Most Impressive

[Darill Cyllem]

Well... maybe i'll give this a whirl.

Setting: A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away… mostly in the Corporate Sector, some time (15 years-ish?) after the Battle of Endor.
Dramatis Personae: no one you already know.
Rating: PG… probably a bit more than G, definitely less than PG-13
Premise: Some young smugglers get into a spot of trouble. Hijinks ensue. I enjoyed writing this and thought some might find it worth a read. A number of the dialogue lines are from the OT for your amusement or eye-rolling, as the case may be.

Please let me know if you’re reading and enjoying; I won’t bother to post more otherwise (promise or threat? You decide!).
Suggestions for improvement are welcome - I do enjoy talking about writing!

i really did try to keep in paragraph formatting, but no dice. Suggestions on that, anyone?

****
Joss MacKierly always worked alone. His ship, Sly Old Girl, was parked on a little hillock somewhere in the woods on Dartoo IV. He sat on his lowered boarding ramp, just far enough that the Old Girl's overhang protected him from the rain. His bottle-green eyes scanned the horizon, misty and gray. His nerf hide pilot's cap, which usually concealed his shock of curly, red hair, sat next to him on the ramp. He was a lone rancor, all right. He didn't even talk to himself.
He'd burned out his hyperdrive trying to make the Kessel Run -- cracked the very casing. The Kessel Run wasn't the lucrative risk it had once been, but its accomplishment could still help a chap's reputation. And that was something particularly important for a young gun like Mack.

Mack had known Sly Old Girl wasn't exactly the Millennium Falcon (after all, what was?), but -- blasted Moons of Selonia -- he was a hot shot. He couldn't help it!

He figured that he could get one more micro jump out of the Old Girl. His chosen destination: Bulronn's Belt. It was really quite a predicament. His hold was full of high-grade spice. His ship was broken. And he'd just agreed to trade the entire contents of his hold for new hyperdrive casings. It was a hard bargain, but he couldn't exactly deal with respectable society -- especially considering his cargo.

He'd solicited some help a few days ago and just hoped the plea sounded casual instead of desperate. Luckily, someone had responded in less than a day. Unluckily, that someone had turned out to be Sam Slayr. Slayr always drove a hard bargain. Everyone knew that.

Mack figured this was what he deserved for trying to make the big time on his own. But, blast it! He always worked alone. MacKierly was to meet Slayr in thirty-six -- no, make that thirty-five hours on a very secretive asteroid: Bulronn 237. A place like that, no one asked you anything but what you wanted to drink. And you? You didn't even ask how much it cost. You just shut up and bloody well paid it. The perfect place for an experienced trafficker like Slayr to put one over on a twenty-three-year-old rookie like Joss MacKierly.

He hoped the Old Girl would make the jump. Don't worry. She'll hold together. "Hear me, baby? Hold together," he mumbled, standing and making his way back into the ship.

*
Sam pretended the hilt of her vibro-blade was an amplifier. Knowing full well she was already twelve hours late, she cruised an easy point four above through hyperspace towards Bulronn's Belt -- doing her meanest impression of Fische Kerr's "Son of a B'Omarr Monk" along with her ship's sound system. Yesiree, she was a cool customer. Unlike the panicky little whip she was off to meet. Jock Something-or-other.... Just another twerp trying to make a name for himself in the galaxy's undercurrents. Like she'd been not long ago. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

See, there were two types of underworld characters. One: folks who did it because there was nothing else for them to do. Two: folks like Sam. She did it because she loved it. Every illegal moment. Everything else was just so... boring in comparison. And she'd made it on her own, made a name for herself -- like Han Solo, Talon Karrde, or Barnab Plith.

As always, Sam was scheming a new heist. One that would be easier with more than two hands, which was why she'd ever agreed to help this Jock in the first place (aside from the rather handsome payment she'd be receiving). The way she saw it, she'd have a few days to scope him out. Maybe he had the talent for the big time, maybe not.

*
Mack had had a harrowing entry into Bulronn 237. He was now crabby and impatient. Slayr was late. Then, faintly, he thought he saw the well-known outline of the Outlaw Fire. Slayr's ship. The Old Girl's comm beeped.

"Mack here," he said blandly.

"Girl, this is the Outlaw. Send me your coordinates," an even woman's voice said.

"Copy, Outlaw. Old Girl transmitting now. Mack out."

The Outlaw Fire's boarding ramp lowered smooth as spun silk. A square-shouldered, very young woman headed down the ramp. She sealed the ship behind her with a code on her belt’s keypad. She wore a sleeveless black flight suit and shiny knee boots. Her light brown hair was held back by a pair of small, round dust goggles resting on her head. A vibro-blade was strapped to her right thigh. An extremely large blaster -- looked like a BT-4.60 -- was holstered cross-draw style to her left hip. She was lovely, but not quite what Mack would've expected out of Slayr's cutter.

"You must be Mack," she said. "Working alone?" She cocked her head slightly.

"Aye. I see Slayr isn't, though."

The woman's face darkened, and Mack suddenly thought the Outlaw Fire had been named after her flashing, blue eyes. "I'm Sam Slayr."

There was no concealing his slip-up or his shock.

"Not what you were expecting," she commented.

Mack chose silence over stuttering something asinine.

She moved forward, extending her right arm. He slowly closed his hand around it, just below her elbow; was surprised when
he felt the muscles in her forearm flex.

"Come on, you'll buy me a drink," she said easily.

Sam Slayr drove a hard bargain, indeed. Mack followed her into Bulronn 237's lone establishment, creatively named Pub.

[Machievelli]

Posted 23 February on lucasforums in the Critic’s Two Cents and Starwarsknights.com

A meeting between smugglers with some amusing twists.

The writing style is good, there is not as much characterization as I might like but it is sufficient unto the day, and the situation while stock is well portrayed.

I enjoyed the view of crime, and dividing those who work within that system because the analogy is accurate. The thieves we love to read about are the dashing debonair cat burglars or master thieves and lovable rogues.

Darill is the author of Sithlycrumb younglings as well, and this piece though it is short gives me an idea at least of what I am missing.

[Jedi Master 2k5]

Cool

[Darill Cyllem]

So. Perhaps it wasn't clear that was the first part of a short story? It's fifty some pages long in word, but I didn't want to post it all at once so that if no one was entertained it wouldn't take up space.
Since it's a short story, the characters are sketches - we get more about them in the sequel (not finished), also you get more as the story goes on.
Anyway... here's another segment:

****
*
“The nicest brandy you've got. Corellian. The fellow's buying," Sam assertively told the serving droid, clapping Mack on the shoulder.

"House ale," he grumbled.

"House ale?" Sam said. "Brave in a place like this."

"Impressed yet?" Mack retorted sarcastically.

Sam just laughed.

"So. You've got the parts?" he said.

"If you've got the payment," she smiled.

"Yes," he replied tightly.

"Hey," she said sharply. "Whether or not this breaks you isn't my problem."

"Did I ask for your sympathy? All I want is off this rock."

"Tomorrow you get your parts, and I get my cargo," Sam told him. The serving droid returned. "For the drink, you get my help with installation. The ale should be an indication that you don't want any local hands."

Mack gagged down a swallow of the brew. Slayr was right. The ale was salty and thick. He felt sure he'd see it again later.

Sam downed the brandy, made a face. "Ugh. That was pudu. Well, good-night, Jock. And next time, don't put all your cargo in one hold. Thanks for the drink, kid."

Later that night, Sam made an entry in her journal.
"...The Jock is sulky and quick-tempered," she dictated. "He's probably just ticked that I'm the one getting him out of this mess. Most men are.
"Either that, or he's Corellian." She caught herself grinning. "Still... I haven't gotten the impression that he'd be any good for my new job, or even that he's at all competent. Well, if all else fails, maybe I can talk Darill into it."

Seated comfortably on a crate outside her ship, Sam tapped her comlink as if knocking on a door. "Wake up, fly-boy," she said into it. "Breakfast is served." She heard a curse on the other end, and suppressed a giggle, watching her chrono.
Just under two minutes later, MacKierly walked down his ramp, looking fresh as smugglers ever come -- his strawberry-blonde stubble catching the morning light.
Two minutes. That was respectable, Sam decided.

"Early start. Good idea," he muttered.

"Aye," she replied blandly. "Well. Let's have a look. Shall we?"

Mack nodded, led her back up the ramp.

Sam had wriggled into an engine compartment up to her waist. Mack stood by, watching her like a hawk-bat. She examined her surroundings carefully.

"You do this patchwork yourself?"

"Yes," he replied defensively.

"How fast were you trying to go?" Sam asked. She sounded far away, lost in the Old Girl's bowels.

"Point eight past."

Sam whistled. "You oughta shoot whoever sold you these flux cables." He heard as she began ripping them free. "They're faulty. Couldn't deflect enough heat." Sam eased out of the tight crawl space. There was a smear of oil on her cheek. "Casing would've held no problem with good flux cables," she told him.

"I know," he said impatiently. "But now I have to replace both."

Sam handed him a bunch of the cables she'd ripped off. "Were they green in the middle when you got them?"

He looked at her blankly a moment.

"Was it green or brown?" Sam repeated, this time more slowly.

"What's that got to do...."

"Everything!" Sam said, finally exasperated. He was trying to avoid answering the question because he didn't know. Men. Honestly.
"Look. I'll make this simple," Sam told him. "When it comes to hyperdrive flux cables, there're four important words to remember. Green: good. Brown: bad. It's not hard, I promise."

Sam waited for a response from Mack. When none came, she irritably shoved the ripped-free power-flux cables at him. She eased herself back into the tight crawl space behind the hyperdrive generator. "I'll just finish getting these burnt-out cables off," she told him.

Mack felt flustered… he wasn’t exactly intimidated by Slayr. But he felt… a bit strange, having her on his ship. He squatted next to the opening where Slayr's knees were still visible, nervously wringing the spent cables. "Is there... uh, anything I should be doing?"

"Yeah. Hand me that green-handled hydrospanner."

"What gauge?" he asked.

"Uuuhh... seven and three eighths?"

Mack set the seven and three eighths spanner in her outstretched palm.

"No, no. The GREEN one. I guess it's five eighths. That's why they color-code these things."

"You should've said five eighths," Mack retorted.

Oo. This was new. The kid was showing some spirit. "I said GREEN," Sam repeated, enjoying the exchange.

"Here's the five eighths spanner," Mack slapped it into Sam's hand.

"Green. Like grass. There's an analogy you'll get. You remember grass, right -- nerfs eat it?"

"I don't worry about what nerfs eat, I just enjoy eating them."

"Only when you don't have clever women making off with the contents of your cargo hold," Sam shot back.

Before Mack could reply, an ear-splitting siren rattled the Old Girl’s bulkheads. Sam slid out from under a round generator casing. “What in a Hutt’s belly is that?” she wondered.

Mack sprinted past her for the cockpit. “That’s the alarm for the atmospheric generator,” he told her.

“No!” Sam exclaimed. “Blast!” She dashed after him and leaned on the jamb into the cockpit.

“’Fraid so,” Mack said. Then he spoke into his comm. “Pub, this is Old Girl, you’ve got 45 seconds to board before I seal my hatch... if you’re interested.”

“We’re covered on this end. Thanks, Girl,” someone said. “If I were you, I’d get the hell out of here. It’s a magnetic field, you know.”

Mack swore in some language Sam didn’t know. Bulronn 237’s ancient atmospheric generator operated by forming a magnetic field around the asteroid, which was what held in the artificial atmosphere and air. When the magnetic field failed, all the air escaped. Another drawback to the magnetic field was that, on a body the size of Bulronn 237, the magnetism helped increase the gravity artificially by more securely holding things like ships and metal buildings.
Sam’s gut turned slushy.

“Can you remote-start your ship?” Mack asked, a look of concern on his face. He knew how he’d feel if he were in Slayr’s situation, separated from her ship.

Sam shook her head. “It’s busted.”

“I’m bringing up emergency systems. Half power in five minutes. I can operate my boom magnet then. We can clamp on to your ship.”

Sam tried not to let her relief be too obvious.

“There isn’t enough time for you to get over to your ship and power up before we start to drift. Our best bet is to get partial maneuverability here....” Mack fished a small flathead pryer from a pocket and handed it to Sam. “You seem to be good with electrical systems. Can you get into that access panel and make sure I won’t melt?”

Sam went right to work. “Well, there’s no danger of melt,” she reported. “You’ve got a short.”

“Blast,” Mack muttered, half distracted by his many flashing consoles. He tossed Sam a small comm unit. “I’m gonna run a line directly from the emergency generator to cockpit control so we can get life support systems and seal the ship against atmosphere leakage. Can you power up the boom magnet?” He was already taking up one of the floor plates with a power drill.

“Sure,” Sam said, resisting the urge to ask when they’d have operational life support systems, and dashing off up the corridor.

“Second access panel on your left. Going up,” he called after her.

Sam plopped into the operator’s chair. Several cushion springs poked uncomfortably into her thigh. Outside the plasteel bubble, she could see the boom magnet's long, jointed arm and hoped it would reach the Outlaw Fire before they started to drift in the asteroid field. Lots of dust and micro-meteorites showered onto Bulronn 237 already.
She estimated that two minutes might be more time than they could afford to restore sub-light maneuverability to the Sly Old Girl. Bulronn’s Belt was a rather nasty asteroid field. Sam primed the boom magnet and waited for the ship to power up.

The control panel before Sam suddenly flashed to life, then died again. Sam anxiously keyed for a re-start. "Have we got power, Mack?" she said into the comlink.

"We're breathing, aren't we?"

The lights on the boom magnet console came back on: red, then yellow, then green.

Sam let out a whoop of joy as she seized the controls, stretching every fiber toward her ship. As Sly Old Girl fell away from Bulronn 237, Sam felt Mack coax a controlled repulsorlift blast from the Old Girl's engines, propelling to within easy reach of the Outlaw Fire.
"Clang," Sam said to herself, simulating the satisfying sound signaling her ship's relative safety since she couldn't actually hear it.

Now that she was able to tear her attention away from her beloved Outlaw, Sam quickly took stock of their rather desperate situation. They'd left the small protection of Bulronn 237, and would soon begin an uncontrolled drift through Bulronn's Belt, an insufferable asteroid field… where they would soon be pulverized if the not-so-sly Old Girl had only the limited maneuverability and speed provided by repulsorlift engines in vacuum.
All of this flashed through Sam's frontal lobe as she hauled herself out of the boom magnet control chair and brought up the comlink. "Mack, what's the engine situation?"

"Remember when we dropped away from Bulronn 237?" he asked.

"Yes," Sam replied, hastily sliding down the access ladder back to the main deck.

"That was it," Mack informed her.

"Where do you keep your vacuum suits?" She took a guess and headed aft.

Mack beat her to the hatch. "No," he said simply when he saw her approach.

"Don't be stupid," Sam informed him. "We'll never affect repairs on this ship in time to save our skins; the Outlaw's got to haul our behinds out of the Belt, or else it's good-bye Old Spacers' Home for both of us."

"I don't know how good the jets on my suit are," he protested.

"So I'll go on a tether to be safe," Sam said.

Pause. "I don't know how good the seals are, either."

Sam glared at him. "I have to get to my ship," she said slowly, to be sure he'd understand.

"Slayr, I think I should be the one to make the crossing," Mack told her.

Was he serious? He certainly looked like he was.

"Look," Sam said, feeling the rise of her anger. "Only one person flies my ship: ME."

"But...." Mack began a protest that he aborted almost immediately. He'd noticed Sam's hand resting on the hilt of her blaster.

"Don't make me do this the hard way," she hissed through gritted teeth.

[Darill Cyllem]

Well, I'm not sure if anyone's reading this, but thought I'd try one more installment before giving up this thread as a bad job.


*
Mack's shoulders visibly sagged. He stood aside, and popped the storage locker for the vacuum suit. Sam immediately began to climb into it, while Mack continued to rummage in the locker.
He retrieved several components from the locker, and hurriedly assembled a device about the size of a work luma before Sam could don the suit's bubble helmet.

"Wear this," Mack said, with the abrupt manner of someone who didn't spend a lot of time around other people.

Sam arched a thin brow in his direction.

"Auxiliary mag-con field," he explained. "It won't keep out the cold, but it might give you a few more moments of air to get inside your ship."

Nodding, Sam let Mack secure the generator to the arm of the suit she wore. Mack opened a small storage unit near the hatch, and started uncoiling some of the tether for the vacuum suit. They both ducked involuntarily as what must have been a smallish asteroid bounced noisily off the Old Girl's hull.
Mack was shaking his head as he secured the tether. "Careful out there," he said. "Get in as fast as you can."
Mack threw the switch to the secondary hatch and Sam strode swiftly to the main hatch. Sam had snaked one arm into the suit for easy access to her belt keypad. With her other hand, she swatted the primary hatch's controls fiercely as soon as the light over the secondary hatch flashed green, indicating a seal.
Atmosphere that had been trapped between the Old Girl's hatches vented forcefully, propelling Sam out of the ship. The suit's seals weren't, in fact, very good. Her teeth immediately began to rattle in her jaw.

Sam keyed for entry through the Outlaw Fire's primary hatch as she vectored towards her ship, glad for the thousandth time that she always left the emergency systems running. The ramp lowered part way as she emitted a long, controlled burst from the suit's thrusters.
Tension on the tether suddenly increased, then was entirely gone; and Sam knew it had been severed, probably by an asteroid. She used the suit's thrusters to correct her course.
Then the thrusters died.

Momentum from her initial, powerful blast kept her careening toward the ship, and Sam grabbed for the lip of the partially-lowered boarding ramp. Magnets in the suit's gloves helped her keep her one-armed grip, and she vaulted herself onto the ramp, trying to keep herself flat on its surface. Already she was commanding the ramp to close with her belt keypad.
During her brief respite on the ramp (which she didn't have time to enjoy), Sam realized that she'd broken out in a cold sweat during the crossing, and was still shivering violently. The Outlaw Fire's artificial gravity had her now, and she hauled herself to her feet. Still in the suit, she didn't wait for the green light on the primary hatch before breaking the second seal. She had a brief struggle with venting atmosphere before the main hatch achieved integrity, and was through the second hatch in short order. She quick-sealed it, knew her ship was already restoring normal atmosphere and would reinforce both hatch seals automatically before she reached the cockpit.

She screeched to a halt at the pilot's seat, and began flipping switches before she even sat.
"Old Girl, this is Outlaw, do you read?" she broadcast to Mack as she seated herself, the suit now shoved down around her waist to free both arms.

"Loud and clear, Outlaw," Mack's voice answered. "Glad you made it across."

"Probably not as glad as I am," Sam replied glibly. "Stand by to witness some fine piloting, Girl."

For good measure, Sam fired a magnetic tow cable with a three-pronged head at the Old Girl. She then began the tricky business of flying out of Bulronn's Belt -- complicated considerably because of her ungainly new trailer.

[Miasmo]

Nice work so far. It's pretty easily read. I'm not sure if I like the characters yet or not. I mean, they work, I'm just not sure I like them. :P I want to side with one, then the other, and as a result I just absorb the frustration of both.

How much of this story is posted already? Is this pretty much like an opening action sequence before a greater plot is lain out?

I'd read a some more if you posted to see if I'm interested in where it's going.

[Darill Cyllem]

There's quite a bit more of the story - more characters will be introduced, a few things happen. Not much, mind you, it's really more silly than anything else. But possibly amusing.
This isn't the first thing i wrote with Sam as the main character, so some of her personality was established in the first story and may therefore seem like it has no background. None of the plot (whatever there was of that) from the 1st installment is relevant to this episode. I have plans for a 3rd installment, which picks up where this one leaves off.

Here's a bit more:
*****

*
Now out of Bulronn’s Belt, and with the benefit of Outlaw Fire's full maneuverability, they linked the two ships' air locks via tunnel tube, for a crossing that was much more to Sam's liking. Mack was waiting for her at the end of the tube, extended an arm to help pull her into the Old Girl's gravitational field. Sam toted the bubble helmet and still wore the half-shed vacuum suit. Mack was regarding her with a grin which Sam, under other circumstances, might have called charming.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

He shrugged, the secret little smile stayed on his face. "That was a nice bit of flying," he conceded.

Sam let her mouth drop open to exaggerate her shock as much as possible. "My, my," she remarked, "was that a compliment?"

Mack shrugged again. "I thought you'd cut out on me for sure once you made it to your ship."

"And leave my new cargo?" Sam flashed him a wink. "You wish, Jock."

He just rolled his eyes, and kept right on grinning.

"Besides," it was Sam's turn to shrug, "a deal's a deal. You still want help with your hyperdrive?"

"Sure, most jobs go faster with twice the number of hands."

"Great," Sam said, actually looking forward to it; she was something of a mechanic at heart. "So where'd you stash that green-handled hydrospanner?"

"You mean the five-eighths spanner?" Mack deadpanned.

"Right, the green one," Sam repeated. She slapped the bubble helmet into Mack's belly. He affected a serious, gut-wrenching wound as he turned to stow it in the locker. Sam tossed the rest of the vacuum suit over his back, and headed back to the hyperdrive generator.

Sam was already worming her way into the small crawl space that offered the best access to the hyperdrive generator when Mack arrived.
"Four hours and you'll be better than new," Sam announced. "You're gonna have to show me how you did that last re-wire. Except for the faulty cables, it was actually a great piece of work."

"Now you're the one flinging compliments around like old copies of the Coruscant Inquirer," Mack said dryly.

"She's all ready for the new cables to be installed," Sam said, sliding back out of the crawl space. "But you didn't start near the main power coupling, did you?"

"Nope," he shook his head, again wearing that silly smile.

"What?"

"Want me to show you?"

Sam sighed, crossed her arms. "At your convenience, Jock."

Mack stepped closer to her, and with an impossibly gentle touch wiped a spot of oil from high on her cheek.

Sam's mouth dropped open in real surprise.

"Been there since before the atmospheric generator failed," he explained. "You wanna see my re-wiring job now?"

"Yeah."

They were just finishing re-wiring the Sly Old Girl, and it was a nice piece of work, Sam couldn't fail to notice. The Jock had potential; that was for sure.
"So now I take it you'll be blasting right out of my life," Mack commented.

"That depends," Sam shrugged.

"On what?"

"Well, I assume you're looking for work," she began.

"I've been in worse situations," he countered.

"This one could end up much better than it's started."

"All right, I'll take the bait. What is it?"

"Job offer."

"From who?" he wanted to know.

"Me."

That was certainly cause for pause. "I thought you worked alone."

"I do," Sam said patiently. "But sometimes a job goes twice as fast with twice as many hands."

*
Sam had anted up the fee for storing Sly Old Girl at a shipyard on Mantooine. Mack felt apprehensive about leaving her, he hated leaving her, but that was the way to get this job; and he needed this job more than he was willing to admit. Sam seemed to know the yard keeper and was willing to trust him, even with the cargo hold still full (for a reasonable cut, of course), so it seemed like the second-best thing to having the Old Girl along for the ride. Sam's Outlaw was faster, even if he'd never own up to that fact aloud, and Mack knew as well as Sam did that they'd need that speed.
"You know Impressa's in the Corporate Sector, right?" he asked.

"Yes," Sam replied rather testily. "Of course I know it's in the Corporate Sector."

"So, how is it a good plan to try and break into the museum? I mean, museum heists are always tricky, but a Corporate Sector museum? How are we even going to land on the planet, let alone get into the museum?"

"That's why doing a museum heist is not my plan," Sam said. "We can intercept the shipment before it ever gets into the Corporate Sector or anywhere near Impressa."

"You don't mean try to take the ship before it leaves Niishao with the goods?"

"How stupid do you think I am?"

"Look, I'm just trying to hammer out the plan, here," Mack snapped. "If you expect me to be able to help, I need to know what in the black chasms of Coruscant is going on."

Sam sighed heavily. "OK, here's the deal. The shipment has already left Niishao, so even if it were a good idea to intercept the cargo there, which it isn't, we can't do that. It just so happens that I know where they're stopping on their way to Impressa."

"And they're transferring the cargo there?" Mack asked hopefully, knowing it could be a relatively easy matter to nab the cargo during a transfer, especially if it were going to be a deep-space transfer.

Sam smiled slyly, seeing Mack had caught on at last. They were in the Outlaw Fire’s cockpit, and Sam was making the calculations for the jump to light speed. "It's important that we catch the cargo during the transfer," she reminded Mack. "That's the course of action most likely to be successful, and aside from the credits the government on Niishao is offering for the return of that stuff, I'd really like to nail Vonschtopp."

"The antiquities dealer?" Mack asked.

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "He's the middle man who set up this whole mess. First class kind of guy, specializes in stealing the cultural heritage of less developed planets and selling them to private collectors in the Corporate Sector."

"We're after a bunch of xeno-archaeological crap, then?" Mack asked.

"It's not crap," Sam informed him shortly. "You ever seen an ancient glass sculpture from Niishao? Galactic Museum on Coruscant has a small collection on permanent loan. Amazing stuff."

"Hey, I'm not complaining. Niishao sure has the right price. Impressans must be paying even better for Haygorn to be involved, though."

"Familiar with his work, are you?"

"You might say that," Mack nodded. "Used to be part of his gig."

"Really," Sam arched an eyebrow, her esteem for Mack going up a few notches. Getting out of Spince Haygorn's organization was no easy feat. It sure explained why he'd been trying to make the Kessel Run in the Sly Old Girl, re-wiring job aside.

"Just in the lowest level, really," he explained. "But Haygorn uses a Vader-style promotional system. I was not interested. I would be interested in sticking one to old Spince, though," Mack said thoughtfully.

Sam laughed. "Always fun when business is personal, isn't it."

Mack just grinned.

"The cargo is being transferred to Haygorn's flagship, Champ, just outside the Dartt System. We have to get it before it gets to Champ," Sam continued.

"Shards of Alderaan, we're going up against Haygorn himself?" Mack hissed.

"Problem?"

"No," Mack assured her. "That's going to make it sweeter when we nab those sculptures from under his nose."

"Yeah, well, don't rub it in his face until it's a done deal. I just hope my Red Moon guy got good intel."

"Is your contact reliable? Haygorn posts a lot of false itineraries."

"I know," Sam said. "I think he's reliable. I've worked with him before; saved his hide, actually, so he owes me a favor. He wouldn't pull a fast one, but like you said...."

They came out of hyperspace well out of the range of coordinates set up for the cargo transfer. "I'm going to get us in a little closer," Sam told Mack.

"We can hide in that debris field over there," Mack gestured to a sensor screen.

Sam eased the Outlaw into the cloud of twisted hull and ship parts, shut off all but emergency systems, and programmed her ship into a flat spin that matched the random drift of the debris towards Dartoo VI, the nearest large body of gravity. They waited, all systems on immediate standby for a quick boost back to full power when the time came.

*
"Spinster, we got something on the scopes."

"What is it?" Spinster asked, craning his neck to see Dodge's instruments.

"Small custom freighter of some sort. ID scan is coming up blank," Dodge reported.

Spinster's eyes narrowed. "Can you get a visual?"

"Not quite yet. You want me to go to active sensor mode?"

"No, wait," Spinster advised. "No sense in blowing our cover before we have to. Looks too small to be the shipment from Niishao." He shifted his long frame uncomfortably in his seat. His left leg had fallen asleep.

"Would be too easy if the cargo got here before the Champ," Dodge remarked gloomily, his round face set grimly.

"Don't even think it, Dodge," Spinster advised, shaking his head. "How 'bout that visual?"

"Bringing it up now." Dodge leaned back in his seat to give Spinster a better view of the main sensor console.

"Blast," Spinster swore.

"Looks like the Outlaw Fire," Dodge remarked. "She's maneuvering right into our debris field," he reported.

Spinster ran a hand over his three days of stubble thoughtfully.

"Things could get interesting, here," Dodge said mildly.

"They always are with Slayr," Spinster said darkly. "I'll be a frozen taun-taun biscuit on Hoth before I let anyone swipe this job, though."

"You'll be a what?"

"Shut up, Dodger."

*
"I've got something here," Mack reported from his post at the main sensor array. "Looks like Haygorn's Champ."

"Good," Sam breathed. "Won't be long before the shipment arrives, now."

And, indeed, it wasn't. A totally forgettable, beat-up freighter arrived in-system a few minutes later. Its sub-light engines were sluggish as it maneuvered to dock with Champ.

"I'm bringing us up to full power and engaging the main drive," Sam said. "Stand by. Sensors?"

"Full," Mack said tightly.

Another freighter darted through their approach vector just as the Outlaw's engines roared to life. "Evasive action!" Sam and Mack barked at the same time. Sam threw her ship into a quick dive roll away from the speedy freighter, muttering curses from a dozen worlds that questioned the hygiene habits and willingness to associate with Hutts of the other ship's crew. Mack flinched involuntarily in the direction of the dive, betraying his desire to be in the pilot's chair. "Who is that?" Sam demanded.

"They're not broadcasting an ID signal."

"Of course not," she scoffed. "Angle the deflector shields."

Sam pulled them through a tight loop that would have cut off the other freighter's approach to the shipment. Champ was firing a furious series of ion blasts at the rival freighter and Sam cut her thrust to stay out of the middle of the fray. That old freighter with the shipment seemed to shed her years as she sprinted for the safety of Champ's protection.

"They moved too soon! They moved too soon! Blast!" Sam was muttering. "If they distract Haygorn long enough, we can still get to the shipment before they dock with Champ," she said tightly.

But despite some spectacular evasive maneuvers, Champ was exacting a heavy toll. Lethargic from the ion backwash, the attacking freighter took a direct hit from the ion cannon and started off in a flat spin.

"Laser cannons are tracking that freighter," Mack reported from the sensor readout, trying to keep tension out of his voice.

"Sithspawn," Sam said under her breath as she drove Outlaw's engines back to full power. She completed the loop she'd been pulling earlier and the Outlaw's shields absorbed the worst of the live energy salvo Champ unleashed.

"We're getting a comm transmission," Mack said, gritting his teeth against impact.

"From Haygorn? Forget it."

"Negative. I think it's from that disabled freighter."

"Put it through," Sam instructed, as she took her Outlaw back out of the primary range of Haygorn's guns. The crippled freighter had also drifted out of primary range, and Champ wasn't pursuing in order to give the shipment the opportunity to dock.
A burst of static.

"Clean up that transmission," Sam snapped, avoiding another salvo from Champ.

Mack cut volume to the transmission and continued to monitor the sensor board. "Aft shield twenty percent," he reported.
Sam brought her Outlaw around behind the freighter with the shipment; it served as a good shield from Champ, as it had no weapons of its own.

"The cargo hold should be just forward of the main thrusters, do a scan of that area of the ship to verify," Sam instructed.
"Gotcha. You want that transmission now?" Mack asked.

"Sure, go ahead."

The comm snapped on. The transmission was still staticky, but it was intelligible. "...Repeat. Outlaw Fire, this is Prize Fight! Mayday! Mayday! We have no power.... This is Prize Fight! Blast, it must really be Slayr...."

Sam and Mack exchanged a look, neither willing to be the first to admit a soft spot.
"Um. I got the results of the scan back. That is the cargo hold," Mack offered quietly. A diagnostic of the old freighter flashed to life on Sam's main console, the area of the hull protecting the hold highlighted in yellow.

Sam's hand hovered over the controls a few moments. The hesitation allowed the old freighter to dock with Champ. They went to light speed immediately thereafter. Mack assumed the freighter had slaved its hyperdrive to Haygorn's flagship and the two had jumped system rather than make the transfer and wait around for more pirates.

"I've got their hyperspace entry coordinates," Mack informed Sam quietly. "Want me to plot a pursuit course?"
The mayday from Prize Fight was still coming through.

"Trying to find them now would be a wild vornskr chase," Sam said tightly.

Mack agreed, but didn't say so.

"Get me a channel to Prize Fight."

"Oh-four-nine."

"Prize Fight, do you copy?" Sam barked into the comm.

"Loud and clear."

"Prize, this is the Outlaw. Do not, repeat, do not attempt to bring your ship back up to power. I'm going to clamp onto you to stop your drift. Stand by for further instructions. Out."

Mack had thought Sam was angry when earlier she'd unleashed strings of bright blue curses. The deadly silence that filled their approach to Prize Fight revealed that the former had really just been delight at some competition. This was a real indicator of her wrath.

Sam brought the Outlaw up next to Prize Fight. "Sensor lock?" she asked.

"Aye."

The three-pronged magnetic tow cable shot out from the Outlaw's side and attached itself to Prize Fight's hull.

"Now what?" Mack asked.

"Now," Sam began, "I decide what to charge them for rescue."

"Contents of the entire cargo hold seems to be the going rate," Mack offered.

Sam snorted. Was that amusement?

"I'm not sure they have anything," she pointed out. "Have they tried to power back up at all?"

"Nope."

"Good. I bet they're totally fried, then. Count on Haygorn to have Star Destroyer-class ion cannon on his rig. How much you think that little beauty's worth when she's running?"

Mack shrugged. "She'd be a steal at ninety."

"OK. I offer them passage to somewhere en route to the Corporate Sector in exchange for ninety thousand credits. They'll like the sound of that better than
passage in exchange for their ship, which I might be willing to sell back to them."

Mack cringed internally.

"So are we going to tow them?" He asked.

"Ever tried to tow another ship through hyperspace?" Sam asked.

"No."

"Don't," she advised. "I'll help stabilize their ship, then bring the crew on board. We can scope 'em out; see if any of them would be good for a museum heist."
Mack realized Sam was wearing a peculiar grin. It did sound familiar... helping out some poor stiff and roping him into her crazy escapades. Mack felt himself starting to smile - he definitely preferred to be on this end of Slayr's schemes.

[Darill Cyllem]

"Don't say it, Dodge," Spinster warned, settling back uneasily into his acceleration couch after terminating the mayday transmission.

"Alright, but you know I'm thinking it," Dodge replied. "Just consider this: we're dead in space, Spinster, better to get picked up by Slayr than not at all," he pointed out.

"Maybe," Spinster said darkly.

Dodge rolled his eyes. "So what kind of deal you think Slayr's gonna offer?" He ventured.

"One-way ticket to Planet Failure on the Slayr Express is my guess."

"I bet we’ll get passage to some backwater planet in exchange for the Prize," Dodge remarked.

"That's what I said," Spinster replied.

"Shards, remind me to put in a request for a different ship mate."

"Prize Fight, do you copy? This is Outlaw Fire," Slayr's voice cut in on their musings.

"Go ahead, Outlaw, we copy," Spinster said into the comm.

"How many people in your crew, Prize? Over."

"Two."

"Very well. Prepare to come aboard my ship for passage. We can negotiate a mutually acceptable destination and price once you're aboard. How much
maneuverability do you have? Over."

"Zero."

"Will you agree to an assisted crossing? Over."

"Don't have much choice, do we," Spinster replied.

Sam took the answer as a simple affirmative. "Do you have enough suits for your entire crew? Over."

"Yep."

"Excellent. One of us will come to get you. Stand by at the hatch. I'll signal when ready. Outlaw out."

"Copy that," Spinster said. "OK," he sighed. "You heard the lady."

Dodge was already on his way to the hatch. He knew, even if Spinster wouldn't admit it, that their emergency systems - including life support - wouldn't last indefinitely.
It wasn't long before they got the signal.

"Prize Fight, this is Outlaw Fire, do you copy?"

"We copy, Outlaw, and are standing by ready to cross," Spinster replied into the comm console near the hatch.

"Very good, Prize. Stand by to open the hatch, over."

"Formal, isn't she?" Dodge commented.

Spinster just sighed.

"Prize, this is Outlaw; open your primary hatch for assisted crossing. Over."

With a final glance at Dodge through his suit's helmet, Spinster released the hatch, the jets on his suit already primed.

Slayr's crew member was poised outside the hatch on a tether, suit jets keeping him from drifting. He propelled himself closer, proffering two tether chords anchored to the Outlaw Fire. The man in the suit nodded to them as they took the tethers and all three began to jet back to the Outlaw. Slayr's crewer reached the open hatch first and planted his magnetic boots on the deck. Spinster and Dodge were just behind him. He checked to make sure they were in before sealing the primary hatch. When the green light indicated a seal, he popped the second hatch, leading into the ship itself. They made introductions as they shed and stowed their suits:
"Joss MacKierly."

"Dodge Jotor."

"Spinster."

"Slayr said you can stash your suits in this storage locker," Mack informed them.

"I thought Slayr worked alone," Spinster commented suspiciously.

"She does."

"Then what...."

"Same as you two," Mack grinned sheepishly.

"I see," Spinster said, starting to smile despite himself.

"So, it's true, then?" Dodge asked. "Slayr's a woman? I mean... I was never sure whether to believe the rumors."

"Oh, she'll make a believer out of you all right," Mack assured them.

*
Sam consciously stopped herself from laughing as Mack led the Prize Fight’s crew into the Outlaw’s main quarters. The two were an odder couple than Han Solo and Chewbacca. Sam estimated that they were close in age and only a few years older than herself. Despite this superficial similarity, they were a study in opposites. The first man was well over two meters tall and very lanky, though he substituted a self-assured swagger for walking. With his dark hair and ice blue eyes, he was strikingly good looking, but he carried himself like he knew it and the petulant expression on his face rather ruined it. Slung low on his right side was a single, holstered blaster. His dull green coveralls had been cut off at the shoulder and were very worn and faded. Sam guessed they had once been the same color as the second man’s coveralls – which were immaculate. The sleeves were intact, pants neatly tucked into his boots. His blaster rode high, cross-draw style, on a well-stocked and organized utility belt. He had a pleasant, round face, large liquid brown eyes, and was only a few centimeters taller than Sam herself.

“Sam Slayr,” the first man said dramatically. “We meet at last.”

Sam barked a laugh – mostly because she’d caught the second man rolling his eyes. “Been looking forward to it?” She asked, arching a thin brow in a way she knew was unsettling.

The shorter man stepped forward. “I’m Dodge Jotor. That’s Spinster,” he jerked a thumb at the tall, dramatic one.

Sam decided Spinster had been the one she’d talked to on the comm. Captain, then. Well. That explained the dramatics. She decided Jotor seemed reasonable enough.

“Let’s get down to business, shall we?” She gestured for them to join her at the table in the crew lounge. They sat. “Tea?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“No, thank you.”

The two ship mates glared at each other. Spinster elbowed Dodge in exasperation and glowered. “Yes, I’ll have some tea,” Dodge repeated, ignoring Spinster’s admonition.

“Mack?”

“Sure.”

Sam hit a button and a tea service rose into the middle of the table. She turned on the pot the heat the water and began to negotiate.
Mack stayed well out of it, but it ended up as a much more agreeable bargain than he would have wagered. As it turned out, Dodge and Spinster had something personal against Haygorn, too. Come to think of it, Spinster looked a little familiar, though Mack couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

*
“I know you hate to leave her, Spinster, but it’s the only way,” Dodge said.

Spinster sighed. “I know, I know.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m sure gonna miss her.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll come back for her,” Dodge assured him.

Spinster nodded, and continued collecting the gear they were taking with them on this Slayr job.

“So, you really think we can get to the shipment while it’s still in the shipyards, before it reaches the museum?” Dodge asked.

Spinster shrugged, “if that code we have is any good.”

“Security at the shipyards won’t be lax, but I sure don’t like the idea of busting into the Royal Impressan Museum.”

Again, Spinster shrugged. Dodge could tell Spinster was in one of his funny, dramatic moods. It was almost as though Dodge could hear Spinster’s inner monologue: I don’t care what happens to me if I can’t be with her! Honestly. Dodge had a certain affection for Prize Fight, too, but Spinster was, well… a little weird.

The plan was for Slayr to tow the Prize Fight the short real space trip to the nearest large gravitational body: XZA-2245, which, quite generously, had been deemed a planet. Slayr would return Spinster and Dodge to their ship after they collected the Niishao antiquities and whatever parts the Prize needed.

“I don’t know why you even brought up the code,” Dodge remarked then. “And I’m surprised Slayr actually wants to use it. We have no guarantee it’ll actually work,” he pointed out.

“I’m not surprised,” Spinster said. “It’s the best thing we’ve got. It’ll be just as hard to land on Impressa without any code at all as it would be after giving a bad code. I decided to play the card so we’d be sure to get in on this job.” Although unspoken, even Spinster privately conceded it was better to work for Slayr than try to work against her.

“I know how much this chance means to you,” Dodge said quietly. “Because I know how much sticking it to Haygorn means to me, and I figure you’ve got even more riding on it than I do.” He considered a moment. “I suppose there’s no real way to sneak quietly onto a Corporate Sector planet; we might as well give the code a go.” He broke into a grin. “I mean, what if it actually works?”

“If it works, I’ll find that Rodian who sold it to us and kiss him,” Spinster vowed.

Dodge made a face. “Geez, Spinster, if I’d known you were that lonely….”

Spinster rolled his eyes. “I just hope Slayr’s got a really brilliant Plan B cooking – in case that code doesn’t work. If that happens, I’ll be wanting to track down that Rodian and blast him.”

Dodge was hardly paying attention, still laying into his joke: “… I mean, at least got you an R2 unit or something… you know, I’ve heard you can get these custom accessories….”

“Shut up, Dodger.”

[sharyntyre]

good work, as Miasmo stated, easy reading. I find myself liking the characters, especially Sam. Keep posting this story.

[Darill Cyllem]

*
For this venture, Sam had selected Mack as her co-pilot and assigned Dodge and Spinster to sensors and comm, respectively. This was partly because of Dodge’s familiarity with most sensor arrays and Spinster’s possession of the access code, and partly to distance herself from the newcomers and their incessant bickering.

“You mind the comm, I’ll mind the sensors,” Dodge said firmly.

“All I’m saying…” Spinster began.

“Listen, Captain Nosy,” Dodge fired back. “I’ve worked the sensor board on the Prize for two years. I built it. Why can’t you admit I know my way around a sensor board at least a little better than a dewback knows its way around Hoth?”

“We’re coming out of hyperspace now,” Sam interjected before Spinster could retort. She saw Mack heave a sigh of relief out of the corner of her eye. “Remember, we’re broadcasting as Professor Feelgood,” she told Spinster. The Outlaw’s hull had a few outer bulkheads that could be rearranged to disguise the Outlaw’s familiar silhouette. With these firmly in new places and the false ID, Sam hoped to slide through Corporate Sector security with no trouble.

“Aye, Captain,” Spinster replied so cheerfully it hurt bystanders.

“Or the Ship of Fools,” Mack muttered. Sam flashed him a grin at the alternate Fische Kerr reference.

“Corporate Sector Authority. We have you on our scopes. Acknowledge.” A gruff man’s voice snapped over the comm.

Sam crossed her fingers that Spinster would follow her directions. “Roger that, Authority,” Spinster said slowly and evenly into the comm. “This is Professor Feelgood, respectfully requesting passage to Impressa. Over.”
Sam nearly sighed out loud with relief and began to wish less fervently she’d taken charge of the comm herself.

“Very well, Professor. Maintain your present course and stand by for further orders. Authority out.”

Sam saw Spinster choke back an outraged cry of “ORDERS??” and say smoothly into the comm: “Roger that, Authority. Professor complying. Over and out.”

The Authority, miraculously, didn’t make them wait very long. “Professor Feelgood, this is the Corporate Sector Authority. Prepare to transmit your authorization code. Over.”

“Roger that, Authority. Professor standing by to transmit authorization code on your mark. Over,” Spinster replied.

“Transmit code on this frequency now, Professor, and stand by for coordinates to Impressa. Over.”

“Professor transmitting code and awaiting further instructions. Over.”
Everyone held their breath.

“Now we find out if that code if worth having these two pudus along for the ride,” Mack said quietly to Sam.

She nodded tightly.

“Professor, this is the Corporate Sector Authority,” the same gruff voice cut in on the comm. “You have been cleared for passage to Impressa. Stand by for your entry vector coordinates. You will need to present your authorization code to the Impressan Port and Customs Authority. Over.”

“Roger that, Authority. Over,” Spinster said into the long pause.
“Transmitting coordinates on this frequency now. On behalf of the Corporate Sector Authority, thank you for doing business in the Corporate Sector, and best wishes for your ventures in our Sector. Have a pleasant flight to Impressa, and the Sector Authority hopes you will do business here again soon. Over and out.” The gruff voice sounded much more as if he wished them a one-way trip to the Maw instead of a pleasant flight to Impressa.

“Roger that, Authority. Professor receiving transmission. Er… thank you very much. Professor Feelgood out.” Spinster shrugged rather helplessly, hoping that had been an appropriate response.

“Got those coordinates, Dodge?” Sam asked.

“Yep,” he said brightly. “Got ‘em plotted while Commander Windbag was going on about pleasant business ventures.”

“Excellent,” Sam nodded. “Feed ‘em to the navicomp, and we’ll be on our way to Impressa.”

The grim nods that greeted her announcement were as close as she’d get to a chorus of excited cheers. They spent the hyperspace trip to Impressa, which lasted about four hours, putting the finishing touches on Sam’s Plan B. As it turned out, in addition to being a skilled re-wirer, Mack was also a rather accomplished manufacturer of fake personal identifications. He churned out complete sets for the four of them to Sam’s specifications. He also managed to find a set of coveralls roughly the same shade of green as Dodge and Spinster’s. Sam had assigned Dodge and Spinster to check the equipment crates and create fake packing lists for them. She checked on her beloved Outlaw’s makeover, making sure all the moveable bulkheads were still secure in the Professor Feelgood position so they’d have a chance of avoiding any Impressan entanglements the familiar outline of the Outlaw Fire was likely to generate. Sam started in on her own makeover for Plan B. Her hair, usually a rich brown, was now shockingly-blonde and coiled into an elaborate up-do.

She almost ran into Mack as she popped open the door of her private quarters. Mack’s mouth dropped open and he stared. Sam felt a bit of color creeping onto her face, and hoped it wasn’t noticeable beneath her carefully-applied paint and makeup. “Save it, Jock,” she advised.

He broke into a silly smile. “You know, you really do look like….”

“I said shut it,” Sam warned, turning on her heel to march back to the cockpit. “Did you finish with the equipment?” She demanded of Dodge and Spinster, already waiting at their stations.

Spinster nodded without bothering to look up. Dodge turned to answer her and stopped in the middle of his usual “aye.” He managed the first vowel: “Aaa….”

Spinster craned his neck to see what had shocked his normally-chatty shipmate into momentary silence. “Slayr?” He exclaimed after catching a glimpse of Sam.

Sam sighed rather tiredly and briefly massaged the bridge of her nose with thumb and forefinger. “Strap in,” she snapped then, coming back to herself. “I’m bringing us out of hyperspace soon.”

“Yep, that’s Slayr alright,” Dodge said, finding his voice again and giving his head a bit of a shake.

The Outlaw had been in real space about twenty seconds when they were hailed by the Royal Impressan Port and Customs Authority. The officer’s voice was harsh and even more forbidding than their correspondent of the Corporate Sector Authority.

“Professor Feelgood, this is the Royal Impressan Port and Customs Authority. Maintain your present course and stand by for further instructions. Over.” A few small custom fighters moved into formation around the Outlaw.

“Shields up,” Sam said to Dodge, “but slow-like. We want them to think it’s a normal, real-space conversion automatic procedure, and not that I have battle-grade shields.”

Dodge was nodding.

“But not too slow,” Spinster said in his other ear. “We don’t want to get caught without shields….”

“Slow but not too slow?” Dodge asked. “What the hell….”

“Well, just bring the shields up casually,” Spinster suggested.

“Stuff it, you two,” Sam hissed.

Dodge and Spinster glared at each other.

“Professor Feelgood, this is the Royal Impressan Port and Customs Authority. Prepare to transmit your authorization code. Over.”
Spinster turned back to the comm. “Professor Feelgood is complying, Authority. Standing by to transmit authorization code on your mark. Over.”
Tension filled the cockpit. The minutes dragged on. For some reason, the theme song to an old Corellian game show was running through Sam’s head. The premise of the show was that if you failed to answer the trivia question before time was up, before the song ended, you’d be dunked unceremoniously into a giant vat of icy water. The song was almost over and Sam felt sure she’d yell what is the Battle of Yavin! when the comm flicked back on.

“Professor Feelgood, this is the Royal Impressan Port and Customs Authority. Transmit your authorization code on this frequency now. Over.”

“Professor Feelgood transmitting now. Standing by for further instructions. Over,” Spinster told the comm.

Sam reached the end of the game show song four times. “They’re not going for it, they’re not going for it,” Mack was saying quietly. Sam doubted he realized he was talking out loud. Spinster looked tense and red in the face from holding his breath. Dodge seemed the least concerned of the quartet. He was now busy doing inventory on his utility belt and might have been humming an old Figrin D’an tune. Sam checked her chrono for the eighth time. Beside her, Mack sighed loudly. If Darill were here, I bet she’d have a bad feeling about this.

*
There was no warning, no verbal indication that the code had been bad. No opportunity to re-submit the code under the assumption the transmission had been faulty or misread. The fighters opened fire on the Outlaw. Sam cursed and threw power to her sub-light engines, looping away from the fighters. She quickly realized she could outrun them without a great deal of trouble, but that wasn’t the plan. Her loop brought them closer to Impressa.

“Weapons?” Mack asked.

“Not if we want the plan to work,” Sam shook her head.

He nodded, uncomfortable nonetheless.

“Dodge, we still on a course for the capital?” Sam asked.

“Aye,” he replied.

“Good, tell me if we get more than a degree off,” she instructed, taking the Outlaw through some very elementary evasive maneuvers that had no chance of actually losing the Impressan fighters. The Outlaw’s shields were strong enough to protect them from any real damage from the fighters’ diminutive turbo lasers. The planetary capital, Impressive City, spiraled closer. “Mack, stand by with those canisters. Get ready to deploy them on my mark.”

“Gotcha.”

“Ready?” Sam asked as they entered Impressa’s farthest orbit. “Now.”

Mack hit the release for the canisters, designed to discharge some flaming debris and smoke to make the ship appear to be severely damaged. Sam put the Outlaw into a spin that made it look like it was simply at the mercy of Impressa’s gravity. “Get ready to take your places, everyone,” she reminded them. “Mack, you get those fried wire panels up over the main circuit boards, then take the pilot’s chair. Put her down easy, but remember: nose first.”

“Right, right,” Mack nodded. “Then we’ll kick up a lot of dirt and make it look like a hard landing.”

“Spinster, you take co-pilot and Dodge, stay where you are. I’m going to change,” Sam all-but-sighed her last remark. As she left the cockpit, she heard the men shuffling about taking their places and Dodge giving some advice about how the fake blood and cuts they’d be applying would look most realistic.

Mack put the Outlaw Fire down in her ungraceful nose dive on the outskirts of Impressive City. Dodge reported that security force troops had formed up around the ship and were about to force the hatch. Sam went to the hatch, and the three men waited just behind her, blasters holstered. She took a moment to compose herself, drew up to her full height, which was impressive in the sleek black satin dress she’d shimmied into before landing. Sam assumed an elegant and commanding pose before hitting the quick-release on the hatch. The Outlaw’s main hatch whipped open and revealed an entire squad of security troops deployed in half-moon formation around the gangway.

“How dare you,” Sam seethed in her most icy tone. “I demand to know the meaning of this.”

There was a pause. Several of the men squirmed uncomfortably, mouths agape. There was a distinct murmur from the more distant ranks. Good.
“Where is your commanding officer? I wish to speak to him at once,” Sam snapped.

A few of them looked ready to jump to do her bidding. Someone on her peripheral vision was calling for instructions.

“You there,” Sam directed herself to the nearest guard, on one knee next to the ramp. His trained blaster wavered. “Yes, you. Corporal.” She deliberately misread his rank bar.

“Um, ma’am?” The lad said.

“You will stand when you address me.”

He obliged.

“Now, take me to your commanding officer at once, Corporal.”

“Um.. er…” he stammered.

“Don’t mumble! Speak up, boy!” Sam roared.

A sergeant trotted up to the young corporal’s rescue. “What’s all this, then?” He wanted to know.

“She wants to see the CO, Sir,” the corporal informed him.

“Are you in charge of this unamusing joke?” Sam directed herself to the sergeant. “I wish to see your supervisor. You will take me to him now.”

The sergeant looked slightly taken aback. “Er… we’re calling for a transport right now, ma’am.”

“Finally. I’ll wait in my cabin. Send one of my bodyguards to summon me when the transport arrives, and inform your commanding officer that I expect to be better treated when I arrive in his office than I have been thus far on my visit,” Sam said curtly before sweeping back into the Outlaw. Dodge followed her back inside, and Mack and Spinster flanked the entrance.

“Is that really Fische Kerr?” the sergeant asked Mack.

Mack just grinned at the befuddled man.

*
Sam complained loudly about the Royal Impressan Security Force transport that arrived in very short order to take her to the military base in Impressive City. It was a monstrous old hulk of a thing that lumbered along as Sam bemoaned the jostling. She and the three men were ushered into the officers’ lounge, where an ostentatious bowl of fountaining red punch flowered in the middle of a table set with delicate crystal cups and various intricate hors d’oeuvres. Sam flounced into a chair and waved Mack vaguely toward the table. He brought her a cup of the punch.

She made a show of tasting it, then setting the crystal cup down sharply on the nearby table as the base commander entered the room. The military man had aged well, his blonde head wore its precise hair cut well and he was still trim enough to give the deep navy uniform nice lines. Spinster had taken a position near the door, Dodge and Mack stood to either side of Sam.

The commander approached Sam with his hand extended. Sam gingerly laid her fingertips in his palm, and he brought her hand near his face, bending over it. “Madam, I am Commander Madrogan, the officer in charge of this base. Words cannot express the regret I feel over today’s incident,” he started.

“Well, you might begin by providing some more appropriate refreshment,” Sam replied tartly, reclaiming her fingers from his loose grip.
Madrogan’s face stayed neutral.

“I’ll take Silver Sliver Mineral Water, if you please,” Sam informed him. Madam Kerr’s penchant for the costly beverage exported from Chad was widely known to her avid fans.

Madrogan placed the order into the comlink at his wrist.

“Please sit, Commander,” Sam instructed, gesturing to the seat across from her.

He did so. “The governor is on his way to meet us now.”

“I should think so.”

“I apologize once again, Madam, for today’s incident. It was most unfortunate. I must, however, stress that we were not expecting you here for another fortnight; and we certainly expected you to arrive on the Moonlight Serenade, not….”

“Yes, Commander, I expect you did,” Sam interrupted him. “Perhaps it will also please you to know that I obtained this stunning Belardo satin gown while I was there last week.”

“I understand, Madam,” the Commander replied. This time, a bit of red intruded from his collar.

There was a noise at the portal. Sam enjoyed watching Spinster tense theatrically.

“That will be your mineral water, Madam,” Madrogan said. “Enter,” he called more loudly.

A junior officer came through the portal bearing a silver tray with a graceful blue glass bottle and two long-stemmed crystal goblets. He set it down on a low table between Sam and Madrogan, then bowed out when Madrogan dismissed him. Madrogan cracked open the Silver Sliver and poured the mineral water into the two goblets. Sam took the goblet he offered her with a lazy hand, sipped it demurely, and handed the goblet to Mack for safe keeping.

Madrogan was obviously at a loss for what to say. Sam did nothing to ease his discomfort; she simply sighed and cast about the officers’ lounge.
Madrogan’s comlink twittered softly. He brought his wrist near his mouth. “This is Commander Madrogan, go ahead.”

“Sir, the governor just arrived.”

“Send him in at once,” Madrogan directed, terminating the transmission. “The governor should be with us shortly,” he reiterated for Sam.

The governor burst into the officers’ lounge unannounced and without knocking. Near the portal, Spinster half-drew his blaster, then exaggeratedly reholstered it, then shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“Madam Kerr,” he said, making straight for Sam. “What a pleasant surprise!”

“Governor Bielan,” Sam replied, holding out both hands to the portly but energetic man rushing towards her. “I hope it is considerably more pleasant than today’s… surprise has been for me.”

“Ah, yes,” Bielan sighed, kissing each of her hands in turn. “A most regrettable accident. It is my most fervent hope that you do not think for even a minute that any member of the Royal Impressan Security Force or the Royal Impressan Port and Customs Authority would intentionally try to harm you.”

“Considering my present location, that is also my most fervent hope, Governor,” Sam replied with a faint smile and a glance at Madrogan.

The commander smiled politely, but Bielan guffawed with laughter. “They’ve at least spared your sense of humor, I see!” Bielan remarked with great mirth, or at least affected mirth. It was hard to tell. “I trust you’ll want to freshen up a bit before dining with Their Majesties this evening, Madam?”

“Of course,” Sam nodded. “But I do hope more suitable transportation can be secured for the jaunt to the Dignitarian.”

Bielan cast a rather evil look over at Madrogan, who shrugged helplessly. “Madam, I will escort you there myself in my own personal vehicle.”

“Thank you, Governor; I will remember your hospitality,” Sam said graciously, rising in one fluid motion from her chair. “Vizi will see to my luggage,” she indicated Dodge casually and took Bielan’s arm as they made for the governor’s personal transport.

[Darill Cyllem]

By request... here is more of Sam and company. A good cure for insomnia, perhaps :nahnah:
***

*
They were unpacked in the Imperial suite of Impressive City’s Dignitarian Hotel shortly. Spinster and Dodge swept the rooms thoroughly as Mack checked the equipment packed into false speakers and Sam carefully re-did her face.

“That was quite the show,” Mack commented to her as she was going through her wardrobe, debating between a shimmery green and blue dress or a deep purple gown.

“You think they bought it, then?”

“Absolutely.”

“Which one?” She asked, holding up both dresses.

Mack shrugged.

“I think the purple; it has a train.”

“Bielan said he’d be by to collect you at what time again?”

“Nineteen-thirty,” Sam said, starting to de-tangle the gown from its hanger. “Listen, I want you to go with Jotor to case the docking bay where the shipment is being held.”

Mack nodded.

“I don’t trust Spinster, and I especially don’t trust the two of them together.”

“They’d argue so much the entire security force would come swooping down on their backs in no time,” Mack agreed.

“Exactly,” Sam nodded. “I’d rather have you at this dinner thing tonight, but I want Spinster where I can see him more.”

“Was that another compliment, Slayr?” Mack quipped.

“Can it, Jock.”

He grinned.

“Are they done with the sweep?” She changed the subject.

“Yep,” Mack affirmed. He fiddled with something, and a live a capela recording of Fische Kerr filled the suite. “Anyone who stops to listen will think you’re
practicing,” he smirked and began to hum along to the re-make of “Baby, You Can Fly My Ship.”

“Docking Bay ninety-four,” Spinster chirped cheerfully from the next room.

Sam and Mack joined Dodge and Spinster, pouring over a Customs readout they’d hacked.

“Ninety-four?” Sam asked.

“Ninety-four,” Spinster affirmed.

“Ninety four?” Mack asked. “That’s pretty far down the line. Seems like they’re trying to keep it out of traffic.”

Dodge was nodding, “yeah, it’s ninety-four, alright. And it does look like they’ve got something to hide. All the surrounding bays are empty, ninety-two, ninety-three, ninety-five, and ninety-six.”

“Bring up the map, show them,” Spinster suggested.

The four of them crowded the data pad as Dodge keyed up the hangar map and a close-up view of the nineties wing.

“That’s ninety-four, there,” he pointed.

“It’s huge,” Mack remarked. “Is the shipment really that big?”

“It’s sizable, but not that big,” Sam said. “And it’s very unlikely Haygorn would’ve sent Champ planetside for the delivery. He’d use a smaller freighter, it probably wouldn’t need a docking bay as big as ninety-four.”

“Think that was the most convenient bay available at the time?” Mack asked.

“Nah, seems they’re trying to hide something. I wonder why. Impressa’s never had compunctions about dealing in xeno-antiquities before,” Sam said.

“Maybe they’re trying to be discreet,” Dodge offered. “I heard the New Republic recently passed some legislation with more stringent restrictions on that kind of thing.”

“Is that so,” Sam frowned.

“Corporate Sector planets don’t usually pay much attention to anyone else’s laws, maybe least of all the New Republic’s,” Mack pointed out, echoing Sam’s thoughts.

“True, but they don’t want to alienate such a large and wealthy group of potential consumers, now, do they?” Spinster pointed out.

Sam nodded. “Spoken as a true Impressan, Spinster.”

“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” Dodge wanted to know.

“Spinster’s gonna come with me to the palace; you and Mack are gonna go case docking bay ninety-four,” Sam explained. “We raid the docking bay tomorrow night and bug out of here before they start clamoring for a performance.”

*
Dodge and Mack had donned matte black flight suits for the evening. They strolled non-chalantly in the general direction of the hangar. Dodge toted a shopping bag with the greens of some local tubers sticking out of the top. He whistled an old Figrin D’an tune as they went. Mack tried to appear similarly unconcerned, but settled on pretending to fiddle with his personal comm, occasionally muttering curses about the poor reception quality of his transmission program.

“Know what you mean, mate,” a slightly drunk man commented as he stumbled past them. “Use the RIT-Co. plan myself.” He tottered off.

Dodge flashed Mack an approving grin. They were nearing the hangar. Dodge ducked down a dark alley. Mack followed shortly, after taking a good look up and down the deserted street. There was a four meter retaining wall at the back of the alley that hid docking bay eighty on its other side.

“Give me a boost, then I’ll help you up,” Dodge said.

Mack made a stirrup with his hands and helped Dodge vault to the top of the wall. He dangled his legs down the other side and reached his arm for Mack. They dropped down to the other side and froze to be sure their noise hadn’t drawn any attention. They’d chosen to enter at docking bay eighty because it was supposed to be empty. This turned out to be accurate, and they went silently across it. Dodge moved more stealthily and fluidly than Mack might have guessed and he felt a bit clumsy in comparison to the shorter man.

When they reached the portal, Dodge opened it a crack, withdrew a small mirror from his utility belt and stuck it into the street. He looked both ways, then nodded to Mack and opened the portal. “This way,” Dodge hissed. They bobbed into the alcove of a public information kiosk.

“So,” Dodge said loudly for the benefit of any passers-by. “Think we can still get some good eats this late?” They oriented themselves on the small holdout map Dodge carried so they could make for docking bay ninety-three, an empty bay adjacent to ninety-four. Mack hoped Dodge was as handy picking locks as he claimed.

Dodge and Mack were crouched in the partially-obstructed passage between docking bays ninety-three and ninety-four. They peeked around some crates into docking bay ninety-four, taking a quick visual survey. Dodge pulled off a wad of the tuber greens and chewed it thoughtfully. Mack stared at him in surprise a moment, and Dodge promptly offered him some greens as well. When Mack just shook his head in amazement, Dodge shrugged, and munched the leaves down himself.

“The crates must be in that big storage locker. Looks like they’ve got a laser trip line around it,” Dodge commented. “I can disable that no problem.”

“What about those motion detectors?” Mack asked. “You see ‘em? In the far corners… there are probably two more in the near corners, but we can’t see from where we are.”

Dodge frowned a moment, and pulled out a small pair of macrobinoculars so that he could examine the motion detectors. “Looks like InCom’s standard model… maybe the Senso-5K. I interned for InCom when I was a kid; should be no problem. I’ll need about four minutes to disable the whole rig.”

Mack nodded. “Sounds good. Impressive, actually.”

“Well, you know what they say… when in the City, do as Impressives do.”

“I think they’re called ‘Impressans,” Dodge,” Mack told him.

“No one appreciates me,” Dodge rolled his eyes tragically. “But that’s not what bothers me.”

“Huh?”

“Can you see any surveillance cameras?” Dodge asked.

Mack peered around the docking bay again. “No,” he reported.

“Me, neither. I don’t like it,” Dodge decided.

“Maybe they just have motion detectors,” Mack suggested.

“Not likely. Not with a shipment that they value enough to set aside five docking bays for just half a dozen crates.”

“So, where are the cameras, then?” Mack asked.

Dodge shrugged. “If we can’t see them, there’s no way to be sure. They could be anywhere; they could be camouflaged. That’ll make tomorrow night a little more interesting.”

*
Sam was worn out from a day of touring the Royal Impressan Botanical Gardens on the palace grounds, flouncing around in her Fische Kerr disguise. Mack looked as though he’d enjoyed it thoroughly. While the gardens had been spectacular, Sam would have bet the Outlaw that the shrubbery wasn’t what he found amusing. They were on their way to the hangar with Spinster and Dodge.
They clamored into still-vacant docking bay eighty over the alley wall. It was later and darker than it had been last night when Dodge and Mack had poked around.

“Ow! Dodge-eeerr!” Spinster protested.

“Well, get out of the way, Spinster,” Dodge retorted. “You knew I was coming over the wall….”

“Shh!”

They crept towards the nineties wing, Dodge in the lead. “Uh-oh,” he said when they reached the portal marked RIPCA Docking Bays 90-99. “Code’s changed.”

“Blast it,” Spinster suggested.

Mack, being closer, pulled his blaster and fired into the locking mechanism.

“No, wait!” Sam and Dodge said at the same time.

“Shards,” Sam muttered. “C’mon, let’s move it now, boys.”

They bustled through the portal and heard a faint, faraway warning klaxon.

“Let’s split up,” Spinster recommended. “Dodge and I will….”

“Everyone in here,” Sam interrupted, glaring at Spinster as she forced open the slightly ajar portal to docking bay ninety-one. It was mercifully empty.
A half squad of Royal Impressan Security troops clattered by in the passage just after Dodge coaxed the portal shut again.

“What’s the fastest way there?” Sam wanted to know.

Dodge consulted his map. “Cat walk to docking bay ninety-three, then through the passageway Mack and I were in last night.”

“Let’s move.”

They went along the cat walk single file, Dodge in the lead, Sam bringing up the rear. The quartet froze every time an official-sounding voice drifted up from below. When they reached docking bay ninety-three, they found the ladder down was bolted to restrict access. “That’s not in compliance with emergency code,” Dodge muttered, frowning. “Maybe we can get down into….”

The whine of Mack’s blaster cut him off.

“Everyone flat on the catwalk!” Sam hissed.

“Get down the ladder,” Spinster instructed, sliding down himself. Dodge was just after him. Mack looked back at Sam, then followed.

Sam swore to herself and slithered down the ladder just before a search light swept the catwalk. She grabbed a handful of Mack’s flightsuit as she scolded, “stop doing that!”

Spinster ushered them into the lee of some crates just outside the passage leading to docking bay ninety-four, where an argument broke out. They all ducked as the searchlight passed overhead again. “OK,” Spinster began. “They know someone’s here, but they don’t know where we are and they don’t know what we’re after, so we can still grab the cargo and get out. Dodge can disable the surveillance equipment. Mack, Slayr, you two go commandeer a speeder or something so we can haul out the crates. When you’re four minutes from being back here, signal by….”

"Listen, fly-boy," Sam cut in testily. "I take orders from just one person: ME."

"Yeah? Join the club, sweet-heart," Spinster retorted.

"Hey! Would you two cut it out?" Dodge interrupted. "Between your bickering and his blasting everything in sight," Dodge gestured at Mack for emphasis, "it's a wonder the whole security force doesn't know we're here."

"Bring 'em on!" Mack snapped back. "I prefer a straight fight to all this sneaking around."

"Looks like you just got your wish."

A half squad of troops, fifteen men, burst through the door to docking bay ninety-three. “There they are!” Someone shouted. “Form up!”
Sam dove for cover behind a large shipping crate, cramming in next to Mack.

“This is the Royal Impressan Security Force. We have you surrounded. Come out slowly with your hands in plain sight and state your business in this restricted section of the hangar.”

Sam was tempted to try and make up a story… see if she could talk her way out of this one, like so many others, but was wary of leaving the cover of the crate. She wasn’t so sure the Impressans were “ask questions first” types.

Just then, Spinster rose on one knee and squeezed off a quick round at the security troops.

“Open fire!” The squad leader shouted.

Spinster hunkered back down behind his crate. Sam and Mack looked at each other, then peeped around their respective sides of the crate to give some returning fire. She was reasonably sure they weren’t hitting anything, and almost positive that some of the troops had broken off to flank them. Sam fingered a small explosive on her belt.

“Dodge!” She shouted above the din. “Get back into ninety-four, we’ll cover you.”

“Roger that,” he shouted back.

Sam looked over at Mack again, who nodded understanding. “Now,” she mouthed.

“Go!” Sam screamed to Dodge and Spinster as she and Mack laid down a pattern of covering fire. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw them gain the portal into docking bay ninety-four. “You next,” she said to Mack when they’d ducked back behind the crate.

“No,” he protested. “You go; I’ll cover you.”

“Forget it,” she snapped. “No time to argue.” Without waiting for him to reply, she starting laying a low-to-high fire pattern for Mack’s escape.

“Blast it, Sam!” She heard him swear and fire a few blind shots over his shoulder, but knew he was beating a path through the passageway. Even before Mack was all the way out, Sam pulled the charge off her belt, slammed it against her thigh to set it, and threw it over the crate towards the troops. She started to rise, heard the explosion, and flung herself forward through the passageway. Mack grabbed her arm and pulled her sideways out of the blast radius. Sam tumbled into him, bowling them both over. Spinster was dragging the two of them by their collars as he ran after Dodge towards the nearest portal. Dodge kicked it in.

Three red-eyed guards blinked slowly at them, so surprised they’d hardly begun to reach for their side arms. “Sorry, guys,” Dodge said brightly. “Thought there might be more of them, hiding out in here.”

Spinster picked up quickly. “Look what we found,” he said, nodding to Sam and Mack, whose collars were still clutched in his fists.

“There’s still two or three more,” Dodge continued right on, not waiting for anyone to reply or interrupt. They hurried on through the room, trying not to scurry. Five meters down the hall was another, larger lounge that had clearly been abandoned in a great hurry within the last few minutes.

“Shards, looks like half the base has been called out,” Spinster commented.

“Who’s there?” A voice called. There was movement from the galley. Sam whirled around a dropped a rotund man in a white uniform with a graceful stun bolt.

“Set for stun. Cute,” Spinster sneered.

Sam ignored him, and bent to check the galley man’s pulse. She tossed the white apron to Dodge, who immediately saw the merit in her half-formed plan and put it on. Mack had forced the door to a storage locker and found two standard issue bomber jackets. He put one on, and gave the other to Sam as neither fit Spinster.

“What’s that noise?” Spinster asked. A persistent beeping was coming from inside the galley.

Dodge was there first. He pressed the flashing red button. “Uuhh… everything’s fine here, situation normal.”

“Any sign of the intruders?” The voice on the other end was slightly out of breath.

“No,” Dodge said quickly.

“We’ve been trying to hail you for several minutes, what happened?”

“Um… had a slight… weapons malfunction,” Dodge grimaced. “But we’re all fine here now... um, thanks. How are you?”

Spinster slapped his forehead with his open palm.

“We’re sending a squad over, stay where you are,” the voice instructed, now under control and sounding more firm.

“No, no!” Dodge said. “We have a… a leak. Some kind of gas from the galley. Give us a few minutes to lock it down.”

“Who is this? What’s your operating number?” The comm demanded.

“Er… I don’t have one. I’m just the cook,” Dodge replied.

The comm was a smoldering stain on the wall after Mack took his blaster to it.

“Would you cut that out?” Dodge asked.

Mack shrugged. “Boring conversation anyway.”

“We’re gonna have company, boys,” Sam reminded them. “There’s a docking pad with a few patrol vehicles just through here.”

“Great, let’s make like a Tatooine sand storm and blow out of this joint,” Spinster said grimly.

Sam rolled her eyes as she went cautiously into the hangar, and as Spinster walked by, Dodge resisted the urge to trip his ship mate for another lame witticism.

[Darill Cyllem]

Sam and Spinster were arguing again the next morning; to top it all off, Dodge had bad news.
“I mean, did you even have a plan for getting back out of the docking bay?” Spinster shouted.
“Quiet,” Mack cautioned. “Someone might hear you over Madam Kerr practicing.”
“They didn’t tell me it wasn’t still in the freighter,” Sam explained. “I was just going to….”
“Why would they leave it in the freighter?”
“Why wouldn’t they?” She countered.
“Much as I hate to interrupt this charming bonding experience,” Dodge interjected.
Spinster and Sam turned to look at him.
“They moved it. It’s gone,” Dodge said simply.
“Sithspawn,” Spinster swore.
“Where’d they move it?” Mack asked.
Dodge shrugged. “Probably the Royal Impressan Museum, or some kind of affiliated temporary storage facility.”
“They’ll have to pass it through collections and catalogue the shipment before they can put it on display,” Sam said.
“How do you know?” Spinster demanded.
“Because that’s how museums work,” she replied hotly.
“Says who?”
“Says me, and every single museum in the galaxy even half as wealthy as the Royal Impressan,” Sam countered.
“Relax, Spinster, all we have to do is find out where it is and how to get at it,” Dodge said.
“Yeah. Sounds like a piece of cake to me, Dodger,” Spinster replied.
“It would be a lot easier if you weren’t so argumentative,” Sam fired back.
“Argumentative?”
“You heard the lady,” Mack put in.
“You have been kind of a sore loser since Haygorn took out the Prize,” Dodge pointed out.
“Is there a reason I should be happy about it?”
“Who’re you calling a lady?” Sam demanded.
Mack shrugged. “Well, Madam Kerr, it seems to me that your friend the governor might know a little something about some ancient Niishao sculptures. If anyone can sweet-talk him into giving out information, it’s you, Slayr.”
Sam frowned slightly. “I’m supposed to have lunch tomorrow with Bielan and some of his staff members to work on performance plans. I can bring it up then.”
“That’s the spirit.”
“One of those guys is bound to know something about it. If I’ve got Bielan pegged right, he’ll have one of his staffers on the museum board,” Dodge nodded.
“Fingers in every pie,” Spinster agreed. “Which is such a good strategy, I’ve adopted it myself.”
“Oh?” Sam said.
Spinster nodded. “Landed a janitorial job at the Royal Impressan Museum this morning,” he reported. “Night shift.”
Even Sam was impressed. “When do you start?”
“Tomorrow.”

*
Sam stormed back into the suite, the flashy shoulder cape that went with her dress snapping in her wake. She was in an inordinately bad mood after an excruciatingly long day with Bielan. Madam Kerr and Bielan apparently had some kind of… “thing” going on that Sam hadn’t heard about. Or at least that’s what Bielan was trying to imply. Mack followed her in and shut the door quietly behind her.
“Hey!” Dodger called brightly from his makeshift workstation. “How’d it go?”
Sam stomped into the other room without a word.
Dodge looked at Mack questioningly.
Mack shook his head. “It went well, actually,” he said softly. “Just don’t ask about it. She’ll come around.”
“What happened?”
“Let’s just say Slayr had to stretch her acting abilities this afternoon.”
“Ah, I see,” Dodge said, even though he didn’t. “I won’t ask.”
“That would be wise,” Mack nodded.

Sam was sprawled on a chair in the next room. The cape was in a pile half way across the floor, as if it had been thrown. Though Sam was still in her fancy sequin dress and makeup, Fische Kerr was gone. Her face was tight and her eyes still smoldered. She looked up as Mack came in.
He offered her a short tumbler, half full of a rich, amber liquid. Sam took the glass and eased back into the chair. Mack sat nearby.
“Well, at least there are some benefits to being Madam Kerr,” Mack commented, raising his own glass to the light.
“Whyren’s Reserve?” Sam asked.
Mack nodded.
Sam clinked her glass against his.
“Victory,” Mack said.
Sam felt herself smile. They drank.
“The other benefit to being Madam Kerr is that now we know the Niishao shipment is in the museum. I think we should hit it as soon as we get Spinter’s intel.”
“In the meantime we’ll just have to keep you away from Bielan,” Mack said dryly.
“Your concern for my welfare is touching,” Sam commented sarcastically.
“Oh., it’s not your welfare I’m concerned about, Slayr,” Mack said. “I’m just afraid you’ll go after Bielan and blow our cover.”
She laughed. “Was I that bad?”
Mack smiled. “Not until we left. You were brilliant with Bielan,” he said.
“How am I going to avoid him?”
“Laryngitis?”
Sam frowned. “That might work.”
“For a while, at least,” Mack said.
Sam took another sip of her fine Corellian brandy. “When does Spinster get back from the museum tonight?”
“I’m not sure, after midnight, I think,” Mack said.
“We’ll plan the raid during the day tomorrow,” she decided. “And head out tomorrow night.”
They looked over towards a soft knock on the door. Dodge pushed a cart into the room. “Hungry?” He asked. “I called room service.”
“Fantastic!” Sam said. “Pour the man some brandy, Mack.”

*
The suite was dark and quiet. Spinster wasn’t back yet, but Sam and Mack had turned in early. Dodge was on first watch. A noise roused Sam from sleep. She snatched her blaster from under the pillow and rolled silently off the bed, putting it between herself and the door. She peered through the darkness. Mack had abandoned his couch across the room and had crept to crouch next to the door. He jerked his thumb towards the door. Sam nodded exaggeratedly. The noise had come from the next room, or maybe outside the suite. Sam moved quietly to flank the other side of the door. They trained their blasters on the door and Sam gently eased it open.
They saw Dodge sitting in the dark, illuminated only by his control console. He waved them forward, a slightly amused expression on his face. Sam and Mack moved cautiously towards him.
“What is it?” Sam hissed.
Dodge pointed to the holo feed on the small monitor before him. Then he pointed to the door. A live shot from the security cam outside the door. There was no mistaking that rotund figure. Bielan. Sam’s eyes narrowed.
Bielan knocked on the door again, this time a bit louder. “Darling?”
Sam went quietly back into the other room. She called the front desk on her private comlink. “Yes, hello, this is room 326. I can hear someone in the hall - he seems to be trying to gain access to the suite next door, but no one’s letting him in. He’s making such a dreadful racket. Would you kindly send someone by to see him out?”
Switching off her comlink, Sam went back to the other room and stood so she could see the monitor.
“What did you do?” Mack whispered.
“You’ll see.”
Bielan had just begun to knock on the door again when two uniformed Dignitarian security guards showed up beside him. Dodge and Mack turned wide eyes and raised eyebrows on Sam. She smiled slyly, satisfied.
The voices outside the door were too muffled for words to be made out clearly. The room intercom pinged. They all looked over at the speaker. Sam nudged Mack towards it. A grin began to spread across his face.
Mack keyed the intercom. “Who dares disturb the repose of Madam Kerr?” He demanded, managing a supremely frosty tone.
Dodge mimed him a silent cheer and Sam shot him a wink.
“My apologies, sir,” one of the guards replied. “The Governor is here - he says he has an… appointment with Madam Kerr?”
Mack glanced over at Sam, who firmly shook her head. “I’m sorry. Madam Kerr left us with specific instruction that she is not to be disturbed. Under any circumstances.”
“Under any circumstances?” The guard repeated.
“You understand, I’m sure.”
“Of course,” the guard assured him. “My deepest apologies once again.”
Mack switched off the intercom. They watched as the guards coaxed Bielan away from the door.
Handshakes all around. “You called security?” Dodge said.
Sam nodded. “You bet.”
It wasn’t long before Spinster returned. “Anyone want to tell me why I just saw Governor Bielan being escorted out of here by security?” He asked, setting down a delicate blue bottle on a nearby table.
They all burst out laughing.
“Sweet little move on Slayr’s part,” Dodge said. “I’ll fill you in later.”
“Is our cover blown?”
“No, of course not,” Sam said. “I’ll handle it, don’t worry.”
“Fine,” Spinster sighed.
“Did you buy a bottle of Silver Sliver?” Mack asked.
“Well, not really,” Spinster said. “But that was my cover for why one of Madam Kerr’s bodyguards was out so late. Plus, it’s a nice prop for the suite.”
“But where’d you get the bottle?” Mack wondered. “All the labels look genuine.”
“Nicked it from that military base,” Spinster shrugged. “I filled it with plain water and jimmied the seal.”
Even Sam was impressed. “Nice job.”
“Thanks,” Spinster grinned. “Am I on watch now?”
“No, I am,” Dodge said. “Get some rest. Tomorrow’s a big day.”
Spinster arched a brow. “The big day?”
“That’s right,” Sam nodded.

[nefertiti]

I'm definately liking Sam... a chick who knows tools is always a good read!

[sharyntyre]

:hungry: Tasty!

[Darill Cyllem]

Sam had fielded a call from Bielan first thing in the morning, giving the most convincing performance of laryngitis Mack had ever seen. She used her illness both as an excuse for the previous night and to get out of the day’s scheduled activities. With that in order, the four of them sat around the largest of the suite’s tables, drinking caf and munching a few assorted pastries. Spinster was talking them through a map of the Royal Impressan Museum.
“See, here’s the collections area, on the lowest level. That’s where the shipment is, waiting to be catalogued. It’s only accessible via the secure vault on the level above, which is a clean lab. My security codes won’t get us in there, I’m only cleared for the exhibit floors and a few offices on those levels,” Spinster said.
“But you can get us into the museum itself?” Sam asked.
Spinster nodded.
“Will it be easier to get to collections through the museum or from the outside?” Mack wondered.
“Hard to say,” Dodge frowned at the building schematic he’d sliced out of the city archives. “This duct work in the freshers is hard to follow. It might take us in, or it might go to the incinerator for the clean lab. This air output vent, on the other hand, definitely leads directly to the collections vault.”
Sam peered at the schematic over his shoulder. “So what do you think?”
“Well, it would probably be easier to go in via the ductwork in the museum itself, but we can’t be sure where it leads.”
She nodded. “Looks like we’ll have to go in from the outside.”
“Right,” Dodge said. He pulled up another schematic, this one of the museum’s security system. “They’re using pretty standard museum stuff. Most of it’s Incom, but there are a few old SoroSuub pieces, from back before they started specializing in space craft. See, here’s a museum piece right here - the laser surveillance scheme around that Baath painting. A nice little SS-44.8 Silent Sneak… you know Incom bought that design and used some of the schematics for the targeting computer on the X-wing?”
“That’s all great, Dodge, really,” Spinster interrupted. “I assume that means you can bypass the security system?”
Dodge assumed a pouty, hurt look. “Of course I can.”
“So this looks like our best entry point?” Spinster asked, gesturing again to the air output vent.
“Yeah,” Dodge nodded. “I’ll disable the security cams and the pressure sensors and the trip lines. You and Mack can cut your way in and get the crates from that end. I’ll work the top of the vent to help get the crates out, and load them into the speeder.”
“Then you’ll all have to meet me at the Outlaw so we can get the hell out of here,” Sam said. “I’ll have it prepped and ready to go.”
“OK, so, me and Mack are going in, Dodge is working surveillance and loading, and Sam’s in charge of getting the ship out of impoundment and running the blockade,” Spinster said, ticking off four fingers, one for each person in their crew.
Mack reached for the pot of caf. “Let’s get down to it then.”

Spinster had commandeered a delivery repulsortruck normally employed by the museum’s gift shop; hopefully, it wouldn’t look like it was up to no good just loitering outside the museum. Mack crouched with Spinster in the cargo area of the truck, waiting for the all clear from Dodge.
“Dodger,” Spinster hissed into the comlink for the fifth time in as many minutes.
“Just a few more seconds.” Dodge’s irritation was evident even over the comm interference. “OK, I’ve got it.”
Mack eased the cargo door open. They were less than half a meter away from the air output vent. He took up the weld slicer and went to work on the outer grate of the vent. Spinster occupied himself with rigging the pulley system in the light from the slicer. Dodge joined them in the cargo area as they were affixing the anchors of their rappel cords to the lip of the duct. “I’ve got the fan turned off, and I rigged a holo surveillance unit on the outside of the truck, so we’ll have some warning if anyone shows up,” Dodge said.
Spinster nodded. “We’ll send the crates up as soon as we can,” he promised, donning a head lamp.
Mack had already started rappelling down the steep grade of the air vent, and Spinster followed. They tried to progress quietly, but Mack winced every time a boot or an elbow clanged ominously off the side of the duct, certain that this time they’d trip a noise alarm and bring a rancor’s nest of trouble down on their heads. About halfway along the vent, they came to the fan. It was motionless, as Dodge had indicated, and Mack got to work cutting it free. Spinster reached the fan not long after Mack, and set about attaching magnetic cables at two key points on the fan. Mack was starting to feel a bit of a tingle in his back from dangling by his belt on the rappel cord. Spinster attached one of the magnetic cables to Mack’s belt, and attached the second one to his own.
They felt a tremendous tug from the cables attached to the fan. “Fan’s free,” Mack grunted.
“You think?” Spinster hissed through gritted teeth. They lowered the fan slowly and creakingly down the shaft before them.
“Who votes for just letting it drop?” Mack wheezed.
Spinster shook his head. “We can’t risk damaging the shipment.”
“I know,” Mack sighed, “or setting off any noise alarms a few levels up.” He and Spinster grunted with exertion. “And this is supposed to be the easy way in?”
Just as suddenly as it had come, the weight of the fan was gone.
“It’s on the floor,” Spinster said unnecessarily. “Let’s go.”
They reached the collections area without encountering any other obstacles. Spinster slowly craned his head around to cast the light from the work lamp about them. “There,” Mack pointed. “That’s Niishao script on the outside.”
“Think it’s still in the crates?” Spinster asked. He nudged one experimentally. “This one’s full.”
Just then, something slithered down the vent behind them.
Mack turned. “Good, Dodge’s got the pulley system rigged up.”
The two men wrestled one of the crates into the harness and angled it into the air vent. They hauled on a cord, while Dodge did the same at the top of the vent. The crate scraped upwards through the vent. A double-click on the comlink told them Dodge had the crate. They waited a few minutes for the harness to return down the vent.
“We’ve got to hustle up,” Mack said.
“I know,” Spinster agreed. “We probably only have a little more time before someone notices Dodge tampered with the security system.”
“Cutting through that fan took a lot longer than I thought it would.”
“Yeah, and it was a lot heavier than we expected, too,” Spinster said grimly.
They moved each of the crates near the vent and sent them up one by one, working furiously. At last, Dodge gave the double-click that signaled he’d secured the last of the crates. Spinster and Mack went back to the duct and began to scramble up their rappel cords.
“Did you get the signal from Slayr?” Spinster asked.
“Yeah,” Dodge replied. She’s ready on her end. And I’ve got a read on the Outlaw’s position.”
“Let’s go, then,” Mack said.
“Not until you get the grate back into place,” Dodge insisted. “We want it to look the same as before we were here.”
Slightly irritable, but knowing Dodge was right, Spinster held the grate in position while Mack spot welded it in place. That minor, cosmetic detail accomplished, they drove off into the night; Dodge sweated to keep the speed of the vehicle below breakneck.

*
The Outlaw Fire had been moved to a civilian hangar to await “repairs.” It was Sam’s job to get to her ship, get it ready to fly, and make sure Dodge would be able to get in with the shipment. They’d debated a plan for this task for a while. Sam wasn’t too thrilled with the plan that had actually been chosen, but had been unable to come up with a more reasonable alternative. And so she crouched, waiting for one of the troop transports that went by at regular intervals to change the guard at the hangar. The Royal Impressan Port and Customs Authority was still in charge of security at the civilian hangar, and troops were brought in from the base. She heard a vehicle approaching and peeked out from her cover to take a look. False alarm, it was just a food vendor. Then, there it was. The troop transport rumbled along almost directly behind the food vendor. When the two vehicles paused at an intersection, Sam leaped lightly onto the side of the troop carrier and clung to its windowless passenger compartment, using some magnetic hand grips on loan from Dodge.
Both vehicles slowed to a stop outside the entrance to the hangar. The food vendor was setting up shop, and the door to the guard house opened to let out several hungry soldiers. Sam detached herself from the troop transport and rolled silently beneath the vehicle just as the doors opened and the change of guard emptied out. She was astonished when nearly all the soldiers queued up to make food purchases. The portal to the guard house was still open. This would probably be her best chance.
Sam rolled back out from beneath the troop transport, keeping on the side that was least illuminated by the hangar entrance. On her way past the deserted pilot’s cab, she spotted an ID badge sitting in the tray near the shifter. She palmed it in a flash and made purposefully for the guard house, as if she had every right to be exactly here in the dead of night.
Much to her disappointment, the RIPCA weren’t entirely without discipline. The guard house wasn’t wholly abandoned. Two uniformed men looked up from their card game.
“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” Sam said pleasantly.
“Hm,” one of the men grunted at her.
“What are you doing here?” The other asked.
“Oh, you know… the food vendor’s just arrived. Some nights I can’t time it right. It’s nearly impossible to get through the usual way until the commotion’s died down a bit. Thought I’d just cut through here, if that’s alright,” Sam said, continuing undeterred through the guard room towards the opposite door, as if she knew exactly where she was going, with the ID card in her hand half extended.
One of the guards had partially risen from his seat. He glanced at his cards, and at the food vendor outside. “Sure, no problem,” he said.
“Thanks,” Sam said brightly. She swiped the ID card through the most likely-looking slot. To her immense relief, the door parted before her and she slipped through before they could change their minds.
“Who was that?” She heard someone ask behind her before the door re-sealed.
“Cleaning lady, I guess,” the guard answered. “Look, her ID card worked, didn’t it? Don’t worry about it.”
Sam allowed herself a tight smile as she continued down the corridor. She still seemed to be in the military area of the hangar, and knew she’d have to go to the western part of the compound to get to where the Outlaw was. The corridor was empty for the moment, but Sam ducked into the nearest ‘fresher. Spying a cabinet, she made short work of jimmying the door open. She hoisted two rather large bottles of solvent and went back to the corridor.
“You there, halt!” Someone said sharply behind her. A junior officer, Sam saw when she turned. “Where are you going?” He asked.
“Oh, hi!” Sam said. “Maybe you can tell me the way back out. I’m new, see… and hopelessly turned around.”
“What are you doing?” He asked, his voice sounding much less accusing and irritated.
“Just checking supplies in the ‘freshers,” Sam explained easily, resettling the five liter bottles on her hips. “I’m done with this area, but I need to get over to the, um… western corridor, or wing, or whatever you call it.
The officer sighed in a long-suffering way. “I’ll show you the way out,” he offered.
“Thank you,” Sam smiled.
“We’ve had the worst luck with the hangar staff lately,” he went on. “It’s so hard to find reliable help.”
Sam kept the smile plastered on her face. “Yes, sir,” she agreed amicably. “I guess that’s why this job was open.”
“So it would seem,” he remarked, rather unnecessarily coldly, Sam thought. “Right through here,” he said, keying the door open. “Straight down this corridor. I daresay the Western Landing Platform Area is quite hard to miss.”
“Thanks, again, sir,” Sam said, readjusting the solvent bottles again and heading off. She breathed a sigh of relief when the door sealed behind her. This was almost too easy. Not that she was complaining.
Sam moved quietly down the hallway - not in full stealth mode but trying to remain discreet. She spotted the door to the hangar where the Outlaw was parked. Deliberately, Sam turned away and headed for the nearest ‘fresher. She unfolded the small holo sticker from her pocket and hung it on the door. CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE. She admired the effect a moment before entering and quick sealing the door behind her. She was finally able to abandon the solvent bottles and rolled her shoulders to relieve tense muscles. Scanning the ceiling, she spotted an entrance to the duct work. Standing on one of the commodes, she managed to remove the grate over the vent. Arms straining with the effort, Sam pulled herself up into the duct. She shimmied into and along the small chamber and paused once she was inside, trying to catch her breath. Sam slid forward along the duct on her belly. Coming to the next grate along the line, Sam smiled grimly. Beyond, she could see the Outlaw Fire. Dodge was good, that was certain. Maneuvering carefully in the confined space, Sam took out the mini datapad Dodge had provided. Its program would glitch the security in the Outlaw’s hangar, allowing her to move around freely without being noticed. It would also send a live holo feed to Dodge, so he would know Sam had secured the hangar. With Dodge’s slice job in place, Sam managed to twist around in the duct and kick out the grate covering the vent opening. She dropped down into the hangar and froze a moment. Dodge’s program was working and no alarm was raised. Excellent.
The mini datapad also allowed Sam to monitor progress on the museum heist. The repulsor-truck was still stationed outside the museum. Good. She was on schedule. Sam keyed for entry into the Outlaw. She was starting to feel nervous as she prepped the Outlaw for flight, wishing she could tell more about