Briel had made a terrible mistake. Had he known that a Sith wanted the man alive, he wouldn't have shot him. The blood pooling on the floor was evidence enough that there was no going back. They would have his head for sure.

"My, my, what have we here?" came a voice from behind him. The contempt was so thick that it seemed to ooze out of the speaker's mouth. "If it isn't Kaaste's little plaything."

He turned around. The man speaking was most definitely a Sith. The agent's back went rigid. "M-my lord!" Sweat began to trickle down his brow.

The Sith crossed his arms and paced around the dead body, tutting under his breath. "Interfering in Sith affairs, killing a man wanted alive, and. . ." A grin spread across his face. "Oh yes, Going against the direct orders of a Sith!" He walked over toward Briel until their faces were only inches apart. "Why, that amounts to treason. Don't you agree?"

He bowed his head in deference. "My lord, i-if I could e-explain--" He felt his throat close up.

The Sith was reaching out through the Force, torturing him, choking him. "That question was rhetorical, you pathetic creature. How my brother could see anything in you is beyond me."

Briel's eyes were wide in fear. Kaaste had warned him to never cross paths with Valdr. And now he was going to die because of it.

"Do you have anything to say, worm?" he spat before releasing his grip.

The agent collapsed to the ground and gasped for breath, nearly heaving up a lung in the process. "I d-didn't know you w-wanted him alive, m-milord."

He let loose a barrage of lightning. "I should kill you where you stand!" He continued the torture until Briel was an inch from death. But slowly, the snarl on the Sith's face changed to a wicked grin. "No, I have a better idea."

Valdr lifted him up and threw him onto a nearby bench. "I'm going to take what belongs to him." His voice was filled with cruel satisfaction. "It'll drive him mad!" He seized Briel's jaw and drew him in for a forced kiss, ignoring his resistance. "Submit," he said as he briefly pulled away, through gritted teeth. "Or die."

There was nothing he could do. The torturous Sith had already drained him of whatever will he had left. He could only whimper as the advances continued.

"And if you tell him about this, I will hunt you down and end your worthless existence, as well as everything you care about. Do you understand?"

He nodded jerkily and tried to hold back the tears, lest they be seen as a form of resistance. He would submit. Forgive me, Kaaste.

So... last night I had a dream where I posted it got all sorts of feedback about it, but everyone thought that Valdr was Kaaste, and that simply isn't true. So, naturally, I had to post it as soon as I woke up in order to clarify any (imagined) confustion. No more poptarts before bed...

"Blizz said you wanted to talk to me." Gault didn't go any farther than the bridge entry. Skari sat, her back to him, as she flipped through screens, making entries every now and again.

"I have a job I'd like you to do on Corellia. Not what we normally do, but it's a good opportunity. Right up your alley."

"No." He crossed his arms and waited.

Her shoulders stiffened, but she didn't turn around.

"Okay," she said slowly, tension creeping into her voice, "well, there's this other one on Quesh..."

"No."

"You sure?" she said, turning enough to smile stiffly at him, "it's the opportunity of a lifetime."

He scowled at her. "Maybe your little tricks work on the others. You've got Torian off playing with Mandalorians on Hoth. Blizz was chattering about some wreckage on Belsavis you wanted him to check out. Mako must be more out of it than I thought cause she actually bought your bullsh*t about meeting with Major Kaarde's slicer to share techniques. Don't think you can get rid of me so easily." He glared.

Skari looked back at her terminal, flipping through screens without really seeing them. "Don't know what you're talking about."

"Please," he scoffed, "I was jumping ship before you were born. Think I don't know a jump when I see one?"

Skari turned and met his eyes. Grim. Grim and sober. Those were the words he would have used to describe her in the past days since Crae had disappeared. "So?" she challenged, her chin tilting, "Maybe I'm tired of hauling this ragtag bunch of rejects around the galaxy."

"I'll believe you" he dared, "if you tell that to Blizz."

Skari winced.

"I'll call him up here," he said, reaching for the comm.

She smacked his hand away. "I can't do this!" she hissed, "Can't be responsible for you all!" She braced her hands on the console, "Almost got you all killed."

"First of all, don't insult me," Gault snapped. Skari raised an eyebrow. "I've been taking care of myself for a long time, don't need you to take over the job. Okay? We straight on that?"

A reluctant smile stretched her lips. "Okay," she said in a small voice.

"Second, let me clue you in, sister. Leaving people doesn't work like that. I've bailed on people. I've bailed on lots of people. But bailing on people who care about you - that will stick with you forever."

She shook her head. "It's better this way."

Gault sat down in the seat next to hers and propped his feet up on the console. "Think I told you this before, but you're not getting rid of me so easily. I'm not leaving, and if you hadn't tricked them with lures of wampa hunts, and prototype wreckage, and alien slicers, the others would be telling you the same thing. Can't believe Mako fell for that." The disgust in his voice was palpable.

Skair looked over at him and grinned a little. "I can't believe it either. I had three more jobs set up, but nope she took the first one."

Gault snorted and the two of them chuckled.

Skari sobered and tilted her head back, looking at the ceiling. "Know what's really stupid?"

"Torian's obsession with food that destroys your mouth?"

Skari's lip quirked, but she didn't look over at him. She was quiet for a moment. "I miss him."

Gault sighed. "I am so not the girlfriend type."

She snorted.

"You were in love with him," he said with a shrug, "that doesn't just get shut off cause the man's a lunatic."

"I wasn't in love with him," she scoffed.

"Hah!"

"Whatever, a**hole."

He grinned and threw a crumpled up flimsy at her. "Yeah, whatever." He stood and stretched. "We good?"

She looked up at him, her eyes a bit more watery than normal. "We're good."

He nodded and walked to the door when her voice stopped him.

"Thanks."

He pointed at her. "You owe me a drink for this mess."

She smiled. "Yes, I do."

Skari was smiling to herself as she uncrumpled the flimsy that had landed in her lap. Her smile died at the sight of Crae's golden eyes, his sharp features, the slight grin on his face. She owed them all a great deal more than a drink.

I'm slowly transferring the Skari/Crae story to its own thread (http://www.swtor.com/community/showthread.php?t=576155) along with edits and a short new post or two. Until I get up to date with that one, I'll continue to post here, so bear with me

The crew waited in the hangar for Remi to return. They had visited five planets in as many days without orders. The Jedi Master left early each day without a word about where she was going or why and returned withdrawn and disturbed. She had promised them this planet was the last stop and seemed lighter for it, so they held back their questions and let her go.

Doc saw her first as she entered the hangar and motioned to the others. Kira and Rusk looked up from their card game and put away their things eager to return to duty. T7 spun in place the droid equivalent to anxiousness, it had not escaped him that his master was behaving strangely. Scourge showed neither eagerness nor boredom, but he glanced up from his reading and observed the crew and their leader as he always did.

Before Remi had managed to walk more than a dozen steps into the hangar an old woman called out to her from the entrance. She turned and made her way back to the woman exchanging a few words no one was close enough to hear. The elderly woman grew agitated and her voice rose sharply though she was still too distant to hear. At the end of her tirade she slapped the Jedi twice, once on each cheek, Remi only bowed accepting the punishment before the woman shoved her and stormed away.

The crew gaped at the scene unable to comprehend what could have precipitated the attack. Remi stayed in place until the woman was long gone before making her way to them. Doc paced forward intent on checking her face for injuries but she waved him away and continued to the ship. She was halfway up the ramp when she realized they were not following. She turned, her expression unreadable, her emotions held tightly in check.

“What was that all about, Remi?” Kira asked folding her arms the way she did when she was demanding an answer, “What are we doing here?”

“Attending the memorials for Theta Squad, they were killed in action on board the Zephyr in the outer rim.” She spoke to everyone but she looked at Lord Scourge. Doc frowned at the silent exchange, he was no Force-user but he detected mockery in the look the Sith bestowed on his Jedi friend. She shrugged at the unvoiced taunt and addressed the crew, “We have to get going they want us back on Correlia as soon as we can get there.” She disappeared into the ship leaving her crew staring after her.

“And what was that all about?” Kira looked even more annoyed and bewildered.

T7 spun and beeped.

Theta Squad = Elite Special Forces

Mission = Outer Rim Reconnaissance

Zephyr = Boarded + Destroyed + 100% fatality

Cause = Classified

Scourge snorted. Kira spun around to glare at him. “If you know something, spit it out.”

He shrugged as if the question meant nothing to him but he answered her demands. “A lone Sith Acolyte located and boarded the Zephyr. The Empire knew someone was relaying data about troop movements but they were too canny to be caught. It was supposed to be a test of the Acolyte’s ability to take on the Republic’s finest.” He snorted with disgust. “Finding the ship alone should have been impossible but the Sith lured them out of hiding with a Republic distress beacon, telling them a story of a captured Jedi who faced the Emperor and managed to escape.” He put away the datapad he had been reading and pushed away from the crates he had been leaning against. “They took the false Jedi aboard and contacted the Republic for pickup,” he stared significantly at the entrance to the ship, “then she killed them all.”

This is the aftermath of the first failed attack on the Emperor at the end of chapter 2. In my universe the Emperor's mind control lasted for several months if not longer. Remi does not remember almost anything about that time period but she's been trying to piece together what she did and the Republic has been doing its best to cover it up. Can't have the hero of the galaxy also be a mass murderer right?

Where am I? Why does it smell so… bad. Like three day old bantha fodder..

Where am I?

Alli tossed and turned in the scant mat and rag she had for a bed, breathing shallowly. Her heart was pounding in her ears. Her eyes flew open, searching around the room frantically. Oh, that’s right. Nar Shadda. She sits up and looks around for her pack. I know it’s around here, somewhere. I need it I need it I need it! WHERE THE HELL IS IT?! Her looking gets frantic, and she starts throwing and tossing her meager possessions around the small hovel she calls her home.

“NO!” Her scream pierces the silence and she drops to her knees, searching through the mess on the floor. “Where where where where.. I need more..” She scrambles to her feet and darts out the door, grabbing her blasters from the small table as she goes. A blaster in each hand, she hobbles down the hallway, using one blaster-filled hand to balance herself against the wall.

Stumbling to a stop in the entranceway to what could be loosely defined as a reception office, she stares down the manager. The manager of this hole she lived in was a tiny green-blue Rodian woman, whose name she doesn’t even care to remember. The Rodian looks up, immediately noticing the blasters and shrinks back against the desk behind her.

Alli stumbles forward a few more steps and levels a blaster with the Rodian’s nose, or at least where she assumes it is. She isn’t quite sure. “Where the f*ck is my pack, you sorry excuse for a manager? If it’s been stolen I swear I’ll shoot each of your toes off, then your fingers, and then your stupid little ears.”

The Rodian woman stares at the blaster and trembles, squeaking out a reply in garbled Huttese. “I – I found a p-pack in the hallway. Is it y-yours?” She reaches under the counter without removing her gaze from the blaster and pulls out a simple, dark red cloth bag with a fold-over flap.

Alli flicks her gaze downward at the pack and then back up to the Rodian woman. “Did you take anything out of it?” The Rodian squeaks and shakes her head violently, trying to utter an answer. Alli angles her blaster to the side a few inches and fires a shot, the bolt burying itself deep in to the wood of the counter and shelving behind the Rodian. “I said: Did. You. Take. Anything?” This time the Rodian answers by reaching under the counter again and pulling out 8 vials full of a syrupy, yellow-orange liquid. Firespice.

Alli sweeps the vials off of the counter into her pack and turns around to leave. “Don’t go through my stuff again, Rodian.”

“Schutta.” B*tch.

Alli whirled back around and whipped her blaster back up, pointing it between the Rodian’s big, round black eyes and squeezes the trigger. No thought. No words. Only automatic reaction. The Rodian woman’s head snaps back and her body falls limp, crumpling to the floor in a heap. Alli yanks a piece of paper from the drawer and a pen, writing “Manager Needed.” She tacks it to the shelving and goes back to her room, slamming the door shut.

Now back in the relative solitude of her hovel-room, she sinks back down on to her mat, cradling the pack in her arms. She looks at it for a few minutes before taking out a vial and a syringe and puts them together. She exposes the tender patch of flesh in the crook of her left elbow and injects the syringe, emptying the vial into her veins completely. “Finally..”

She sets the pack and syringe aside and lies down on the mat completely, and stares up at the grimy ceiling above her. Lights of all colors, like floating orbs begin to circle around the room, and her breathing becomes slow but rhythmic. The glow of her eyes intensifies, and a smile creeps around the corners of her lips. She let’s herself fall in to the high; the weightlessness taking over. She feels like she’s floating. Floating, floating, floating in the blackness, surrounded by floating orbs of all different colors. All her cares and concerns have melted away, and she feels neither happiness nor sadness. She just simply… Is.

I’m so alone.

So afraid.

So hopeless.

And I don’t care.

And she floats in the blackness.

Remi flipped the switch on her multi-tool and was rewarded with a dim spark and a powering down noise. She blinked at the power cell, zero percent. She would have to wait while the solar cells charge for at least an hour before it would work. She rubbed her head, frustrated and tired, it had been a rough few days facing the families of Theta Squad but she believed they deserved the truth.

So she told them what happened and her role in it, despite the fact that the Senate had covered it up and the Council had warned her against it. What would be gained by telling the families the truth? They believed their sons died fighting the Sith, they believed their sons were heroes. Let them cherish that memory. That was what everyone told her, but the truth was they did die fighting the Sith, the truth was their sons were heroes. If the truth meant she should be tried, imprisoned, or even sentenced to death, her task was done and she would accept her punishment.

Part of her wanted them to seek justice of some kind. She needed something to draw a line around her crimes so she could separate herself from them. She needed some kind of sentence or ruling to tell her what she could do to make things right. There was no line and no punishment that could bring those men back. The families understood, most of them did, and they refused to press charges, refused everything she offered; only asking that she leave. The old woman slapping her had been the best thing to happen all week.

She had been glad to have a mission to occupy her mind, so glad that she hurried off on her own without checking her gear. A piece of twisted metal poked out of the concrete slab pinning her boot to the ground. She had leaped to her target without looking, careless and thinking only of the weapon cache and not about its surrounding environment. The rubble shifted when she landed and now she was stuck, the hero of the entire galaxy defeated by a pile of rocks.

If her multitool had been charged she could cut her way out, if she had someone to spot her she could Force-push the slab away, but it was all too unstable and not worth the risk. She looked down at the depleted device as its charge indicator slowly ticked upward, twenty minutes. Not long but she would be late for the group rendezvous. Her lightsaber could cut through the metal but it would also cut through her foot.

She sighed impatiently and banged her head softly against the concrete slab swearing under her breath. A noise made her freeze in place, footsteps making their way through the rubble below. The mercenaries that took over the sector were everywhere and a patrol might be coming to check on the cache she had just destroyed. She extended her senses, hoping Doc or Kira had finished their zone and were coming to help with hers. It would be embarrassing but she could live with that, but the presence she sensed was not Doc or Kira, it was Scourge.

She squeezed her eyes shut wondering if things could get any worse. She did not want the sardonic Sith to see her pinned by a piece of rubble. He would probably kill her for being vulnerable, stupid, and not worth his time. Part of her would have wanted him to. She closed her eyes trying to rid herself of emotion, hoping to become invisible to his senses. The sound of movement paused below her and she held her breath, then after what seemed like eternity it continued onward and she was able to breath again.

The multitool charged enough to cut through the rebar pinning her down. She yanked her leg free with a yelp and tumbled down the rubble to freedom. She hurried to the rendezvous to meet the rest of her crew slowing to a sedate walk to hide her slight limp. It was apparent from their various expressions of anger, relief, and annoyance that they had been arguing before she arrived.

“Glad you made it, Master Jedi.” Sergeant Rusk called to her as she approached. “We were about to start searching.”

“I’m only three minutes late.” Remi said defensively, “Isn’t that a bit soon to start forming a search party?”

“I saw Scourge walking through your zone.” Kira said still eyeing the Sith suspiciously, “He said he didn’t see you, we were worried that something happened to you.”

“Perhaps we should work in pairs,” Scourge said mockingly. “It appears I need a keeper.”

Remi rubbed her eyes, not in the mood for squabbling. “Fine,” she checked her datapad for their next orders. “Scourge you’re with me.” Kira opened her mouth to object but closed it knowing there was no point in arguing. Remi was the only one among them who stood a chance at keeping the Sith in line if he decided to show his true nature.

She assigned tasks and watched them set out in opposite directions. When they were gone, Remi carefully checked her gear and datapad for instructions.

“We need to grab some anti-radiation serum for this next part.” She started walking in the direction indicated by her map. “Apparently we need to fix a few tanks before the radiation leaks kill us all.” She showed him the datapad and the information particular to the anti-rad serum they would need to procure. “I’ve seen your welding work, I’m probably a little better at it, so you can leave the repairs to me.”

“Yes,” he said falling in behind her his voice devoid of inflection, “and you may leave the rocks to me.”

So... I'm not the only one who's gotten stuck somewhere and had to wait for my quicktravel to come back... right? right? and no /stuck didn't work and half the time it says I can't use quicktravel while moving anyway

I think I have had at least one character in every MMO whose main talent was falling through the ground and getting stuck on invisible geometry.

Drakkach saunters over to the largest window in his Kaas City residence. The unceasing gloom is soul-killing for some but he finds it delightful. It's home to him, the lightning, the damp scent of jungle permeating even the most airtight chambers in the Citadel. The Heartless, many began to call him- in whispers if they valued life- after he'd struck a devastating blow to the Evocii on Hutta in the early days of his career. The nickname is erroneous. He does have a heart of sorts. He often believes it belongs to the storms, is forever owned by the glimmer of artificial illumination through mist and precipitation.

Raina understands, or pretends to understand. She slides a glass of claret into his hand, pecks him on the cheek, and slips out of the room. It's their nightly ritual: she watches HoloNet dramas, he watches the sky and the lights.

Routines. Domestic comforts. Time is finally taking its toll.

The ghostly image in the window doesn't appear elderly by any stretch. Retirement hasn't stopped him from keeping fit as possible despite aching joints, and in his experience pureblood Rattataki age rather well...with the exception of his sister, of course; Sith corruption hasn't done her any favors in terms of retaining her looks. The man in the reflection grins over the rim of his glass, pale blue eyes crinkling with mirth: Astara might live far longer than him courtesy of whatever sorcery she could cook up but he wouldn't be wearing a mask on his deathbed.

"Why, I never. You're smiling. That's a treat. More apprentices dueling on the taxi pad?" Raina reappears beside him and peers through the window. "I'm sorry for interrupting your you-time but I don't think I can bear another episode of that silly old Corellian love story."

"Which part is unbearable, dear? The setting or the story?" He switches the glass to his left hand, drapes his arm over her shoulders. Her ghost in the transparisteel has laugh lines and silvery once-dark hair. He's proud to be responsible for the laugh lines. He might not have been able to give her the love she deserved but he had made her laugh over the decades. "No apprentices tonight. So many aspiring Sith melt in the rain. Didn't you see all those red and purple puddles the last time we went for dinner at the Nexus Room? I tried to warn you about stepping in Sith."

She punches his bicep. "Sith jokes. You, sir, are a complete and utter bastard," her voice is mock-stern but he can tell she's suppressing a giggle. "The drama, well, both of those. A high-ranking Cipher gets down on his knees to propose to a lowly Ensign in front of an acklay cage in the Coronet Zoo? Ridiculous."

Now she's making him laugh. "You never have been and never will be 'lowly'." He sets the glass on the window's deep sill and turns to kiss the crown of her head. "Go fluff the pillows for us, would you?" He'll never grow tired of watching her walk away from him; age certainly hasn't affected the spectacular view.

Her delighted exclamation from their bedroom warms a distant corner of his heart.

"Tarisian roses!" She trots towards him- neither of them can really run anymore- and flings herself into his arms. "They're beautiful. So many."

"A dozen for every decade since the night a charming Ensign accepted the proposal of a caddish Cipher. You thought I'd forgotten. I'm not senile. Yet." He strokes her hair, admiring the nectar-scented silver. "Although...I don't remember ever keeping an acklay on the ship. I take it you didn't fluff the pillows? I might have seen a Fury-7 Prototype Blaster under them earlier."

"Funny, that," an impish smile, "I saw a bowcaster on the counter a bit ago. Go look. I was rather shocked to see one without a Wookiee attached to it. And you never have been and never will be 'caddish'." She breaks their embrace and drags him towards the kitchen, pauses at the closed door. "You first, just in case."

"In case of what?"

"Wookiees raiding the cupboards?"

Something's afoot, and it's not Wookiees. He pushes at the door tentatively.

"Happy Anniversary, papa!"

"Happy Anniversary, father."

He hasn't seen them in the flesh in over ten years. His girls. His frail, lovely Kalya and gorgeous spitfire Rhexi: one the very image of a younger- and feminine- him, the other the very likeness of a more youthful Raina. They rise from their chairs, lunge and hug him at the same time. Somehow Raina managed to sneak them in without him noticing- and how had she convinced Rhexi to make an appearance at all? No matter. They're alive and here. He hugs them back, his eyes stinging.

Something cracks and shatters inside him. Warmth spills into so many corners that they cease to be corners, empty space filled and made whole in a matter of seconds.

"I've missed you both so much..."

He twists his face towards Raina. She's still in the doorway, and he's gratified to see her swiping at tears of her own.

"I love you," he mouths at her over the heads of his daughters.

"I know," she mouths back, those beautiful laugh lines deepening.

Timewise in regards to Grey. Red. Black. this takes place sometime between Coruscant and Voss. It's kind of sappy, I know, but I scribbled it out after opening presents and before family Xmas dinner; I was feeling all warm and fuzzy

“C’mon Li keep up!” Ennaly was laughing at her twin. They had been down at the spaceport looking at the new people arriving that day. The suns were going down and their mother would be furious if they were late again.

“Ennaly, Ensinlli!” Ennaly was right their mother was furious, and strangely nervous as she called her oldest daughters. “Come here, we have guests.”

Ennaly first noticed the brown robes of their guest. He was a jedi and she knew exactly why he was here.

“Girls you know that you both are force sensitive, this kind jedi is here to test you,” Their mother said this like it was some great treat.

“I would like to tell you about the opportunities you will have in the jedi order,” the jedi did not seem to realize that this was Ennaly’s worst fear. While her sister was listening attentively, Ennaly was listening in growing horror at the stories about rules and restrictions.

“Mother! I should go check the vaporators while there is still sunlight,” Ennaly was desperate to leave the room and the plans that were being put into place for her future.

“Good idea, hurry back!” Her mother let her leave not knowing it would be the last time she saw her daughter.

Ennaly went and did some minor repairs on the vaporators because she told her mother she would; there was some damage on the machines that could get serious quickly. After she did the repairs she ran off toward the spaceport.

She spent most of the first few seconds trying to adapt to the crowds without the protection of her twin. There was a ship leaving that night, and Ennaly was adept at blending in. She stowed away on the ship without drawing any notice to herself. As she felt the ship take off she knew she was on her way to a new life.

(Three weeks later)

“I don’t understand captain, food just keeps disappearing!” This was just another in a long line of complaints that the captain had heard since they left Tattooine. Ennaly smiled from her hiding spot, they still hadn’t noticed and, other than the food, she returned everything.

“Just keep a closer eye on stores, I don’t want to have to stop and resupply anytime soon,” the captain was puzzled about the disappearances as well: food, clothes, and strangest of all books were disappearing and then reappearing all over the ship. It was slightly troubling that this was still a mystery.

Later that night Ennaly was returning a book when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned around to the angry face of the cook.

“Where have you been hiding?” The cook yelled in her face loudly enough to wake the rest of the crew.

Ennaly was horrified; her sister was the one who was social, not her. As she tried to form a coherent answer, the captain surprisingly came to her rescue.

“Let her go, there was no true harm done; I think she was quite clever to hide this long,” the captain was smiling slightly.

“No harm done! She stole two of my best outfits!” The first mate was screaming.

Ennaly’s brain finally started working enough for a snappy comeback. “I put them all back!” Okay snappy in her own mind but she said something, Ensinlli would have been proud. At the thought of her twin brought tears to her eyes.

“I’m looking for a job,” Ennaly was currently feeling a combination of mortal terror and heartbreaking sorrow; she wasn’t really paying attention to what came out of her mouth.

“A job…that might not be a bad idea,” the captain looked thoughtful. “Do you know anything about smuggling?”

Ennaly got a hold on the sadness but the terror was still there. “Smuggling, the illegal transport of goods, I could learn if it means you won’t kill me.”

The captain now looked offended. “We aren’t murderers. What’s your name?”

“My name is Ennaly.”

(Three years later)

Dear Ensinlli, I’m writing to you…Ennaly stopped here because she knew she would never actually send the letter. I’m writing to you because in a week is your nineteenth birthday and I wanted to say Happy Birthday! “This is ridiculous,” Ennaly said to herself. “I don’t even know where she is now.”

The alarm next to her went off and she got out of her hiding spot, ready to start the day. She was proud that to this day her new family still didn’t know where she went to get away from them. They adopted her pretty quickly. The cook and the first mate still despised her, but she stole almost exclusively from them so it was understandable. She laughed quietly to herself and started to get out of bed.

There were strange voices in the hallway and she didn’t like being out when there were strangers on the ship, so she stayed put and listened…that saved her life. There was yelling in the hallway and then there was blaster fire. The terror she thought she left behind three years ago came back in full force; it froze her in place and all she could do was listen as the sounds of death echoed throughout the ship. The sounds of fighting stopped and she could hear the pirates talking about destroying the ship as they disembarked. Ennaly ran to the controls and sent the ship into hyperdrive before the pirates had their cannons warmed up.

While scouring the ship she found nothing but dead bodies; the pirates took all the cargo and supplies. Ennaly did not cry while she was searching the ship but afterward she completely broke down. After an hour of sobbing, she pulled herself together and went back to the controls. She was close to Nar Shaddah, the only place she could think of. Nar Shaddah was the crew’s next destination and Ennaly was grateful the captain believed in paying for supplies in advance and had everything set up for their arrival.

Ennaly landed on Nar Shaddah and spoke to the contact there. She left with restocked supplies, which would last longer with just her using them, and a shipment of blasters. She set the course and entered hyperspace. She started crying again when she could look away from the controls. She rested a bit and pulled herself together when she was nearing her destination.

“I can fall apart later,” she said to herself, a habit she fell into when she really needed to think. “Right now I have blasters to deliver to Ord Mantel.”

Ennaly is my Miriallan smuggler who I got to Belsavis but was so under leveled that i must give her up. Her sister is my consular who I gave up on in the middle of Coruscant because I don't like the voice acting. They are the only actual characters in this story.

nope, not just you- I got stuck in between some rocks the other day; my qt had about 10 minutes to go so I did /sit and then /stuck...it worked, ended right back up on the cliff above...not that it will ever work again

(and don't give up on Belsavis- go back and do a bit more on Hoth, farm mobs for xp if you have to...just please don't delete maybe we need a Save Ennaly campaign?)

For the record, I don’t know anything about actual law, so apologies to anyone who does and pardon the legalbabble. I hope it sounds official.

Another explosion rocked the ship, then a savage bang accompanied by the sound of rending metal. Warning klaxons blared and the lights shifted to the emergency backup, bathing the hallway in danger-yellow. Shen heard the computer’s calm artificial voice over the ship’s speakers, “Warning, hull breach portside, deck two. Atmospheric containment holding. Proceed to escape pods in an orderly fashion.” The phrase repeated in Huttese, then Bocce. Just in case you didn’t understand either of the first two languages. As if any evacuation would be orderly.

The ship faltered at a hyperjump ten minutes before, and the proximity alert sounded shortly afterward. So despite Captain Chalee’s order to return to quarters and prepare for hyperjump, Shen was already heading in the general direction of the escape pods. Located, coincidentally, portside on deck three, two levels down. Just seemed sensible. Now there was some kind of boarding action going on and he had no intention of hanging around. Shen took off at a dead run.

He jumped over a pair of gonk droids fallen on their sides, their stumpy legs churning as though that would somehow move them forward. He skidded around a corner and careened off the far wall, barely able to keep his feet. The lights flickered. He recovered and fled down the hallway.

Another left, quick slide down the access tube ladder and he dropped ten meters in front of a boarding party. Blocking the path to the escape pods. Shen barely had time to register they wore matching armor with red icons before four bright bolts stabbed out from four well-aimed blasters and everything went black.

He crept out of blackness more than a little surprised. First that there was an afterlife, and it looked and smelled an awful lot like the Flutterplume of Happiness. Then that he was not, in fact, dead.

Somehow, he didn’t find that a comforting thought.

His arms were pinned behind his back, hands tight together in binders. He shifted his weight and shimmied his wrists, receiving a mild electrical shock for his trouble. Correction: shockcuffs. A second pair shackled his ankles. There was an all too familiar weight on his neck. Lovely.

He was in the droid repair and charging chamber. The only droid here was the backup astromech, an antique the crew kept hooked to the charger just in case one of the main ones failed. He’d never even seen it move. All the other ports were empty. The lights were back to normal. No other crew nearby.

Who were these guys, anyway? Why the hell wasn’t he dead? Pirates would have killed him, slavers chucked him in a pen with the rest. He replayed his capture in his mind, the entire fraction of a second. Matching uniforms. Heavy armor. Red icon. Red icon. Red Imperial icon.

Pwusko ittu.

System picket. Had to be. There was an Imperial base in this system and the captain already sold choice commodities there. She gave a discount to the Imperials and called it their “non-interference tax”. They’d just completed a trade of spice and luxuries for partially refined tibanna gas off the Czerka collection operation. Looks like someone didn’t get the memo.

And yet the question remained: Why the hell wasn’t he dead? He was a hostile crewmember on a hostile ship. Imperials should have killed him too. What the kark was with the stun-gun? He squirmed and the shockcuffs zapped him again, stronger. He stopped like an obedient little prisoner. Maybe there was something he could use to short them? He glanced around at the tools and spare parts scattered on the workbench.

Before anything caught his attention a pair of goons in the matching Imperial armor muscled into the room. One grabbed Shen’s arm and hauled him to his feet. “Get up,” he snarled in heavily accented Huttese, “it’s your turn.” Without waiting for a response he dragged the Twi’lek down the hallway, his partner taking up the rear. One of them mercifully lengthened the tether on his shackles so they didn’t shock him as he tried to keep up.

They marched him down to the port cargo hold. Armored Imperials filled the space, faceless and anonymous. They’d stacked the cargo against the interior bulkhead except for a selection of crates at the front. All were open, all contained some contraband or other. Spice, of course. One with medical ampoules; Shen couldn’t read the labels at this distance. Droid parts and chips in another, he remembered loading those. Handful of other things. One was full of wine. Captain Chalee only ever sold single bottles from that crate.

The main cargo airlock was closed on this side, but the indicator on its control panel showed only the magnetic seal active on the exterior portal. Airtight, but no door. Beside it was an umbilical junction connecting the Flutterplume’s human-scale airlock to what he presumed was the Imperial’s ship. They must be grappled together. The umbilical was translucent, but all the lighting in the hold and running lights outside created too many reflections on the crinkled, reinforced plastic. He couldn’t see anything through it.

Beside the umbilical was a makeshift table. Two open containers supporting a displaced lid. A faded label on one crate proclaimed it held two-part catalyzed ekkan adhesive, but the open tubes showing contained raw ryll spice. Shen could smell it. From the other he could see what looked like a furry ear and the top of a head. Some kind of animal, maybe in stasis or something.

But it was the woman behind the table that caught his attention. A human in that grey zone between youth and middle age. All sharp bony cheekbones and chin, short black hair slick beneath a formal officer’s cap, skin pale from too long under artificial light. Full, red lips, as though transplanted from a more gentle face. Hard blue eyes, chips of deepwater ice, glared at him from beneath dark brows. Shen still didn’t understand what was going on. Returning her glower with a blank look wasn’t a lie. Even so, he planned to keep up the ignorant act for as long as it was useful.

A protocol droid backed her. She looked at her assistant, a younger man with a datapad at her side. He might have been a male version of her, their color, dress and demeanor were so similar. Shen guessed she outranked him, she had more decoration on her perfect uniform. She started a portable holorecorder, “Which one is this?” she asked. Her voice was high, all the pleasantness shouted out of it well before now.

His guard shoved him forward with the butt of his rifle. The younger man consulted his datapad, “The only Twi’lek left on the crew roster is Shen. No last name.”

Her laser-turret stare swiveled back to Shen, “Is that you?” she asked.

Shen wasn’t about to let them know he spoke Basic. They’d just leave the room and discuss him where he couldn’t eavesdrop. “No speakee Basic,” he said, faking a thick accent and using the Huttese verb form.

“Confirm his identity,” she ordered.

“Yes, Captain,” the younger officer triggered his shock collar. Shen winced, but the electrodes didn’t activate, they only jabbed the back of his neck and withdrew. Younger-officer observed the feed on his datapad. “Confirmed, Captain Thackery. Male Twi’lek, age seventeen. DNA tracker stamp in lieu of family name, common name ‘Shen’,” he paused, scanning the information, “oh, this is a mess.”

“This ship’s recordkeeping is abominable. I’m hardly surprised,” Captain Thackery said, returning her attention to the younger man, “What’s the trouble, Ensign?”

Ensign’s lips drew tight, “He’s a slave. Technically, he can’t be tried.”

Thackery’s glare could cut durasteel, “Have we already convicted his owner?”

“That’s the problem, sir. He has three owners laying claim to him on three different planets and four Documents of Fugitive Property on file. That’s just with Imperial records. One of these is more than five years old. It’s a copy of a filing out of Hutt space and I haven’t even accessed the independent database yet.” The ensign looked up, “None of his registered owners are aboard this vessel, sir.”

Captain Thackery exhaled slowly and turned off the holorecorder, “What’s protocol on this, ensign?”

The younger man cleared his throat, “Technically, he can’t be held responsible for actions carried out under his owner’s orders. The owner can be tried for illegal acts carried out by his slaves if the slaves were acting under his direction. But it’s clear he’s not here under orders. He’s listed as crew. Officially, we’re supposed to return him to his owner.”

Captain Thackery snorted, “I suppose we could divide him in thirds and send the pieces.” Shen kept staring blankly at Thackery. He’d followed the speakers of the conversation as though he didn’t understand it, but his situation was cratering fast. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

“I suppose you could do that, sir,” the ensign agreed, “Although you’d still have to pay the standard Imperial reimbursement for destruction of animate property.”

“It’s impossible to insure a chronic deserter, so a third of the standard would be better than nothing,” Thackery muttered, “Sounds like someone was running the old Jawa Droid scam.”

“Excuse me?” the ensign asked.

The corner of Captain Thackery’s pretty lip twitched in what might have passed for amusement, “Happens all over, but Jawas on Tatooine are notorious. Jawa sells a droid to a settler. It’s a valuable droid, one the settler might not be able to afford, but the Jawa offers it at a reasonable price. Guarantees it’s a good droid, even puts a special restraining bolt on it so it can’t wander away. Settler pays for the droid, counts himself lucky at getting such a good deal. At least until the droid up and leaves, the ‘special restraining bolt’ being nothing more than a remote homing device guiding the droid back to the Jawa. Who turns around and sells it to another settler.”

“I see,” the ensign said.

Thackery’s gaze pinned Shen. He kept his look blank. That was a good scam, wish he’d thought of it several ships ago. Thackery continued, “Of course, a droid can’t think. It only follows orders. A slave is a more active participant in the scheme. And he needs an accomplice.”

“True,” the ensign replied.

“All right,” Thackery said, “add Unlawful Employment of Animate Property and Enticement to Defraud to the late Captain Chalee’s list of crimes. And misrepresenting his legal status makes our boy an independent agent, correct? Responsible for his actions?”

The ensign nodded, “Ship’s log indicates it’s landed several places since his most recent owner filed Documents of Fugitive Property. The last stop was at the Imperial base in this system. He’d be excused from responsibility if he were trying to get back to his owner, but he’s made no such attempt. I think you have a strong case for independent action, Captain. Assuming anyone questioned the conviction, of course, and I don’t think that’s likely.”

"Alright then. Include Misrepresentation of Legal Status and Collusion with Intent to Defraud with the smuggling charges," she continued, "Let's get it on record." Captain Thackery turned the holorecorder back on. "ME, translate the proceedings."

The way she said the droid's designation made it sound like 'Emmy'. A woman's name. The droid bowed, "Yes, Captain Thackery," it replied. Its voice was female as well as its name.

Thackery turned back to Shen, "You, Twi'lek, common name Shen, stand accused of Assisting in Transfer of Contraband Goods, specific types enumerated in section two of the formal indictment. For informational purposes, such contraband includes but is not limited to spice, varieties Pyrepenol, Nyrrian, and Ryll in both refined and unrefined forms, and one taxidermy Wookiee. In light of the incontrovertible evidence your advocate, Ensign Quinn, has entered a plea of no contest…”

Shen pretended to pay attention to Emmy’s eerily polite translation of the proceedings. This couldn’t be happening. Not in space. Not on a military ship. There was nowhere to go, no place to run. There had to be an out. Had to be.

Captain Thackery finished her speech and rapped the container lid. Emmy caught up with her in Huttese a few seconds later, “…are hereby sentenced to Transportation to the Imperial penal world of Sevarcos II for the remainder of your natural life.”

Thackery nodded to his guards, “Put him in one of the brig cells like the others.”

The rifle butt shoved him toward the umbilical tube. No. Can’t go out like this, “Wait, wait,” he said in Huttese, balking.

Emmy translated for him. Captain Thackery looked bored, “Something to say?” she asked.

He waited for the droid to relay the message. This can’t be right, he’d seen holodramas about court cases. “I…I want to appeal.” Didn’t he hear that all the time? Appeal to a higher authority?

Captain Thackery cocked one dark eyebrow when she heard Emmy’s version, “The system judge reviews all summary convictions as a matter of course. Under Article Three, section five of the Imperial Navy Code, the Captain of any Imperial vessel is empowered to halt, search, and impound if necessary any other vessel suspected of piracy or dealing in prohibited goods. The Captain is further empowered to try and impose sentence on the vessel’s crew, as he or she deems fit and appropriate.” She waited for Emmy to catch up before continuing, leaning forward on her makeshift judge’s bench, “For your information, the Imperial Navy is not in the business of returning recalcitrant slaves to their owners. It’s unofficial policy to shoot them and pay the damages.” She waited again, watching for Shen’s reaction to her words, “the way I see it, since you’re going to die either way, the Empire ought to get some value out of you first.”

Shen felt queasy, as though someone shut off the gravity in the mess hall as a prank. But this was no prank. “I…I don’t arrange for the cargo. I just shift it. Captain Chalee’s the one you want,” he stammered. Tried not to sound desperate.

When Emmy finished the translation a smile appeared on Thackery’s lips, the first real smile he’d seen. “Your Captain Chalee already paid the price for breaking the Empire’s laws. Would you prefer her sentence?” Captain Thackery waved a hand toward the large cargo airlock. The one with the open exterior door, only the magnetic seal holding in atmosphere.

Shen couldn’t breathe. There were a lot of people he’d enjoy shoving out an airlock without a suit, but Captain Chalee wasn’t one of them. Greedy, sure, but who wasn’t? She’d signed him as crew, not tried to sell him. He’d even gotten paid this time. Only a 32nd share, but it was more than zero.

Thackery rolled on, “Section Eight of the Imperial Code of Uniform Justice states clearly that a crewmember who witnesses or suspects illegal activity onboard their vessel is obligated to report such activity to the nearest Imperial authority at their earliest opportunity. Should they fail to do so, they are as liable for the consequences as those engaging in the prohibited activity.” She sat back, waiting for Emmy to finish translating her words, “Either way, boy, you’re done.” Thackery rapped the bench again, “Cease translation, Emmy.”

Probably why Chalee signed him. So he had a reason to protect the rest of them. And to stay quiet. What’s a little shared guilt among friends?

She nodded again at his guards and they pushed him toward the plastic tube connecting the two ships. The juncture was red, bright caution warnings in Basic. No gravity. He looked beyond the thin, crinkly film, all that separated him from vacuum. The Imperial ship was maybe a two hundred meters away. Another pair of armed guards stood station at the far end. One of the marines preceded him into the umbilical, the second shoved him in.

He floated. Couldn’t lose his balance; he didn’t have any balance. With bound hands he couldn’t guide himself and bounced into the side. Plastic stretched and creaked. He tried very hard to ignore the four masses outside to the right. They were hard to see. Umbilical plastic wasn’t meant as a window. Just as well. Chalee might have gotten what she deserved, but he didn’t have to like looking at it.

He heard Captain Thackery’s voice again, moving on to more important things, “What’s left, Ensign?”

“Two more crew, sir. By then the slicers will have the encrypted records.”

“Excellent. A few more seizures like this one and Commadore Deckard can kiss his post goodbye,” Thackery said, “The Empire has no room for corruption.”

“Yes, sir,” the ensign agreed.

The burly marine, more at home in zero-g than Shen was, guided him down the corridor as though he was cargo on a repulsorlift sled. The sounds of the summary court behind him continued.

Ennaly had sent most of the crew out and she was now gladder then ever she made that decision.

“Eeeeee***kk!” Ennaly screamed. She was staring in her mirror with a look of growing horror.

While she was working on the engines, Risha heard a scream from the vicinity of the captain’s room. She strolled that way unhurriedly sure that there couldn’t be anything too dangerous on the ship since none of the crew had actually come back yet.

When she made it to Ennaly’s bedroom, the door burst open and both girls screamed. Ennaly screamed in surprise; Risha screamed in the realization that Ennaly probably did something horrible to herself.

“Um…did you mean to do that to your face?” Risha was staring openly at the tragedy on her captain’s face.

Ennaly looked around nervously and gestured for Risha to enter. Ennaly’s room was a disaster area, only now more so than usual. The table under her mirror was covered in cosmetics and there was an instruction pamphlet attached to the mirror.

“I followed all the instructions, then I looked in the mirror and there was this!” Ennaly was gesturing madly and her voice was hysterical.

Now that she knew what happened, Risha started laughing. It started as a giggle and progressed into gales of laughter. Ennaly did not look amused. The thick black eye-liner, fluorescent yellow eye-shadow, and hot pink lip gloss that were currently on the face of the mirialan captain accentuated the glare she turned on Risha nicely. Risha continued laughing and looked at the various cosmetics that were obviously made for a human complexion. They could hear the main hatch open and the voices of the other members of the crew as they entered the ship.

Ennaly turned a desperate look to Risha, “Please help me get this junk off my face.”