I’d lost it all: my cargo, my ship, and my pride. I was a Duros defeated, and worst of all I’d fallen into the hands of some ridiculous Imps. I should never have taken the job from that Mon Calamari, Burff. If I hadn’t been so hard-up for cash, I might have questioned the cargo.
It was almost too easy: I blew through the CorSec sensor net and evaded the Imperial sweeps on my way off of Corellia. The cargo was making some funny noises, but I tried to put it out of my mind. Don’t ask, don’t tell – that’s what the other smugglers would say, at least. But something struck me as odd about it all; maybe it was the whimpering and smell from the crates. It was all going fine until I came off of the first hyperdrive jump. With a crash one of the crates opened and by the time I got out there to investigate, whatever was in it was already running around the ship. I hightailed it back to the cockpit and found my nav computer set with new coordinates. Figures. A bad week just got worse.
I threw off artificial gravity, strapped in, and pulled a hard 720 to knock out the stowaway. Found the bugger as he came to in the hallway, but before I knew it he was on me. Fast as a blaster bolt he had me up against the wall, and it was all I could do to appease him and keep him happy. Defels only existed in old wives’ tales, and here I had four holding me hostage and forcing me down onto some verdant rock.
They bagged me and dragged me to some interrogation room. I’m not sure why they let me live even that long, but the old man who was questioning me seemed nice enough. Promised to wipe my nav computers and let me go. Yeah, that’s the last time I listen to that line. I thought I was home free when I broke atmo, but Johnny Reb set 2 Y-Wings to do what he couldn’t do face-to-face. Fair fight, and I almost had one before the Derelicte started to really fall apart on me. Hyperdrive burnt out at the last minute and I blacked out as they were bearing down on me. Last thing I remember was a glint of grey out the starboard viewport: a star destroyer.
I woke up in the wreckage of my girl. She was a mess and so was I, but she saw me safe enough to the ground. My pride was more banged up than anything. Funny thing about Chadra-Fan is how close they poke their nose into your business, and this one had his little mousy face shoved right into mine. He waved over his CO and some rookie to pick me up. Behind them I could see a mass of storm troopers flooding into the Rebel base. Good riddance. But here I was, out of the frying pan and into the fire. I figured it was as good a time as any to pass out again.
I came to again on board a Lambda-class shuttle en route to a detention facility. I think the Imp captain was some sort of alien lover, because I got the feeling he had other plans for me. Some rookie Imp human and that same Chadra-Fan from before joined us. Not my cup of tea, not my problem either. My problem was this: the were transporting a group of captured rebels and the Rebs decided to jailbreak ‘em with a Y-Wing. Probably the same one that trashed my girl. First ion blast knocked out both pilots, second one rocked the boat enough to knock out that sick Imp who had a thing for my disco stick. Too bad it didn’t put him down permanently.
Good thing I wore my flight suit, because I was able to convince rookie boy they needed me to pilot this ship home. Maybe cut me a deal in the process. I didn’t care — I just didn’t want the Rebs getting their hands on me again. I’d run enough jobs for the Imps and lifted enough off a few of their officers to land me a bad rap. Lambda controls about as shitty as my junk frigate, so I didn’t have any problems flying circles around that clunker of a Y-Wing. Blaster markings looked like they came from my frigate, so I had a feeling this guy was in for a little poetic justice. Never thought I’d see the day a shuttle-class takes out a fighter-class, but that baby lit up the inky black of space like a Durosian sunset. Classic. Guess they should’ve finished the job when they had the chance.
Captain Poodoo-Dick came to just in time to see my handiwork. Doesn’t seem to matter much to him. I could see the way he was eyeing me. Smooth move, Besh. Let’s see how you get out of this one.