A gun pressed up against the smuggler’s head. His hands where raised, his body facing the wall. A second mandalorian began patting him down.

“Careful down there,” the smuggler warned, his voice smooth and persuasive. “That’s the most important jewel.”

The mandalorian didn’t respond, but he was more careful around certain “regions”. The smuggler’s cargo surrounded him, filling up most of the space in the small cargo hold they were in. The solider whose gun was up against the smuggler’s head commanded the other to get to work searching the cargo. The mandalorian grumbled, but complied.

The cargo consisted of spice, weapons, and droid parts. After searching the entire room, the mandalorian reported back to the other.

“Just basic smuggled goods. Nothing special.” His helmet distorted his voice, making it sound monotone and hollow.

The other one removed his helmet, cradling it between his arm and chest, revealing that the he was actually a she! Her hair was short and dark, like her skin. Without the mask, her features developed, and it was clear she was female.

“Alright then. We should bring this one back to the others. I think…” her voice stopped, hearing a slight crash.

She looked around, and then placed the helmet back on her head. She turned the smuggler around, gripping his shoulder with one hand, while the other pointed the pistol at his face. The T-shaped visor glared at the smuggler, but he was stone-faced. His eyes revealed something else though, anticipation. The warrior wondered why.

What could possibly make this smuggler happy? His ship was destroyed, and anything… anyone on it would be dead she thought. Still, she thought, can’t be too careful. Her thoughts where interrupted by the high-pitched beeping of the freighter’s alarm system. She turned around, only to feel the force of an uppercut landing on her armor. She flew back, collapsing on a durasteel container. She barely had to wheeze before the giant grabbed her around the neck and squeezed.

The wookiee dropped the mandalorian, its body limp as a ragdoll. The other had removed his pistol, and aimed at the wookiee. He roared, and using both his hands, swiped at the warrior with all his strength. The mandalorian dropped, and didn’t get back up. The smuggler retrieved the pistol, and fired down upon his assailant, assuring death to his foe.

The ship’s controls felt natural to the smuggler, like that of his old ship, Anaroaria. It wouldn’t be the same without her he thought. The wookiee growled, and the smuggler nodded.

“Shut up will’ya Acara.” Acara moaned again, and the smuggler shouted. “Yeah, yeah -you saved me. Why don’t you save your gloating for until we’re safe in the hyperlanes.”

The wookiee looked as though he might speak, but he didn’t. The smuggler began steering the vessel away from the blockade. He looked at the map, and noted the coordinates. “I guess we go to Dantooine then. Alright. Acara, make course for Dantooine.” Acara began entering coordinates, and and the smuggler continued to fly the ship. Finally, they hit the hyperdrive.

The smuggler paced the ship, thinking of Anaroaria. He fiddled with the only thing he had left from her, his blaster. The pistol was a steel blue color, with specs are gray coming through the old paint. It was his oldest memory, get the blaster. The D-88 was his first blaster, and his last.

He wondered over to the captain’s quarters, and looked around. A simple bed, closet, and mirror. Glancing at the mirror, he saw himself, Captain Risec Astucia. The amazing Captain Risec Astucia-smuggler extraordinaire. His clothes where charred from the fires of the battle. His orange hair and pale skin had soot covering them. His eyes had the green fire of content about them. He was tall, maybe 6’1. Fit, but not too muscular, and clever. Not so much intelligent, but so clever and witty it made up for it.

The ship resembled his old one, the same model- an XS light freighter. The only difference was the color, and the interior. This was gray and green, while his was yellow striped. The interior was bare, with only necessities aboard. Acara had been repairing the cargo, and making sure the engines would hold. They hadn’t gone down without a fight. Acara was the engineer in the group. Risec was the smuggler, the pilot, quick-shot, and the negotiator. Acara could fight though, years as a slave and gladiator had made him hostile and deadly to any who opposed his friends.

Risec had lain down on his bed. He liked this ship. It may make him emotional, but he liked it. But what for a name? What had the ship done to earn it a name? Risec pondered this, and finally found the perfect name. Not a real name, but he loved it. The ship represented it perfectly. Beaten and worn, and giving them an escape. The Survivor.

The trip lasted two days, but with the engines dying constantly it seemed to last longer. As the ship finally set down in the spaceport, a group of agents made their way inside the docking bay and waited in front of the vessel. Risec rose from the cockpit, a scowl covering his face. Agents where never good for business. As he walked down the ramp of the Survivor, Risec studied the agents.

Out of three agents total, one was bald, the other female, and the last a Zabrak. The Zabrak was pale, with tattoos down both of his arms, which were visible by the short sleeve uniform. The women, human, with long black hair and grey eyes stepped to the front of the group, watching Risec. The other man was also human, with dark skin and no hair. He had slight stubble and bags under his eyes.

Risec stopped, and crossed his arms over his chest. He was nervous, but stayed stone-faced, letting no emotion leave him. The female agent cleared her throat, and then began speaking.

“We’re here with Khoonda investigation services. I’m Lora Sena,” she motioned to the Zabrak, “this is Neman Dao, and the bald one is…” she was cut off by the man, saying that Risec could address him as “D”. Lora motioned for Risec to come near, but he didn’t move.

“I’m fine here. What’d you come for?” Risec asked, trying to get the agents to leave him alone. His skill in smooth talking didn’t seem to help him now.

“We’ve had a recent influx of smuggled goods, fake artifacts, and scams. We’ve been tasked with searching arriving ships for such goods.” Lora said, the emotion gone from her voice, as if this was the thousandth time she had said that. Nemen Dao looked at the ship, then at Risec. His horns glistened in the light coming from the sun through the glass roof of the docking bay.

“This is your ship?” He asked, steeping forward. “I could’a swore that a group of mercenaries had this exact ship a couple days ago.” Risec leaned against the support beams of the ramp, crossing one leg over the over.

“Look,” Risec said, “me and my partner are just refugees. We have no contraband. And no, this isn’t my ship. My friend lent me his so I could stay here for a while. He lost a bet.” Risec put all the persuasive powers he had into his voice. Nemen looked satisfied, but Lora and “D” didn’t.

“Whose this ‘partner’ you spoke of?” asked Lora. She had a curious face, liked she was actually interested in knowing. “D” on the other hand, couldn’t have cared more. Risec motioned the “one moment” sign, and then went inside the Survivor.

Once inside, he stopped. His hand made its way to his forehead, something he did when he needed a plan. Acara had heard the conversation through the thin sheets of electrum the ship walls were made out of. Risec thought of simply taking off, but he figured the agents would follow. Finally he turned and Acara and returned to the ramp.

“This is Acara. Acara meet Nemen, Lora, and ‘D’.” The agents appeared shocked, their mouths nearly touching the floor. Finally, “D” spoke, his voice thick and raspy.

“A wookiee? Really? A wookiee is your ‘partner’?” He spoke the last word jokingly, and in a major sarcastic accent.

“Yeah, he is. Wanna take that up with him?” Risec questioned, waving his arms, allowing Acara to walk down the ramp and get closer to the agents. They moved back slightly, but the fear had set in.

“I think your all set then!” Lora announced in fake excitement. She allowed Risec to walk past, and leave, with Acara walking slowly behind. Finally, just as they were exiting the docking bay, Risec waved goodbye and smiled.

Outside the spaceport, Risec found himself in the midst of a courtyard bustling with refugees and civilians. Markets and shops, vendors and merchants crowded streets.

“Apparently things have changed. Last I heard of Khoonda, it was barren.” He mentioned to Acara, who was tall enough to see over the vast crowds. “Hey, see any parts salesmen, or engineers from up there?” He asked Acara, who turned his head and peered, but saw nothing. He moaned a no, and Risec began making his way through the crowds. Asking refugees didn’t seem to help, they just said to go to the administrative center, so Risec and Acara did.

Bumping and pushing, they fought their way into the administrative building, and sought out a refugee welcoming person. Acara made a few civilians back up, but for the most part, they went unnoticed. It seemed everyone had a problem they needed solved, but no one wanted to help. Risec stopped, and then spoke.

“I see easy money.” Risec whispered to Acara, who didn’t understand. “Need help? We got the answers!” Risec yelled in a musical tone and fashion, and the crowds moved to him.

Nemen Dao wasn’t sure what the point was of searching the refugee’s ship in the first place. He didn’t even care if the man had any contraband, he had a wookiee. A stinking wookiee! He could see it now, the end of Nemen Dao, killed by angry wookiee. And not your average wookiee. No, this wookiee, by the look of his room liked weapons. Two bowcasters, a vibrosword, and grenades. None of it was legal, but that didn’t stop the wookiee. And Nemen wasn’t going to be the Zabrak that reported illegal weapon possession of a wookiee.

They had begun searching as soon as the travelers left. They scanned the ship, and saw nothing, but “D” had been suspicious. He insisted they check inside, and since he outranked Nemen, “D” won.

“D”’s real name was Damien, but that was all Nemen knew. Damien was always referred to by his first name, and no files listed a last name. He was a tough guy, big and muscular, and knew how to fight. In the few combat situations that had arisen in Khoonda, Damien was the last to fall, and Nemen had never seen that happen either. The training in Khoonda for services was low, and Nemen had always wondered why Damien knew so much.

In the search, nothing had come up. Nemen had reported twice, but Damien had forced him to double check. Then triple check. Lora just did as she was told, but Nemen didn’t think she cared about the contraband now either. Finally, he felt something. It was on the floor, something small and bearly noticeable. But he felt it.

He didn’t make a noise; knowing that saying anything would land him searching the entire ship for more. He was exhausted now already. Then Nemen heard a boot fall, and hit the floor. In the doorway of the cargo hold was the silhouette of the traveler, now known to Nemen as a smuggler. His hands were crossed, and he leaned against the doorway. Nemen was on all four with his butt up in the air, his face staring up at the smuggler.

“What’cha doing down there?”

Risec stood in the doorway, his hands crossed and a smile across his lips. His clothing was still charred, but the soot had been removed from his skin and hair. Acara’s frame appeared behind him, dark and imposing. The Zabrak on the ground shuddered, and silently whimpered. Nemen Dao began to carefully rise from the ground. When he finally stood completely up, Risec grabbed him by the collar, and yanked Nemen towards him. Their faces were inches apart. Risec’s smile had become a scowl, while Nemen Dao face had morphed to fear.

“I thought we had agreed not to come onto my ship?!” Risec said slowly, allowing for his voice to seep into Nemen.

“We…we…”

“Well?” interrupted Risec. Acara had moved deeper into the ship, and growled when he found the other agents. He moved them towards Nemen, and finally the three agents stood in the cargo bay, while Risec and Acara stood in the doorway. Risec shoved Nemen back, and he landed on Lora. She stumbled, but stayed up.

“So, let’s hear it.” announced Risec. He motioned for someone to begin speaking, but no one did. Finally, Risec drew his pistol, and aimed at Nemen. “Talk.”

“Damien forced us to!” He blurted, which in turn earned him a stare from his superior. Risec turned to “D”, but “D” spoke before he could.

“You’re a smuggler. I arrest smugglers.” Damien said, cool and casual. He was level headed, and clearly knew what he was doing. The other agents looked nervous, as though they were caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

“Damien. That’s your name?” and “D” nodded. Risec stood there thinking, and at last holstered his weapon. “Get out.” He stated, and Acara roared his approval. Nemen made a dash to the door, and sprinted down the ramp. Lora tried to compose herself, but failed to do so. She was sweating heavily, but followed Damien out as calmly as she could.

Risec had entered the ship for supplies. They had gained popularity quickly attemping to solve problems for civilians, and Risec knew a goldmine when he saw one. The ship needed repairs-that was what he had told Acara. This was true, but only some of the credits would go to that. A smuggler had to dress in style!

After hiding the cargo again, Risec set off for the first of new jobs. A man had approached him earlier, begging for Risec’s help. The man had seen Mandalorians attacking a farmer’s house outside of Khoonda, and asked for Risec to approach them. Risec had agreed, and now was walking though the tall grass of the plains.

Risec made his way through the grass towards the house. It seemed fine, with only minor damage to windows.

“Cover me.” Risec said, and Acara nodded while Risec drew his pistol. Mandalorians don’t negotiate.

A flurry shots fired out of Risec’s blaster. He rolled to his right, and into cover- a knocked over table. Acara lifted his bowcaster and fired, sending more bolts towards the Mandalorians. The negotiations had gone sour.

Risec raised himself up, and fired at a Mandalorian, hitting his chest. The warrior fell backwards, and crumpled on the floor. Illegal modifications were good at something, and that was killing. Risec held his pistol in both hands; it was easier to fight behind cover like that. Red and blue blaster fire sailed over his position, and Risec ducked even more. Acara was laying down suppressive fire, and knocking of Mandalorians left and right. In the beginning there had been twelve Mando’s. Six where still standing.

Risec stood up, and fired. Green streaks of death whirled towards the enemy, and hit their mark. Suddenly, Risec felt the metal of a Mandalorian glove clutching his shirt. He was being lifted up! A fist landed in his stomach, but he continued to fight. One pistol whip and a kick to the groin later, he was back in cover. The Mando lay unconscious, but Risec fired into his chest. The warrior stopped breathing.

Acara let out an earsplitting roar, telling Risec to get down. The wookiee had lobbed a grenade, and Risec did as he was told. The explosion ripped apart the remaining Mandalorians, as well as furniture and the table Risec was behind. He felt the heat, but was unharmed.

The Mandalorians had occupied the opposite side of the house, and the blasts had been fired between rooms. The shockwave had been absorbed for the most part before hitting Acara and the smuggler, but they felt it.

The old man had been right; Mandalorians had been using this house as a base for mercenary operations. An entire family had been slaughtered for the land, and only two had escaped. This was all discussed in the negotiation between the smuggler and Mandalorian leader, which sparked the firefight.

Risec walked around the room, his pistol clutched in his right hand. A blast of green entered all the dead, just to make sure. A man could only be backstabbed so many times before he learned to make sure someone’s dead, before pronouncing them dead. Risec had learned that the hard way.

~~~

“Two thousand five hundred credits and you got a deal.” said Risec, on his third job of the day. This time, a man had been sold a fake artifact from the enclave, and wanted revenge.

“Can’t you do something lower, like one thousand?” asked the man, whose brown hair was glowing in the setting sun. His freckles showed long days of work in the sun, and blues eyes begged for Risec to help him.

“Two thousand.”

“Fifteen hundred.”

“Two thousand.”

“Fifteen hundred.”

“Two thousand.” stated Risec, and his voice made it clear that was it.

“Fine, two thousand.” Agreed the man, his voice upset, but he shook hands with Risec. His hand was rough and calloused, only reinforcing the thought he was a farmer. Though, it seemed everyone here was a farmer, or a mercenary, or scavenger. Not many engineers, the thing Risec really needed. He had purchased new clothes, which made him look rough and handsome. A gray short sleeved shirt, with armor protruding at different angles, and sown between the fabric. His pants were a faded blue, and also sported the armor between layers of denym. His belt was the same as before, along with the holster.

“Hey, you know any engineers near here?” questioned Risec, and the man chuckled.

“I am one. Why?” The man answered, his face completely lit up.

“I need some repairs. I’ll even agree to help you for the fifteen hundred!” Risec announced, and the man heartily agreed.

“By the way, my name is Kiren. Now, show me the ship.”

~~~

“Wow, this might be hard. What’d you do to the poor thing, go through an asteroid field?” he asked, and began checking all side of the ship, compiling data for repairs. Risec laughed it off, and led Kiren inside. He inspected the engine, and then began to tell Risec the damage.

“… and the engines need serious repairs; we may even have to get new ones. The shields are crippled, and the entire hull needs to be repainted.” He assessed, and Risec agreed. They shook, and Kiren began to get to work, his face alight for the first time in a while. Not many people came to Dantoonine for engineering.

The Rodian’s bright blue eyes showed shrewdness. That, along with nervous glances to either direction at a moment’s notice, implied something was wrong. They approached him, and he didn’t seem to notice. Finally Acara growled-which snapped the Rodian back into reality. He coiled back in fear of the wookiee while Risec examined him quizzically, wondering if this was his man. He fit Kirk’s description, but something was wrong. He just didn’t seem to be the scamming type. And Risec knew scammers-he had been around them plenty of times.

“You know Kiren?” Risec asked, glancing up and down the rodian. He wore an orange vest, with a yellow shirt beneath it. His pants were brown, with a hole exposing his green scaly knee. He had two blaster pistol clipped to his belt-a simple brown piece of leather.

“Kiren? Kiren who?” He was twitching, and spoke quickly. He was definitely anxious. He began twiddling his thumbs, and drifting back into his haze.

“I don’t know, he’s an engineer.” Risec said, trying to remember anything about Kiren. He hadn’t mentioned a last name. The rodian thought and smiled, then pulled two pistols before Risec knew what was happening. He aimed one at each smuggler, and began speaking.

“That backstabbing son of a b*tch! He betrayed me!” screamed the rodian. His eyes showed a foggy evil, and a small mark showed on his exposed elbow. The mark of a spice injection. That’s when Risec reached for his own weapon. In true quick draw fashion, reached into his holster, and fired of three shots rapidly. The rodian collapsed onto his knees, stone-cold dead. Risec’s face twisted in horror as he realized he had been hoodwinked.

“That backstabbing, no good, dirty little f*cker!” he mumbled under his breath. Kiren was stealing his ship! They began sprinting back to the hanger, but it was too late. Just as they reached the streets of Khoonda, they saw the outline of the Survivor lifting into the air and flying away.

~~~

Kiren had wondered if he would actually get away with the plan. Those two smugglers had no idea what was becoming of their ship, and his partner would be dead. Or his partner would kill the smugglers, and come after Kiren. Either way, he was safe. Kiren sat in the pilot’s chair, navigating the ship into the hyperlanes. Not many people came to Dantooine for an engineer, which was true…only because the few “engineers” were thieves. Kiren had done repairs, but only so he could escape Dantooine and land safely on whichever planet he desired.

He thought of Alderaan, but the war there could be a problem. Next came Nar Shaddaa, the smuggler’s moon. He would be virtually invisible there, but Risec would think to check Nar Shaddaa first. But no other planet offered as much security as Nar Shaddaa. He swiveled the chair, and used the galaxy map appropriately. Soon the lights of the smuggler’s moon illuminated the ships exterior. Kiren smiled, and thought about his success. Another good scam, he thought.

~~~

Risec stared at the sky, hoping his ship would somehow fly back to him-but it never did. He stood in the middle of the bustling street, being bumped into and cursed at by civilians and refugees.

“Move out of the way you d*ckhead!” one screamed, his voice loud enough to be heard through the busy street.

Risec had been through enough that day, and was already an inferno of hatred. He stood there and continued to block the man’s way, which only stroked the fire. The man, a small human continued to yell profanities at the smuggler, and became louder, and louder as he did. Finally, Risec had enough. His eyes glowed with passion and anger, and he unleashed his fists upon the man. Blows to the face, stomach, and jaw befell the man, and soon he was down on the street, blood pouring from his mouth. He spit up more, and showed his now red teeth. A crowd had quickly huddled around the skirmish, and the man began to get up.

“Get out of here!” the man yelled at the crowd, blood spitting out after every word. The crowd moved on, and Risec with it, moving secretly through the streets.

I know this is short, but my mind only lets me write short chapters. So deal with it!

Damien kicked the body of the dead rodian, a motion meaning for Nemen Dao to turn over the corpse. A dark burn mark showed on his torso, straight through his yellow shirt. The hole had smoldering fringes, and bits of ash floated through the air, riding on the slight breeze. His green skin had turned brown, and still smoked. Two pistols laid in his hands, fingers still curled around the grips as though he was fighting off death. A finger was wrapped around each trigger, where only the slightest pressure would cause the blaster to erupt.

The rodian’s eyes still retained the foggy haze, only now they had a glassy coating. Any sign of emotion was barren, and the lifeless corpse stared up at the sky. His vest pockets had spilled their contents upon crumbling to the ground-spice and death sticks littered the plain.

A man’s bloody face looked over the remains of a battle. Lifeless forms lay here and there, but the perpetrators didn’t lie among them. Dark shapes outlined the setting sun, some blocked by the tall grass, creating indents in the very land that held them. Armor covered the bodies, giving the sun more place for its rays to bounce-down onto the amour, and back into the sun itself.

They were mercenaries, Mandalorian armor gleaming. None of the armor was complete, a glove of helmet missing, or a belt with ammo. A circle had burned itself onto the armor of six, while others appeared unscathed.

His blood made a trail behind him, falling onto the grass like rain, steady and wet. Dots of crimson, following their master. Small patterns arose on the dead, small red marks-from the man who walked. The man who bled. The man who finally collapsed, compelled by some unknown force to join those he walked over. His body, finally washed in red. A final autopsy would be done in the morning.