Telan Desaria
Jun 18th, 2003, 06:19:21 PM
Imperial Corridor Sector
- Firooril, 4th Moon of Ison –
“ What do you think?”
An aggressive, barbarian-sounding grunt was the only reply to the asked question. Stale air hung in the wide warehouse as a dozen sealed crates sat scattered about and open. Lining the plate-metal walls were piles of Imperial property, each stamped with the Crest of the Empire, itself replete with the underscoring: Department of Customs.
“ You’ve got quite a collection, I’ll give you that much. A good portion of this was taken at my expense.”
An olive-uniformed officer wearing the insignia of a naval Captain stood arrogantly next to the well-educated smuggling lord, two guards flanking him. Red cuff-stripes at the end of his tunic sleeves identified as belonging to the Fleet division which had confiscated the holdings that surrounded them. Some of the containers were wooden, some metal, most a blue-like plastic produced aboard Customs vessels themselves to eliminate size problems when packaging liberated merchandise.
“ You should have been more careful when trying to bypass Imperial security.”
The smuggler gave a hearty laugh and turned towards his Imperial counterpart. In his hand he held a black datapad which he promptly shoved towards the Captain. “ Everything is in order. If it is all right with you, I would like to begin loading my supplies and be on my way. The more time I spend here, your hospitality notwithstanding, the safer I am.”
“ I could not agree more.” The Captain pulled a comlink from his belt and spoke into it, diverting his gaze away from the dashing criminal entirely. “ Lieutenant Esiit, have the credits been transferred?”
After a crackle of static, the affirmative reply of a young junior officer was audible. Captain Renion smiled, and returned the communications device to its snug position behind his holster. “ Begin when you’re ready.”
Without so much as an courtesy, Gravvet Mel, one of the Empire’s most hated criminal figures, motioned to one of his lackeys near a frigate-sized hangar door. Great strain could be heard as decade old gears and sprockets ground together once more. The doors slid apart to reveal the rest of an Imperial Supply Depot at rest under a breathtaking panorama of stars and gas. Ison itself would be visible hours later when the moon came the middle of its rotation.
Clouds of dust were kicked up as shuttles and transport sleds outside powered up their thrusters and began moving into the massive warehouse. People in the employ of RavenCorps, Mel’s most famous front company, came forward with the movers to begin loading the building’s contents onto vehicles that would end up aboard one of a dozen freighters in orbit above.
Mel stood with his Imperial liaison and watched his men work; their speed was remarkable and would have given the Corps of Engineers quite a contest in their efficiency. No more than three hours passed and nearly every object in the hangar had vanished.
“ I hope this is worth fifty million credits, Captain. If it is, I look forward to doing business with you again.”
Renion nodded genially before retiring, his guards in tow. As the last transport lifted off to dock with the ships above, a Lambda-class shuttle departed the moon’s surface. Four Lion-class Customs frigates, each just larger than the famed Corellian Corvette but all much better armed, lumbered above in a perfect diamond formation around the freighters.
An all-clear signal was relayed through the smuggler’s vessels and the corrupt Imperial ships; they moved en masse towards their hyperspace vector. Querries from planetary traffic control were warded off by Renion, who was all too quick to sigh when the jump master signaled the beginning of the countdown.
His joy was short, lived, however. Danger boded when every tiny craft began to violently shake as something emerged from hyperspace before them.
Pointed directly at them like a dagger towards their heart was an Imperial Victory IV-class Star Destroyer flanked by two Strike Cruisers. The chance of their commander being bribed was rather unlikely – they had already raised shields.
- Firooril, 4th Moon of Ison –
“ What do you think?”
An aggressive, barbarian-sounding grunt was the only reply to the asked question. Stale air hung in the wide warehouse as a dozen sealed crates sat scattered about and open. Lining the plate-metal walls were piles of Imperial property, each stamped with the Crest of the Empire, itself replete with the underscoring: Department of Customs.
“ You’ve got quite a collection, I’ll give you that much. A good portion of this was taken at my expense.”
An olive-uniformed officer wearing the insignia of a naval Captain stood arrogantly next to the well-educated smuggling lord, two guards flanking him. Red cuff-stripes at the end of his tunic sleeves identified as belonging to the Fleet division which had confiscated the holdings that surrounded them. Some of the containers were wooden, some metal, most a blue-like plastic produced aboard Customs vessels themselves to eliminate size problems when packaging liberated merchandise.
“ You should have been more careful when trying to bypass Imperial security.”
The smuggler gave a hearty laugh and turned towards his Imperial counterpart. In his hand he held a black datapad which he promptly shoved towards the Captain. “ Everything is in order. If it is all right with you, I would like to begin loading my supplies and be on my way. The more time I spend here, your hospitality notwithstanding, the safer I am.”
“ I could not agree more.” The Captain pulled a comlink from his belt and spoke into it, diverting his gaze away from the dashing criminal entirely. “ Lieutenant Esiit, have the credits been transferred?”
After a crackle of static, the affirmative reply of a young junior officer was audible. Captain Renion smiled, and returned the communications device to its snug position behind his holster. “ Begin when you’re ready.”
Without so much as an courtesy, Gravvet Mel, one of the Empire’s most hated criminal figures, motioned to one of his lackeys near a frigate-sized hangar door. Great strain could be heard as decade old gears and sprockets ground together once more. The doors slid apart to reveal the rest of an Imperial Supply Depot at rest under a breathtaking panorama of stars and gas. Ison itself would be visible hours later when the moon came the middle of its rotation.
Clouds of dust were kicked up as shuttles and transport sleds outside powered up their thrusters and began moving into the massive warehouse. People in the employ of RavenCorps, Mel’s most famous front company, came forward with the movers to begin loading the building’s contents onto vehicles that would end up aboard one of a dozen freighters in orbit above.
Mel stood with his Imperial liaison and watched his men work; their speed was remarkable and would have given the Corps of Engineers quite a contest in their efficiency. No more than three hours passed and nearly every object in the hangar had vanished.
“ I hope this is worth fifty million credits, Captain. If it is, I look forward to doing business with you again.”
Renion nodded genially before retiring, his guards in tow. As the last transport lifted off to dock with the ships above, a Lambda-class shuttle departed the moon’s surface. Four Lion-class Customs frigates, each just larger than the famed Corellian Corvette but all much better armed, lumbered above in a perfect diamond formation around the freighters.
An all-clear signal was relayed through the smuggler’s vessels and the corrupt Imperial ships; they moved en masse towards their hyperspace vector. Querries from planetary traffic control were warded off by Renion, who was all too quick to sigh when the jump master signaled the beginning of the countdown.
His joy was short, lived, however. Danger boded when every tiny craft began to violently shake as something emerged from hyperspace before them.
Pointed directly at them like a dagger towards their heart was an Imperial Victory IV-class Star Destroyer flanked by two Strike Cruisers. The chance of their commander being bribed was rather unlikely – they had already raised shields.