Chapter 4

Somewhere in the Molavar System

Abrion Sector

Repulse Squadron drifted towards the specified coordinates, three frigates like dead, silent bodies carried lifelessly by still waters. Directly ahead, the twin suns were golden marbles, their intensity moderated by their distance and by the viewports’ automated sunscreens. Closer afield, the desert world of Molavar loomed. The system was minor, and unimportant. Carefully chosen. The only people who would have any interest here were on the seedier side, and would not be missed if they had to be shot down in the name of operational security.

“Incoming transmission from Molavar, sir,” the comms droid tapped the digitised console overlay, “Encrypted datafile. Triple-coded, multi-routed shortburst. Looks like it was sent when the uplink detected our transponder signal in the system.”

“Thorough,” I commented, “Send it to my tablet.”

I ripped open the file and started combing through the brief, registering every word in my head so as to not miss a detail. Thankfully, General Tann appreciated brevity–a trait that is mirrored in the rundown. Unfortunately… her concise nature almost made it extremely clear just how daring–to put it lightly–this operation is going to be. I also found out Asajj Ventress has been given the rank of commander for this mission, making her my direct superior indeed.

Especially since we were dealing with the Hutts, in the Hutts’ own backyard.

“We are picking up Cronau radiation in the system, sir,” B1-5733 said, “A small vessel had just jumped out of hyperspace.”

Taylor was off-shift for some well-earned maintenance and a recharge, along with the rest of his bridge crew. B1-5733–Stelle–had been with me since Repulse herself–predating even Tuff, who was only assigned to me after I was assigned Resistance and Renown. The original in command of Repulse was a bit soft in the processors due to a production defect, so I scrapped him and called in a small favour to reprogram Stelle to take his place.

“Pinpoint it,” I ordered, “Prepare tractor beam projectors.”

Can’t have anyone blowing our cover, can we?

“Our projectors are meant to guide in vultures, sir,” Tuff reminded, “They aren’t strong enough–”

“They don’t have to be, sir” Stelle interrupted, “We only need to slow them down for our ion cannons to disable them.”

Tuff slowly twisted his head to stare at me, as if he couldn’t process a B1 unit overriding him.

“What?” I raised an eyebrow, “Stelle’s right. And your senior, so don’t give me that attitude.”

“The contact is at the edge of the system, sir,” Stelle reported, “Projectors are charging. Should we plot an intercept vector?”

“Do so, thank you,” I leaned on my fist, “Identify the make as soon as possible. Hail them when in range, I want a beacon identification.”

Repulse yawned around, guns awakening and turrets swivelling to face the unfortunate victim, who simply came to the wrong place at the wrong time. Renown and Resistance fired up their ion drives, and the Squadron began burning away at the light-hours between us and our target.

“Model identified, sir!” Stelle remained focused on his console, “Corellian make, G-nine Rigger-class freighter.”

G9 Rigger… I stole a quick glance at my datapad. I narrowed my eyes.

“Earlier than scheduled…” I muttered, before raising my voice, “I still want that beacon identification.”

“Roger roger,” Stelle nodded, deftly pulling up a comms window, “Freighter, this is the Confederate Navy. You are flying in Confederate space. Please identify yourself.”

Several seconds ticked away, with no answer. Whatever, no point in being polite if they weren’t willing to reciprocate.

“Contact in range of our forward ion cannons,” the gunnery droid said, “Arm weapon systems?”

“Arm them,” I commanded, “Stelle, rip the codes out of them and run it.”

“Roger roger,” the droid said, “…Callsign Twilight, registered in Galactic City, Coruscant. Extensive history of spice smuggling… several citations issued, but no bounty.”

“Looks like this is our cargo,” I huffed, “Didn’t have to make it so hard. Disarm weapons, issue clearance to portside hangar.”

“Twilight, you are cleared for landing in portside hangar,” Stelle echoed, “Please disable stabilisers for tractor beam guidance.”

I rubbed the display of the tablet absentmindedly, taking in a deep breath as I prepared for what will probably be the most stressful ‘routine patrol’ of my life.

“Tuff, get a party down there and escort our guests here,” I sighed, “The rest of you: conceal weapons, set blasters to stun.”

I do not usually allow blasters on my bridge, as they are workplace hazards. In this special case, they have turned into insurance. General Tann told me she would protect me, but my understanding of Force users is that they are quite… unpredictable. Hopefully, this Asajj Ventress respected professionalism as much as Sev’rance Tann, but for some reason I doubt it.

The sound of the blast doors sliding open was louder than I remembered, bidding me to stand from the chair and turn to greet my new partner in crime.

The first thought that ran through my head was: wow, she really looks like an ‘Asajj Ventress.’ A woman, clearly, but with pale and sickly white skin that made her more wraith than… whatever near-human species she was. Because humans don’t look like that. Though a flowing, hooded cloak covered most of her outfit–the kind Force users seemed to like–I could almost make out the hilts of two lightsabers at her waist.

She lowered the hood, revealing a totally hairless head which slanted down to a pointed chin. Dark lipstick, dark eyeshadow–very long eyelashes, especially the bottom ones–Goddamn, I’m working with a goth. A very unstable one, from the looks of it. If I could guess… it must be daddy issues.

“Asajj Ventress?” I forced as much composed politeness as I could into my voice, “Welcome aboard. I am Rain Bonteri, I look forward to working with you.”

Ventress regarded me for a long moment with dark eyes, making the back of my neck itch. Unwilling to trap myself in a staring contest, I allowed myself to get distracted by my beeping datapad.

“So do I,” there was a crawl in her voice that made me shiver.

God, I fucking hate space wizards. Never know what’s in their heads.

“May I confirm our quarry, Commander Ventress?” I tried to chip away at the tension.

It backfired.

“Our?” Ventress’ asked dangerously.

This… this fickle bitch. My smile tightened unintentionally. Stelle shifted, servos whirring. His blaster laid just out of view, held behind the console stand. Another droid in the lower level noticed, and turned around. I could already feel their original battle programming fire up behind their dark photoreceptors.

“I have no intention in taking credit for your achievements,” I held out a hand, to both appease the vicious woman and to wave down the droids, “In fact, there will be no achievement in this task for me at all. But it serves that we must cooperate to carry out your… master’s… demands. This is a military vessel, and such is the circumstance that you are my superior for this assignment. I will carry out your commands, and I hope you will allow me to do so to the best of my ability.”

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Ventress eyed me again, her face worryingly placid, shifting her weight from foot to foot like a cat deciding the best angle from which to maul her prey. Until finally, she stepped aside to reveal a RA-7 protocol droid carrying a cage in its hands, one that looked suspiciously like a pet carrier.

The first thing that hit me was the smell. The second was the disgusting, squirming creature inside the cage. Like an overgrown slug, larger than even my head. It squeaked and gurgled, waving its tiny arms around.

I didn’t even know Jabba the Hutt had a son. Didn’t see him in the original trilogy… repugnant the creature may be, there was still the unfortunate thought that the child–a child–may have died before reaching the timeline of the movies. Hopefully this mission would not be the cause of it.