Chapter 4: Liberty’s Quest

The trip to Svivren – in the Svivreni sector, at the commercial end of the Five Veils Route – went almost like clockwork. By jumping into the system by a closer nav point to the planet than the typical entry point for commercial transports (to cut transit time), it made the Imperial patrols react rather actively: a pair of GAT-12g Skipray blastboats came practically screaming to his position – well, at the very least, they made Liberty’s proximity sensors scream. They soon were comming them for identification while actively scanning the ship: “GX1 transport, state identity and purpose. Do not deviate from present course.”

Noticing the Navy crew sounded a little more nervous than typical (especially when you had such combat superiority, as their laser turret kept Liberty in their sight), Dan gave the common reply and the reason for their uncommon entry point: time sensitive cargo.

While not illegal, it wasn’t typical for commercial freighters to not use the Five Veils Route standard nav entry point: only small and veteran transport pilots used alternates – which marked him as a veteran in the Imps’ eyes (it did give him a twinge of pride).

“Copy that Liberty.” came the answer. “Change course to 482.5, keep the same speed. We’ll escort you to commercial entry line Besh for processing.”

“Copy that. 482.5” Dan replied in confirmation as he made the slight directional adjustment required to comply. The Skiprays moved in a variable escort position around Liberty, matching her 55 MGLT speed. Dan couldn’t help but admire the sleek lines and obvious weapons of the heavy fighters, even though he preferred the newer GAT-12i model.

T4, wedged in the copilot station, noticed the young captain envious look – it wasn’t the first time. So he electronically blurted out the Skipray’s shortcomings: lack of decent cargo space, no passenger capability, need for a crew of four and most importantly, no astromech port was installed.

“Sure, they’re not made for cargo, but those lines scream speed and deadliness.” Dan replied after reading T4 translation.

Oddly, the starboard Skipray sped up forward further than a standard variable escort maneuver entailed, then made a sharp bank to port, always keeping its dorsal turret locked on Liberty, as it zipped to the aft, where only the sensors could show it make another sharp bank, catching up easily to finally position itself on the port side – the other ship had simply dipped below and moved to starboard, following the basics of a variable escort maneuver. That pilot was clearly showing off. Dan looked at the comm panel (it was still on), turned his head toward D/TC who was still looking at the sensors – he was supposed to, but it seemed he was rather engrossed by what he saw. Dan turned back to flip the comm’s switch off. ‘No wonder, they heard me.’ he thought about the Imp flyboy executing extra maneuvers for his benefit. He supposed a report for his superior would mention a maneuver to complete a close-up visual scan of the GX1 transport or something along those lines to cover the blatant display.

“Captain, if I might point something out on the sensors.” D/TC asked aloud.

Dan focused his attention on the sensors’ display on his station, hearing T4 spinning his head slightly to check his on the copilot’s station. D/TC had run full active scans since the Skiprays had shown up and the results came up on the display, showing something odd that was probably the reason for the droid’s ambiguity – he was rather new as a comscan operator and it was the first time they were in a populous system with a large Imperial presence, it was understandable.

“As T4 could confirm, from what I gather about Imperial military regulations, there aren’t many Navy capital ships for a system such as Svivren, compared to the number of transports.” D/TC finished, turning to the captain to get a confirmation for his observation.

T4 did confirm in a single beep.

Yes, Svivren had seven starports, with six on the planet and would normally have multiple orbital entry and exit lines for ships, some purely for the military but most for civilian shipping. But it seemed several lines had been converged, piling transports up to the outer orbit. Besides, the odd thing and the probable cause for the long delays, was the lack of heavy Imperial ships in the system: Dan and the droids did detect several patrol ships (assault shuttles, corvettes and customs frigates: one was the new Mark II), plenty of starfighters, even a DX-9 troop transport, most likely coming from the orbiting Cardan-class Mark IV station, was making close scans of incoming ships. Yet, the largest ship they detected was a Carrack-class light cruiser – fast and capable of handling most transports for sure. Liberty’s sensors not being at its best, there could be bigger cruisers like Acclamators at the far end of the system, yet the standard heavy elements of a sector capital Imperial fleet were nowhere to be seen – of course, a squadron of Star Destroyers could just pop-in at any moment, but for now, the big guns of the Imperial Navy were elsewhere.

Of course, since the Battle of Yavin, the Empire was chasing any lead about the Rebels, however thin the Intel could be. It wouldn’t be surprising for high echelon Navy officers to run after rumours of rebels or, of large pirate groups: successful capture or destruction would be accredited as a bold initiative with the ensuing honors, while failure would be harshly admonished.

Dan imagined that a Rebel fleet jumping in, could do serious damage to the remaining military assets, although it could never conquer the planet, especially with the Svivreni’s distaste for weapons. Excuses about running after criminals but leaving your post (a clear dereliction of duty) and letting “terrorists” of any sort attack Imperial assets and allies would most likely results in Imp heads rolling (sometimes literally – or at least with crushed windpipes) or getting shot by an undercover ISB zealot. If the rumours were true, getting spaced was also a fatal possibility.

“Good work D/TC. Anything useful on the comm channels?” Dan replied.

D/TC almost seemed to swell with pride as he continued: “No sir, beside the METOSP message confirming the reduction of the traffic lines in and out of Svivren. I do detect some scrambled channels which aren’t following typical Imperial protocols. T4 and I will concentrate on them.”

“Yes, probably smugglers’ or criminals’ chat, Rebels’ even, but make sure they’re not camouflaged Imperial Intel. We don’t want to attract attention.” Dan concluded.

“Of course, sir. We will be cautious and include any business information as well.” D/TC confirmed with T4 acknowledging as well.

As the Liberty approached orbital entry line Besh, the two Skiprays veered off without a word, letting their mere presence encourage following orders. So Dan settled the ship at a slower speed behind several other light and medium transports slowly descending to Svivren’s surface, as he noticed that line Aurek was mostly composed of heavy freighters while the Cresh line was a mixture of passenger and cargo transports. Barely in sight but clear on sensors, the exiting lines of ships, many likely full of high tech goods en route to rich markets coreward, were traveling much more quickly on sub-polar vectors.

The delivery was quite easy since he was expected: a speeder transport quickly reached the Liberty’s berthing pad barely a half-hour after the customs’ inspection was completed and the docking master was paid for the refueling. The driver was a female Sullustan who was polite but rather direct: she presented a datapad with the cargo’s ownership papers, took a look at the crates in the hold then a 2V9 cargo lifter droid that had exited the speeder truck floated in the cargo hold and took the crates to load them in the speeder. While Dan was looking at the efficient droid carrying the crates out (and wondering when he could afford to acquire one), the Sullustan was making a few calculations on her datapad, then she dug in a pocket and brought forth a pile of credits she offered to the young captain.

Eying the pile to judge the amount, Dan acknowledged a slight reduction to the contracted price but he still found the offer very fair. Since nearly an hour was lost waiting in orbit, it resulted in more than a hundred credits less of profits, but that was to be expected for a major shipping hub – especially with missing Imperial Navy security.

When he asked her if there was another job for travel out-system, she pointed him to two locations where he could perhaps get some similar contracts, but there was plenty of competition: most cargoes leaving Svivren were corporate-operated. She thanked him then left the ship, driving the speeder truck into the traffic lanes leading to the planet’s second-largest city outside the spaceport.

Dan decided to follow her leads, but first he dropped some of his hard-earned creds in his cabin and consulted with the droids about their searches. Less than an hour later, he sealed the Liberty’s hatch and went in search of a public transit to the city.

Svivren was on the cold side for a sector capital – probably why the Svivreni were rather hairy and hardy – and this city was on the northern part of the continent. It was late in the 26-hours day and already dark: the street lights were all on. The increasing shadows made Dan feel slightly uneasy since he was unarmed (the Svivreni were adamant about avoiding violence and lethal in their punishment – even the Empire had to abide), but the streets were mostly populated by Humans and aliens coming for the trade business: the Svivreni tended to keep offworlders in specific districts.

But despite having made multiple stops in various parts of the city, Dan hadn’t found another point-to-point cargo run – at least nothing legal. His experienced investigator’s eyes had noticed a few criminal elements from some cartels: the Hutts for sure and probably one from the Zann Consortium (he couldn’t confirm nor wanted to). Black Sun was probably involved as well although they probably used their legal venture (XTS) openly. He sure wasn’t interested in getting involved with any of them: they and the corruption they spread were the cancers that had brought down the Old Republic and were still profiting (some openly like Black Sun) from the lax attitude of the Empire, who was also profiting by getting slaves and bribes all the way to the throne. As a naval officer (well, ok, former) and former customs officer, he felt cheated. While most probably not the only one, he intended to do something about it.

He had made a few purchases – some Skillware and Traitware for the droids, a few pieces of clothing for himself (he was actually wearing a new coat to keep warm) and some supplies, but now he had to decide if he would buy some cargo to sell on another planet (with hopefully a decent profit) with what he had left. The safest cargo would be droid parts, which are always in need in the Outer Rim. The only important question was where. Seeing his exhaling breath in the cold night air, he decided to sleep on it in his cabin, and pushed ahead quickly.

The next morning was rather grey but still dry. After eating his morning meal while the droids were making a summary of the research they had made during the night, the decision was set. They would buy some droid parts (mostly servos, motivators, tool mounts and sensors – the most likely to break and require replacing) and travel deeper into the Outer Rim – he felt a need to distance himself from the Empire, probably because he figured anyone wanting to stay off the Empire’s radar would do the same.

So he made the necessary preparation, going back in the city, buying a shipment of droid parts, paying the fees and its shipping to his ship (scheduled for later in the day).

On his way back to the Liberty, just off the main commercial spaceport, he came by a sideway where a few small shops were operated by various aliens. One caught his eye: Spacer’s Greenery. Thinking of the dead plant they had thrown out and the solar lamp and auto-feeder it had been under and the work T4 had put into repairing the device (which had apparently, been damaged by something thrown at it). As the only living thing aboard Liberty, he figured sensing something else alive could only make him feel better. And another source of oxygen on a ship could only be a benefit. So he entered the small plant-filled shop.

The store was run by a middle-aged green-skinned Ho’din with a female Svivreni assistant wearing a multi-pockets blue apron working on the various plants nearly filling the floor and the lower shelves (the top shelves probably had pricier flora tended by the tall male Ho’din).

“Greetings,” Dan started, to promptly get to the point, “I’m looking for a small plant for a light transport, requiring minimum care, producing maximum oxygen and maybe also a light fragrance that doesn’t get bothersome for many species or smells nothing.”

“Greetings, young sir. My name is Bhulis, owner of this little shop, and this is my assistant Mrs. Rhynf” the Ho’din answered calmly, catching up to the rapid-fire request’s reason. “You certainly know what you want, that is obvious.” Then looking pensive, the Ho’din turned as if to look at his inventory. The Svivreni lady (apparently not as diplomatic as her employer), just went to a shelf and picked a medium sized clay-looking pot holding a small plant with a large stem supporting several long and wide green drooping leaves with silvery hued undersides in a near half-spherical pattern (obviously trimmed to be positioned close to a wall).

“Ah yes, Mrs. Rhynf, you are right. This should do nicely.” the Ho’din easily picked the pot from the lady with one hand, turning it around to show it off.

Bhulis continued: “This specific plant is called a Spacer’s Fern. Obviously it is not a fern but a broad leaf plant – I think it is probably a guy named Fern that came up with that name. In fact, it is a hybrid made by an Ithorian botanist centuries ago from several species apt to flourish in artificial environment such as spaceships, maximizing oxygen production, fragrance and endurance versus potential dangerous elements such as temperature variations, coolants, gases and radiations – just brief exposure, mind you, otherwise it will suffer and wither. While many are prolific in gardens aboard space liners and Ithorian herd ships or greenhouses on airless planetoids, this variant was made specifically for limited environments such as small ships or city apartments: easy to maintain (especially with a portable timed release feeder, which we do have in stock).” Seeing the approving look in Dan’s eyes, he continued: “Care-wise, it is a breeze. With a solar lamp and a timed feeder, all you have to do is fill the water tank once a week. If dusty, just wipe the leaves with a soft wet cloth. This specimen is still a juvenile, so over time the leaves will grow up to just over half a metre long, producing plenty of oxygen and that sweet but subtle fragrance most races find agreeable. Here, can you smell it?” He proffered the plant forward to let Dan take a good whiff.

Unfortunately, many fragrances from all the other flowers and plants in the small shop didn’t make it easy, but Dan did like the scent he managed to detect: sweet yet very subtle, like a fresh spring breeze – actually it reminded him of his grandmother’s garden on Chandrila when he was young (before the family became a lot more nomadic). Designed as such, it would probably not get disgusting after a long period. While intended for his cabin, he could always put it in the lounge to please the eventual passengers. “All right, I’ll take it. How much?” Dan asked.

“Well, ...” Bhulis was showing-off an exaggerated thinking face, “with the appropriately-sized auto-feeder and the solar lamp... that would be 120 credits.”

“It’s ok. Just the plant, please. I have a lamp and feeder already.” Dan cut-in.

“Oh, really. Are you sure it is large enough to accommodate an adult plant?” Bhulis added pointing at a larger version of a similar plant in the shop window.

“Sure. The dead plant of the previous captain was as big as that one. So, how much?” Dan answered with a slight hint of directness.

“Well, the plant alone with the cero-pot would come to 65 credits.”

Bhulis’ tone was too sweet and the price too steep for Dan’s taste. If this became a bargaining battle, he could do without it.

Apparently, he also made enough of a grimace to make Mrs. Rhynf speak out: “He should know about the gizka.” Both Bhulis and Dan looked at the Svivreni lady then at each other.

“Gizka?” Dan asked with an uncertain look in his eyes. This was going south quick.

“Well, to be honest,” Bhulis relented, “the scent will also attract gizka, who will nibble on the leaves. Do not ask me why.” As an afterthought he added: “It can be a detector too, if you think about it. If you haul infested cargo, the damage on the leaves will confirm it.” He looked as positively as he could.

Dan couldn’t deny the logic but decided on a price by spreading his right hand open: 50 creds.

The Ho’din agreed: “All right, 50 credits.”

“Including fertilizer pellets.” Dan added. He knew a year supply for such a small plant cost barely 5 credits.

“What?!” Bhulis started, but after looking at the grinning Svivreni lady, he accepted the offer. “Very well. 50 credits, including 20 pellets of fertilizer. The plant already had a dose last week so wait three weeks before the next one. Would you like a gift package? Just 5 credits.”

“No thank you, I’m good.” Dan concluded as he gave the creds to Mrs. Rhynf and picked the plant with both hands. The Ho’din got a small tube of pellets, shook it to confirm the content, then laid it in the pot.

Dan said farewell to both of them and exited the store, heading to his ship – the plant’s fragrance was lost in the wind despite being next to his nose.

Having settled the plant in its lamp and auto-feeder in his quarters and explained to D/TC his new task concerning its water tank, Dan also explained about the gizka possibility. After the explanation was complete, T4 activated his lifeform sensors and made a sweep of the ship. He bleeped the results, which D/TC translated: “Sir, T4 does not detect any gizka nor any other lifeforms beside yourself onboard, but he does detect one in the docking bay.” T4 confirmed with a single beep then headed to the bridge. D/TC was standing still, waiting for orders.

Dan was surprised and also curious: the delivery of droid parts he was buying was not due for several more hours but they could be early. On the other hand, while he did sense the plant, he didn’t sense anyone outside the ship – perhaps because he hadn’t bothered to pay attention. In any case, waving D/TC to follow, he went to open the main hatch and walked down the ramp, which was still down.

As he reached the bottom of the ramp, a young Svivreni male approached tentatively. His looks were typical: copper haired, though his mane wasn’t very long (indicating youth) and not quite a metre tall, though fairly muscular – typical for young males.

Curious and wanting to make the young equinoid more comfortable, Dan sat down at the foot of the ramp leveling each other’s gaze as a sign of respect. The young Svivreni visibly calmed a bit and spoke in a slightly accented but very correct Basic: “Good day captain. My name is...” but a gesture from the Human stopped him short.

“Greetings. You can tell me your name later. Just tell me the reason for now.” Dan interjected. He turned his head toward the head of the ramp: “3PO, back to your station.” The droid was heard leaving into the ship. He turned back to the equinoid, noticing a small touch of pride in being able to converse one on one equally.

“Yes, captain, I heard you were looking for shipmates so I am offering my services, if you’ll have me.”

While Dan had made discreet inquiries about the availability of crew members, he hadn’t felt comfortable hiring anyone on an Imperial-held planet like Svivren. The kid had very decent connections to have heard anything.

“You’re the legal age?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.” was the simple answer.

Somehow he doubted that. Most likely he was one or two years below the Svivreni legal age of twenty. Twice before in the IOC, he had encountered underage youths on ships they’d inspected: a Human and a ZeHethbra. Both he had to send back home by shuttlebus. The young ZeHethbra was especially at risk since the crew he was with, while clean during the inspection, was known to be criminals. So, he had to let the kid down easy. He was tempted to ask many questions but restrained his typical curiosity. “Look, I’ll give it to you straight, lad: right now I need an experienced first mate, preferably Human.” The obvious reply was inevitable.

“You don’t like Non-humans...” it was both a question and a condemnation.

“No. The people I’ll be dealing with aren’t fond and are capable of mistreating aliens.” Dan replied hoping the distinction would be understood. “And to prove it to you, I’ll give you some serious advice.”

“To go back home.” the young one cut-in.

“Well maybe. For a year or two could be useful. But first,” he continued with a halting hand gesture for him to keep listening, “you need to learn several facts. First: the galaxy is a dangerous place and most peoples in it are not nice, they’re in it only for themselves and that includes the Empire who’s supposed to protect its citizens from criminals. On the other hand, ...” he almost said on the other hoof but managed to correct himself.

He continued: “You need to go along with them, obey laws or you’ll be singled out as an insurgent. Second: you need to learn to fight but don’t let others know what you’re capable of, otherwise you could end in a pit fighting for your life while others bet on your death or life. Third: learn everything you can, observe everything but just don’t be obvious about it (nobody likes spies). Remember that practice makes perfect. And finally: trust your feelings, keep doing good and help your friends – they may be there to help you later.”

Dan took a large breath, then added: “If I had a first mate already, I could take you on and teach you what I know while I learned what you know. But for now lad, that’s the best I can give you.”

The young Svivreni looked pensive a few seconds, taking in all that he had heard. Finally he looked up: “Thank your captain, I’ll consider your words. Clear skies.” he finished as a farewell.

“And to you, lad.” Dan replied watching the young equinoid leave. “May the Force be with you.” he thought he said only in his mind but seeing the Svivreni reaction – his long ears had twitched and he turned his head, blinked slowly and nodded his head slightly before exiting the hangar bay – he realized he had whispered it loud enough to be heard. Dan got up quickly, looked around the bay for anyone else, then hurried to the Liberty’s bridge barking orders to do a full sensor sweep – just in case.

It came out negative for any in listening range.

The droid parts delivery came nearly as scheduled, later in the afternoon. Secured in the cargo hold – which again was nearly empty since he had just enough funds to buy seven crates of parts – Dan had the Liberty already prepped with clearance from spaceport control. So as soon as he got a green light, he lifted up and headed for the Minos Cluster.

Dan was still worried about the BoSS inspection – some might call it paranoia but with the Empire’s capabilities, prudence is a necessity. Not knowing the result of the droid remote’s scans was bringing to his mind the squeaky clean protocol: the unofficial name of an investigation method used by most law and intelligence agencies. It involved ships (or even vehicles in some cases) that, after inspections, are found totally clean and legal with perfectly correct documentation (passengers with proper IDs, cargo with all the permits and receipts for the paid fees, ship and crew with BoSS papers in order, etc.) or made to appear so.

The results of these squeaky clean inspections fell in three relative categories:

a) The conscientious loyal Imperial citizen who really wanted to do everything right or those who couldn’t afford to make mistakes: they’re either too green to manage but a slight profit margin or they’re indebted to a loan shark or a guild that manages to keep them in their grasp by always cutting into their percentage by various means: going from overcharging to outright theft for repairs, maintenance, legal (or illegal) support, etc. – the Hutts are masters at this, having done it to entire planets!

b) The occasional smuggler: Those that, on occasion, accept to smuggle cargo or people for a typical profit (or maybe even for charity in some cases, such as Rebels). Unless experienced, they often leave clues as to their illegal provider or their destination, which leads investigators suspecting foul play, to tag their cargo with hidden trackers and then let them pass with maybe only a simple fine so as not to raise suspicions too much and lead them to bigger criminal organizations’ members.

c) The typical smuggler: Typically a veteran spacer, with multiple IDs (one of them brand new or never used to perform a crime but others could already be logged in agencies databases as smugglers), while their real identity is buried – but not impossible to find. Usually adept at hiding illegal cargoes, making their inspection seem typically squeaky clean. Yet, in cases where they’re recognised or, maybe, even if some illegalities are found, again they might be released to go their way, but with tags in their ship and/or cargo while other officers will follow their every move until arrests can be made.

But Dan didn’t want to dwell on the matter: he needed to focus on what his next move (and countermove, if needed) would be, not just on unknown possibilities and the dangers they could bring to his family (which, as of now, had enough dealing with his “death”).

So to calm himself, he set T4 to project holographic targets to practice multiple forms of combat: first were blasters; though he couldn’t fire the weapons in the ship – even on the stun setting, it left marks on the bulkheads and partitions, especially those still unpainted – so he disconnected the trigger cable and used only a small targeting laser attached to the barrel. After an hour of firing at holo targets while tumbling and jumping over the couch and around the lounge, Dan switched to melee combat (with the two knives he had), going through standard offense and defence motions: thrusts, parries, slashes or double blocks, targeting holo figures T4 was moving around with some kind of electronic glee.

Already feeling some fatigue but knowing he should push on, Dan decided to practice some brawling maneuvers, but mostly as exercises since D/TC was totally unwilling to spar with him.

Since he had decided to increase the ship’s artificial gravity system to a higher setting during hyperjumps after leaving Toblain – even though D/TC had complained: “Sir, my servos will be strained and require more energy, which will decrease the time between recharge periods.” His answer had been straightforward: “You’re both smart enough to calculate recharge times. I need the exercise.” – he had managed to get an excellent workout and, sweating heavily, he headed to the fresher.

Later that night, he slept wonderfully. He had bled the stress out of his system and regained his focus.

The plant and its fragrance probably helped too.

After nearly three days in hyperspace, the Liberty jumped into the outer edge of the Travnin system: the Imperial sector HQ of the Minos Cluster. While a hub for jump-points to many planets in the Cluster, it was rather quiet for a capital. Beside the fact that the twin stars had only one major planet orbiting around them (the orange, blue and green gas giant Trav), with less than a dozen orbiting moons, one of which being Travnin, the only satellite supporting life, the Imperial presence in the sector had been decreased significantly in the last four years. While the Empire still flexed its remaining military forces to secure Travnin around the dozen or so transports (none bigger than a bulk freighter) coming and going from the planet, it still felt weird.

Information they’d gathered and studied while in transit mentioned that because of the Imperial military (and bureaucratic) reduction, nearly a third of Travnin’s population lost their jobs: from the Empire’s regional offices down to the docks and the various catering services (food, entertainment, etc.). That meant that finding a crew could be easier, the opportunity to get cargo and passengers was incredibly higher here since corporate shipping and heavy transports were rare (although the profits wouldn’t necessarily match), while the reduced Imp presence was also a boon – although it also meant an increase in criminal activity. But Dan was starting to itch for a fight.

The major downside was that it also meant a serious loss of time and money to get things done by the diminished bureaucracy – increases in delays and in bribes to “grease the wheels” was inevitable.

Following the directives of a droid spaceport controller, the Liberty approached the bleak terrestrial moon called Travnin, heading to its major city. After landing in a docking bay of the capital’s Imperial class spaceport, the inspection went rather smoothly (especially after he dropped a 50-credit chit behind him to test the Customs officer: it promptly vanished). The next event was the “discussion” with the dockmaster about the outrageous docking fees and the restocking/maintenance fees; running out of hard currency, he had to exchange a crate of droid parts to cover the costs and get enough credits for the multiple sector permits (and the bribes) he’d need to get at the Imperial Commerce offices. While the dockmaster definitely got the better end of the monetary deal, his free information and tips would prove invaluable later on.

Leaving D/TC aboard to monitor any communication channels he could access and learn from, and T4 to supervise the maintenance of Liberty (while locked inside, even though it hampered the supervision and didn’t guarantee the ship nor the droids from being stolen – a better security system was on top of the long list of upgrades), Dan was already miffed as he headed into the commercial (supposedly always open) part of the spaceport. Since it was already past regular business hours for the government offices (it was yet fairly bright since the giant Trav was still hanging in the sky like a giant moon even though it was actually the other way around), he decided to visit a local landmark he had read about: “The Grand Design” – the famous spacers’ bar. He needed some intel, he needed some contacts – heck, he needed friends too. At the very least, it was a good starting point to find crewmen (although many in the general populace currently unemployed would jump on the chance, most on Travnin would be loyal to the Empire, even if just from fear for themselves and their family).

While it wasn’t hard to find while coming out of the spaceport, it wasn’t advertised or even clearly indicated in its own neighbourhood; “The Grand Design” was doing its best, it seemed, to not be popular with anyone but spacers (and perhaps their passengers as well). For a drinking establishment, that was odd. For Dan’s investigative instincts, it meant a ‘front’. And the most likely culprit was a local crime lord, maybe that Yerkys ne Dago he had heard about, even all the way in the Mid Rim. Then again, it might be someone or something else. He was about to find out as he finally found the entrance to the circular building shrouded in garish yet muted colorful lights trying to represent various features of the galaxy: comets, nebulas, pulsars, ringed planets or entire solar systems but whose top three-quarter was actually slowly spinning – probably the only publicity it required.

At the door, a Trandoshan bouncer dressed in a red and purple spacesuit, was completing the exotic look, despite his contrasting greenish scaled head since his helmet was stashed on a corner shelf. As Dan approached, the bouncer checked a wrist-display on his left arm then, looking back up, he just nodded for Dan to enter. ‘A weapon detector’, Dan was guessing as the door slid open. He didn’t have the local sector weapon permit yet, but he was glad to have his blaster in his coat.

After paying for the five credits cover charge at a kiosk managed by a modified LE-VO enforcement droid, Dan climbed a wide ramp (similar to those on large passenger ships) and entered into the “bar”.

He had to admit that it was impressive.

He had heard of the amusement-park ride comparison, but this surely wasn’t a kid’s ride. He supposed anyone with any kind of equilibrium problem would get ‘seasick’ in bare minutes. He stood still for over a minute, trying to understand the patterns of rotations from ... everything: tables, chairs, booths, the oval-shaped bar in a corner which was turning counter to the dance floor in the middle, itself turning slowly, while holo screens of various sizes were turning in groups over different areas showing news (and the obvious Imperial HoloVision propaganda), sporting events, music shows, scantily-clad dancers or publicities for in-house products (drinks, snacks) or commercial items from various vendors or corporations located mostly in the Cluster. He even noticed from its stirring stick, that a patron’s near-empty drinking glass on a table was also spinning. It wasn’t the only one either, he later discovered, as he saw repulsor-assisted waiter droids leaving fancy drinks on dancing clients’ tables.

Getting his bearing – or at least concentrating his gaze to small sections instead of the entire structure and its colorful decor (following the ‘outer space’ theme), he could concentrate on the various people populating the bar; at least those he could discern, since several were in more obscure sections.

He noticed an Imperial transport pilot dancing with a girl (a hostess, he surmised by her skimpy yet stylish silvery gown), while another was urging him on; even though he wore civilian clothing, his demeanor and his clean cut look and the “go sarge!” he almost heard him shout above the music, gave him away. He barely noticed another hostess, sitting and laughing with three humanoid patrons in a turning booth on the shadowed other side of the dance floor.

Deciding to forgo going on a ‘ride’, Dan looked carefully for ‘stable’ chairs. He noticed three Humans sitting together in a section off to a side (he couldn’t tell if that side was left, right or back). The important fact was that their chairs were not spinning. Since they appeared to be spacers as well, he decided to sit close to them, order a drink and wait for an opportunity. A waiterdroid drifted down close to him asking for his order. “Socorran raava. With some nuts: Tekka or Chooka.” Dan precised.

“Apologies sir. The closest we have are Weeliu nuts.” the droid replied waiting for a confirmation.

“Fine.” The waitdroid floated away toward the bar, avoiding rotating holo screens showing results from wegsphere tournaments.

As expected, his order had been noticed by his “neighbors”: the most noticeable was a near middle-aged woman with shoulder-length dark brown wavy hair in a flightsuit and a stylish, tailored spacer’s jacket, looking slightly more gaunt than she should; in front of her were two men: a man in his thirties in a typical spacer coverall and a common style short coat and cap who seemed to defer to the older man sitting next to him. The middle-aged grey-haired man had the distinct look of experience and leadership: wearing a uniform topped with a typical multi-pocket spacer jacket, he couldn’t hide the keen look of his eyes over the brim of his glass as he too was looking Dan over.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Dan gave them a nod and a thin smile then feigned interest in the tune currently playing, tapping his right foot, until a droid brought his food and drink. He took a sip, ate a mouthful of nuts, then while sipping his drink again, discreetly gazed sideways at the trio.

Even though they were talking, the woman did notice he was looking – she was a sharp one. In fact, there was something familiar about her. Dan decided to be neighbourly and went to offer them some nuts – the woman could surely benefit from the nutrition, he couldn’t help thinking.

Surprised by the offer, they asked him to join their table, which he accepted.

“Greetings. I’m captain Dan Cooper. Just got in the Cluster from Svivren.” Dan mentioned offering his hand to each one in turn, then sat in a chair, not moving. He half-expected it to start rotating: it was one of the common types of practical jokes targeted towards newcomers all over the galaxy. Since nothing happened, he tried his best to not show his embarrassed hesitation.

While the trio most probably saw through his embarrassment, they acted oblivious – especially the lady as she simply smiled and sipped from her glass. The older man made the introduction: “Hi. I’m Axtor Bridgeman. This is captain Rollo Morsai of the Gilded Lily and this is Vinco, my second-mate.” The lady captain smiled a bit more, then grabbed some of the nuts Dan had brought to their table. The young Vinco (well actually, he looked older than Dan), was a dark short man that didn’t seem thrilled to be alone with three superior officers, but his nearly circumspect stare, still allowed him to make a full assessment of Dan since he now was just an arm-length away – proof he was well-trained and had his captain’s back.

“I’m captain of the Destiny. A YT-1210 light freighter from CEC. You know them?” the old man asked.

Dan nodded: “Been inside a couple actually.”

Dan signaled a droid for service and asked the others’ tastes for more sustaining refreshments. Vinco declined the offer as he got to his feet and asked his captain: “Cap, I should go check the engines are calibrated.”

Captain Bridgeman answered with a nod. While Dan supposed it was a well-rehearsed act signaling an ‘All clear’ message or something along those lines, the second-mate waved all of them a curt goodbye, then grabbed some nuts before leaving the bar, followed by the captains’ gazes.

“A good man.” Dan declared, surprising the other two captains as they simply nodded in agreement while they both turned their heads back to Dan with a new sense of respect.

Finally getting a good light on captain Morsai’s face from a bright holo screen turning above them, Dan had a flash of memory from his youth; one of the rare moments he had shared with his mother for a common passion: old holodramas. He was about to ask her when the waitdroid came back with their new drinks and some food. Eating a piece of sweet bun until the droid left, he finally asked: “I remember seeing a great holo with my mom with an actress that looked a ...” The sight of her face darkening so visibly stopped him short – it clearly wasn’t just a lighting trick.

“Err ... well, she was great in it...” he tried to smooth things with compliments, but then another, more recent memory came to his mind: the name of Babel Torsch and the “censoring” campaign he had led on the holo industry, mostly here in the Minos Cluster – it was still talked about by Imperial fanatics in the IOC, even in the Core regions. ‘Oh crap!’ he thought as he realized she was hiding with another identity as much as he was. “I’m sorry. I ... you know ...” he almost added in a hushed voice, then made a silence gesture.

“Yes, ... I was an actress. But I am a tramp freighter captain now.” Rollo replied with gradual determination. “Thank you anyway.” she ended with a slight smile, but she wasn’t in the mood for a fan.

Axtor leaned closer to her and laid a hand on her left knee in support. She smiled back at him thinly.

“Well, if you need help with something...” Dan tried to tell her, but she was only half-listening.

“Thank you, young man. We’ll see.” she said with a placating hand. She then took a large gulp of her drink. Axtor’s face made a slight grimace but he said nothing.

The lady then got up, muttered an apology and left them, heading toward the patron’s refresher rooms (they were rather clearly indicated by small but clear and bright holographic signage).

Dan had wanted to stand-up as a polite courtesy, but she left too suddenly and was quickly out of sight.

“Don’t mind Rollo. She often has bad reactions when confronting past events, her health notwithstanding.” Axtor explained, ending with a very soft sigh.

“Quite understandable.” Dan added, noticing the affection in the old captain’s tone in spite of his straight-looking sabacc face. She wasn’t returning his feelings as much as he wanted her to, it seemed. Shifting his booted feet to her chair, Axtor’s body language and tone conveyed the feeling that Rollo wasn’t coming back – she could probably leave through a back exit.

“So, what’s your ship like? Is it fully yours?” asked the old captain, changing the subject, yet already expecting his last question to be affirmative – like he was the only one left who still owned a fortune to pay for his ship.

“My ship. It’s a Lantillian GX1. Probably modded for combat during the Clone Wars.” Dan paused, looking at Bridgeman’s reaction about the mention of the war he most probably lived through. Only a slight twinge in the lines of his middle-aged face showed, but he obviously had experience hiding his feelings even through painful memories. “I call her Liberty.” he finished.

“Ah, yes. Short hauler: a good ship for cargo but also for passengers.” the old man replied nodding in recognition. Axtor seemed to ponder for a while, then asked after swallowing a sip: “You’re trying to gain freedom from something it seems.”

The man was very perceptive. Also taking time to think, Dan finally answered in a slightly softer tone: “Tyranny. Army. Bureaucracy. Criminality. Cruelty. Xenophoby. Inevitability. Empathy. Necessity. Destiny. ...” His voice trailed slightly as his gaze seemed to look at something infinitely further than the bottom of his glass.

Axtor was a bit amused at the rhyme at first, but the meaning of the words finally dawned on him. “Oh...” he blurted softly after several seconds of silence. Keeping his voice low, he finally explained: “We ..., well, I mostly, like to keep our nose clean, though we’re not unsympathetic to the plight of the people. But we’ve got families, debts to pay. So, you know how it goes.” As an afterthought he added: “But you probably have lots of questions. Let’s order some more drinks and I’ll tell you what I can.”

For over an hour, they discussed many subjects and answered many questions concerning business in the Minos Cluster, the other players and their ships, some useful contacts for repairs or cargo runs and especially the rare details on Imperial personnel that could be “influenced”.

After captain Bridgeman left The Grand Design, Dan decided to follow him to make sure he wasn’t followed, in appreciation for his assistance – while the info given wasn’t related to “state secrets” (most of it anyway), it could still be construed by the ISB as a cause for some trumped-up prosecution if they had ears and eyes in the spacer’s bar (which they probably had). Even the criminal elements in the Cluster could consider some of the disclosures as a breach of trust. Besides, he always preferred to survey – or recon in military jargon – the planets and their cities, allowing him to see and ‘feel’ the populations, the Empire’s presence and security protocols. In any case, he liked the old man and made sure he was safe, back in the Dynasty’s docking bay.

Already late, but with so much to process, sleep was fleeting as his brain was already working on new plans. But the main obstacle was still the same: a real crew. Even Axtor had realized that the type of crewmen Dan would require on the Liberty would be most difficult to find. So Dan decided to walk it off.

Leaving the spaceport commercial quad, he wandered into the city. The wind was winding in the streets, channeled and sped-up by certain clusters of tall buildings and dragging dust and detritus in the air, forcing Dan to pull the hood of his coat over his head and cover his mouth and nose. While he didn’t fight the wind nor let it drag him in its general direction (his best guess was northwest but only a weather station above the city could confirm it), he went along trying to keep any wind-dragged debris to his padded back.

Along a large westward commercial but currently mostly shutdown street (he saw an open but empty restaurant and a small food store with lights on), the wind died down slightly dropping the largest items it carried. Coming his way but on the other side of the street, a pair of typical white-armored stormtroopers walked their patrol, looking around, not bothered by the dust whipped around their filtered helmet. Looking at each other from across the street, Dan was wondering if they’d approach him when, as they walked in front of a side street, a powerful gust of wind made them shuffle to keep their balance, then suddenly, as Dan was also approaching that street, a large piece of flimsiplast slapped on the face of one of the troopers making him yelp loud enough to be heard all around, as he was trying to claw the flimsi off his helmet and his partner was attempting to help him.

Dan almost burst out laughing out-loud, but managed to keep his voice down to a giggle as he quickly walked away.

He reached an industrial expanse that currently was closed, not just for the night, but for good: it seemed like a factory and repair yard for vehicles and munitions – the lower end, cheaper kind, by the look of the silent security towers and closed gates left behind (nothing looked as current typical military grade).

It oddly reminded him of the Works on Coruscant which he had seen from afar on a speeder ride years ago but had heard about in history lessons. But it also reminded him that these factories often had cantinas and diners catering to the workers, typically set in a central location. He continued along the main alley and found a diner: it was abandoned. Further along, he found a cantina that was open even though it seemed closed. Going in, the joint was small, dimly lit (actually more like barely lit), had four tables with a few chairs (and maybe another in the back) and the three patrons he could discern were all aliens hunched over their drinks, though he couldn’t specify the races. He approached the bar, not wanting to look like a typical Imperial alien-hating Human, and found just a very old and odd boxlike droid with only two functioning arms out of four sockets, slide along a rail behind the bar and that blurt-out from a barely functioning vocoder something that sounded like “what do you want?” – unless it asked for mercy and be shot to pieces, there was no way to tell.

“Corellian whiskey.” he answered simply, as he dropped a 5-creds chit on the counter, although he expected some swill coming out of the droid like an ancient vending machine.

The droid did manage to find a decently clean plastic glass under the counter and held it under a hose that jutted from the back of the bar, where some amber looking liquid flowed out. The droid brought the greenish plastic glass with one arm while the other swiped the coin to a slotted reinforced container. The few drops of liquid barely smelled like whiskey – let alone Corellian – and tasted even less. But the distinct taste and feel of ethanol was present. Looking around and seeing no one had barely budged, he downed the last drops and exited while repositioning the blaster he had hidden in his coat.

He was tempted to get back to the ship since it was rather late, but something seemed to urge him on – either his gut, a feeling. In any case, he had learned to trust it, although he felt compelled to keep it a secret. He marched further west, nearing a river (he could smell the water), that provided most of the capital’s water needs and went southward to a small ocean almost 300 kilometres away. So he reached what was commonly called the “Waterfront”: basically a few docks with repulsor cranes for fishing boats and some sea transports deserving the few towns around the southern ocean and a few warehouses for storing various cargoes.

A cantina was set in a side alley before the docks’ area, not readily visible and usually drowned by the sounds of a relatively “busy” waterfront, but tonight it felt like there was a low frequency-like murmur from the place as he approached. The lights were not bright, the panel with the name of the place was too dirty and damaged to read but, as he neared, he felt through his boots and by his hearing there was a crowd inside. Whatever the “party” was, the only way to know was to go in, he decided.

As he entered, a waft of hot air hit him, bringing with it sweat odors from multiple races, with a definite aftertaste of multiple types of hard liquor from across the galaxy floating like a wraith soaked in alcohol cruising along the sonic roar of a large crowd gathered around a large table in the middle of the room (many tables and their chairs were pushed along the walls to make more space). A sudden silence fell, as an apparent contest (a logical deduction), was taking place at the central table, but Dan couldn’t see through the tightly grouped crowd. He decided to reach the bar and ask details to the Human barman who was standing on a chair or a stool behind the bar, almost wiping a glass but never actually finishing doing it as he kept a close watch on the raging betting taking place.

He approached the mid-aged barman, towering over the bar (rather literally): “Ahem. Excuse me. Can I have...”

The barman looked down at him, almost waved him away then noticing someone else approaching, waved a finger between the woman and the customer trying to distract him.

Dan turned to see a mature woman had come out of the back (the kitchen, most likely), and approached him – not without throwing a sneer at the barman first (her husband, probably).

“Hello, young man. What can I g...” she started to say but the roar of the crowd drowned her out completely. She gave him a smile as she mimicked a ‘What can you do?’ shrug. She wasn’t a beautiful woman, nor an ugly one. She was middle-aged as well but still had most of her hair color (light brown, whether natural or not), tired but brilliant brown eyes and a gentleness about her, evident on her face (especially her smile) and even her posture (although she probably was looking forward to ending her work shift).

Dan waited for the holler behind him to die down a bit, then asked while pointing at the barman still hovering above: “Corellian whiskey, please. In a clean glass.”

The woman looked up at the barman, trying to understand, then noticing the repeated gesture, realized the request’s reason. She gave Dan a knowing smile, then picked a clean transparent ceroglass from under the bar, showed it up to the light for him to see, then, after Dan smiled back at her in confirmation, she poured whiskey into it from a real whiskey bottle and placed the glass in front of him.

He picked the glass and gave it a whirl and a satisfying sniff as the flavors tickled his nose – the real stuff, the cheapest, but real. He took a sip, savouring it. Then pointing at the huddle behind him going through its rhythmic clamor, he asked the barmaid: “Drinking contest?”

She simply confirmed with a large ‘tired-of-it-already’ nod.

“Can I also get in on the action?” he asked while mimicking credits and pointing back at the group.

She simply made a wedge-in sign with her hands.

Looking back up at the barman, oblivious to him, Dan decided to take a drastic action. While atypical for him, he felt something was going on in the middle of that crowd, so he acted: he gulped down the last of his glass, then picking up his blaster hidden in his coat, he flipped the stun setting switch, pointed it above the group toward the back wall and fired.

The effect was immediate: total silence and bewilderment as every alien and Human in the group finally looked up at the man with the pistol in his hand. Even the barman, had his mouth hanging wide open, looking at him as if for the first time. The barmaid, who had ducked behind the bar, was slowly getting back up, also in shock.

“Sorry, sorry everybody.” Dan said raising his hands and the blaster in a peaceful gesture, then slipped the blaster back in his coat as he added: “I got some credits. I just want in on the action. Can we have some room?” Dan motioned a large circle.

The tight group had spread out – especially those who’d had their back to Dan, moved away from him, revealing the table and the four beings sitting around it. The table was full of glasses and bottles with small groups of empty glasses in front of every contestant. While many were still shocked about the blaster shot – Dan actually expected the barman to yell: ‘No blasters! No blasters!’ – at least one of the contestants was happy about the change.

A Teltior male sitting at the table spoke – with a slight slur: “Yeess. Give uss some room to bbreathe. Not too close.”

A Shistavanen female sitting at his left agreed by waving her hands out.

A mutter of acquiescence started to form in the betting group after they counted their credits (making sure they hadn’t lost any). Even the barman, getting over his shock, was waving people out slightly.

Dan approached, credit chips visible in his left hand, though many gave him a wide berth. It allowed him to finally see the other two contestants: a Jillsarian male on the Shistavanen’s left and directly in front of him with his back to him was a middle-aged Human with grey hairs sticking out of his cowl, and a bushy grey beard. The smell coming from the table was now palpable: the bottles and the dozen of filled glasses in the center of the table all contained jet juice and, most likely, not the best. A small bucket also stood right in the middle: it had a stack of credits – the contestants’ wagers, which they increased each round (until the winner took it all).

In front of each contestant, was a row of empty glasses: all but the Shistavanen lady had five empty glasses while she had four – it was still her turn to drink before he had interrupted. While Dan found it interesting that the contest was basically Human against alien humanoids, on a world mostly populated by Humans, he still placed a small bet on the old man (it did draw a sneer from a Quarren female). Listening to the whispers of the groups, he heard the old man had beaten several younger and tougher looking Humans the last time the contest was held. An idea was starting to form in his mind.

The bets and side-bets were made, so the group watched as the Shistavanen drank her fifth glass (obviously the small break had helped), and lined it with her empty ones. The Jillsarian was next: he dropped a credit chit in the bucket then drank his sixth glass and lined it with his others (making many adjustments before getting it right – prompting many other side-bets and results in the gathering). The old man also dropped a credit chit in the bucket with one hand while swallowing his sixth glass with the other, and placed it at the end of his stack in one fluid move.

Dan decided to increase his bet on the old man; he wasn’t alone.

The Teltior also paid and drank his sixth glass. The Shistavanen lady drank hers too, but she clearly struggled.

Round seven halved the table: only the Jillsarian and the old man remained. The Shistavanen lady was in the fresher (probably puking), while the Teltior was slumped in a chair in the corner, out cold.

The eight round and another wave of bets went on, but the Jillsarian looked like three of his arms were drooping still as if broken or paralysed by numbness. The old man was holding strong but showed serious signs of intoxication, yet Dan realized what was actually going on: it was like he could almost feel it. He increased his bet and made a side-bet against the Jillsarian.

Trying to drink his ninth glass, the Jillsarian spilled more than half of it as he dropped it and his head crashed on the table, sending his empty glasses tumbling: he was alive but totally KO’d.

The old man drank his ninth glass of jet juice to the cheer of several other betting patrons (the winners). The old man gathered his winnings from the bucket, dumping them in an interior pocket – except for a chit he dropped on the bar in front of the barmaid. She smiled and pocketed the chit faster than a Hutt ever could.

Dan also collected his winnings: nearly 3000 credits. But when he saw the old man leave, he quickly followed him – he didn’t want to lose him. In fact, the old man was rather spry for someone who drank more than the equivalent of a full bottle of jet juice. With barely enough time left to drop a 10-creds coin on the bar, he hurried outside to catch up to the old man in the darker night (Trav had crossed the sky and was now behind Travnin in relation to the capital).

Dan had to sprint twice to almost catch up, yet in the end, it seems the old man got tired as well: he was sitting at a diner when Dan turned into the street, as he had to make a detour in a small alley to avoid an Imperial patrol speeder. The old man was sitting at the counter with a full view of the diner’s surroundings as he ate (probably a good thing after all that booze and exercise).

Dan entered the diner – which opened early in the 26-hours Travnin day – and sat next to the old man where he could finally have a good look at him: wearing multiple layers of drab clothes, most worn-looking and musty-smelling, he was a tall and decent-looking man, considering the long frizzled greyish hair and the bushy grey beard but with piercing grey eyes, putting him in his late 50s or early 60s.

Ordering some breakfast from the service droid, Dan started to say in a low tone: “Odd place to hide from the Inquisitorius.” The anger in the man’s eyes and the crispness of his mouth made him regret starting with that comment. “I ain’t fond of them, nor the rest of Palpy’s goons either. Even though I had to be one of them.” he quickly added, which added a quizzical look to the man’s eyes as he ate another bite – it wasn’t likely he had ever heard Palpatine being called Palpy before.

Dan received his food and drink and took a few bites in silence, expecting the old man to say something. Instead, he finished his meal and waited in silence. Dan took another sip from his juice (zoochberry juice to be precise), then said: “I made almost 3000 creds on that stunt of yours.”

“Then you can pay the bill.” the man simply replied. He started to gather his clothes and got up.

“He can drink. He can eat. He can even talk. Will wonders never cease?” Dan replied dryly.

“What do you want?” the man asked with a sigh.

“An hour of your time. Two if you spend one in the fresher?” Dan suggested with a large fake smile, then added: “Preferably somewhere without ears, like my ship, if you get my drift.”

That last comment seemed to catch his interest: “What kind of ship?”

“Short hauler. With a nice, fully equipped fresher. Free of charge if you pay for breakfast.” he answered with a grin.

“I see a trend, ...” the old man started then halted as he closed his eyes seemingly listening to something, then asked: “You want me for what?”

“Crewmen for now.” Dan replied simply. “Later, with a team, we make surprises.” he added with a wink.

The old man nodded an assent, then sat back down.

Finishing his meal, Dan made a large encircling gesture over the empty plates, then pointed at the droid as he swallowed. “I gotta get to the Commerce building to get a bunch of sector permits later. It’s gonna waste lots of time and cost a fortune.”

The old man rolled his eyes as he got up and went to pay for the meals.

Dan couldn’t help himself from smiling a little.

Later, aboard the Liberty, Dan barely introduced the droids as he quickly showed the ship to the old man, finishing the tour practically at the same spot he had started it after coming on board: the fresher.

The old man got the much too obvious hint, and despite his reservation, entered the fresher for a full cycle.

During that time, Dan asked for a report from T4 about the maintenance: the restocking was done but the maintenance was incomplete (no surprise there!). Then he requested the results for the search on the comm and news channels and the Holonet that D/TC and T4 had managed to decrypt (there wasn’t much: a few articles of boring local news, an entry on Cynabar’s InfoNet and several pieces of Imp propaganda). As an afterthought, he asked the droids to make discreet searches for any info on Babel Torsch, the head of the IOC in the Cluster – knowing where that fanatic was currently located was too important.

Fifty minutes later, a tall middle-aged but good-looking man sporting aquiline features, fair skin with short grey hair and a trimmed grey beard, wearing simple natural fibers-spun pants and tunic with cleaned, fur-trimmed rough leather boots, while carrying his freshly cleaned and pressed – although still drab and old – clothes in one arm, came into Liberty’s lounge. He dropped the pile on the closest chair and sat behind the hologame table just as Dan was coming in from the bridge with T4.

Dan suddenly realized the old man wasn’t completely Human. He was obviously (and visibly) racking his brain about the precise Near-human race matching the old man’s characteristics when he got interrupted.

“I wasn’t born on Etti IV, but in space.” the older man cut-in, obviously wanting to finally get to the “meat” of the proposition.

“Ah, yes.” Dan replied in recognition. ‘Old colonists. Corporate Sector. Rather hedonistic culture. Good at business.’ were facts he recalled. Oversimplified, but a starting point. He sat down in the opposing chair and looking intently at the other man, and he started what he thought of as his business pitch: “My name is Dan Cooper, captain of the Liberty ...”

“That’s not your real name.” the old man cut-in.

“No, it isn’t. Do you use your real name? In fact, do you have some ID or will we have to “get” one?” Dan replied with an interrogative raised left eyebrow.

“I do.”

Since the old man wasn’t moving, Dan dug into a shirt pocket and dropped his ID card on the tabletop. The old man bent slightly to look at it for several seconds, then got up to get his from a hidden pocket in his pants’ left cuff and dropped it on the table while sitting back.

Taking the small card, Dan examined it: he wasn’t impressed. “I’ve seen better IDs from academy students.” he commented. The picture wasn’t even holographic, the plastic it was made from was clearly heat-pressed, not laser etched. “This will never pass more than cursory inspections by soldiers or stupid officers. Any decent Customs or ISB agent will see it’s a forgery.” He read the name tagged to the decade-old pic: Bodye Netti. He had to admit that it had a humorous flair. Somehow it didn’t seem to be the old man’s style.

“I can get T4 to have a new card issued to my new crewman as I get the sector permits, if, I can get him access to the Imperial network.” Dan declared looking for a reaction.

Only T4 beeped an acknowledgment as his dome head was turning back and forth between the two Humans, who were, in his opinion, not communicating in any logical fashion – he calculated a high probability that even the protocol droid would agree.

“So, all cards on the table.” Dan declared, hoping to get answers from the Etti before the twin suns ran cold.

The old man nodded in agreement.

Dan felt he was falling back into an investigative report mode, but he started saying: “You’re a Force-user who’s been hiding from the Empire for a long time. You were using some kind of Force-detox skill back in that bar, and not for the first time either. I know, I felt it. You managed to get to Travnin with that low-grade ID because something changed in your life lately. You want to get out of the Cluster.” Dan paused as the other man’s face was visibly darkening again. He probably expected Dan to start talking about himself instead of having his life revealed by a young man appearing out of nowhere.

Dan decided to continue nonetheless to see how far he could push: “I admit I probably shouldn’t have started at the diner by mentioning the Inquisitorius.”

The Etti tensed visibly at that mention.

At the same moment D/TC came in from the bridge, seemingly interested and willing to help – he had heard everything so far. It made the old man look around nervously even though he tried to hide it.

Dan motioned the protocol droid to sit on the couch, not wanting to crowd the old man, again. This was almost a contest of wills: who would be first to admit the truth. “Until recently, the Inquisitorius was the least of my problems. But if you’ve got a lightsaber in there, ...” he pointed to the pile of old cloaks and overcoats draped on a chair, which did make the Etti flick his eyes once in that general direction. “There’s got to be a core of truth to build trust on, otherwise I need to look elsewhere.”

The old man took a deep breath. He visibly felt the surroundings as looked and listened – and used the Force – to detect deceit, a trap or enemies coming their way. After several seconds, he settled in the chair and started explaining (noticing the young captain tapping a finger on his ID card): “My name is Bortak. I never got a surname because I was orphaned not long after I was born on a cruise ship. The Jedi found me not long after. I wasn’t that good or that strong in the Force so I was sent to the Jedi Exploration Corp.” A slight quizzical look on Dan’s face made him explain: “If you don’t pass the tests for Jedi, you get sent to the Corps: medical, diplomats, ...”

“Agriculture!” D/TC chimed in.

“Yeah.” Bortak was clearly not a fan of agriculture. “The JEC assists the Republic Scouting Service. Before it became the Imperial Survey Corps.”

Dan nodded in understanding (and was happy that Bortak had ship experience): “I almost joined the ISC at one point, but the long scouting missions weren’t helping with my plan.”

Now it was the Etti who seemed eager to hear more about his story: “What plan?”

Give and take. That was fair. “My legitimized name was Archturis Dawnstar. My father’s family has been in the military for decades: my grandfather was Commenor Navy, Judicial Forces, then captain of a Venator Star Destroyer in the GAR, until the Empire.”

Bortak nodded as memories came back to his mind: most of the Republic forces became part of the Empire.

“My father joined the Navy during the Clone Wars, to become first officer of an Imperial Vindicator heavy cruiser. A few years ago, my father was declared killed in action: my grandfather used his connections to find that my father was accused of mutiny for refusing an order from the High Command to bombard alien civilian targets. Since then, the Empire has been keeping close tabs on all my family; my grandfather retired early, moving the family regularly under pretenses (festivals, tourism, etc.), while he helped me plan my career during my last year at the Academy to ultimately fake my death.”

“You’re Force sensitive.” Bortak remarked.

“Yes, my maternal grandmother was a Jedi Knight. But before the Clone Wars, she had a vision or something and planned with my grandfather and parents to hide me from the Jedi and teach me to never show my true skills. Even my real full name was hidden: Odan Archturis Dawnstar.” The Etti’s eyes widened in recognition. “So I spent my Imperial career learning fast but performing mildly, then getting transferred from one branch to another until I ended in the Customs service where I gathered the worst officers and crew possible, waiting for the moment to fake my death to keep my family safe, and then fight the Empire, whether I can find the Rebels or not. This ship was full of pirates, but now it’s mine.”

To his credit, Bortak didn’t ask what happened to the ‘worse’ crew. “Your grandmother?” he asked, knowing the answer already.

“She died early in the Clone Wars. I was young, and I barely remember her. In fact, most Imperial records barely mention her. Even my family doesn’t talk about her, as if she wanted to keep the family safe too.” Changing the subject, Dan asked: “You ended-up fighting too, even in the Corp?”

The old man seemed to suddenly age by a full decade: “At first, it was mostly scouting new hyperroutes for the GAR, then it was recon of Separatists positions, then defense or escape, running blockades... Many died. I was wounded and on a MedStar-class medical ship when the clones turned... Several of the med-staff tried to stop them... I managed to get to a shuttle to escape. Out of fuel, I ended-up in an escape pod that was found by a cargo ship in the Yelsain system.” He paused for a long time, memories flooding back were visible in his eyes.

“You were part of those Force-user rumors on Yelsain.” Dan offered.

“I don’t know. I barely used the Force there. Mostly to feel the beasts’ locations.” Bortak admitted. “After I got married, I used my lightsaber only to cut wood and then I got afraid to be seen using it and stopped.”

Somehow, Dan knew that there was more to the story, but the old man wasn’t likely to reveal all of it. “I take it, your wife died, then you decided to travel elsewhere...” Dan offered as delicately as he could. D/TC suddenly shuffling on the couch, seemed to indicate he wasn’t delicate enough – yet, the fact the droid didn’t utter a word was a feat in itself.

Bortak simply nodded and lowered his head in silence.

T4 couldn’t suppress sounding a short, mournful tone. It made the Etti look back up at the astromech then at D/TC and a congenial-looking Dan in turn: he had lived in seclusion for a long time, away from teammates and friendly droids.

Dan cleared his throat discreetly, then asked: “So, you’re willing to join us as first-mate? You don’t mind if we try running some cargo in the Cluster, right?”

Bortak was now getting more curious than fearful: “What are you planning exactly captain?” It felt odd to defer to such a young man, but he had experience beyond his years.

For Dan, being finally called captain by his own crewman was like a jolt in his heart: it felt good. Even though the Etti hadn’t officially ‘signed the contract’, he was interested enough to ask details: “We need to establish Liberty as a legitimate cargo freighter. We need to make enough credits to get the ship in combat shape. If we discreetly hurt the Empire via smuggling or skirmishing but stay alive and attract a contact with the Rebel Alliance, all the better. In any case, I intend to gather a team with various skills and strike at vulnerable Imperial targets. But that’s for the long run. For now, I’m looking for a Lantillian Spacers’ Brotherhood Guildhouse since, ...” he waved at the ship around them, “if we join, we could get some repairs and some much needed spare parts and save on many ship-based services.”

Since Bortak didn’t look like he had anything to say, Dan continued: “I’ve got six crates of droid parts in the hold, I figured, could get a decent price on Quockra-4.”

The Etti nodded once in a scant agreement. “I’ve never been there, but I know droids are in demand.”

“Anything else or any contacts we could use?” Dan asked.

“Food and drinks are always in demand. Especially the fancy kinds. Speeders are in demand on Yelsain but I don’t know the best source.” The old man was visibly calculating in his mind: “The Moot won’t be for another seven months.”

“Ah yes, D/TC got some info on that: a week long festival. I supposed you’ve heard of Adarlon as well?” Dan asked.

“Yes. What I’ve heard, wasn’t that reputable on Yelsain.”

While Dan was thinking of the old holos about the Old Republic and the Jedi that were now blacklisted as class three crimes, it didn’t seem to provoke any inklings in the Etti’s mind.

“Will you teach me about Force powers?”

“No.”

“Uhh, what!?” Dan was astonished. “Why not?”

“I said, no. If you want me to teach you Force skills then I leave.” Bortak got up and went to grab his clothing.

“Alright, alright! Let’s stick to crew duties.” Dan relented with a huge sigh – he was disappointed. ‘Perhaps with some time...’ he thought. But for now, the pressing matter was the ship. “You have piloting experience? Cargo handling, spaceport control, repairs?” Dan asked pointing to the corresponding ship section.

Bortak just nodded an affirmative at each option, then specified: “I helped with ship duties, but my main tasks were defense,” he pointed a thumb at the top turret, “gunner and also ground reconnaissance.”

A long silence ensued as the young captain was analyzing the facts.

While he certainly wasn’t an ace pilot, navigator, nor a Jedi Master, he did feel right in his guts, even though he noticed a certain edginess in the old Etti’s personality, which he hadn’t exactly handled with dreamsilk gloves to begin with. So he decided to take a chance: let the Force ‘flow’ as he imagined it should. It could be the beginning of something grand.

So Dan decided to get to the point: “Mister Bortak, will you accept to join my crew?”

Raising his hand, the old Etti declared: “Yes I will, captain Cooper.”

Getting-up, the young captain shook the offered hand and declared: “Welcome aboard the Liberty.”

“Thank you.”

“Well, since I’ll have to register you as my first mate, we should get you better ID docs and a weapons permit. T4 take a holopic.” Dan ordered, then pensively added: “You don’t have a twin brother, traveling around the sectors, right?”

Bortak looked at him with a quizzical ‘are you kidding me’ look.

“Right. Just making sure. But we’ll need to make a genetic scan in medbay so T4 can find a “probable” match.”

T4 bleeped and beeped a comment.

“Sir,” D/TC started as he got off the couch to assist in medbay, “T4 confirms a valid point: Mister Bortak’s previous identity cannot be reused. He requires a new name.”

They all looked back at the old man, waiting for his answer.

Thinking for nearly a minute, the Etti finally confirmed: “Bortak Nierhta. It’s my wife’s surname.”

Dan just nodded, understanding the emotional connection his new first mate made between his past and the future.

The two droids made their way toward the medbay. “This way, officer Nierhta.” D/TC invited in passing.

More than an hour later, after a more detailed visit of the entire ship, the full crew of the Liberty was on the bridge. After a confirmation call to spaceport control about engines tests (most spaceports are ‘touchy’ about ships powering-up unannounced), first mate Bortak – currently in the pilot’s seat – went through a pre-flight checklist, a takeoff maneuver (just a few meters above the hangar bay floor), some stationary banks and turns, concluded with a landing.

While his ship skills were adequate, they were not expert level – and obviously not tested in combat conditions. They’d have to spend a lot of time practicing.

“Very good XO.” Dan, now in the copilot seat, had waited a long time to actually say that. “After you settle into your cabin, your first task is to go find the dockmaster and get the ship’s maintenance completed. While out there, you can make an inspection of the external hull, while I go to the Commerce building.”

“Yes captain.” was the new first mate’s simple answer as he shutdown and locked the controls and left the bridge.

Yet, there was still a tiny tone of defiance in the old man’s voice – probably because he was an older man, now alone and still angry about his recent loss, forced to hide and obey a young man not even half his age. Understandable.

In the captain’s quarters, Dan was getting dressed, thinking – as he always did then – about the sleepless night he just had, and the opening possibilities. Finally, the start of a decent crew. Now, if they could get a decent copilot, while Bortak would actually be happy to serve mostly as a gunner, shooting his frustrations away.

Bortak was inspecting his new quarters, testing the bed, opening drawers, then finally decided on how to stow his clothes: he dumped them on the bed. Since he had nothing else to do in his cabin, he exited, heading to the bridge, but stopped cold in his tracks as he saw the ship’s captain exiting his quarters wearing the grey-green uniform of a lieutenant of the Imperial Navy.