes.”

He was R2-T4-I28, an Imperial R2 series 3 astromech droid, made exclusively by Industrial Automaton for the Empire 15.68 years ago, but he had learned and seen with his own photoreceptor and his discreet inquiries into the Holonet about the treatment of droids in the Empire, compared to the way it was during the Republic government and the way it was, prudently, handled by the Human he had come to consider his friend.

Retracting his arm from the terminal socket, he got to the door which opened with a signal he sent, then sped at top speed to the bridge, keeping his sensors at full to make sure he didn’t ram into a crewer. Again.

The executive officer reached the security door and used his cylinder key to open it while composing himself. The door opened and he then stepped onto Raptor’s command bridge, which had its lighting dimmed for battle mode.

“Nice of you to finally join us, lieu-te-nant.” said an almost snarling voice with a slow emphasis on the rank. The voice came from the far side of the bridge, from the chair that used to be for the navigator and shield operator, but now was the seat of power, the throne of Captain Vrexler, master of this Imperial vessel.

“Sir.” he quickly answered while saluting, then quickly took the copilot seat not bothering to look back at the sneering face of the captain whose eyes, he knew, was practically trying to drill holes into the back of his head. Vrexler was captain of the Raptor, but only because he had seniority: in fact, he was also a lieutenant commander same as himself, but Vrexler couldn’t help but treat his X.O. as a threat to his authority even though he acknowledged privately the efficiency. He was also weary of the liberty the executive officer managed to wriggle for himself behind his back. Actually, this type of attitude was shared across the entire crew: they felt superior to everybody else and felt cheated somehow to be in their current position instead of prestigious postings in the Imperial Navy.

But Vrexler was a veteran officer, captain for nearly two and a half years now, and he went back to oversee his ship and its target displayed on the holoscreen above the bridge’s forward viewports. He was distracted again, when a few seconds later, R2-T4 came in and went directly to the astromech station to plug himself in with linkage arms, which prompted another disgruntled sigh from Vrexler – he wasn’t fond of droids. Not one bit.

The XO had seen the information displayed on the screens as he sat, mentally compared it to what he had seen earlier in the tech room... “Com-scan, focus on target.” he ordered, then verified the nav position and switched the shields to full front.

“Aye XO” came the reply, and, after tuning the sensors, the officer confirmed it: “Two ships, captain. Docked most likely.”

“Droid, identify ships. Com-scan, now that we’ve pinged them...” the captain paused slightly, letting the crew feel his irritation but of course directing it at the XO, “... get a read on the transponder codes. Pilot, full speed ahead. Gunners, stand-by to target weapons and engines.”

The Raptor leaped forward as it went to its maximum velocity, but it wasn’t a starfighter at just 55 MGLT – slightly better due to the careful tuning of the main engineer who, while a vile and pompous man, was a quite good ship’s mechanic. There were still out of weapons range for another 30 seconds. This was the main reason that Imperial Customs, which was under the authority of COMPNOR, had requested that Rendili StarDrive build Mark II frigates: they are faster, tougher and have longer range, albeit slightly less maneuverable.

R2-T4 beeped a confirmation then sent data to the secondary holoscreen: The larger ship was a seriously damaged HT-2200 transport from CEC – a large part of the engines was blown off. The other ship, which was now separating itself from the HT-2200 was a GX1 Short Hauler.

“Pirates.” the captain breathed in anticipation.

The pilot chimed, “Or rebels.” His enthusiasm was evident in his voice: they could get medals or even promotions.

Com-scan then said, “Not typical rebel MO.” He added, “The freighter’s too damaged, no transponder signal. The GX1 is scrambling its codes, but I can identify it if we disable.”

The target was accelerating away and veering to put the disabled freighter between itself and the Raptor. Fifteen seconds for weapons range. While also checking the sensors, the XO sent a message to T4 at the astromech station: [Verify explosion potential. Confirm with engineering.], then said, “Sir. Do we bother calling? If they know or heard of Raptor already...”

The captain thought a second then said as if he had just come up with the idea, “Com-scan, hail them. Standard greeting.” he finished with a cynical tone.

The com-scan officer then went through the usual message: “GX1 Hauler, this is Imperial Customs frigate Raptor. Shut down your engines. Surrender or be destroyed.”

The ship’s intercom beeped then the engineering officer’s voice said, “Freighter’s engines and core are too damaged to explode, unless they left explosives onboard... Also, that GX1 definitely has souped-up engines.”

“Confirmed Engineering 1.” Vrexler answered, looking at his X.O. pensively, “Pilot, stay on course.”

Engineering 1 was a veteran too. He served during the last year of the Clone Wars. Once again, his exec had gone and requested a report without asking him. Efficient but still annoying. Why was he refusing command of his own ship? The excuse of “to learn from a veteran officer” did less and less sense. He couldn’t possibly be from ISB. He had checked. As a matter of fact, XO went out of his way to avoid ISB. More so than most of the crew.

In any case, after capturing that ship, he’d do something about it. It was due time.

Raptor closed the distance with the HT-2200 freighter, skirted its dying hull – while the crew collectively held its breath – then screamed past to see the pirate ship gaining speed towards Gammalin 9 (a gas giant), probably to slingshot around it. A typical maneuver.

Com-scan reported, “No reply from the pirates, captain.”

Pilot was adjusting his course, with the XO’s help to counter the pirate’s maneuver by angling toward the gas giant gravitic pull for extra speed.

They were almost in weapon range when the GX1 started firing at them! “They have a heavy cannon from the Clone Wars!” they heard the engineer on the intercom (which was still active).

‘Interesting’, thought the XO. ‘That ship looks better and better’. He managed a furtive glance back at the astromech station. T4 had rotated his dome head slightly as well. Then his holo-projector twitched vertically: The message was received.

Most shot went wild, but two struck the shields, but doubled up by the XO they simply were absorbed.

“Target in range.” said the XO.

“Fire at will!” shouted the captain – he was angry they had fired on him first. With the ship’s intercom still on, the gunners wasted no time. Still at long range, they managed to hit the pirates three times, while Pilot rotated the ship to allow every gunner a line of sight. He and the XO also reduced speed to increase maneuverability and angle away from Gammalin 9. But the GX1 also had strong shields. While their protection was slightly reduced, they still protected the pirates’ ship.

They then closed to medium range. Shots from the pirate GX1 were slamming on the shields, but they held. Those of Raptor’s cannons hit as well and quickly reduced the pirate’s shields down, but their speed was increasing – it was reaching 70 MGLT as they were jinking and spinning. But they only had one dorsal weapon, and the ships were in constant lateral or vertical maneuvers to increase the difficult to hit. The distance increased slightly until a direct hit from Gunner 4 to their engines cut down their speed drastically as ionization from the excess energy was dancing along the hauler’s hull. “Hold fire.” the captain commanded, “I want prisoners.”

The XO smirked slightly, trying not to give away his emotion: ‘Yeah, and especially their loot’ he thought to himself. During the more than two years Raptor had been under Vrexler’s command, bribes were almost a constant, while “confiscated” cargoes, captured loot and even ‘requisitioned’ then “lost or destroyed” equipment during missions, all were later sold to the black market. This had been a mainstay among most of the crew, with the captain taking the Hutt’s share.

Raptor closed the gap with the GX1, Pilot maneuvering under them to keep its now silent cannon out of reach. XO was also busy cycling the remaining shield generators, sending messages to Engineering 1 to start repairs, while Com-scan was busy analyzing his sensors readouts. “Sir,” piped Com-scan lifting his head, “I count 13 lifeforms onboard. They might also have droids...” his voice trailed. Engineer 1 had mentioned the Clone Wars era cannon, and they practically all were thinking that more leftover tech from that war would be dangerous. “I can’t detect any, but still...” he surmised.

Captain Vrexler just waved his right hand dismissively, was going to push the intercom button on his armchair, then remembered the intercom was already on, “All troopers: prepare to board. Pilot, docking maneuver.”

“Aye.” Pilot acknowledged. He never was a big talker, except when he was drunk. He matched speed with the pirate ship and maneuvered to have the docking collar in line with their main airlock for boarding.

“Lieu-te-nant,” drawled Vrexler, who now had a predatory look in the dim lit cockpit, “take charge of the boarding.” he added, waiting for his exec to stand up and leave the bridge, his chin now leaning on his joined hands, elbows resting on his “throne’s” armrests.

“Aye captain.” XO simply replied, transferred his station’s functions to the pilot’s then rose and got out of the bridge without looking at anyone. He had one hand close to his belly, out of view of anyone but T4, forming the universal ‘thumb’s up’ signal as he crossed the security door, then quickly made a gesture as if adjusting his uniform. R2-T4 was now on full alert.

‘Well, this is it.’ the XO mused on his way to the armory. He had his modified KK-5 blaster pistol in his thigh holster, something the rest of the crew came to acknowledge as Don’t mess with me. I’m the XO, deal with it., since carrying the weapon onboard wasn’t against the regs, but he wanted to get some body armor before joining the troops at the docking hatch. ‘No way I’m going down that easy Vrexler.’ he happily minded, realizing that the plan could finally be coming to fruition.

Having donned an Imperial Navy trooper helmet and a CompForce trooper chest plate, XO joined the troopers at the hatch. They already had sealed the extension to the GX1’s and were attempting to open it with the standard override codes used by Imperial Customs (which, surprisingly, worked more than a third of the time – ship owners rarely had the budget to beef-up security with more than standard commercial model locks, while corporate owned ships rarely bothered upgrading except when they had very valuable cargo and/or passengers). The troopers, in stacked formation (half kneeling, half standing behind the other on each side) were wearing CompForce assault trooper armor, though most were trained as Imperial Navy or Army troopers. Nobody wanted CompForce troopers on their ship. Especially crooked Imperials. CompForce equipment on the other hand, was always prized.

The hatch cycled, then opened.

Blaster bolts came fast and furious. The first trooper in the line holding a plasteel shield staggered back into another, but his partner beside him who had opened the hatch got hit straight on and fell back dead, his face a smoking crater. The pirates were ready. Blue, green and red bolts of plasma crossed the hatch threshold in both directions. Cries or grunts of troopers and of pirates getting hit with deadly or just wounding effect were easily heard over the gunfire. In barely 10 seconds, of the Raptor’s ten troopers, seven were still alive, with two wounded but still firing their blaster carbines one-handed. The pirates had at least two dead that were partially visible from his side of the hatch: a Sullustan and a Human behind a heavily scorched cargo crate. A trooper finally picked a stun grenade from his belt and threw it inside the GX1’s hatch. The after-blast effect was immediate: no more bolts coming in.

“Forward.” the XO almost yelled – he had forgotten in the heat of the moment that his helmet had a comlink, same as the troopers. The troopers charged into the pirate ship.

The crossfire from the pirates was swift when they reached the main corridor: at least two from the engineering section and several from behind the crates posted in front of the doorways to midship rooms.

XO at the back of the formation was counting the seconds, the troopers, the pirates, the grenades, the meters and the millimetres of the bolts nearing his body.

These pirates were not rookies. Not special forces either, but they managed to pin the three troopers still standing with five of their own (approximately). The ship and most probably the cargo, was worth enough for them to fight to the death, and it seems they realized the Imperials would be willing to fight for it as well, instead of just blasting the entire ship to smithereens.

The two wounded troopers in the hatch had managed to crawl in the GX1 pushing the scorched crate in front of them to add cover. XO started to go help them, but his instinct was holding him still.

A different noise was heard then, with a slight vibration: power was flowing through the ship. XO realized that at least one competent tech was working in the engineering section protected by that Houk who kept firing his blaster at them, seemingly oblivious to the three visible blaster holes in his armor.

Then another sudden blasting sound came through mostly as a vibration from the walls and deckplates: Laser cannon blast! Then another.

“We’re under fire! Port-side gunners, fire on that cannon! Assault team, take out that gun!” yelled Vrexler through the general comm channel.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“Gun 3 destroyed” announced Gunner 3 with a snarl of pain.

“No angle” declared Gunner 5. “I can target engines...” he added.

“Not yet Gun fiv...” Vrexler quipped before being interrupted by Gunner 1.

“Gun 1 out, no power.”

“Shields angled, at 65%,” the pilot chimed in before another blast was heard through the comm, the pirates’ ship hull and felt through the hull’s vibrations. “45%” corrected Pilot.

XO was mentally assessing the situation: The angled port shield was getting pounded but the port-side cannons of Raptor able to shoot the GX1’s were knocked out. “I’d rather have a working cannon on this crate but I still need Raptor in one piece for now.” he thought, “We need to shut its power, ... going from engineering ...” looking around from behind his corner, mentally trying to figure where the dorsal cannon power feed would ... “there!” he actually finished his thought out loud. He targeted a seam in the ceiling plates and fired twice, hoping the exterior hull wouldn’t be breached.

Sparks flew down along with melted metal and pieces of composites and a large electrically charged plasma arc shot out to a dangling metal piece close-by: a good sign of a ruptured power conduit. He shot again, carefully, cutting the conduit. Beyond the sound of the blaster fire exchanged between them, the sound of the pirate’s ship changed pitch slightly: energy was not going through the same way as before.

But the cannon blasted again, its energizers still had some power. “Shields at 28%.” he heard Pilot in his helmet comlink. “Get to that cannon!” XO ordered. It was almost suicidal but the remaining troopers knew as well as he did that losing Raptor was not an option.

So they threw three stun grenades in the corridor both toward the front and toward the engineering section, then forged ahead guns blazing at the entrenched pirates towards the gun well. They managed to reach the crate barricade and climb over them when a couple more pirates further off near the bridge – far enough of the stun grenades’ full effect – shot at them while the vanguard trooper successfully reached under the gun well and, on his knees, killed the gunner sitting inside.

Unfortunately, the Houk blocking the engine room managed to resist most of the effect of the single stun grenade sent his way and shot the trooper standing on the crates twice in the back while other pirates, some still heavily dazed by the grenades’ effect, simply tripped and jumbled themselves on the two remaining troopers before a couple of blaster shots were heard several seconds later.

XO, while relieved the troopers managed to get the gunner, realized he was the only one left. Especially when the Houk pirate came forward enough from the entryway to the engine room to see into the hatch corridor. XO quickly fired two shots at the Houk’s head – hoping it would be enough – then holstered his blaster, grabbed his two stun grenades, lobbed them into the central corridor then ran out through the airlock back to Raptor. ‘Ohh, Vrexler’s gonna love this!’ he thought almost wincing in anticipation.

In the boarding tube, laid an unconscious heavily wounded trooper – #6. His name was... Renny or something. “Captain,” he said in a strained voice while dragging the trooper to Raptor, “We need all hands to protect against counter-boarding maneuvers.”

“WHAT!?!” was Captain Vrexler’s outraged answer heard across the entire ship. “Why you ...,” then after a few silent seconds, probably to compose himself slightly, he said – seemingly through gritted teeth – “All hands prepare to be boarded.” Then as an afterthought he added in a slow, raspy voice: “Lieu-te-nant, take point.”

“Captain, we need medical attention. Several casualties.” XO mentioned knowing it would gather a little sympathy from the crew and make Vrexler sound even more vicious than he was if he didn’t acknowledge the wounded. Besides XO was the third best trained medic onboard, Com-scan being #2 while Trooper 5 was the most experienced with combat injuries (the keyword being was, since he just died minutes ago).

“Acknowledged.” was all the answer Vrexler could manage to utter – he was probably fuming in his “throne” thought the XO and a few others too.

Barely 40 seconds later, Gunner 4 showed up in battle gear with two medkits, laying them at XO’s feet then took a crouching position by the hatch. While XO started using the medscanner on Trooper 6, the rest of the crew in battle regalia (similar to what the troopers used), piled in one after the other in formation at the hatch in silence – XO was almost proud of them. After all, he had helped to train them.

Quickly stabilizing Trooper 6, he crept to the front of the formation and hand signalled Gunner 6 and Engineer 2 to go forward to pull Trooper 2 from the docking tube back in Raptor and to have a look into the pirates’ airlock at the same time. While they executed the maneuver silently, Trooper 2 groaned and coughed while being dragged back and that prompted some subtle noisy movements to be heard in the GX1’s corridors: the pirates were regrouping. No surprise, thought the XO, plenty of troopers died on their ship with their helmet comlink still on: they probably had heard enough from Raptor’s chatter to consider making a counter-boarding attempt, before Com-scan had scrambled all the troopers’ comlinks (a standard military procedure).

XO crept back at the rear of the formation (without any dirty glances from the crew, which was surprising considering he was now disobeying the Captain’s order, from a certain point of view), and started using the medscanner still in his left hand on Trooper 2.

Then all hell broke loose.

The remaining pirates decided for a full assault, starting with three concussion grenades being thrown from their ship, across the docking tube, right into Raptor’s hatch!

Engineer 2 (ensign Parkhoval) attempted to grab a grenade to throw it back: he barely touched it before it blew taking him and Gunner 1 at point blank range but also shielding the rest of the defense team from the worst of the blast (heat and shrapnel).

The grenade thrown the weakest landed just in front of Gunner 4, who had a plasteel shield held up in front of him: while it protected all of them by bearing the brunt of the explosion, pushing a lot of it back into the docking tube, it also pushed him backward, hard, into Engineer 1, who was just crouching to dodge the blast, pushing hard armored body against unprotected bones and making a muffled, sickening crunch sound – to anyone who could hear it after the deafening sonic bang noise of the three grenades.

The third grenade, thrown the farthest, landed after banging a wall at the back of the formation. XO kneeling beside Trooper 2 instinctively reacted as he had been drilled most of his life: he dropped the medscanner then grabbed and flipped Trooper 2’s body over the grenade. The armor and the body absorbed most of the blast even though it lifted off the floor by almost half a meter: just enough to send shrapnel to Gunners 3 and 6, wounding them in unprotected limbs.

The next seconds were eerily less noisy than they should’ve been: while their armored helmets did protect their ears from physical and large noises’ sonic damage, three grenades in a ship’s small corridor was still too much. ‘Not covered by the manufacturer’s warranty’ thought XO while getting his bearings and looking back into the docking tube, apprehensively expecting a breach sucking the air, then all of them out in space between the two ships.

Fortunately, the docking tube while visibly scorched and shredded in some places was still holding atmospheric integrity with its multiple layers. For how long, that was the million credits question.

Unfortunately, the pirates were not bothering being cautious anymore, obviously – throwing explosives inside ships’ airlock was suicidal, beyond stupid at best. And the six left were now coming in guns blazing!

“Fire!” XO said out loud, pointing at the pirates with his left hand while firing his blaster at the last pirate, a Klatooinian, who seemed to hang back: an officer probably, perhaps with more grenades!? Too dangerous to ignore. But as he gave the order, it sounded more like he whispered it. ‘Darn blasts!’ he figured. He then yelled the order again, but all the Raptor’s crewers still conscious were already returning fire – their instincts and training had kicked in, even if not in the most performing way. Still, they were all careful about their shots: putting holes in the docking tube was a death sentence to all – something the pirates, already in the tube didn’t have to bother with. Blaster bolts were whizzing into Raptor’s corridor, hitting one crewman after another.

But when only two pirates were left, crouching at Raptor’s hatch for cover, seemingly hurt (two Humans, one visibly scorched), bothered to look back and saw there was nobody behind them, they made their final mistake. Gunner 5, wounded but feigning death lying still among the bodies, had inched his heavy blaster carefully and shot the left pirate right in the face as he was turning it back.

The other pirate fired in his direction but missed and hit a dead Engineer 2 instead.

XO slumped behind Trooper 2’s corpse, shot the last pirate – he hoped – through the neck, blasting his spine in half.

On the bridge, Captain Vrexler was looking at Com-scan with an interrogative and annoyed look, almost blurting out through his lips: ‘What’s going on?’ but managing to stay silent to listen to the ship’s intercom with the crew. ‘What’s left of the crew...’ Vrexler thought. Well, his share of the loot got bigger for sure, he surmised.

Com-scan just as curious, didn’t even need to look at the Captain to know what the question was. He kept his eyes on the sensors (both short and long range: ‘Not a good time to get a surprise visit.’, he figured), and his ears on the comms, thought that grenade blast had been loud enough to hurt his left ear and he was now listening with his right one.

The XO groggily got to his feet. His head was buzzing, but not just from the pain of his wound and looking down at himself, the two near misses the armor had barely stopped. No, his head was buzzing with the urgency of a drowning man: ‘The Plan, finally, after years, we can complete the plan, but we must hurry.’ So he looked down at the bodies in the corridor of the ship. ‘No, not all of them are just bodies. By the Force, can I do it? I have to. I’ll atone later, I promise. Can’t do it if I’m dead.’ It felt like hours had passed. ‘Is it too late?’, he checked his wrist chrono: seconds. ‘Gotta complete the Plan now. Never have another opportunity.’

That last word sounded weird in his head, but he took a step forward, saw Gunner 5 crawling up, visibly hurt and wincing and then he looked up at him. His mouth barely opened before the XO signalled silence with one hand while crawling a step forward, feigning to look ahead while his other hand pointed his blaster at Gunner 5 (Nashey was his name), then fired. Nashey slumped down, dead.

The XO stepping carefully among the bodies, quickly fired at each crewman of his ship, lying, dying in that corridor and at any pirate on his way to the GX1. Only one thought burned now in his mind: The Plan.

Reaching inside the pirate’s ship, he halted, then spoke into his comlink softly, almost a whisper: “Entering the pirate ship, looking for stragglers.” Then as an afterthought, added even more softly: “Cover the hatch. You, engine. You, with me.” He wasn’t sure the trick would work: ‘Let Vrexler and Com-scan figure it out.’ he hoped.

Listening intently, he stepped softly past the spacesuits’ locker and the escape pod access into the main corridor, looked both ways, heard nothing. He went to the engine room door. It wasn’t locked. Opening it, he just peeked in, not wanting to have machinery noise be heard through the comlink. Nobody, apparently.

He went back to the main corridor seeing nothing forward but the doors to the bridge, with a pair of crates still blocking the corridor in front of a small medical bay on the left and a dilapidated zero-G gymnasium, with several boxes of empty booze bottles on the right. The galley and a hastily assembled machine shop in front of it were also deserted.

XO was getting nervous somehow. It seemed the ship was now empty, but taking time to search it all was gnawing at him. He needed to get to Vrexler before he figured something was wrong and called for help. ‘If T4 could be here now...’ thinking of the astromech’s life-form sensors. He decided to check the bridge then head back to Raptor.

While in the lounge, he looked the length of the cabins’ corridor, being a bit apprehensive at what pirates left behind in them. Besides repairs and an overhaul, a very deep complete cleaning would be required for sure – the smells were simply unexplainable.

He reached the doors to the vestibule, they were locked but the override code worked. He sidestepped quickly, expecting blasts from explosives or blasters... Nothing.

The next set of doors to the bridge was locked, and the override didn’t work. “Standby.” he murmured, trying to keep the pretense, while he checked the locking control looking for smudges, clean spots or even a hidden switch.

After a dozen seconds, it dawned on him: ‘Think like a pirate.’ He punched a code, a second, a third, then on the fourth (a common variation on sabacc), the doors opened onto the large circular bridge. Crouching behind the jam, he peeked inside. ‘Nobody. Not even a droid. Odd.’ he thought he said only in his mind.

Actually, he had mumbled it and Vrexler listening intently apparently was quick to ask: “Repeat that lieu-te-nant. Status report.”

“Nobody left onboard captain.” he answered. “Heading back to Raptor to take care of casualties.” he added, almost also asking for Com-scan’s help but not wanting to scare Vrexler somehow by leaving him alone on the bridge. ‘Better let him decide if he’ll help his crew or not.’ he concluded to himself.

On Raptor’s bridge, Com-scan said: “Negative life signs confirmed. Should I go help with the wounded, sir?” he added.

“No. Not yet.” answered Vrexler pensively. Something was off, and he felt it. He got up, went behind his chair and picked up a breastplate, then strapped it to his chest. He then sat back down on his throne, he had heard some of the crew call it. He didn’t mind, but he did feel his empire had just gotten smaller lately. He punched a message on his console and sent it to Com-scan. “Send a mouse droid to inspect the GX1. And check on the wounded on the way there. Also ... standby to send this message to HQ.” he said without further explanation.

“Aye sir.” came the reply.

On the other side of the bridge, R2-T4 was standing still, monitoring the ship’s functions. Especially communications – even though he wasn’t supposed to. He almost sent a private message to XO himself to warn him, but he had very precise instructions to follow and waited.

XO got back to Raptor’s hatch corridor trying not to step and stumble on all the bodies and the blood pooling under them. He had quickly checked the integrity of the docking tube: the outer sleeve was holding but technically the entire tube should be replaced. Time was of the essence, literally.

As he reached the main port-side corridor, a tentative MSE-5 droid approached him – they were very skittish but were programmed to help. “Get R5 and WED to gather gurneys from medbay and bring them here for the wounded.” he told it. It beeped an acknowledgement then quickly rolled back the corridor toward engineering.

He then removed his helmet and almost took a step back after looking at it: most of its top left side was stripped to the padding. A very close call indeed. He switched off the comlink – still working since built onto the right side and dropped it on the ground, startling the MSE-5 droid that was approaching the docking corridor. It wasn’t the same one, he understood, and it definitely came with a purpose. An ordered purpose. It was easy to guess: let it record the butchery (he didn’t really have another word for it) and the pirate ship interior.

“Here to inspect the other ship?” he asked the droid kneeling in front of it to block its holocam. It beeped an affirmative. “Well there’re too many wounded blocking the corridor. You’ll never get over. Let me carry you over while I wait for the gurneys.” he concluded.

The droid made an almost convinced acknowledgement chirp but let itself be picked up. XO carefully carried the droid to the GX1’s hatch making sure its holocam never actually looked down at the bodies. Once on the pirate ship, it started its recorded reconnaissance not bothering to look back. XO turned toward Raptor and just sighed at the absurdity, then went back across the dead pool. ‘Time to finish this’ he thought while using a medpac on himself. Feeling better, he picked up another blaster from the nearest corpse, not sure it was functioning but he slid it in his holster while slipping his own blaster under his chest armor. He then headed toward the bridge of the Imperial Customs frigate Raptor and his destiny.

_______________

Captain Vrexler was watching the footage recorded by the mouse droid of the GX1 interior on the secondary holoscreen. He wasn’t impressed, and even annoyed he couldn’t see much that was valuable, especially since the droid couldn’t get into the still locked cargo hold. Was there a reason his X.O. hadn’t bothered unlocking it. Or maybe he re-locked it after his inspection... That new thought only angered him more. It was way past time.

The XO got to the bridge door and used his cylinder key on the door control, hoping it would be the last time. The Plan... Almost. The door opened. The bridge was still lighted in battle-mode. He stepped forward and faced the captain of the ship, who was looking at him intently, his chin leaning on his left hand’s fingers with his elbow propped on the chair’s arm.

“Lieu-te-nant” he slowly droned out in his typical cynical voice he used when addressing him in public – though the public was very thin, being only Com-scan, who was also looking at him with a strange look, almost pity, but not for a friend.

“Captain” XO answered matter-of-factly. ‘Might as well get this over with fast’ he thought quickly. He continued: “The pirates are all dead and the ship is yours,” he paused slightly noticing the effect of his last word on Vrexler, whose eyebrows twitched noticeably but he quickly regained his composure. Com-scan was slightly more noisy, inhaling sharply, but still said nothing.

“... but we suffered very heavy casualties. We’ll have to finish bringing them to medbay.” he concluded.

“How many survivors?” Vrexler asked, almost like he already knew the answer. Or suspected at least.

“Only three.” XO answered truthfully not caring if Vrexler understood that all three meant the three of them on the bridge. He quickly added: “But the damage to the docking tube compromises the time available to conduct our investigation of the ship.” He turned slightly on his heels and pointed outside at the pirate ship, whose cockpit was visible in the left corner of the viewscreen, with his right hand.

Vrexler’s face twitched visibly at the mention of an investigation. But he reacted more when he saw his X.O. turn slightly left and point at the other ship with his right hand, exposing his holstered blaster. He lowered his hand and punched a key on the armrest of his chair. Then everything went by in a blur.

R2-T4 saw the signal sent from the captain’s chair to the com-scan console. He was waiting for it and almost instantly cut power to the external comm array. No message could be sent.

Com-scan received the signal from Vrexler’s armrest to send the emergency message he had prepared and barely had time to hit the send button when the entire communications array and its displays on his console lost power.

Vrexler saw from the corner of his eyes the lights go off on the com-scan console. He started raising his right hand that was hanging beside his chair.

XO turned his head back to Vrexler, but his left hand which was blocked from both Vrexler and Com-scan’s view by his own body was now holding his blaster he had grabbed from under his breastplate.

R2-T4 couldn’t help but beep an alarm, scared it might distract his master and friend but hoping it would distract the two other officers – he calculated the probabilities at 28.2% and 65.9%. Decent odds in his expert opinion.

XO heard the astromech’s beep but was more scared it might incite one of them to shoot the droid. While focussing on Vrexler, he still saw Com-scan raise and turn his head his and T4’s way then his right arm starting to move.

Vrexler also heard the astromech’s beep and cursed himself almost aloud for letting it stay on the bridge.

XO being ambidextrous, but never having revealed it to the Imperial Navy or Imperial Customs shot Vrexler right in the face – even though he had barely practiced shooting left-handed in the last two months.

Com-scan saw captain Vrexler being murdered and raised himself from his chair to grab his blaster and shoot that annoying XO. He never got the chance. XO shot him right in the forehead and he slumped back in his chair, dead.

XO heard a thump on the raised section of the bridge as a heavy blaster fell to the floor from the dead right hand of former Imperial Customs captain Vrexler.

XO breathed a huge sigh of relief realising he actually defended himself from certain death at their hands. T4 seems to agree with his feeling since he went on a tirade about taking risks with so thin a survival margin, it was hard to calculate – or so he gathered until he checked the translation display on the astromech station while patting T4 on his dome head and confirmed that, while much more detailed, that was basically what he said.

“Ok.” XO said to T4, “Part one of the plan is complete, now part two.” He knew that time was their main concern. Not only the damaged docking system, but any ship, sensor or even a telescope pointed in their direction could jeopardize the secrecy required to complete part two of the Plan.

T4 cognized that now all his gears and servos would be taxed to the maximum. Even his personality matrix, for he knew what had to be done to complete the plan.

XO sat in the pilot’s chair – one of the casualties of the pirates’ attack – and made carefully slow course and speed corrections received from T4’s calculations which the droid had updated every minute for the last hour. He wanted to be sure not to add strain to the docking tube while heading toward a stable orbit around Gammalin 9.

He then gathered all the weapons and code cylinders on the bridge then headed to the armory: using weapon crates was much more logical to carry weapons and armor. He dumped the weapons in an open crate then headed to the Raptor’s main hatch. As he expected, all the droids were there trying to lift the corpses on the gurneys but not being efficient at it since only the WED Treadwell had arms long and strong enough to lift a corpse. ‘It would be almost funny, if it wasn’t so macabre.’ he thought.

“Alright, listen up. We need to work fast before the docking system fails. M1, M2 and M3 go to the sanitation station and get cleaning fluid, cleaning tool and a container. WED you assist me loading the crew on the gurneys. R5 you drag the gurneys to the mess hall. It’s the only place large enough.” It was true but also the only place where there was nothing useful to salvage, except for the autochef of course. “T4, engineering.” All the droids went their way or started their assigned work, except T4 who beeped a question.

“3PO. Right, no actually we’d better clean-up before we bring him.” as he inferred that a blabbermouth droid such as a protocol model would have a hard time keeping his cool in such a situation, among other things.

T4 agreed with the implications with his typical affirmative beep and sped away at his maximum speed – after all, there wasn’t anyone left to crash into anymore.

So they removed the bodies, cleaned the corridor – it was now pink but didn’t smell. While carrying equipment and gear (medical, military, machinery, droid parts, etc.) from Raptor to the GX1 with the repulsorlift gurneys (they had rinsed them but they were to stay on Raptor anyway) and the two repulsor cargo skiffs. While the Plan had been designed by taking into account many possible eventualities, giving it a certain flexibility, this had become the worst possible version, with a very difficult time limit. XO was almost counting the minutes.

R2-T4 actually counted the seconds. Especially after they activated the protocol droid. Besides the usual fuss it made every time it was powered back on, the protocol hated being called 3PO, and kept asking questions about the bizarre procedure of emptying an Imperial Customs frigate onto a short hauler (it had a point, actually). But after being told the frigate was doomed to crash (technically true being part of the Plan), it went into a near panic mode!

The XO had to calm it down and appeal to his superior TC programming to get it back to work in relative silence. That was time well-wasted T4 computed: exactly 9.84 minutes! He wasn’t fond of fussy protocol droids, but he understood that XO couldn’t always have meaningful conversations with him with a datapad in his hand to read the translation, like the few occasions they’d had in the last 1.28 years, so the protocol droid would become an important tool. Actually, it was already translating for all the other droids since none of them had a vocabulator. At least, it was managing to assist the XO in carrying repulsor skiffs and loading their cargo in the GX1 – not without complaining obviously: “Sir, I am not designed as a load lifter...” “Gentle sir, I think my servos need maintenance...” and so on, but the glare of the XO was efficient at cutting him off mid-sentence. Even the other droids beeped, tweeted and blurped to 3PO that they were straining their systems too, but it was better than oblivion.

When XO heard the droids’ comments, he wasn’t sure what they said, so when he got the translation – from a momentarily happier protocol droid doing actual translating – he did a face the protocol droid didn’t expect to see. A face that didn’t seem that hopeful.

T4 heard a few of the droids’ comments too and when he crossed the XO’s path after making some repairs and verifications in the GX1’s engine room, the look on the Human’s face was like nothing he had ever seen, but he realized what it meant: his personality matrix wasn’t happy about it either.