Unexpected Company

“Kybuss, you here?”

Quinel stepped into Hangar D7, Dez maintaining his protective watch from a few feet behind. The enclosed space was well-lit by work lights, and he could see his ship—the beautiful, ridiculous, blue and purple Misfit Stray—sitting in the center of the bay. No sign of the Sluissi tech, though he heard movement somewhere toward the aft section of the Ghtroc 720 freighter.

“Kybuss?”

“Jusses one moment, human. I’m coming, I’m coming.”

Leaning against a stack of crates nearby, Quinel elected to wait. There were just some things you didn’t do in life. Rushing a Sluissi was one of them. Regarded as some of the best ship techs in the galaxy, they worked slow and methodically. Rushing them was a good way to fluster or annoy them—a surefire way to find your systems going dark when you needed them most.

“Take your time,” he called back.

While he waited, Quinel glanced up at his baby. At thirty-eight meters, she was both home and office, with the original accommodations entirely reworked for comfort. Unlike the YT-series freighters favored by some pilots—many of whom sank their credits into weapon placements and hidden compartments for smuggling—the Stray featured an upgraded primary engine that gave her better speed in atmospheric flight and sublight. Sensors were improved too, giving her much better range. In an age where pirates were everywhere, that could make the difference between life and death.

“Yesses, yesses, I’m here.”

Quinel glanced down to see Kybuss Skorrek slithering up to him. Best damn mechanic in this star system, or any within a thousand light-years.

“Hey Kybuss, how goes things?”

“Ssshe’sss almoststs ready to fly,” the Sluissi replied, his forked tongue flicking out to taste the air. “Did thosess three find you?”

“Yeah, they did. Anything I need to know about them?”

“Good people, real good people. They, how do you ssssay, help the localsss? Makess ssssure credsss issss around sssos ssssuppliess get ordered.”

Quinel shrugged. “Well, I’m taking them off-world. They’re paying for passage. Seems like they’re running from something, though.”

Kybuss fluttered his arms in the Sluissi equivalent of a shrug. “Itses a colony world. We’re all running from ssssomething.” He slithered toward the Stray’s aft section, one four-fingered hand gesturing for Quinel and Dez to follow. “Empire runses alls the non-humanses out of the Core anymore. People come out here where theys don’t have to worry ’bout getting blassssted for looking at the wrong guy funny. Come. I showses you what I tinkered.”

Quinel stepped around to the back of the ship where Kybuss had a terminal connected to a diagnostic port in the exposed engine housing. On the terminal’s screen, he could see a jumble of numbers and readouts showing the state of the engine systems.

“Good ssssship. Ghtrocs mostses enjoyable to tinker on. Made adjustmentses.” He gestured at the readout. “Eleven point thirty-eight percenteses more power efficccccient. Lesss waisssssssteful.”

Quinel let out a low whistle. “That’s impressive. Is she going to be ready to fly in an hour or so?”

“Oh ssssssure, ssssssure. Jusses have to put her back together. No more than—”

“You there!”

Quinel spun and took in the four stormtroopers moving across the hangar floor toward them. His heart dropped into his stomach. Next to him, Dez’s optical sensors flashed as he shifted into a defensive stance, positioning himself between Quinel and the approaching troopers.

“No,” Quinel hissed quietly. “Not here.”

“It appears they are approaching with hostile intent.”

“Yeah, and you start taking shots at them and we’re all dead.” Kybuss, for his part, looked annoyed. Sluissi hated being interrupted.

“Who owns this ship?” the lead trooper asked once they were within a few meters.

Quinel did his best to swallow his nerves and nodded. “That would be me.”

“Good. Let’s see your registration.”

He gestured toward their rifles. “My datapad is in my pocket. I’m just going to—”

“Real slowly now.”

Heeding the implied threat in the filtered voice, Quinel inched his hand slowly toward his pocket and eased out the datapad that contained his most recent manifest as well as the registration for his ship. Carefully reaching out toward the nearest trooper with his right hand palm up, he offered the datapad in what he hoped was the most non-threatening manner possible.

The trooper snatched the datapad from his hand roughly and passed it off to one of his companions. “Run this.” He turned and pointed at the other two troopers, then nodded at the ship. “Check the ship. Make sure everything checks out.” He pointed at Quinel and the others. “You. Stay put.”

Quinel eased back against the hull of the Stray, keeping his hands well within sight as two of the troopers marched off to do as they were ordered. Great. Just great. He’d left his heavy blaster pistol on board—tucked away in his cabin because who needed to carry a weapon to get a drink and set up ship repairs on a backwater colony world? Stupid. So fracking stupid.

“Anything on board we need to know about?”

“No,” Quinel said through a mouth drier than the deserts of Tatooine. “I just got done delivering a shipment of medical supplies from—”

“We’re confirming your cargo manifest now. We’ll know what you delivered and from where.” The filtered voice was flat, emotionless. “Have you agreed to take anyone off-world?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Have you seen these two individuals?” The lead trooper held up a miniature holoprojector, revealing a still image of the Zeltron woman he’d seen earlier in the cantina, as well as a human male with a scar down the left side of his face. There was no little Zeltron in the image at all.

Ah. Well, that explained the sixty thousand credits offer.

“No,” Quinel said, keeping his voice as even as possible. “I haven’t seen them.”

“So you have not seen these two?” the trooper repeated.

“No.” Quinel resisted the urge to wipe the sweat from his palms on his pants, knowing such a move could be seen as a sign of guilt.

“Sir, registration and manifest checks out. Medical supplies from Alderaan. Ship’s registration identifies it as the Misfit Stray from the Corellian system to a captain Quinel Neviden.”

“Good work.” The lead trooper turned his attention back to Quinel. “These two are wanted by the Empire. They are both extremely skilled slicers and are to be considered armed and dangerous. If you see them, you are to notify Imperial forces immediately. Is that understood?”

Quinel nodded emphatically. “Absolutely. May I ask what they’re wanted for?”

“Not your concern. If you are approached by them, you will report their last known location to Imperial forces immediately.”

The two troopers who’d been inspecting the Stray returned, one of them giving a curt nod to the trooper in command. “Ship is clean, sir. No contraband, no hidden compartments we could find.”

“Very well.” The lead trooper tossed the datapad back to Quinel, who caught it awkwardly. “You’re free to go. Don’t leave the planet without clearance.”

“Understood,” Quinel managed.

The four stormtroopers turned and marched out of the hangar, their boots echoing on the permacrete floor. The moment they were gone, Quinel let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“That wassss clossse,” Kybuss hissed.

“Too close,” Quinel agreed. He looked at Kybuss. “How fast can we get her ready to fly?”

“I told you, just needses to put her back together. Maybe forty minuteses?”

Quinel nodded. “Do it. Fast as you can. I’ve got a really bad feeling about this.”

“You thinkses they’ll find the family?”

“I think they’re going to tear this colony apart looking for them.” Quinel glanced toward the hangar entrance. “And I think everyone here is going to pay the price whether they find them or not.”

---

Quinel and Dez made their way through the spaceport grounds, moving past rows of other hangars. Some were occupied, most weren’t. The spaceport was modest—nothing like the massive facilities on Core Worlds—but functional. The administration building sat near the central flight control tower, and a few scattered workers moved about their business.

Quinel glanced up through the gap between buildings and felt his stomach tighten.

Star Destroyers. Three of them, massive wedge-shaped behemoths hanging in orbit like daggers pointed at the planet’s throat. They must have arrived while they were in the cantina—dropped out of hyperspace, deployed their troops, and now sat up there waiting. How had he not noticed them during the walk back to the hangar?

“That is not good,” Dez observed, following his gaze.

“That’s really not good.” Three Star Destroyers for two slicers? This was more than overkill. This was a statement. “We need to move. And fast.”

They passed through the main gate and onto the streets of Outpost City proper. The layout was a confusing mix of grid streets and circular intersections—roundabouts that disrupted the pattern and created a somewhat maze-like feel for anyone not familiar with the area. Quinel had delivered here a handful of times before, but he was far from an expert on the city’s layout.

“I find this situation troubling, Captain,” Dez said as they walked. “If it were up to me, the optimal strategy would be immediate departure.”

“We’ve got an hour and a half before they’re supposed to meet us at the hangar,” Quinel said, scanning the streets. “And with the Imperials here…” He shook his head. “If I can find them and get them back to the ship early, we’re out of here the second Kybuss finishes.”

“This assumes we can locate them.”

As they walked, the streets began to change. People were moving quickly—some toward their homes, others toward the city center. Confused shouts filled the air. Overhead, the distinctive scream of TIE fighters cut through the atmosphere as more landing craft continued their descent.

“They’ll probably try to blend in. Keep their heads down.” Quinel frowned, thinking it through. “Public places where they won’t stand out. Markets, maybe. Wherever people are gathering…”

“It might be a bit too late for that,” Dez said. “They have already assumed tactical positions. Imperial ground forces appear to be everywhere.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Quinel deadpanned as he quickened his pace, weaving through the growing crowds. “We need to find them before the Imps do.”

They rounded a corner onto one of the main thoroughfares—and stopped dead.

The street had been transformed in minutes. Stormtroopers were everywhere. Dozens of them, maybe hundreds, spreading out in organized patterns. They moved with military precision, setting up checkpoints, stopping civilians, demanding identification.

“This is exactly why people are leaving the Core Worlds,” Quinel said quietly as he watched a group of troopers harassing a vendor selling clothing. “No one is safe anymore.”

Troopers ransacked shops and stalls. Most vendors were too afraid to complain, but those who did were handled roughly—cuffed, and in some cases outright stunned before being bound and escorted off for interrogation.

“What is our current strategy?” Dez asked.

“Assuming we can find our new friends, I’m going to try to get them out of here.” Quinel scanned the crowd for familiar cloaks. “If we don’t find them, we’re leaving. I don’t trust the Imps to leave this colony alone even after they find their targets.”

“Why would they stay? If they find the slicers, would they not just leave? These people have done nothing.”

“That’s just it, Dez. They have.” Quinel glanced around, keeping his voice low. “Even if they don’t find those two, these people have all but broken away from Imperial control. Out here, they’re independent, self-reliant, and most importantly, they’re harboring fugitives. The Empire will make an example out of this colony. Mark my words.”

“Shouldn’t we just forget about them and leave? The logical course of action would be to abort this rescue attempt and get out while we still can.”

Quinel sighed. He knew Dez was only basing his thoughts on logic. Maybe it was better to just leave and get out while they still could.

But Quinel had given his word. And if he could, he’d at least try to help them. That little girl didn’t deserve to lose her parents, and she sure as hell didn’t deserve to see the inside of an Imperial detention cell.

“Maybe,” Quinel answered slowly. “But you know I can’t do that.”

“The small organic?”

Quinel nodded. “Whatever else the two adults have done to get the Imps on their backs, she’s more than likely innocent. She doesn’t deserve to go down because of her parents.”

Dez started to reply when yelling from across the street caught both their attention.

Quinel turned his head to see where the sound was coming from—and felt his blood run cold.

Two troopers had a blue-skinned Twi’lek male on the ground, blaster rifles pointed in his face while two more pulled another Twi’lek—a female—from a small dwelling. As he watched, the two handling the female threw her roughly to the dirt beside the male. As the troopers moved to snap binders around their wrists, the sound of a blaster discharging from inside the dwelling rang out over the entire scene.

One of the troopers handling the male went down, the back of his armor scorched and blackened. Another shot rang out, but this time the two who had been handling the female turned and raised their weapons to return fire.

Suddenly, the blue-skinned male was on his feet, a vibroblade flashing in the sunlight as he drove it into the neck joint of the Trooper’s armor who had just moments before been trying to detain him.

Blood spurted from the trooper’s throat as he went down, clawing at the vibroblade still hilt-deep in his neck. A moment later, the second trooper opened fire, dropping the male to the ground in a hail of blaster bolts.

Quinel and Dez watched as the female tried to crawl away. It was useless. Not taking any chances, the same trooper who had gunned down the male turned his weapon on her and left her dead on the side of the street.

Several more troopers ran up, their weapons raised as blaster fire rang out from inside and outside of the dwelling.

Meanwhile, another one of the locals drew a blaster from somewhere and started shooting at the troopers gathering around the dwelling. Before long, even more troopers turned and shot him dead—even as more colonists, sensing that it was fight or die, turned on the Imperials trying to maintain control.

“Well, if they weren’t going to make an example out of them before, they sure as frack will now,” Quinel said. “Come on.”

He turned to run back up the street the way they’d come from, but it was no use. White-armored troopers rushed toward them, their blasters spitting fire at anyone who even looked like they might have a weapon. To be fair, there were a lot of weapons in the hands of the colonists.

Quinel spun, looking for an escape route. They were at an intersection—trouble ahead, trouble behind. He spotted a side street to his left, narrower but clear of combatants for the moment.

“This way!” He took off toward the side street, boots hammering the pavestones as he stayed close to the buildings.

Blaster fire came from everywhere now. Every colonist on the street seemed to have a projectile weapon hidden somewhere. The troopers weren’t slouches, though. They fell back on their training, taking cover and firing back with disciplined precision.

The colonists were putting up a hell of a fight, but Quinel already knew how this was going to end.

“Take the next right!” he called out as he kept running.

He immediately turned right at the next intersection and kept going. Behind him, Dez kept up easily, his heavy footfalls pounding the pavement with harsh clangs that would’ve hurt Quinel’s ears if the sounds of weapons discharging and the screams of locals hadn’t drowned everything else out.

“Dammit!” Quinel shouted as another bolt scorched past his shoulder. “Why the hell did I leave my blaster on the ship?”

“I did try to tell you,” Dez called out from behind. “Before we left. I said—”

“I know what you said!” Quinel ducked as a blaster bolt scorched the wall beside his head. “Can we discuss my poor life choices later?”

“If we survive, certainly.”

Quinel had hoped that if he got far enough away from the initial violence, things would calm down. But it seemed the troopers now had new orders. As he ran, he saw them turning their guns on unarmed targets and coldly taking them out with the calm efficiency that came from Imperial training.

This wasn’t good. Not good at all.

He was trying to remember the basic layout of the settlement when suddenly an explosion nearby caused the street to buck violently under his feet.

Quinel rolled as he hit the ground, letting his shoulder take the brunt of the impact. It hurt like hell, but there was no time to think about that. He was back on his feet in an instant, glancing over his shoulder to see a two-story building constructed of brick and wood blazing as it leaned hazardously to one side.

Either someone had brought out heavy weapons, or someone had shot something that really didn’t react well to superheated plasma.

“Where are we going?” Dez asked from behind him. The droid hadn’t been affected by the explosion at all and had stayed on his feet.

“Town hall!” Quinel started to yell back, but was interrupted by another explosion ahead of them as a speeder was hit by a stray blaster bolt.

“Frack this all so fracking hard!” He spotted an alley off to one side, clear of combatants. “There!” He pointed. “We need to get off these main roads before we get fracking killed!”

He leaned forward in an attempt to gain more speed as even more weapons fire echoed around them.

Sweat dripped down his brow and into his eyes as he ran. He’d been in firefights before—plenty of them. But running through an all-out war zone? He was sure when he finally got off Corellia, when he stopped running blockades after the end of the Clone Wars, that this kind of chaos was behind him.

Clearly, he’d been mistaken.

Above, Quinel heard the scream of ion engines as a TIE fighter swooped in for a strafing run. Within seconds, the apartment complex across the street to their left was reduced to flaming rubble, destroyed in a hail of Imperial laser fire even as the fighter pulled back up into the sky to resume searching for new targets.

Quinel could feel the heat from the resulting explosions, barely managing to stay on his feet as his ears rang from the deafening booms.

Wiping the sweat from his face, he charged into the alley and spun, driving his back against a permacrete wall. Dez was right there, the droid using his body to shield Quinel from any blaster fire that might follow them.

Blessedly, no plasma bolts came, though the fighting wasn’t too far from their position.

Quinel panted heavily as he fought to regain control of his breathing. Dez had his forearms folded back, the gleaming double-barreled heavy repeater blasters hidden in his arms exposed and aimed toward the mouth of the alley. Those things were powerful enough to take out several troopers if Quinel gave the order—

“Dez, don’t shoot at anything unless I’m in immediate danger.”

“Captain, I believe it is necessary to point out that you are, in fact, in immediate danger.”

“You know what I mean.”

The droid let his forearms snap back into place, though he didn’t take his attention from the alley entrance.

Quinel glanced up and down the alley which at least didn’t end in a dead end. Stacks of aged construction equipment littered the way, but there was enough of a path that they could make it through. If the Imperials came down this way, though, they wouldn’t be able to run fast enough to avoid getting shot.

Fortunately, the sounds of fighting seemed to be moving away from them.

“Alright.” Quinel pushed off from the wall. “Town hall—it’s at the city center. If I remember the layout right, it’s a few blocks northeast of here.” He started moving through the alley, stepping over debris. “That’s where people were running. The smarter survivors will head there—it’s the most defensible building in the settlement. We stay off the main streets, move fast, and hope to hell they had the same idea.”

“And if they aren’t present?”

“Then we get back to the Stray and we leave.” Quinel kept moving. “I tried. That’s all anyone can ask.”

But even as he said it, he knew he’d never forgive himself if that little girl ended up dead because he couldn’t find her in time.

Behind him, Dez followed silently, his optical sensors scanning constantly for threats.

The sound of TIE fighters screaming overhead made Quinel look up. Through the narrow gap between buildings, he could see them—twin-ion engines glowing as they made strafing runs on the city below.

He just hoped he could find them in time. Wherever the hell they were.

---