Chapter 3: Birth of a Civilian

Travelling through hyperspace on its backup hyperdrive, a former pirate owned Lantillian GX1 Short Hauler was currently on autopilot on a short hop in the Mid Rim. The sole occupants being a Human, an astromech and a protocol droid.

After going all over the ship’s compartments, its systems and the accumulated “loot” or salvage (depending on your point of view), they had spent several hours making repairs – which in many cases was rather basic, considering the time and limited tools – both inside and outside the ship (the astromech managed most of the external repairs to the engines and the hull), using several necessary spare parts or trying to fix damaged ones still required to bring many systems to full capacity – or at least a high percentage. It also includes time for some cleaning – up to a point – since many sections and partitions of the ship had burned, been blasted and sprayed by several compounds, both chemical and biological.

The protocol droid had managed to complete the inventory of all the rooms and cargo holds making a global picture of what could be used as barter and what should be kept for the future, including many items deemed illegal under Imperial laws that would require to be kept hidden if they were to be stopped and inspected – they did find a small hidden cargo hold, although nowhere big or secret and secure enough for the new owner’s taste.

Scheduling hyperspace jumps towards the Outer Rim, recharge periods for the droids and much required sleep and sustenance for the ship’s captain with repairs and maintenance of the small transport had been the main focus of the last eight days. They had managed to bring most systems back online up to a certain point:

- The sublight drives had only two engines operational, but repairs – and a few higher quality replacement parts – had managed to bring them up to 62% efficiency.

- The main hyperdrive was functional but unstable, requiring some precise calibration: only one or two jumps could be attempted without making the odds of a mishap too risky – which is why they’d only used the backup drive after the jump from the Gammalin system.

- The maneuvering thrusters on the starboard side and several on the aft were damaged (many even completely destroyed), which reduced the ship maneuverability considerably – while simpler to replace each unit, repairing them was tougher without the necessary replacement parts.

- The shields were at almost 75%, but the hull had several breaches that would require some extensive repairs (and reinforcements) to regain total structural integrity.

- The sensors were damaged along the starboard and rear arcs and would require a full recalibration after some important replacement parts were installed, but for now, were functional enough as to not consider the ship “blind” – they’d established a tight circular flight pattern (similar to those used in ancient naval submarine vehicles), every time they jumped back to realspace to compensate for the damaged arcs’ reduced range and sensibility.

- The laser cannon turret was damaged: many servos and even some hull distortions around it greatly limited the turret’s movements while the power systems, which he had himself shot, the displays and the fire control required extensive replacement – a new firefight wasn’t advisable.

- The repulsorlift engines were functioning at 78%.

- While the life support system hadn’t suffered much damage during the battle, it clearly was due for some major maintenance – as a matter of fact, most systems required some upkeep before it had even started its fight with the HT-2200 transport and with Raptor. The only exception was the nav computer: it was in very good condition, as if it had been tuned and updated fairly recently. Yet, the ship’s flight logs were very short – a clear sign of illegal tampering since nothing but common Mid Rim systems had been visited during the last thirty-odd days: one of the pirates must have been a very decent astrogator. T4 spent hours comparing the copy he had of Raptor’s computer to the GX1’s and didn’t find anything worthy during his update: it meant that if the pirates had a hidden base, they hadn’t visited it during the last month and had taken the secret with them to the grave since no clues about it (or of any sponsors), had been found in their personal effects.

The items left in the ship’s cabins and storage compartments by the pirates were various and for most, not worth trying to sell. Tempted to just blow them out the airlock, but not wanting to leave a cloud of debris with identifiable patterns (physical and genetic), they stored them in a container for destruction somewhere safe – short of a black hole.

Several weapons had been gathered (blaster pistols, heavy blasters, carbines, a few vibroblades of various sizes and many more standard blades of differing quality), as well as multiple power packs, all of them in varying states of functionality, but most of average or worse quality.

The biggest illegal items were the Czerka Mark 8 concussion missiles in the cargo hold: set in a standard pyramidal stack of ten casings, there were actually only eight of them – worth at least five hundred credits each retail, it was a very good black market opportunity but also an incredibly dangerous one if the Empire were to find it first. It also begged the questions: Since there wasn’t a missile launcher installed aboard, from where and why were they in the hold? And why only eight left from a stack of ten casings? The answers would, most likely, never be revealed.

While trying not to dwell on unanswerable questions that could give him a headache (even though his training as a now former customs officer screamed at him to investigate), another matter quickly took precedence to deprive him of sleep: the two droids...

While at first R2-T4 was too busy working on the repairs, the diagnostics and the navigation of the ship while the protocol droid had been assigned with inventory, cleaning and the many translations required to understand the astromech in real time, they slowly began to compete for not only the attention but also the bragging rights of being the superior droid to their new owner.

He supposed the “war” between those two started while he was sleeping – after two days, it did wake him up. Being alone on a ship typically designed for a crew of four, he couldn’t afford to have the only help available bickering at each other in high-speed droidspeak or otherwise. The reasons were unimportant.

While T4 had obvious ship operations experience, he had very ‘Imperial’ habits that would require some adjustments to hide his actual Imperial origins, and the principal one was an almost built-in superiority complex over non-Imperial droids which is exacerbated by the fact that the other droid is a protocol droid: part of a millennial old clash between utility or astromech droids typically not equipped with a vocoder and the translating or protocol droids designed to bridge the gap between them and organic crews. Of course, protocol droids are typically third degree robots designed with higher intelligence to process multiple forms of communications with multiple lifeforms and mechanical devices, making them smarter than the majority around them – biological or artificial – but definitely not wiser. So even though they’re supposed to be complementary, they’ve clashed for eons all over the galaxy (and became the main reason behind some repair droid models being equipped with at least a simple vocoder).

But the young captain had to force both of them in an efficient partnership quickly if they were to survive. So he got up, exited his cabin, looked around the lounge, saw nothing nor heard anything beside the hum of the hyperdrive and the barely heard rippling sound of the slightly unsync life support system. He headed to the bridge, saw no one was there. Seeing through the front canopy the streaking lights of hyperspace, he checked each bridge station in turn, confirming that everything was going as smoothly as they’d managed to get it so far.

Wondering where the droids were, but not in the mood to go looking, he flipped the intercom switch: “T4, 3PO. In the lounge, now!” he barked.

Heading back to the lounge, he watched as the two droids, approached the lounge, each using a different corridor: 3PO had come out of the workshop in the central corridor, but T4 had been in engineering and had veered into the cabin corridor at high speed instead of coming straight in by the main corridor. They reached the lounge at the same time, and their heads turned to look at each other before facing him. ‘Huhh, not good.’ he thought. He had to fix the morale of the troops, so to speak – especially to save his own sanity.

Not saying anything, he turned and headed to the autochef (Raptor’s model, temporarily in the lounge until it could replace the cheaper one in the galley) and started programming it. He half-expected one of them to speak or beep, but all he heard were servos turning back and forth: they’d looked at each other again.

“Time to put the priorities in place.” he started while turning around waiting for the autochef to finish. “Bickering between the crew is absolutely prohibited. Leaving your post, neglecting your duties or waking the captain for no serious reason is also forbidden.” he added with some emphasis on the last detail. It had the desired effect: they both quickly turned their heads toward each other then back forth toward XO.

He continued: “You got something to say, you tell me. You got a problem with the other, then work as a team and find a solution. There’s enough computing power between the two of you to behave better than a couple of “organic” teenagers, so stop fussing about who’s the better droid or whatever it is that’s griping you two. Clear?”

‘That should make them think, or process twice from now on.’ he figured.

The organic teenager bit seemed to have the desired effect: they turned their heads toward each other and sent some messages in high-speed droidspeak back and forth a couple of times, then went silent and turned back toward the XO. “We understand sir.” the protocol droid declared in a submissive tone, which was then punctuated by an affirmative confirmation beep from the astromech.

“Good.” XO said with a sigh. “I never want to have this conversation again... unless we get new crew members...” he finished with an unsure tone. The autochef rang a ready tone, so he turned to take the soup cup, took a sip then turned back to the two droids still watching him. “Back to work, crew.” he declared, waving his free right hand.

The two droids looked at each other again, spoke at high-speed for two seconds then headed in opposite directions: T4 back to engineering – by the more direct central corridor – while the protocol droid walked toward the bridge.

The captain looked at them go until they were out of sight, hoping that the situation would be solved for a long while, then headed back to his cabin. ‘At least, it was way easier than dealing with those crooks.’ he figured thinking of Raptor’s crew. As the door closed behind him, he realized with a smile: ‘It’s good to be Captain.’

The next day, he gathered the droids in the lounge during lunchtime for a meeting – an old habit shared by many species.

“Alright you two, time to find a suitable planet to get new IDs, permits and other legal docs to start a new life. Suggestions?” he asked the two droids standing in front of him while he ate a quick snack in the lounge. “Since we’re heading for the Outer Rim, we can either stop en route on a suitable planet or wait and risk being boarded somewhere in the Outer Rim Territories (not something we want with what we still have on board), though there’s better chances for an “appropriate” access to the Imperial network.” he added after a large mouthful.

The two droids looked at each other, looked at XO, seemed to look slightly elsewhere as if thinking for a few seconds then turned their heads back to each other, spat a few lines of high-density droidspeak at each other then looked back at XO, thereupon the 3PO unit said: “Sir, if I am to understand your need, we will require to act as forgers to acquire the necessary documents to legalize a new identity with the accompanying permits to travel and do commerce as an independent tramp freighter. While R2-T4 here says he can access the Imperial information network, he is not totally sure he can alter records without leaving traces. Nor could he manage it in a standard Imperial base where security is too high. We would require a very remote post where they do not have a working Holonet connection, which could otherwise verify your genetic identity with your Imperial Navy records.”

“Yes, exactly. We can’t trust a criminal to do the “deed” either. Any more questions?”, he asked with a sigh.

Again, the two droids looked at each other, and again blurted fast droidspeak at each other back and forth a few times. Then they turned back their heads to XO: “Well sir, we did manage to come up with 53 planets that could serve your needs, but we are not sure how you intend to proceed. While R2-T4 is more familiar with your command style, I admit I am at a loss on how I could help in this endeavour. Both of us are unsure on how we are to serve aboard your ship or even how to address you exactly, sir.”

XO bowed his head slightly, almost smirked in amusement, then raised a finger in a sign of waiting. He then finished his meal, pushed the plate aside, grabbed his glass to take a sip, then sit up straighter in the comfortable chair looking at the droids watching him intently.

“Ok. Let me start by saying that until further notice, you two are my crew and I am your captain, your master and the owner of this ship we will call from now on, Liberty. You can call me sir or captain. My real name T4 knows, but we set up a hidden locked portion of his memory banks several months ago and my real name will stay there and he will never use it until I authorize it or I am truly dead.”

“Oh my...” 3PO started but the captain quickly raised a hand to silence him.

“You are an odd protocol droid,” the captain declared and again raised a hand to silence the protocol droid before he could utter a comment. “You say you have the programming of a TC model while you clearly have the body of a 3PO model.” Again he raised his hand to silence the droid that barely got a “but” out of his vocabulator.

This made T4 giggle electronically, which then prompted 3PO to turn toward the astromech to start berating him, but the captain’s sharp “Quiet you two!” made them both stop and turn back toward him.

“The mystery of your origin will have to wait for now,” the captain said pointing a finger at the protocol droid. “A TC model is more valuable than a 3PO, hence more likely to attract attention in the circles we’re gonna have to blend into. Even worth stealing or kidnapping, and neither of us want that. So, since you’re a TC protocol droid, you shouldn’t have any problem learning new skills and operating above and beyond your basic programming. In private we’ll call you D/TC-3PO or just D/TC for short, but in public you will respond to D-3PO. Is that clear?”

“Yes, captain sir.” the protocol droid replied.

Before the captain could correct the droid, T4 chirped out that it was one title or the other: not both. While almost looking miffed at being corrected by the astromech, the captain pointed to T4 with his hand palm up with a head nod confirming to D/TC the accuracy of T4’s comment.

“Very well, sir.” D/TC acknowledged looking back at his new master.

“While after we get the “legal procedures” completed we will be on the lookout for a real first mate, in the meantime you both will be co-first mates: T4 for all ship operations, D/TC for the rest or anything involving communications. We’ll see about some upgrades in skillware and also someone qualified to give you a secure memory as well. As for my new official name, I have a few choices but until we can verify eligibility you can just call me Captain Dan if anyone asks. Questions?”

The droids both looked at each other again, but said nothing, not daring to look weak to the other.

“Alright, now let’s examine those 53 planets, we have less than seven hours left. T4 holomap. D/TC start talking.”

After nearly three hours, the decision was made by the captain, who then went to sleep in the former first officer’s cabin – currently dubbed the captain’s quarters – until the Liberty reverted back to realspace.

Fortunately, his rest went uninterrupted for the next six days – except for the time when a power coupler failed a few hours after a failed jump. Unfortunately, both droids were at first asking him questions after questions, many of which he didn’t have an answer for, yet. But he did manage to set a ship’s routine and most probable protocols for cargo and passenger transport as a civilian ship under the Empire.

After doing all the repair work and preparation they could manage in their current conditions, the young captain stood ready in the pilot’s chair to activate the main hyperdrive to jump into the next phase of the Plan.

_______________

The Coryadus system in the Toblain sector (Outer Rim Territories): A typical mining system found and set up a couple of centuries ago by a few wealthy investors, it never got big enough or produced anything more than average ores and gases to be noticed by the Mining Guild. However, it became noticed by the newly formed Empire when ISB found that one of its major investors was closely related to a senator who’d signed the Petition of 2000 at the end of the Clone Wars in 19 BBY (asking Palpatine to relinquish his emergency powers): after economic threats didn’t deter the enterprise, the Empire finally seized the facilities to use the products for their secret projects.

Comprising of only five planets and eight moons (two rocks, one planetary, one gas giant and an ice cube; the moons being mostly rocks with two smaller gas giants), there’s three mining facilities spread across the system: an orbital gas mining station around Coryagas, a sealed mining compound on Cory 2 and the main facilities on Coryadus itself (which is a dry dusty uninhabited planet with a Type 2 atmosphere). The newer Imperial mining base is built close to the original lone, small city that includes a landing field with limited ship services, a few shops, lodging quarters and the administrative buildings that now comprise an Imperial security office led by an Imperial Prefect and a few Imperial Army security troopers.

The pleasantly dull mining planet (features while), is populated by miners, ore processing and transport workers, some traders and a few administrators now working for the Imperial Mining Corporation – after the original company was “nationalized” by the Empire.

That basically was what the crew of the Imperial Customs frigate Raptor, a couple of years ago, had found out after some discreet investigations – one of the rare moment of total crew collaboration: everybody was curious – since earlier that month, a routine inspection on one of their unmarked transport had been cut short when its captain had produced a special permit issued by the Imperial Department of Resources that negated the authority of the Imperial military and security forces to conduct searches on their ships.

So Coryadus became the top choice for their current administrative needs: proximity (relative to their position), distance (from most Imperial or even corporate sites), isolation from the Holonet (not important enough to warrant it) and access to the Imperial networks (required to hire new workers, pilots, technicians and approve traders – or process new slaves).

So they set the navicomputer and jumped well outside the standard jump point for the Coryadus system – the idea was to slip in unnoticed.

The Liberty shot out of hyperspace outside the Coryadus system albeit, four hours later than expected. T4 was particularly verbal about the fact that his computations were inaccurate because the hyperdrive still wasn’t operating at a 100% as he scrambled back to the engineering section. D/TC, sitting at the com-scan station, almost seemed to grin as he watched the astromech roll out of the bridge literally cursing in droidspeak. He turned back his seat towards the captain and started to translate T4’s tirade, but Captain Dan, still in the pilot’s seat but also turned back to look at the disappearing bleeping droid, raised his hand to stop him. “I don’t need to know” he prompted, “but I need confirmation we’re not detected.” he added, pointing at the com-scan console. He already knew the answer from his own console, but this was part of the training for the new tasks required of the protocol droid.

“Nothing detected on passive sensors, sir. I await your permission to do an active scan.” D/TC replied while turning back to the console.

“Go ahead.” the young captain added, himself turning back to the controls. Heading toward Coryadus, he slowly performed another loop to get the functional sensors a full sweep around the GX1. ‘Can’t wait to get those fixed’ he almost mumbled, while also thinking about all the other components that needed replacing, and the time that would be saved not performing useless precaution maneuvers.

After a full loop and a negative sensor sweep, the Liberty headed on a curved course at an average speed (trying to look more like a natural astral object like an asteroid than an incoming ship) toward the farthest side of the planet from the main Imperial mining facility, then after reaching the surface, apparently without detection – or at least without interference – he skirted the main continent and landed among dunes southwest of the main structures at, he estimated, three to four hours of walking distance. He also landed the ship slightly crooked and buried in the sand, faking a crash landing (not very hard considering its condition), making the ship a proof of his cover story and also less appealing to steal while he was away.

Leaving D/TC in charge onboard – even though he wasn’t thrilled about the lonely responsibility – R2-T4 and Captain Dan set out into the dry, dusty environment towards the Imperial mining installation. The going was rough, but the terrain was rocky enough for T4 to navigate with his treaded wheels. The cloud cover over the reddish terrain was a precursor to one of the regular storms that traveled across the land – storms strong enough to lift the dust and sand to literally sandblast rust and grease from pots and pans or paint from vehicles and starships. ‘Actually’ thought Dan, ‘Liberty could use a little scrub.’

Finally, after nearly five hours of walk, and a looming storm catching up to them, they reached the outskirts of the mining facility after sunset. Security was rather loose and the approaching storm seemed to haste everyone he could see to finish their business outside the buildings. He spotted the administration building and sent T4 ahead – in the approaching night, the dark colored astromech was actually hard to see from a distance. Himself, clothed in the most corporate looking coveralls he could find with a large piece of cloth draped over his head and with a filtering mask, he deemed he could pass as a local from a distance. He just had to stay hidden long enough for T4 to find a junction box from the administration building that he could use to slice into.

T4 went silently forward to the admin building using his various scanners to detect the telltale signs of power or communications nodes along its exterior walls – it was possible there wasn’t any if they were buried or kept internally but the design was a standard Republic style edifice and after turning into a back alley locked with a metal grill gate which had a simple physical padlock that he quickly cut with his laser cutter, he passed the gate and found the communication node. The node was protected by a strong, locked metal cover, but with the right tools from his multiple access panels he opened it. The interior was a neat mix of connectors and wires, but he used his probe to find the right connection. Since it was an exterior comm node there wasn’t a scomp-link access, but T4 had another tool to slice his way in. Opening a side panel, he extended an articulated arm tipped with a connector and got to work.

Dan was hiding behind a dune from a roving patrolman, imagining he could play the drunk scenario if he got spotted, but the patrolman was more intent on finishing his round before the storm hit and went toward the landing field, oblivious. The patrolman wasn’t military since all he had was a carbine and a jacket with the I.M.C. logo on its back, which meant the Prefect kept his Army security closer to himself. Typical, actually.

After half an hour, he got up and headed toward the main entry of the admin building, hoping it would still be open for civilian services after dark – while mining was typically an a round-the-clock affair, administration could be limited to daylight hours – and he really didn’t want to spend the night outside during a sandstorm or even be stuck in a shelter but with many curious workers.

Fortunately, the door opened and he was greeted by an Imperial Army trooper, almost happy to have his boredom perturbed, but still looking inquisitive. Trying to look like a dim-witted corporate low-grade worker in distress, Dan quickly asked the guard: “Is it open? I need new papers. I lost mine...” Apparently, it wasn’t an uncommon circumstance here either – theft for IDs, permits and such was as common as theft for credits, only harder to profit from.

“Madam Sharuzza is still in.” the trooper indicated a spot on the small holomap atop the counter: third floor, south side.

“Thank you.” Dan replied with a slight bow, wondering if the trooper expected a tip (actually a bribe), but decided to not show he had some currency, making the “lost” ID excuse more plausible. He headed for the stairwell instead of the turbolift: would make him seem more nervous. He reached level three then entered a central corridor. The south side was lined with office doors; only one had light streaming under the door. The north side was a small waiting room with a few chairs and a secured open office area with half a dozen desks, currently all empty.

He reached the door with light and knocked on the door. “Enter” came a curt response in a gravely voice.

Dan looked around the door, the frame, for a knob or a switch but saw nothing. He then leaned forward closer to the door expecting a trigger sensor to activate, but still nothing. He almost knocked again but restrained himself: this was a power move and he was most probably watched anyway. He decided to wait.

The door then opened by sliding into the left frame. In the office sat a seemingly middle-aged female Gotal at a computer desk facing the east wall. A single chair in the middle of the room was the only other piece of furniture in the moderately lit but bare room.

“Greetings.” Dan said entering, then after a few seconds without a reply, decided to sit in the chair and wait for the bureaucrat to engage him.

“That astromech of yours did a decent job of splicing info into the system.” she said casually while still looking at her screen.

“Astromech?” Dan replied simply in a neutral tone he hoped wouldn’t betray his feelings – a hard gamble with a Gotal.

“Yes, a black and beige R2 droid who sliced the data comm cables in the back alley. I got the footage here. Wanna see it?” she asked with a victorious yet still scary thin smile while lifting her head and those horns of hers toward him. “Besides, I felt it before it even reached the junction box.” she added, pointing at her horns on the top of her head with a waving finger.

“Well... you see, we ...” Dan stammered, thinking that it might be better to tell the truth but not offer any more detail than required and perhaps gain her sympathy. “I need a new life. Not just for me... I mean, it would benefit others too, ... keeping evil men from using unpleasant means to find me.” He had a hard time finding the right balance of truth and lack of implicating details – he wasn’t a good liar. He suddenly realized she was looking at him intently and he knew she was detecting his truthfulness – sketchy as it was.

“You got criminals after you?” she asked, but it sounded more like a statement.

“Yes.” Dan promptly replied truthfully (after all, he regarded the Empire as a whole as war criminals).

She slowly turned her head back to the screen, seemingly unsatisfied with the answer. Yet she added: “You intend to live an honest life from now on?” She looked back at him from the corner of her right eye, waiting for the answer.

“Yeah sure.” he almost spat out in relief, then composed himself slightly before adding: “I can’t ... just stay on the authorities’ radar and hope nobody notices.” He almost bit his lower lip but managed to keep his face as stoic as he thought he could, trying to keep his calm and offer a wholesome peaceful vibe she could detect with her horns.

“Uhmm” she retorted slowly, seemingly convinced of his good intentions. “I hope you won’t end-up on my radar either, and especially not on the Imperial Prefect’s, since it would mean I let you hack into the system and go away without raising the alarm.” Before Dan could answer – his mouth still partly opened – she added: “You know, I was a pretty decent slicer during the war, before the Empire caught me. After my jail term, they sent me to this dustball to keep me supervised and from accessing their increasing number of secrets. So I know a bit about getting into a new, quieter life.” She sighed physically. “You’re not stupid and you’re not an evil Human. I can sense it, even if you tried to hide all the details. But I feel I can trust you.” She smiled slightly, showing her yellowed teeth and the crinkled skin around her mouth – it made her look older but also a bit gentler and wiser.

The question now was: Could she be trusted? Was her “understanding” fake or genuine? Where did her loyalties lie: the Empire (by interest or even by some form of coercion), a criminal organization (quite possible given many employees of the I.M.C. were actually slaves or prisoners), or could she be willing to work against the Empire (for a noble reason or simply just for spite)?

She swung her chair back to the terminal and worked on the keyboard for several minutes. It felt like an eternity. Dan half-expected a squad of Army troopers to burst into the room.

Instead, madam Sharuzza picked a special scanner and placed it at the edge of the desk. “Place your hand/limb on the scanner.” she mentioned routinely.

Dan got up and placed his right hand on the scanner – probably taking a genetic sample. The scanner beeped once, twice, then a white light at its top blinked on. The Gotal lady added in the same mechanical tone: “Thank you. Please take your seat.” She picked up the scanner, docked it to her terminal, then turned back to examine the results – a routine she’d done countless times apparently, based on her change in tone.

But Dan was getting more optimistic by the minute: still no troops showing up. Also, T4 had managed to slice into the Imperial datafiles, so his genetic code would be tied to a predetermined new identity, that even though she knew was fake, since it had been implanted less than an hour earlier, it would be impossible for her to prove, at least, not with the limited database she had access to: being a small outpost, it had access mostly to employees, commercial contacts (both past and present), and probably a list of criminals from this and the neighboring sectors. Anything related to the Imperial military, COMPNOR or intelligence agencies was out of reach.

But, she could flag this request, which in addition to confirmation delays of several days as the courier droids would transfer the data packets across the sector up to one or more planets – many of which would have a larger database, a wider access (such as the Holonet or the Imperial Compulink) and higher authority, that could attract the attention of the Empire which would then use its galaxy-wide resources to find and capture you. While it could still take some time, ending up on the Empire’s Most Wanted list was not a trifling matter.

“So,” the bureaucratic Gotal started, breaking his train of thought, “your name is Dan Cooper?” It was half a question and half a critic. “Rather archaic name for a young Human, ain’t it?”

“Well, ... it’s short and straightforward ...” he stammered in reply. He had spent some time with the droids coming up with a short list of possibilities. But it was inherently linked to finding a very close genetic match that could be modified the least so as not to be detected as a forgery (a sort of genetic graft) and allow it to go up the information pipeline as updated data, replacing his genetic makeup with a new identity, while the information in his dossier in the Imperial military databases would be filed away in storage since his condition, as far as they knew, was (hopefully) listed as deceased – a deep investigation would, of course, reveal the forgery if this demand was to be flagged. It seemed T4 had gone for the simplest option, but then again, it might have been the only one possible. At least his forename was his first choice. Also, this could be only the first of many fake identities, or, if the Empire were to be finally defeated, he could regain his real name.

She was watching him intently, and he realized she hadn’t brought the subject of T4’s slicing again. It seemed she was willing to keep the secret. The question now was: For how much?

“You have a ship?” she asked, although it sounded more like a statement.

“Yes,” he answered truthfully, “as salvage” he continued in a less convincing tone. She did catch the nuance.

“Salvage involves permits, fees, cargo manifests, ...” she stated.

Dan quickly realized the implications: “I meant, inherited a ship.”

“Yes, better” she replied as she turned back to her terminal and started typing. “From a relative?” she asked in an uncertain tone.

“No, from an acquaintance.” he answered, then remembering the carnage on Raptor he added: “We shed blood together, until the end.”

That made madam Sharuzza turn her head back at him. She did not detect a lie, yet she understood there was something intense behind that remark. “Indeed.” was all she softly said while turning back to continue her work.

The following minutes she asked questions about the ship, the droid and combined with the BoSS datapad he had found on the Liberty, filled out his dossier with some details that would be required when he went to the sector capital. While she couldn’t access BoSS (Bureau of Ships and Services) records since they weren’t part of the Empire, she could add some details on the young captain’s ID and Imperial Space Ministry application they’d use for the flight certifications and the ship licenses he would require.

She then produced a datacard containing his temporary ID with two flimsiplast sheets: one for the ship, the other for himself allowing safe passage to the sector capital: “You have 25 days to get to Toblain. While you could go to another sector capital, it would look suspicious.”

“Now, ... about the total amount for the fees and permits” she quickly checked a datapad, “it will be 387 credits.” she finished while flashing a big grin.

‘Ouch!’ he thought almost grimacing as he dug some credit chips from an internal pocket. He’d been an Imperial serviceman for almost a decade and had ordered payment for permits and fines, but he had never really been confronted by its bureaucracy from this (civilian) side before today. He dropped 400 credits on her desk, not expecting her to give him the change, but rather to keep smiling until he added more credits to the pile. She surprised him by picking the stack and dumping it in a drawer without a word.

“Question,” he asked her. She signaled with a hand to continue. “Do you know a decent mechanic not too curious around here?” he asked, motioning a large horizontal circle with his finger.

She tilted her head in thought a couple of seconds then wrote something on a ripped piece of flimsi and presented it.

Dan picked it. “Huh, well, thank you very much.” he said with a slight hesitation – he wasn’t used to saying thanks either. Then he figured: “Is there something you need or would like? I have some stuff on the ship...” he added, hoping this wouldn’t spoil the mood by bribing her.

For a split second, she was offended by the offer of a blatant bribe, but sensing his discomfort she decided to see what his intention really was. So she thought a few seconds and a recent memory came to her mind. “We don’t get much in the way of fresh produce around here.” she declared, leaving her answer almost as a challenge.

Dan was mentally revising Liberty’s cargo manifest but quickly came to a conclusion: “I don’t have any onboard, unfortunately” – what little came from Raptor he had already consumed. “But I’ll see what I can find.” he concluded. “Farewell.” he turned and exited the building.

On his way back to the ship, he noticed the storm had come and gone during his meeting with madam Sharuzza as a large ore carrier (probably full) lifted from the far end of the landing field where storage silos awaited the next transport. After two hours on a brisk walk – he wasn’t sure if it was fear or excitement that hasted him – he caught up with T4, who, upon seeing him, started bleeping and squeaking about the storm he had to hide from and the scratches it made to his paint.

“Maybe it made you less shiny for the next time you’re recorded on a holocam.” he replied.

T4 made an interrogative tweep.

“Don’t you have sensors? Use your D.E.R. or something.” he answered.

T4 went on a seemingly complicated explanation, but when Dan told him he sounded more and more like the prissy D/TC, T4 stopped all sounds for the rest of the trip back to the Liberty.

The trip to Shafr Prime was uneventful. The departure from Coryadus had certainly been noticed, but a check of the records would show he had paid the necessary dues for the requested administrative service and any inconsistencies – if any could be found – would be dealt by the proper authorities when he showed up at the sector capital for his legal documentation.

For the moment, the important thing was to slip into a repair yard without getting inspected, preferably the one that the nice Gotal lady had supplied – which was still a gamble since he had no idea if the owner was willing to do work not totally legitimate or if he’d call the Imperials the moment he glimpsed the cargo. If madam Sharuzza understood and was inclined to accept dealing ‘under the table’ so to speak, Dan still wasn’t sure, so this reference she gave for the sector’s sole primarily academic oriented planet was going to be a crucial test.

To make sure he could request emergency docking privileges, he had T4 make a few changes on the ship, like undoing several adjustments and making some subtle but flashy exterior sabotages such as sparking energy connectors to several dead systems that, coupled with the actual battle damages would be evident both on sensors and visually. With both droids, he also ran scenarios and probable conversations they’d have with the authorities upon arrival.

Emerging from hyperspace nearly thirteen hours later than expected – T4, in the computer room, was quick to clarify that the hyperdrive was in dire need of a readjustment – Dan was surprised to detect from the functioning frontal sensors an XQ1 space station orbiting Shafr (there was no mention of an orbital station in their current planetary database). “That’s new.” he said aloud as a sudden fear went through his mind: ‘What if they make me dock there instead of planetside?’ But then he remembered a safety regulation: “Ships with risk of an explosion will not be allowed in a military installation.” In typical Imperial mentality, that’s what civilian facilities were for – taking the brunt. He was suddenly interrupted by an incoming transmission.

“Unknown GX1 transport, this is Shafr Prime Space Control. Hold your position and identify yourself or you will be fired upon.”

Dan was motioning to D/TC to activate the special comm program they’d setup earlier when two TIE/ln in formation screamed over the cockpit – coming from the ship’s sensory blind spot. While normally confident around buzzing TIE fighters, being a civilian was new and flying a damaged former pirate ship was a difficult handicap that rattled him slightly. But he quickly regained his composure (not sure if the droids had noticed or not), and activated the comm: “This is the short hauler drzzzt-berty. Captain Dan brzzt-oper operating out drrzztrzt system. Suffered heavy damage from pirates bbrrzzthrzzt. Request emergency docking dhrzzt.”

“Copy that, GX1.” was the answer. There was a slight pause as if the controller was asking permission from someone else. “Standby to be scanned.”

The two TIE starfighters looped around and slowed as they split and approached Liberty from different sides.

“Active scan sir.” D/TC mentioned. Dan was glad the droid was performing his assigned duty. While T4 was hooked by scomp-link to the ship’s systems, he was blind visually and had only the partial sensors to “see” outside the ship. But it allowed him to make quick alterations if required.

A few minutes later, the TIEs apparently finished their visual and sensor scans because the comm crackled again – the comm failure was set to look as a 2-way malfunction – “... GX1 your transponder is unknown or impaired by the engine damage. You will require to be inspected. Can you land planetside?”

“I drzth so. Affirmative.” he added as an afterthought. There was a slight hesitation on the line: military personnel were never comfortable with I think so.

“Follow the fighters, they’ll escort you to the low orbit, then switch to comm frequency F-624 for spaceport landing instructions.”

“Please repeat...” Dan asked trying to keep the trick convincing. The controller repeated everything twice, in different tempos to make sure all the instructions were received. Dan repeated all the instructions twice also, in slightly different format and with different glitches, confirming the instructions. He then increased speed toward the planet and the TIE fighters positioned themselves as escort: one in front but below the turret’s angle of fire, the other behind in the blind spot. ‘So far, so good’ he thought as he examined the XQ1 station in passing: apparently used only by the Imperial military since no civilian ship was visible near it.

Reaching Shafr’s orbit, D/TC switched the comm to the designated frequency, but they went through the malfunction routine again to keep the ruse as they reached the small-scale but efficient looking Standard class spaceport: it was linked by a long road to a small city itself linked to a large group of various buildings and complexes dotted with natural green and blue garden-style areas (most probably the schools and education centers). The instructions guided the Liberty to a large but empty hangar bay partially open to the sky. As he set Liberty down on the left section, he noticed the two large CompForce troopers flanking the only entrance in the middle of the back wall who were a bit surprised to see such a damaged vessel landing.

It was a landing but certainly not one his best. As he settled the Liberty down, a sharp groan was heard from underneath the ship and the craft tilted up and leftward nearly fifteen degrees: one of the landing struts was damaged. “Ahrg, Sithspit!” he heard himself say. ‘More stuff to fix’ he expected. But now he was also thinking of how he could pay. The value of all the legal equipment he could sell was slim compared to the value of the restricted or illegal materials – that is IF he could avoid them being seized and IF he could find someone willing to deal in black market goods. Fear was creeping into his mind. But there also was another fact his mind just registered: the two droids hadn’t made a sound since reaching orbit – nice, but it wouldn’t last he figured as he exited the bridge.

Dan had found two rather licentious holoshows among the pirates’ personal items which included scenes with several aliens performers such as Twi’leks, Falleen and Zeltrons – he had just quickly skimmed the contents to ascertain they’d be blacklisted: they weren’t his style. But he had a feeling that an academic planet like Shafr Prime, under the eyes of COMPNOR’s SAGroup programs such as SAGEducation and Recruitment or even the Science and Education groups of the Coalition for Progress would make black market holos (especially the risqué kind) a rare and valuable commodity (especially for bored Imperial Customs agents stuck on a planet with kids and COMPNOR fanatics). So he had one playing on the lounge’s holoplayer before he exited the ship: one more distraction he had devised with the droids during the trip, part of a plan to hide the maximum of the illegal cargo and deflect the attention of the officials that would come aboard. It all depended on the type of Imperial officers...

He was about to find out as he opened the hatch – which sounded like a groaning dying rancor – and the ramp extended but stopped short a few centimetres with a sharp thud on the deck since the ship was tilted starboard side. Dan couldn’t help but cringe, but when silence was restored he walked down the ramp. He was dressed as the simplest civilian freighter owner he could manage with his sparse civilian clothes and two items from the pirates that fit: an overcoat with several pockets and a cheap and worn looking gunbelt but with a holster for tools, currently empty (no sense making trigger-itchy Imperials more nervous). As he looked around the totally empty hangar – used only for emergencies he supposed – the doors opened and an Imperial Customs officer walked in with the two CompForce troopers falling in formation behind him: a lieutenant in his late thirties, not quite in shape, with a few strands of brown hair sticking out of his cap, and while he was examining Liberty with curiosity, it seemed more for the novelty of the damages than actual professionalism. Dan remembered several other officers of his type: not the worst but not the best either. If bored or under too much scrutiny, many could accept, if not a direct bribe, then maybe a favor or something they’d value – the trick was finding what it was.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“Greetings lieutenant,” Dan conveyed with as much warmth and positivity as he could. “Is there an emergency team coming soon?” he finished trying to look hopeful.

“Not yet. Papers...” the officer said with his left hand extended while still eying the ship – probably to evaluate if it was safe for him to board. The two troopers while standing at attention behind the lieutenant and technically keeping him in their sight, were often darting looks across the Liberty’s hull when a spark, here or there shot out from exposed power cables.

Captain Dan handed over the datacard and the flimsi sheets he received earlier, along with a datapad containing the cargo manifest. The IC officer, while a bit startled to receive flimsis, quickly regained his wits as he read them then inserted the datacard into his own datapad and perused the information (it wasn’t the first time he’d seen papers coming from I.M.C.). “Ship permits.” he added, looking back at Dan as if it was the first time he’d noticed he was a Human. Dan, while a bit miffed at the attitude, didn’t let it show as he presented the BoSS permit datapad he had found onboard Liberty – he had reviewed its data, which was now obsolete and the main reason for having it updated at the Sector capital’s BoSS office, but it still contained information from previous owners that he wasn’t willing to let the Empire be aware of, so keeping with the theme of ship damage, he had T4 produce precise, but accidental looking damage to the unit: not enough to look as an attempt at forgery (which was practically impossible and highly illegal) but just enough to slightly compromise the data it could display.

The officer was not happy as part of the data he was scrolling through didn’t always appear coherent. He looked up at Dan almost ready to condemn him to Kessel as he checked the datapad over carefully.

“I found it in that condition lieutenant, near a ruptured power connector. I can show you where,” he motioned for the officer to follow him on-board, “I’m sorry, but while the fires and leaks are out, there’s still plenty of damaged systems that require immediate attention.”

The officer threw the BoSS datapad back at him followed by the datacard and the flimsiplast sheets, then taking the cargo manifest datapad, looked up the ramp into Liberty’s interior, which, occasionally, flashed brighter for a split-second: “You first, captain.” the officer ordered, ending in a dubious tone. They marched up the ramp to the ship’ foyer where the lieutenant realized the two troopers were still outside: “Up here you two!” he barked. They quickly entered but stopped short at the hatch – seeing sparks and broken glowlights darkening parts of the ship’s interior was not inspiring them any confidence (CompForce troopers while wearing heavy body only wear comlink headset in combat – one of the many idiosyncrasies of COMPNOR). The IC officer, guessing their fear, just snorted his disdain then added, pointing at each in turn: “You, guard the hatch. You cover the cargo hold.” Then turning back to Dan, pointed at the cargo bay doors.

Dan activated the door release and more than half of the cargo bay’s ceiling lumas lit up to reveal a fairly well filled cargo hold with various crates and boxes stacked or latched with cargo webbing, and apparently all sporting Imperial Customs holoseals. The nearest trooper taking a peak, couldn’t help but whistle which made the lieutenant shove him further in saying: “Start checking the cargo.” The trooper was beginning his inspection, looking here and there reading aloud the cargo labels while the IC officer was verifying the cargo manifest (which was mostly fake since the majority of the cargo was either restricted, requiring permits they obviously didn’t have, or simply illegal). But Dan and the droids had arranged everything using material taken from Raptor – tox detectors, cargo hooks, crate tag imprinter, IC holoseals – and the knowledge of years of experience making inspections to hide, camouflage or distract the Imps from finding the contraband (especially that stack of concussion missiles shoved behind crates and under an extended wet looking tarp).

The next step was the carefully located used tox detectors: the one in the middle inner wall of the cargo hold was almost shining bright green under the ceiling glowpanel and Dan pointed to it: “Sir, there’s been a coolant leak from the main gun all over the back of the hold. It requires a decon team to clean.”

The trooper, seeing the green chemical detecting sticker and what looked like wet surfaces at the far end of the cargo hold, stopped in his tracks and turned to the officer almost pleading: “Sir?”

The officer sighed heavily then ordered the trooper to guard the hold. The trooper readily moved to stand outside the bay’s doors. “Anything else?” he asked after turning back to Dan with an irritated look.

“Well,” Dan added, “There’s another detector in the engine room that turned red. I’m not going there anymore, only the astrodroid ever goes there.” As a spark lit the ceiling close to their position, the lieutenant decided to move forward (away from a potential radiation leak), but he checked the engineering locker, the escape pod access (the pod was still there but noticeably damaged), the machine shop, the gunwell access, the galley, the medical bay (the precious bacta containers were hidden in engineering – along with many of the recovered weapons and armors to hide any energy signatures) and the small exercise room which held piles of scrap parts they’d managed to replace to make the ship functional, some stinking and blood-covered portions of flooring and several pieces of burned partitions. Dan half-hoped the officer would start digging in the garbage pile looking for contraband, but the look and smell apparently dissuaded him.

“Why haven’t you dumped that crap?” he asked while turning his attention to the lounge.

“I thought maybe some evidence could be gathered. I don’t want to impede an investigation.” he added, trying to be a bit coy, but actually trying to imply the ISB or another agency would look into the matter and possibly review the lieutenant’s conduct – especially considering the CompForce troopers standing guard within hearing range. If it had the desired effect, the IC officer managed to not show it as he continued his inspection towards the computer room. The door opened and they both entered the angled shaped room containing the dual stations (life support and the ship/navigation computers), where T4 was plugged-in with his scomp-link arm – he was actually causing the sparks all over the ship by rerouting power to damaged connectors.

“Droid, out!” the lieutenant ordered. While disconnecting and leaving the room, the officer added: “Isn’t that an Imperial droid?”

“No,” Dan was quick to lie, “Imperial droids have much higher quality paint jobs. As you can see, this is a series two astromech.” Dan almost visibly winced as he heard and saw from the corner of his vision T4’s radar eye turning so fast to look straight at him as he exited the room the moment he mentioned the paint – it was so red it felt like it could melt durasteel...

Fortunately, the lieutenant was more interested in accessing the navicomputer as he just nodded and half-grunted an acknowledgement of Dan’s reply while he sat at the station and connected his datapad with a data connector, then accessed the ship’s log – which again, Dan and T4 had sabotaged by deleting most of the entries and making it look as regular battle damage – and once again, was unhappy with the results making it noisily and visually known by a low growl and a hard stare.

So far, Dan felt he was 3 for 3 in the if looks could kill department. But as he and the officer got out of the computer room, he noticed an important detail he had missed since the lieutenant had entered the lounge first, but as he was now standing in front of the vestibule doors, he could observe the officer’s gaze turning towards the holoplayer currently showing a woman and a female Twi’lek doing horizontal “gymnastics” on a pinkish, low gravity bed. “The bridge is next, yes?” he asked, forcing the lieutenant to quickly regain his composure. “I’m sorry I didn’t get your name?” he added, making sure he looked like he hadn’t noticed anything.

“It’s second lieutenant Ginsfald.” he offered, then getting back into business mode he asked more sharply: “Anyone in the bridge?”

“Just my protocol droid. I told it to wait for a message from an emergency repair team ...” Dan finished with an interrogative shrug, knowing it was the third time he had mentioned it. The second lieutenant just strode forward, making Dan hasten to tap the controls to open the bridge hatch.

On the bridge, currently empty except for D/TC at the com-scan station, who quickly turned his chair and awkwardly stood up to bow slightly to greet the visitors: “Greetings lieutenant.” Dan knew all too well, and had told D/TC earlier, that 2nd lieutenants always preferred to simply be called lieutenant, especially from civilians who typically didn’t know better.

The officer, visibly unimpressed, just took a quick tour of the stations then headed back to the lounge stating: “Not much damage here.” The tone had a slight sarcastic nuance.

“Yes, and easily repaired since the ship was actually fleeing the attack.” Dan added, hoping to instill a tiny sentiment of disgust in the officer (knowing any Imperial officer would look down on those who fled a battle). But, he couldn’t quite see the effect as Ginsfald headed towards the first cabin – noticeably trying to look away from the holoplayer. Dan couldn’t help but smile but quickly composed himself back as Ginsfald approached the main cabin. “Huh, sir, I need to warn you about the captain’s quarters,” he started, to stop the officer from going inside, “there’s a very peculiar stench in there. I never managed to stay for more than a breath. Even the protocol droid shut off his olfactory sensor to slap a tox detector on the bulkhead, but as you can see, it’s still blue. I would really like to have it decontaminated.”

Ginsfald was trying to keep a brave face, but his eyes were starting to water just standing in the open doorway. So he put his left hand in a pocket and pulled a small filter mask to cover his nose and mouth, then after blinking a few times to wipe the tears he pulled a small scanner from his right pocket and went into the room scanning and opening every compartments. Completing his inspection, he walked out saying through the filter: “Don’t forget to have that dead plant disintegrated.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

The lieutenant headed to the next cabin – currently dubbed the Captain’s Quarters – and entered while Dan mentioned: “That’s currently my quarters.” After his inspection, Ginsfald lifted his mask slightly to sniff the air and replaced it while throwing an unconvinced look at Dan on his way out, who just shrugged in answer.

As the second lieutenant continued in the passengers’ corridor, dodging small discharges from broken power cables, Dan turned to T4 still standing motionless outside the computer room and motioned for him to get back in to keep the sparks light show going. T4 noticing the Captain’s gestures rolled his holoprojector like a humanoid would his eyes while turning his head slightly but after a few seconds of his master’s hard glare, relented and got back inside. ‘Where does he get those bloody manners?’ Dan wondered, but he quickly rejoined Ginsfald in the first passengers’ cabin.

While inspecting the three passenger cabins and the refresher, officer Ginsfald asked only one question: “What are the spare parts doing on all the beds?”

“Well, I needed to sort them out since I figured I’d use them to serve in trading to help pay for the repairs.” Dan answered. Of course, any parts deemed military grade (hence illegal) were hidden in the “contaminated” part of the cargo hold or in the engine room. “Besides, the beds and flooring need replacing if I want to attract passengers.” he added.

The lieutenant continued his sweep with his scanner a few steps inside engineering (conscious of the radiation) then returned in the middle of the cargo hold trying to scan further behind the crates with holoseals but detected nothing – whatever could block sensors and fit in crates was put in the last stacks of boxes with holoseals, to cover the rest. He returned to the machine shop, galley, medbay and the exercise room scanning each until his scans swept him back to the lounge where he pocketed the scanner to get his datapad: this was the dreaded moment.

While the IC officer finished his report, Dan went to the holoplayer table and switched out the display, retrieving the holodisk and carefully (with some emphasis as if very fragile) depositing it over the other that was lying on the tabletop – both disks had a deep blue stripe across their side denoting their nature – it had the desired effect: Ginsfald’s left eyebrow twitched in recognition. Slightly clearing his throat, he started his review: “Captain Cooper, there are several violations onboard relating to Class 5 infractions in both the Imperial Penal References and the Droid Statutes: lack of emergency equipment, violation of import laws, your droids are missing restraining bolts. You also incur a Class 4 violation for expired licenses. The total fine would amount to 2300 credits. But since you have temporary papers and requested emergency docking for repairs I’m willing to be lenient since it’s apparently your first offense as captain.”

Of course, Dan knew he and his ship violated more serious laws: a definite Class 3 infraction and most probably a Class 2 also if any of the illegal weapons and equipment he had hidden on-board were to be found. But the way Ginsfald approached the fine subject, Dan decided to go on a hunch to commit another Class 3 violation: attempted bribery of Imperial official. So he approached the holoplayer table while digging his right hand in a pocket to grab some of the few credit chips he carried and carefully deposited a 100 credits chip on top of the holodisks.

The officer kept his gaze on him.

Dan added a 50 credits chip to the small pile.

Ginsfald’ face was impressively impassive, but his left hand’s index was tapping his datapad.

Dan added another 50 credits chip.

The lieutenant slightly raised his left eyebrow.

Dan visibly relented and added another 50 credits chip – he only had a 100 credits chip left in his hand but kept it out of sight.

Seeing Ginsfald approach the table, he took two steps back and noticed how expertly the junior lieutenant pocketed the small pile.

“Don’t forget, you have only twenty-three days left to report to Toblain’s Central City Imperial registration office and the BoSS office to acquire your ID and permits, otherwise you’ll be in violation of several Imperial laws that could lead to your arrest while the ship is impounded.” the officer almost recited as he headed for the main hatch.

“Yes sir. Thank you, lieutenant and have a nice day.” Dan managed to say as normally nice as he could in spite of his disgust while he followed Ginsfald, who, on his way out, signaled the two troopers, who promptly fell in behind him to exit the Liberty and retake their position guarding the hangar’s entry.

_______________

They waited nearly another hour, keeping busy repairing all the small sabotaged wires and connectors for the sparks-show – no point in getting a bigger repair bill for small distracting damages they made themselves, after all. D/TC, who regularly kept an eye on the hangar’s doors, sent word over the ship’s intercom of the doors opening. Dan headed outside Liberty with a heavy sigh of relief to greet the repair team.

A single Gran in a typical gray-green technician’s coverall entered the hangar, passing the two guards without even a word, while carrying a large datapad in his hands and a few tools hanging on his belt. As he got closer, Dan was surprised he was alone, and looking around, saw that not even one technical droid was in the hangar. ‘Very odd.’ he thought.

The Gran tech was typing a few details on his datapad while looking over the Liberty’s damages but had one eye that kept darting back to him as he approached: a sign of a slight apprehensiveness. Probably caused by Dan’s stance and surprised look as he gave a simple greeting: “Good day. You’re the captain?” His six-fingered right hand kept typing every few seconds.

“Greetings.” Dan stammered but then couldn’t hold back to add: “You’re alone?”

“Yeah,” the Gran answered with a slight relief, realizing the Human’s disbelief wasn’t aimed at him being an alien to him. He continued with a bit more anger in his tone as he realized the Human might be questioning his expertise: “I do evaluations before we start the repairs.”

“Here?” asked Dan, looking around to see if a tender would finally suddenly appear.

The Gran recognized the captain’s disbelief. “You’re former military right?” Dan didn’t say anything, but the quick side-look he gave the CompForce guards was proof enough. The tech relaxed, but just a bit (after all, ISB agent would act in a similar fashion). He asked: “You’re captain of the ship?” After a nod from Dan he added: “I’ll evaluate the external damages then join you inside.”

Dan, realizing his demeanor had been detected as military was a bit disappointed in himself, but he confirmed with an “Alright.” then slowly walked back up the (askew) ramp.

Almost ten minutes later, the Gran technician walked up the cargo ramp and entered the foyer where his three eyes and better vision noticed the extent of the former battleground and his expression of astonishment albeit quick, didn’t escape Dan’s scrutiny as he was leaning on an undamaged bulkhead section of the rear corridor looking at the Gran, trying to figure if he could be trusted – he didn’t seem to appreciate COMPNOR forces but was capable of noticing the military swagger of his years of service.

The Gran approached Dan, reaching the main corridor and taking good looks in all four directions then asked: “We didn’t get your name or the ship’s. Would you mind?”

Dan answered: “Captain Dan Cooper of the Liberty.” While he was typing, and still examining the damages with two eyes, the name of the ship made his top third eye snap back at Dan with a strange twist of his snout which was either surprise or yearning – or a little bit of both. Being an alien on an academic-based planet but under the thumb of the anti-alien xenophobic Empire was always difficult. He hoped the Gran wasn’t part of those non-Humans who managed to play to the Imperials’ weaknesses by breaking every rule of decency (such as slavers).

Getting back to business, the Gran tech, noticing the interrogative look on Dan’s face, blurted out: “Oh, my name is Molrhus.” He then turned and entered the engine room.

Dan, noting the name didn’t match madam Sharuzza’s note was a bit disappointed and decided to not say anything when the Gran entered engineering: he wanted to see his reaction.

Molrhus was apparently a decent tech since he traded his datapad for an energy scanner and made a noisy snort when he saw the tox detector’s red tinge. He quickly gazed around the engines and the core then headed past Dan, who was leaning against the engine room’s open hatch, into the main corridor scanning the rooms in passing until in the lounge he switched for his datapad to add more notes. Turning back to Dan who was following him, he asked: “You can fly us to a repair bay?”

“Sure.” Dan answered then quickened to enter the bridge. ‘Finally, we’re getting results!’ he hoped, but his excited attitude betrayed that thought since the droids on the bridge also noticed Dan’s change of demeanor right after noticing the Gran tech entering the bridge as well.

“Sir? Are we...” D/TC started but was cut short by T4’s electronic hooray or at last! (It did lose something in the translation).

But Dan cut them all short with a gesture then ordered: “Preflight. Power to fifty percent. Repulsor at max.” After strapping himself in the pilot’s chair (just in case), he turned to verify the droids were set at their station: T4 squeezed in front of the copilot’s seat, D/TC on com-scan. He pointed to the last chair (shields operation) to Molrhus who sat with a slight excited look on his face with his three eyes opened wide. Dan wasn’t sure if it was for his lack of flight hours or the evaluation he had made so far of Liberty’s operational condition – probably both.

Dan noticed, through the bridge’s viewport, the two guards getting nervous about the ship’s powering up. He turned to the Gran: “Who do we call before we get tagged for target practice?”

“Oh right... Control tower...” he mentioned fumbling in his pockets for a comlink.

“Control to GX1 transport in E-Bay,” came a stark voice over the ship’s intercom as D/TC made the connection. “What’s your status?”

Dan pointed to the Gran to answer – even though he had found his comlink: “Yes, Control this is technician Molrhus of repair bay five. I confirm that the GX1 transport Liberty can transfer on its own power to a repair bay. Please confirm.” While there was a pause, Molrhus used his comlink to contact someone else; probably a superior or owner of a repair bay – while the volume was low, the general tone wasn’t unfriendly (in any case, Dan was glad to see that D/TC was actually listening intently). Molrhus finished his call saying: “I understand, number four.” Then out-loud, talking to both the bridge crew and the controller, he asked: “Repair bay four is standing-by for transfer. Please advise.”

Several seconds went on in silence, but Dan noticed the troopers putting a hand to their ear to block Liberty’s noise (she was noisier than normal: not a good sign). Then the controller’s voice confirmed: “GX1 Liberty you are cleared to transfer to repair bay four. Follow course 138.26. Do not deviate from course. Control out.” The troopers relaxed. Dan decided to give them a thumb-up sign as he lifted Liberty’s ramp. The noise it made had them cringe a bit, but one of them responded with a thumb-up as the transport lifted out of the emergency hangar – they were probably glad to go home.

Dan decided to leave the landing struts hanging as he matched Liberty’s course and altitude to the one designated. He noticed that he overflew two airspeeder routes on his way to the repair bays which were closer to the spaceport. At 625 kph, it took only a few minutes to reach their destination: Repair Bay 4 (a low repair bay set on the side of the wide-set spaceport).

On a final, slow approach, Dan was glad to finally see a decently equipped repair bay with personnel and droids going on with their work. ‘About bloody time’ he sighed inwardly. He set her down as smoothly as he could on the deck just off-center to give the cargo ramp ample room. The landing gear noise was even worse (as expected) and the offset angle of the ship was more pronounced (obviously), but at least Liberty was in the right place – maybe not the best, but dead ex-Imperial can’t be choosers.

Not surprisingly, Molrhus was a bit paler after the landing, but he managed to walk it off as he exited the ship. He would surely realize in a few minutes he’d have to get back on board to finish his evaluation. Then again, maybe not since as he walked down Liberty’s ramp, he noticed the Gran tech talking and handing over his datapad to a female Nimbanel, barely older than himself, who was escorted by a Duros mechanic and a blue-green hued LE repair droid. She definitely was not dressed as a technician (her getup was casual yet still stylish), so she was the owner, which, Dan surmised, was going to give him a headache in trying to complete a deal.

‘Might as well get to it.’ he thought as he approached them. “Greetings, Captain Dan Cooper and this is my ship, the Liberty,” he added while proffering his right hand. “Well, what’s left of it anyway.” he concluded with a forced chuckle still waiting with his hand opened.

“Ah, yes Captain,” Molrhus half-turned responded, “This is my supervisor and her main engineer.” Both the Duros and the Nimbanel nodded a greeting but said nothing. In Dan’s mind, that triggered an alarm: while professional criminals routinely use aliases, small time crooks often decide to keep the real identities of their leaders secret by only using titles – some might point-out the Raptor’s crew using functions instead of names, but in their case it was just plain laziness and lack of respect.

So Dan decided to go for broke. He dove in a pocket to get the piece of flimsi and offered it saying: “A nice Gotal lady called Sharuzza gave me this contact info for a good mechanic to help with the repairs. Is he here?” The note was very concise: the planet, a name and what seemed to be her signature – the handwriting was hard to read. But Molrhus recognized it and so did the others as the Nimbanel took it.

“You’re from I.M.C.?” the Nimbanel finally asked aloud. Her voice was raspier than he thought it would be for a woman her age, yet her tone almost sounded like a higher pitch due to anxiety. She might fear he was here to entrap her operation, which encouraged him he might be with a group willing to break Imperial laws when it suited them – and willing to trade in black market goods.

“No. I just went to Coryadus to get new papers. Do I look like I’m shuffling gravel?” he couldn’t help to add. Pointing at Liberty, he continued: “Looks more like I got rammed by an I.M.C. carrier, don’t you think?”

If it was his humour or something else, like the note, it had an effect, as the three organics turned, walked several steps away while conferring vibrantly among themselves while the repair droid just stood there looking at him and the ship (probably making his own analysis of the damage and comparing with a collision simulation with an ore carrier in his droid brain).

They obviously all came to the same conclusion: his ramming excuse was a joke. They recognised battle damages and knew the Liberty had been in one. Turning back towards him, the trio approached but the Nimbanel sent Molrhus away to “... Bay Five.” As she and the Duros rejoined the repair droid she started after a deep breath: “I’m Tlyrwab and this is...”

“Everybody calls me Chief here.” the Duros interrupted. Tlyrwab agreed with a nod. She had given part of her name because it matched the one in Sharuzza’s note, but she wasn’t willing to add more of her crew to the scrutiny of a Human stranger she didn’t totally trust.

Dan understood their need for secrecy more than they could ever imagine. To help break the ice even more, he decided to try a thought that had nagged him since seeing them. Turning to the blue LE droid he asked: “So, you’re his brother right?” while pointing at the Duros. The droid did a double-take between Chief and Dan in obvious disbelief while Chief just laughed his head off, making everybody around stop to look – apparently nobody had seen Chief laugh out-loud before. Come to think of it, Dan had never seen a Duros laugh that much either.

Well it had the desired effect: everybody was a bit more relaxed. Inviting them with a wave of his left hand, Dan then asked: “You’ve got a good decon team I hope?”

That brought everyone back to earth, so to speak. “Yes ... but what are we talking about exactly?” Chief asked, since Molrhus’ evaluation hadn’t yet included the cargo hold nor the passenger section.

“Oh, the usual: coolant, radiation, booze, sweat, blood, dead plants, fresher...” Dan answered matter-of-factly. That made Tlyrwab stop as a grimace crossed her face. Dan, Chief and the droid all stopped to look at her as she looked at the information on the datapad.

“I already have more than twenty thousand credits worth of repairs, so how are you planning to pay, captain?” she asked with a serious tone, seemingly decided not to enter the Liberty. Chief was actually eager to hear the answer as well.

Although young, she was Nimbanese to the core, obviously. “I’ve got a few thousand credits in hard currency and several items of value to trade.” he proposed. “My cargo is mixed, with several crates ready to pass Customs.” he finished with a half-smile, but since he knew what her next question would be, he simply picked a datacard from a breast pocket and handed it to her (a partial cargo manifest).

Loading the datacard in her pad and spending a few minutes examining the listed items carefully, she looked up: “There’s barely five thousands worth of mostly ship parts.”

“Wwhhaat?” Dan couldn’t help but blurt-out. He’d figured he had well over thirty and maybe even up to forty thousand credits worth of materials, parts (many of them illegal), and also weapons stashed onboard although the legal cargo was only about a quarter of that value. She was cutting his estimates by nearly half. Dan decided to argue his cargo’s case and spent several minutes trying to point out the value and quality of several parts: “This is a genuine, brand-new Rendili converter.” “Those are not Koensayr couplers, they’re SFS.” And so on. All the while, he kept insisting they board Liberty to see for themselves.

During the debate, Chief called for a decon team which arrived a few minutes later – just a few seconds after they finally entered the foyer and stood in front of the opened cargo bay doors. Dan waved the decon team (two humanoids in hazard gear and two droids – a decon and a cleaning droid) to start at the ship’s bow, which, by a confirming nod of the Duros, sent them on their way forward.

Upon inspection of the cargo hold, both Tlyrwab’s and Chief’s body language clearly changed. Besides all the crates neatly stacked and harboring Imperial Customs holoseals, Chief recognized a pattern. “You’ve done some smuggling before?” he half-asked, half-stated with a dubious look. Taking an energy scanner from one of his coverall’s pockets, he took a few cautious steps, sniffing the air a few times and scanning at the rear of the hold. Looking back at Tlyrwab for permission, then at Dan, who, leaning on the bulkhead, confirmed with a head nod, he reached the back of the hold. He almost whistled seeing what lay there, but coughed a bit instead.

“Yes, there was a coolant leak there, but we also spread it around to make it look worse.” Dan confirmed to the alarmed Nimbanel. “Now as Chief will confirm,” he continued as the Duros came back still scanning, “there’s another cargo manifest that isn’t included on that list.” he finished pointing at the young woman’s datapad and looking at her straight in the eyes to perceive her reaction. ‘This is make or break,’ he expected ‘and me without a blaster...’ He felt a bit naked actually. Even though he hadn’t seen any thugs lugging around with large weapons, didn’t mean any of them wasn’t hiding one.

Tlyrwab’s mind was clearly processing the implications, and after talking softly with her older Duros partner for what felt like an eternity, turned back to Dan: “Anything else?” she simply asked in a resigned businesslike tone.

There was a story behind her lady-in-charge attitude (there always was), and he figured he’d manage to get a short version of it during the next days, whether from the techs here or the ISB agent in the Interrogation cell. He picked another datacard from the same pocket and gave it to her, then heading to the ship’s core added: “Follow me.”

The bargaining, after the full visit was completed, went on for over half an hour: it started with the military grade ship parts (popular although technically illegal – yet plainly undervalued), followed by the handheld weapons and armor (the high quality material mostly, the rest being only accepted as trade for practically only decicreds! – which included his own enhanced KK-5 pistol, which was only issued to Imperial personnel, hence highly noticeable by most authorities) and finally, the medical supplies (they were ready to take every last bandage – at only a fraction of the value obviously!). The Nimbanel’s justifications were always considering the total work hours required, the time restraints and the incurring overtime, the dangers of storing, transporting (or smuggling), installing and selling restricted or illegal goods, the precautions required, the fees, the permits, the bribes, etc., concluded by her profit margins, and others’ profit margins (most probably the black market contacts and their intermediaries, not to mention the crime bosses she was likely dealing with).

The major points of contention became:

a) Him keeping enough medical supplies to survive at least a splinter and a headache – especially keeping one of the two 20 litres tanks of bacta (he intends to get a bacta tub installed in the medbay later on).

b) Also keeping one of the two medium-tier military grade shield generators (he would’ve preferred to have it installed but there wasn’t enough time – nor credits, in the end).

c) She could not, nor wanted to take the concussion missiles in trade. Too large, too obvious, too illegal was basically her rhetoric. So that pile was practically the only thing of value left in the cargo hold.

d) The last point was about any spare Imperial Customs holoseals: while they were ready to pay a decent price for them, he wasn’t willing to sell any – he had already used nearly a third of his stash – and told them instead to try to recycle some from the crates they bought (it made him smile when a member of her repair team, a young Wroonian woman, tried to remove one and failed).

In any case, it came down that the repairs, the few minor modifications, refueling, restocking of the consumables and the time limitation he imposed sucked the majority of all his “valuable” cargo as compensation. He managed to get a few thousands in cred-chips which he kept securely in an inside pocket which he used to buy several items for himself, some food, some lodging for the week he couldn’t sleep aboard (it was too dangerous and too noisy anyway), some equipment for the droids (SkillWare datacards along with two restraining bolts he asked Chief to disable and install on the very unhappy droids), and several bookchips in various subjects such as history, galactography, first aid, droids, vehicles and starships engineering – topics readily available on an academic planet like Shafr.

While happy of the repairs’ status when he came back from his stay in a cheap, local lodging establishment, Dan noticed the missile casings in the cargo hold had been slightly displaced: while easily explicable due to repair teams and droids requiring access to certain areas to make repairs, the top casing of the pyramid was rather askew from the pile under it. On closer inspection, the casing was empty and, tapping several others, they all sounded hollow! Dan was outraged, even though he had expected some theft – the reason why he had installed small MechBlaze Corp. cargo trackers on the two droids – he had a hard time comprehending such a blatant act. Making sure they were all empty – they were – he grabbed the top casing and stormed out of Liberty past two Ugnaughts carrying a bulkhead section (which, incidently, wasn’t the same color as those on Liberty) on a repulsorlift sled, looking for Tlyrwab or Chief among the various humanoids in the repair bay.

Spotting both Tlyrwab and her Duros partner talking on their way to her overhead office, he called them loud enough to get their attention even over the noisy din of the repair workers, then dropped the missile casing on the floor, which unlatched, opened up. Managing to hold his temper by a whisker, he stood at attention lording his presence as he had done most of his military life. While not everyone understood the reason, the majority of the organics and many droids turned to look at the Human standing defiantly in the middle of the repair bay.

Tlyrwab and Chief turned and approached him with an interrogative look between the casing and himself.

Pointing at the empty missile case, Dan asked as normally as he could: “If you didn’t want the missiles, would you mind telling me where they are now? I’ve got nine more empty casings onboard.”

Unfortunately, both the Nimbanel and the Duros, while distressed at the theft, didn’t seem that surprised as they exchanged a look that appeared more like ‘Not again’. Apparently, not everyone on her team was dealing with upturned cards. A certain sadness appeared in Tlyrwab’s face as she started to say something, but Chief spoke first while putting a hand on her shoulder for support: “It has happened before when her parents were managing the bay and ... while we thought we got rid of those responsible, it looks like there are some left. We’ll ask and check droids and if any security have anything, but I’m afraid the missiles are gone without a trace. I’m sorry captain.”

They had secrets to keep and sorrows in their not so distant past, that was evident – adding to the fact that the majority of the crew was composed of aliens, and while competent, didn’t have the best tools, droids or access to spare parts. The shadow of bad memories was still in their eyes and it dampened his ire at losing four thousand credits and feeling cheated of his possessions from his own ship. He decided to take the loss and forget the affair by waving his right hand dismissively and quickly reboarding the Liberty to make sure nothing else he had stashed with the droids’ help had been taken. Inside, he noticed the two Ugnaughts with their sled and called them over. Pointing at the stack of now empty casings in the cargo bay, he said: “Take those out. Do whatever you want with them, they’re yours.”

The Ugnaughts didn’t seem that thrilled about those new acquisitions: they chattered together in their porcine language, maybe debating their utility, value or if the supervisor would actually let them keep them, but when they turned back to Dan and saw the seriousness in his eyes they decided to at least take them off the ship. “We take out.” one of them confirmed in a heavy accent.

Dan headed to the bridge, checking in passing some of the work that had been done since the last time, dodging a few techs and droids going about their business of fixing his ship. ‘And keeping any greedy hands or graspers off my stuff.’ he couldn’t help thinking. Reaching the open vestibule (the other access to the ship: opened to help circulation), the red light strip around the ventral lift panel was flashing indicating it was down on the hangar deck, so he went around and punched the new access code to the bridge’s hatch. He was greeted by a jumble of words mixed with droidspeak as both D/TC and T4 approached him. Quickly calming them, he went through the routine they had set since the start of the repairs: security and repair status. Besides the missiles’ theft (which the droids had no clue about – apparently it was carefully executed during a night recharging period), everything was going as scheduled, all his valuables and illegal items (hence worth stealing), were accounted for. Obviously, some extra security measures would have to be installed all over the ship, especially in the foyer and the cargo hold, but these and many other modifications would have to wait for more time and especially, more funds.

After twenty days of repairs, the Liberty was finally spaceworthy albeit it didn’t perform quite as well as Dan had seen it on that day in the Gammalin system – it felt almost like a lifetime ago already.

While several ship systems had some superior, or even military grade parts installed by Chief and his crew, others were patched with components not typical of those produced for the Lantillian ShipWrights’ GX series of transports – the main example being the starboard sublight thruster: too damaged, it was removed and replaced by the refurbished central thruster which itself was replaced by a small Koensayr thruster to compensate (well, almost: there was a 14% speed reduction – it was the only compatible one available). Both the main and backup hyperdrives were fixed and fully calibrated, the maneuvering thrusters, coming from three different manufacturers, were calibrated to almost 85% of their previous efficiency and the external structure, while still sporting many carbon scored surfaces, was fully repaired. The sensor suite, unfortunately, was an amalgam that, even if fully functional, provided much lesser definition than it previously did.

Only the interior was clearly showing many disparities: missing carpeting, mismatched bulkhead and door colors, still opened access panels, visible weld spots, etc. – Dan figured he’d have access to better suited replacements and dedicated parts certified for his ship by joining the Lantillian Spacers’ Brotherhood, as soon as he could reach one of their guildhouses.

But with only three days left on his temporary documents to get certified, Dan had to stop the repairs – he really didn’t want to take the daily starbus to the sector capital and back again. So he thanked the young Nimbanel, her Duros engineer and their team, then boarded Liberty, from which, after getting permission from the spaceport’s control tower, he lifted off Shafr, heading to the Toblain system.

The Toblain system is a typical Outer Rim sector capital, with large defenses that mostly end up protecting only Imperial interests – which usually is the Moff in charge (currently named Aricos Dreleene), his cronies and then Imperial military assets. The trip to the sector capital was timely and uneventful – T4 was proud to point out his calculations were exact. Getting to the surface, on the other hand, took almost as long as the trip itself.

Showing temporary papers with only two days left seemed to raise questions from every trooper, operator, inspector and bureaucrat he had the mischance of crossing. He was tempted a few times to “grease the wheels” with some coins to attempt a speedier process, but his guts and his experience, coupled with the fact he was in a sector capital, hours away from forfeiting his gaining the IDs, permits and authorizations he required to finally have a life, stayed his impatience (for now).

Finally, after long minutes traveling at slow speed behind lines of various transport ships, passing the bow of a Star Destroyer and its escorting frigates, flights of patrolling TIE fighters, a prissy traffic controller probably overdue to get some leave from his position on the Golan II defense platform, a customs corvette and its inspection of his practically empty ship, then a dull spaceport controller with instruction for the farthest landing bay possible from the Imperial government building he had to reach, Dan landed the Liberty. Leaving the droids onboard, he got out into the humid air of the capital, then started jogging to the nearest exit, in search of any flying contraption he could find to get to the city core before the end of the day – ‘shutdown at sundown’ or ‘curfew for all but the privileged few’ was most probably a daily routine, he surmised in disgust.

Dan managed to get to the right office building in the last business hours of the twenty-three hours day, getting to a bureaucrat ready to assist (after being shunted consecutively by four Imperial officials from one office to another), but he was about as much in a hurry to leave as Dan was, since both of them were giving side glances to the clock on the far wall. Dan feared he might even decide to make him come back tomorrow instead. Fortunately they managed to complete the paperwork: identification (including his holopic, his retinal scan and his genetic code – T4’ slicing seemed to have benefited from the delay, letting the data he had inserted percolate through the Imperial network), galactic passport, droid permits, weapons permit (for small melee weapons and blaster pistols or smaller – a rare permission mostly allowed in the Outer Rim Territories), starship ownership permit, vehicles’ operation licenses, commercial operation license, cargo and passengers transport license, taxes, operating fees, documents production fees, delayed fees, etc. By then, Dan – bored and disgusted – was starting to believe the bureaucrat was charging his own taxes on his dossier (yet he wasn’t). In the end, he dropped nearly half his leftover fortune in payment: the Imperial bureaucratic process was finally over and both were all too happy to leave.

In the shadows of the capital’s tall administrative buildings, which were partly reflecting the setting sun, among crowds of workers leaving for home or some watering holes, while being watched by Imperial troops from various services peppered over the streets, he felt drained, tired, poor, thirsty and hungry. He still had to go to the BoSS offices for the spaceship documentation before his deadline tomorrow. He figured BoSS would have broader work hours being a private service catering to intergalactic commerce, but not trying to tempt fate any more than necessary, he decided to grab a quick bite on the way there.

Reaching the BoSS offices, he felt a different vibe in its bureaucratic proceedings: like an old and comfortable pair of boots, but definitely someone else’s. Yes, they were open for longer periods. Yes, they started to process his claim. While they were not happy with the state of his BoSS datapad he presented, they were all too happy to make him pay for a new one. They completed his Captain’s Accredited License (which included another holopic). Then the shoe dropped: an inspection of his ship to confirm any details on his Operating License, his transponder code profile and the Arms Load-out Permit was required by a dedicated BoSS agent. And no one was available until the next day, at the very least.

With several penalties looming, including fines, impound of the ship and long delays, Dan had to bargain hard to make sure an agent would show up and complete his dossier tomorrow. He didn’t get a full guarantee, but at least a serious reassurance as long as he was on board the entire day. Dan, having no choice, relented.

Out in the chill night air, he bought some supplies before leaving the city and headed back to the Liberty – walking for most of the distance, again.

The next day, in the late afternoon, a T-13 airspeeder hovered around his landing bay dropping a surveillance remote droid that darted all around the Liberty, most probably to take holos, while the T-13 piloted by a Nalroni, settled beside the bay’s exit – it had a BoSS logo stamped on its side.

Dan, who had been accessing various communication networks with the droids’ help for the last three hours for news and business information (some not quite legal), scrambled to put his boots back en route to the main cargo ramp – he needed to greet the BoSS agent without fail and let him complete his inspection for the permits. In the foyer, he punched the ramp release to see Nalroni approaching the ship with a datapad in his right hand and a large wrist controller on the wrist which was receiving signals from the remote: pictures, energy or radiation readings or life signs, most probably. “Greetings agent,” Dan started, “welcome aboard the Liberty.” The agent was wearing an immaculate dark grey uniform with the BoSS logo on his left chest and a blaster pistol slung on his left hip. As typical of Nalroni, he didn’t have footwear.

The Nalroni’s canine looking eyes darted to him for a few seconds before looking back at his controller then typing some results on his pad: “Greetings captain Cooper. I’ll join you in a minute.” His tone sounded a bit surprised at first by the reception but reverted back to the typical Nalroni business style. After a few minutes, the remote – a half-sphere shaped surveillance droid, a quarter of a metre wide with visible sensors and a holocam: an old Arakyd model – positioned itself above the agent’s shoulder, who then pointed behind Dan: “We can start the interior inspection.” Barely waiting for Dan, the Nalroni climbed the ramp, the remote in tow.

The inspection went quickly for most of the ship, the sections prioritized were the cargo hold, the gunwell, the navicomputer and finally engineering where the remote seemed to have traveled across every nook it could fit into (which was most of them), all the while the Nalroni agent split most of his attention between his wrist controller and typing in his datapad. “Captain, I need you to power the engines, the weapons and the shields.” he asked, yet it wasn’t a request. He was slightly surprised – his body posture shifted slightly – when Dan just gave the order aloud: he had expected the Human to leave for the bridge since his scans had confirmed no more sentients were onboard. Aware of the two droids after glancing inside the bridge, he hadn’t realized they had full access to the ship nor that they were listening through the ship’s intercom. While droids were not regulated in any way by BoSS, the Nalroni realized why the young captain had been tailing him: even alone, he could keep an eye on visitors. That implied a tactical mind and was an asset he could, as a predator species, appreciate.

Dan inwardly smiled when he noticed the Nalroni’s body shift, but as Liberty’s power coursed through its systems and the remote started flying around the engines all over again, a slight apprehension crept in his mind – there were a few weapons (some rifles, carbines, two heavy blasters and several grenades of mixed types) still hidden behind a fake compartment in the engine room. Yet, while powered, the engines would mask them more effectively. And speaking of the engines, he knew the transponder code had been modified by the pirates – as confirmed by Raptor’s scans back in the Gammalin system – so the question now was: Did the repairs and partial replacement modify the transponder code enough to not be identified as a previous owner’s property? The BoSS databases were ancient and very complete: if they were to match this GX1 to pirates, criminals or simply as a stolen ship... His mind snapped back as the agent said aloud to shut down the power. Dan confirmed with a single word: “Off.” Liberty went silent again.

The Nalroni completed his report after the remote returned to hover behind him.

Expecting the agent to ask for his brand-new BoSS datapad, Dan held it in his hand.

The agent – his canine face slightly amused – turned and exited the ship explaining in a well-practised fashion: “My report is complete. You can get the results and the final incurring fees when you get back to our offices, which are open until 21:00. Don’t forget to bring your BoSS accredited datapad.” He reached his T-13, latched the remote droid to a release cage slung underneath and was climbing into the pilot seat.

“What?!?” Dan said aloud, as the Nalroni was leaving the ship and finishing his statement. He couldn’t believe he had to get all the way back to the BoSS offices again. He hurried after the Nalroni, eying the empty seat on his airspeeder. “If I’m to go back to the offices, could you give me a ride there?” he asked as nicely as he could with a big forced smile.

“Against policy.” the agent simply replied.

“Ah come on, I’m a very good pilot. I could get you back much quicker. As your chauffeur...” he finished trying to appeal to Nalroni’s need for gaining status. It made the agent pause a second.

“You’re implying I’m not a good pilot?” the Nalroni almost sneered trying to sound more angry than interested.

“No, no. Just saying: you had a long day, you want to get home. I, on the other hand, was spending the day cooped-up in comfort, reading, eating, drinking...” Dan tried his best to butter it up.

Apparently, it worked. “All right, climb in.” the Nalroni relented pointing at the rear seat.

Hoping he had enough credits in his pocket – he doubted the agent would wait for him. Dan took the passenger/sensor operator seat. He had never actually flown on a T-13 before, but he had a little experience on a T-16, an Imperial military T-47 and a cloud car – albeit that was in his teens, on Commenor, when he had payed 50 credits of his own money for a 20-minute ride with a Rodian copilot, who, after only ten minutes, cut his controls, feigning an emergency and landed back on the pad. He had almost screamed in frustration.

As they lifted out of the landing bay, Dan remembered the T-13 had twin controls – the rear controls were limited though – so he asked loud enough to be heard as they gathered altitude and speed: “I can pilot from here.” The Nalroni’s ears had twisted back, so he definitely heard, but he ignored it as he increased speed slightly. Dan, unimpressed by his piloting style, decided to enjoy the longer ride.

The second visit to the Bureau of Ships and Services had been costly, both in time and in credits (1700 – practically all he had brought and barely enough left to buy a decent meal). While the wait started to bother him for security reasons (mainly having security troops show-up to arrest him), it made him wonder what exactly the Nalroni agent had detected – on multiple occasions he had tried reading his datapad, but never got anything but a few partial details. But at long last, after nearly four hours, they called him to a side office, asked for his datapad and using the custom BoSS input plug, downloaded his Ship Operating License, the Liberty’s transponder code profile and the Arms Load-out Permit, completing his dossier.

At long last, he was a legal citizen of the Empire, owner and operator of a transport ship (a tramp freighter captain in the spacers’ lingo). On his way back to the ship (on foot, again!), he kept glancing from the corners of his eyes at any shadows between buildings made deeper with the city’s night lights. He couldn’t let his guard down. Not for a long time.

The next day, with all the legal documents in his possession, he made inquiries using information he had gathered the day before while waiting for the BoSS inspector, for any cargo or passengers that needed transport anywhere else (he needed to make some profits to keep flying). Many cargo runs for small tramp freighters, required to buy the shipment (whatever type it is) before transporting it to another market where there was a possibility for profit which, itself, was highly fluctuating. But on occasions, a ship with a fast hyperdrive could get a cargo run, that normal, cheaper but slower transports couldn’t match: while often the case with passengers, with freight it tended to focus on perishable or dangerous shipments.

Fortunately, Toblain, beside its status as sector capital, had a wide agriculture industry and was exporting some of it to planets in the sector and even beyond. So, after Dan bragged about his ship’s speed and his crew’s astrogation skills to several distributors, he managed to get a run for a food shipment to Svivren, with the level of profit dependant on the time it took to get there – in other words, the shorter the better. Regrettably, the shipment was very small (18 metric tons, barely a quarter of the Liberty’s capacity), so the profits would be only a few hundred credits – a tentative offer from a desperate trader that, while barely worth it, could help his reputation as a freighter captain.

Besides, unless he actually bought a cargo hold’s worth of food – and he didn’t have the money – he had no other choice. He did manage to set up a small special cargo run though.

At the end of the day, his cargo was securely stashed in the hold with the proper documentation, and after listening to Toblain spaceport’s METOSP channel [Message to Spacers] one last time, he requested departing instructions from the control tower. Several minutes later, he and T4 flew Liberty out of the landing bay toward the orbital space lanes for exiting transports and after being scanned by a trio of TIEs (2 TIE/ln fighters escorting a TIE/sa bomber), he exited the planetary shadow of the sector capital and switched the hyperdrive for the Svivreni sector (logged with the best astrogation coordinates they could calculate). Liberty surged ahead then vanished into hyperspace.

Slumped on the lounge’s couch with an empty glass of lum lying on the old, but clean carpet, Dan was drifting in-and-out of sleep: the second phase of the Plan was finally complete. He was reborn, officially, and free. After the delivery to Svivren, came the third phase: finding a crew – or at the very least, a first mate – with the same ideals and attitudes toward the Empire (willing to help the peoples of the galaxy and strike at the Imperials and those who profit from them), while staying economically afloat (hence mobile) until they managed to find the Rebel Alliance.

_______________

A couple of weeks after her meeting with the young Human captain, madam Sharuzza was riding a borrowed landspeeder toward the main warehouse of Coryadus’ landing field where any personal shipment for the I.M.C. employees was received, (inspected of course) and stored until their pickup – she’d received a message from the “spaceport supervisor” that a crate had been shipped to her from the capital. No other details were given.

When she arrived, an Arcona clerk brought her to a corner of the warehouse where a few crates and variable sized containers stood either on the floor or on cheap shelves. They stopped in front of a large square repulsor assisted temperature controlled metallic crate which she sensed was cooler than the ambient air. The clerk, looking a bit jealous – he knew what was inside – opened the crate and picked a flimsi sheet atop a resealable thermal membrane which clearly was protecting something very cold, and gave it to her.

One side had a printed list of the crate’s content: various fruits and vegetables – enough for at least a month if not more.

On the other side of the flimsi sheet were scribbled in red: Only found some flash frozen, so it’s on the house.

“Well, I’ll be...” she started but stopped. She couldn’t help but smile – which made the clerk even more envious. She peeled a corner of the thermal membrane to see what was left in the crate – she expected some to be missing: supervisors took their “cut” – but was pleasantly surprised the losses were minimal. Thanking the clerk, she closed the crate and activated its repulsorlift, then she pushed it towards the landspeeder, thinking of diverse recipes and the meals she would savour during the following weeks.