Just running an errand (Arya, Jaas, and Ben)

A space station in orbit of Corellia.

Guidebooks for interstellar travellers usually have quite a lot to say about bars. Generally they will devote some time to the subject of bars in spaceports, especially in orbital hubs. The advice for the careful traveller is to avoid those bars nearest the docking area unless you are seeking an interesting (and potentially harmful) experience. Such places are usually crowded with crewers just released from unloading duties who have chosen to belly-up to the first bar they find and by those petty villains who prey upon them.

The guidebooks rarely go on to offer similar advice about those bars furthest from the docking area but they should. Unless you are keen on either avoiding all contact with real spacefaring life or encountering some particularly cossetted beings (and their attendant nosey security details) the finest places on a space stations are also best avoided. They do, however, concede that the places between these poles can be interesting to see some colour.

No guidebook ever bothers to tell the reader that such places, places such the bar currently being considered by Admar Brask, are also where one should go to get some business done. They do not tell you to go to a middling sort of place to find dependable spacers to do business with. The sort of beings who have their own ships and do contracted and piecework hauling freight. Who would not take too many risks but, if you needed to go their way, would let you travel with them for a fairly fair price.

This was exactly the sort of place Admar Brask was looking for. It was relatively quiet (bordering on staid) of modest side and unshowy décor.

He stood in the doorway, a man of medium height and salt and pepper hair, dressed in a good (but not showy) suit, peering about in a slightly anxious fashion. He held a small bag in one hand. He shied away as some patrons exited the establishment. He seemed rather out of his depth.

His thoughts were quite at odds with his demeanour.

Secondary exit at far end of counter. Most probably sharp left to door to service passage. Booths on opposite wall appear empty but offer limited eyelines. A dozen patrons at...

He made his way towards the bar. He exchanged a few words with the bartender and a tall glass mug of steaming liquid was produced: a spiced tea of some sort.

As the drink was placed on the bar, Brask offered his thanks and began counting out credits.

"Perhaps you could help me with something else?" he asked politely.

The bartender gave no indication of holding a strong view (or indeed any view) on the matter so Brask continued.

"You see I was supposed to travel on Hudar's Hope to Loronar," he smiled an embarrassed smile, "Unfortunately, I entirely underestimated the time it would take to clear the security checks so I missed my connection."

No reaction. No attempt to complete the thought and skip, helpfully, to the end.

"It will be four days until I might be able to get a berth and I am in quite a hurry."

Still nothing.

"I was wondering," and here he stopped counting out credits having reached the necessary sum plus normal tip. But he kept his hand from returning to his pocket a few more credits temptingly with in easy reach of the bartender's hand, "whether there might be someone I could seek passage with."

The bartender's demeanor didn't change, and he didn't seem to exactly look at the credits, but they somehow disappeared into his pockets. He grunted, thrusting his chin out in the direction of a booth in a relatively empty part of the bar. "Ravenwing's headed to the Colonies. They take passengers sometimes."

Brask was impressed with the bartender's deftness. He nodded his tanks and made his way over to the indicated booth.

His movement was seemingly casual, picking his way between the tables. The, however, route was chosen quite deliberately to give him the greatest period of time to eyeball his potential travelling companions.

Odd that I did not spot them earlier really.

"...no, if we replaced that system with fluidics then we'd have to carry a barrel of synthenol to keep the pressure up with." Arya paused. "At least a barrel. And who's going to keep it topped off? Or if it blows out and leaks?" She shuddered. "It's better to spend a little extra and get the proper tech to replace it with."

She sipped her beer. "Of course, we don't have the credits. Fluidics are just such a pain in the ass, Jaas." She smirked at the rhyme.

"jIt iss betterr coolant ssjysstem than prroperr tech." came Jaas' reply as he set down another empty shot glass. He tapped the cracked screen of the datapad, underlining the price listed on the liquid cooling system. "Ssjynthenol jiss expenssjive jin thjiss quadrrant but jI hearr jyou can get jit cheaperr jin Alljiance sspace. jIs not rrelevant. We need lotssa credjitss fjirrsst."

The argument was not over, just postponed. He would raise it again if they ever had that kind of money in their pockets. A clawed paw reached for the last of the shot glasses and it was in mid lift that he noticed the man across the way staring a little more intently than necessary. "Pjinkjy at sseven o'clock ejyeballjing uss." The glass was shot and he set it down, wiping his face with a paw while his other hand slipped below the table to grab the handle of the knife he had tucked into his belt.

Brask caught the shift in the felineoid's posture. Was a weapon, or at least a fist, being readied beneath the table?

Almost certainly.

At another time he would have cursed himself for being so unsubtle as to be made. But he was not supposed to be subtle this time so it did not matter all that much.

Besides, it's bad manners to sneak in public. Especially when trying to find some help.

He continued to approach assessing the two spacers as he went.

I wonder what they're doing here instead of somewhere more...fitting...nearer the docking bays.

They were not quite what he had expected to find here. Their clothes, their demeanour, the sheer number of shot glasses, even the species of one of them, seemed out of place among the otherwise stolid clientele.

These are not the sobre spacers I was looking for.

By now he was almost upon them, having woven his way among the tables to just before the step up to the booths. It was rather too late to back out so he smiled gamely up at the two beings seated in the booth.

"Stop being so racist. We aren't all pink, you know." Arya peered at the approaching stranger over the rim of her pint glass. "Looks harmless enough," she said doubtfully. He looked old enough to be her father.

"Are we going to talk business or are you just enjoying the view?" She spoke up as he came near.

Brask took that as an invitation to approach closer. He stepped up to the booth but did not take a seat.

Entirely too presumptuous at this stage to take a seat.

"Please forgive my intruding upon you like this. I'm travelling to Loronar but had the misfortune to miss my connection," he gestured towards the bar, "The bartender suggested I ask you if I'm looking to get back on my way before the next scheduled transport.

"I expect you'd be Captain Ravenwing." He looked to her Cizerack companion, "And you are, sir?"

"Jaas. Jusst Jaas." He replied shortly, his thick cizeri accent made all the worse by the alcohol he was imbibing. An empty hand returned from below the table and clasped together with it's partner. It did little to make his large stature less intimidating. "Ssjit jif jyou wjissh."

"And I'm just Admar," he said smiling more broadly.

There's no need to clutter the conversation with extraneous details like family names that might or might not be on one's papers when boarding. And at least this way I can say I did not lie at the outset merely omitted certain details.

He settled into the leatherette cushions and said, in a tone suggestive of nerves, "Was the bartender correct to suggest you to me?"

"Loronar? It's a little out of our way -" she started, and jerked a bit as Jaas kicked her under the table. "We can take you on, but it'll cost you. Nine thousand." Enough to pay for fuel and the system repairs they needed. "We don't have any other cargo to make it worth our while, or I might have given you a discount." Arya drained her beer and set the glass down.

Brask allowed his eyebrows to lift in an expression of surprise. It was only half-feigned. Chartering a starship (even a small one) was always costly and it was likely that the price would be padded when dealing with someone who was clearly inexperienced in such matters. Ravenwing was, however, overcharging quite outrageously unless her ship was something special.

And, from the look of them, I doubt that very much.

The true objective here was not, however, to secure passage at a reasonable cost and he was not supposed to be in a good position to negotiate.

"That seems rather a steep price, Captain Ravenwing," he demurred, "That is more than the trip out to Loronar was to have cost me."

He seemed to consider the situation.

"Of course, if I don't make it to Loronar within the week, I shall have to pay again anyway for the return leg won't I?" he mused half to himself, "And I might not have time to do all I must."

He looked at the two spacers.

"Is the ship fast enough to make up for the time I have lost? How soon can we leave?"

Arya didn't let her eyes look down at the table that held two empty pint glasses and an assortment of shot glasses. Most of the shots had been Jaas anyway, and he was big enough that he probably wasn't even buzzed. Probably. "She's fast enough to do the Kessel Run in less than thirteen parsecs. We'll make up the time you've lost. And for nine K we can leave as soon as we fuel up."

She raised an eyebrow, "I'll need half up front." He must really be desperate to leave Corellia.

"That might prove a little difficult, Captain," Brask said apologetically, "I don't carry that much cash with me. And my transfer limit while travelling is a little limited." He smiled an embarrassed smile. "My bank seems to think people might try to take advantage of me when I am offworld."

"Would you accept three and half now and the rest on arrival?"

Jaas drummed his fingers on the edge of the table for a moment before picking his cracked datapad back up and punching a few buttons; doing his best to not scratch the screen with his long claws. Reconnecting to the local holonet, shopping channel, and fuel prices. His finger swiped back and fourth several times until he found the lowest price and then he turned the screen so Arya could see just how far they could get on three and a half.

They might have to forgo some parts, which he was less than excited about. That one time the intertial dampener went out was still fresh in his mind. Take off had never been so painful.

She glanced at the datapad and stood up, extending her hand toward Admar. "You've hired yourself a ship. We're in docking slip 33-D." Arya tossed a credit chit on the table amongst the empty glasses and shrugged into her black leather spacers jacket. "Do you need time to get the credits?"

Brask beamed at the two spacers, giving every impression of being genuinely relieved to have secure transport.

"The money isn't a problem but I do need time to collect my luggage. I have a couple of fairly large cases." As he spoke he was rummaging in his pockets. After a few moments he extracted a datapad and consulted a map of the station. "I'll be with you in...oh...let me see...er...a little over an hour. An hour and a half at most. I hope that is not too soon."

Do not look at all those empty glasses.

He got to his feet and hastened towards the door. He paused, turned back toward the table and said, "Thank you so much!" loudly enough for everyone around to hear. Then he hurried away.

"Wjith that attjitude he'ss gojing to get mugged and sstabbed beforre he everr makess jit to the dock." his tone was even, like calling out a the cycle of the sun or the passing of a weather front. It was trivial. Just another bloodstain in the gears of the society found in places like this. If there was a book of which saps to rip off first the Excited Tourist would be right at the top, right above Lost Foreigner and directly below Child at number one. He made a sweeping, dismissive wave with his hand as if banishing the man to whatever dark fate he had imagined. He knew the wave too well. He'd seen it used many times in his own society. It was how you banished the unmentionables. The trash. The detritus.

Also paying his fair he stood up, although a bit clumsily, smacking into the table with his legs and clattering the stacked glasses. Someone gave him a disapproving look from the next table over but was given only a single striped finger in reply. "jI bet you a hundrred crredjitss that he never makess jit." Some jackal was going to catch that guy and pump all those credits out of him one knuckle duster hit at a time. Pity. Jaas loved a good scrap.

"How about you just get the ship fueled up?" Arya flipped her short hair out of her eyes, watching their new passenger scurry out into the promenade and head off. "I'll go pick up the parts we need, assuming this guy follows through on the upfront payment." She held out her hand and Jaas handed over the datapad he'd been poring over earlier. If she took what they needed on a promise of payment and the credits didn't materialize...things would get interesting.

She held out her fist to Jaas and he bumped hers with his before they went their separate ways. An hour wasn't a lot of time.

"...and three passengers found in possession of illegal narcotics."

The inspection team leader did not seem very impressed with the latest haul. Then again, it might have been the comm unit distortion making his tone flatter than it really was.

Inspector Hardige sighed. This was the eighth vessel detained since this temporary inspection post had been set up and the third time they had found illegal narcotics. The last two times the amounts had been trifling, hardly worth the datawork for detaining the possessors let alone feeding them while in the brig.

"Personal use or intent to supply?" he asked more for the form of it then any real expectation of good news.

"All together: intent to supply, sir." The voice at the other end might have sounded hopeful.

Hardige perked up, "Anything to suggest that they were actually working together?"

"No, sir." There was an apologetic pause, "Sorry, sir."

Hardige glowered at the comm unit but forbore to say anything more on the subject.

"I assume that you haven't found anything else worthwhile," as he said this Hardige looked across the bridge of the dreadnaught cruiser at his unwelcome guests.

"No, sir."

"Very well," Hardige straightened in his seat, "Have the prisoners brought over and then release the ship."

"Yes, sir."

"Hardige out," he clicked off the comm unit and stood up. One of the unwelcome visitors had drifted over and was standing behind him. Hardige feigned not to have noticed, which forced the visitor to ask the question for the eighth time.

"Was he aboard?" asked the guest.

Hardige was getting a little tired of this. He was dangerously close to unleashing a sarcastic tirade explaning that he would of course let his guests know when there was something to report on their person of interest because he was not, in the final analysis, an idiot. He was saved from career suicide by a sensor officer shouting, "Vessel exiting hyperspace!"

The inspector glanced at the screens over this command station. Within seconds the readings resolved themselves. A small freighter had landed right in the middle of the artificial gravity well being projected by the Interdictor cruiser to port.

He clicked the comm unit on and delivered the usual message.

"This is the Imperial Customs Cruiser Far Reach. Your ship is being detained for inspection. Your hyperdrives will not function and we are armed. Power down your sublight engines and prepare to be boarded. Do not resist or we shall open fire. This is your only warning."

"Ben!" Shuvin sang, her voice carrying up from her bunk into the cockpit where Ben Merasska, pilot and captain of the Ghtroc-720 freighter Alderaan, was presently working the next set of coordinates into the nav-computer. They were in hyperspace, the long unending tunnel of unreality swirling around them with an awful chaotic serenity.

"What?" he called back.

"Do you think that blue dress is too slutty?"

"What?"

"Do you think -"

"No no no, I heard you. Just... what? Why are you asking me?"

"Is there anyone else to ask?"

Ben stopped, and in frustration had to grant her that victory. But that didn't mean he had to play fair.

"Yes." He had no clue what blue dress she was talking about.

"Aw, but I like it though!"

"Then wear it."

"But you said it was too slutty!"

"So? If you like it, wear it. And don't ask my opinion."

Her response was cut off as the ship dropped from hyperspace, and Ben shrieked.

"This is the Imperial Customs Cruiser Far Reach. Your ship is being detained for inspection. Your hyperdrives will not function and we are armed. Power down your sublight engines and prepare to be boarded. Do not resist or we shall open fire. This is your only warning."

"Why why why why why why," Ben chanted under his breath as he made to turn, only to look at the scopes. Shuvin climbed up into the cockpit, and stopped.

"Well, how am I supposed to go out tonight when we're being held in another Customs frigate?" Shuvin asked petulantly. Ben turned and coughed, eyes wide. The blue dress was in fact far too slutty.

"It's not my fault," Ben said automatically. "Go put some clothes on."

"I am wearing clothes," the Togrutan sixteen year old crossed her arms and shifted her hips, giving him a very unimpressed look, which made Ben feel like he was her father, which made him uncomfortable because he was in no way suitable to be raising anyone.

"Go put some actual clothes on, and not something that claims to be clothing but is in fact not clothing at all."

"Fine, dad," she huffed, turning to slide down the ladder.

"I can see up your dress," Ben said triumphantly, his point about her clothing choice vindicated. "Is that the whole point of it? Not me looking up it, but to give someone other than me a full view of your goodies?"

Shuvin glared at him, and simply continued on.

Alderaan shook again. Ben turned back to the console before him, and he frowned, glancing up at the customs starship now right next to his little freighter.

"Oh yeah," he said. "Forgot about that."

"Odd," mused Hardige watching the sensor readouts.

Normally a freighter did one of two things when it was pulled from hyperspace to undergo an unexpected customs inspection post. Either it came to a dead halt and submitted to boarding or it immediately engaged in evasive action. This freighter, however, had emerged from hyperspace and carried on at sub-light without giving any sign of having noticed Far Reach or her transmission.

"We are transmitting aren't we?" the inspector called to his comm operator. A nod in reply.

"We'll try a visual signal then," he said turning towards the gunnery officer, "Fire when ready."

A few moments later one of the bow guns opened up with a burst of bright but thoroughly harmless starshell.

Ben pulled the freighter to a full stop, and sighed as the tractor beam none too gently took hold and dragged them closer.

"Ben," Shuvin's voice once more filtered up to him, "what about those blaster casings?"

Ben stiffened as he remembered the cargo.

"Shuvin!" he shouted as he ran to the ladder and slid down it. "Get them into the hidey holes!"

"But I haven't changed yet!"

"What's worse, getting caught in that mockery of clothing, or getting charged with smuggling? By Imperials?"

Shuvin's answer was her bursting out of her bunk, still in her blue dress, and following him into the cargo bay.

It was not unknown for rebels to sabotage ships seized and taken aboard by the customs cutters in a deliberate effort to disrupt operations. Hardige was a cautious man, wary of such trickery, so he had Far Reach's tractor beams bring the freighter to a safe distance and hold her there while a boarding craft zipped across the intervening space. It was a slower but altogether safer approach.

The party that came aboard was kitted out for a fight. They wore blast vests, armoured gauntlets and visored helmets and carried truncheons or blasters. They fanned out through the freighter shouting as they went.

"On your knees, hands and any other manipulators behind your head!"

"Hey now," Ben answered, kneeling with his hands up as he was told. "No need to shout. We heard you the first time."

Shuvin said nothing, but followed Ben's example: kneeling down and allowing the strike team to enter the freighter with nary a word against them.

The inspection team assured themselves (within reason) that there were only two beings aboard and that there were no (obvious) traps or other hazards. It was a small vessel so this process did not take long. When he was satisfied on all scorres, the team leader made the standard declaration in a precise but slightly bored tone while standing over Ben and Shuvin.

"This is an inspection by Imperial Customs. We are authorised to conduct such inspections in order to enforce trade tariffs and levies and ensure adherence to all restrictions and regulations pertaining to the movement of passengers, animate and inanimate cargo, and any and all goods, materials, and substances as fall within the notice of the law.

"You are hereby required to declare anything that might be of relevance to our inspection especially the presence aboard this vessel of any items or goods subject to transit restriction and/or prohibition and any and all persons aboard subject to travel restrictions or previously convicted of offences relating to the same or anything whatsoever that might prove to be relevant.

"Failure to make any such declaration now will be regarded as a criminal offence, punishable under the Imperial Legal Code, should our inspection reveal the presence aboard of any such cargo or persons or any violations of regulations relating to their movement"

The team leader paused, raising his visor to get a clearer view of the kneeling duo.

"Do you have any thing to declare?"

"Uh," Ben dragged out the word, as if thinking deeply on the question. Then he looked up. "Nope."

He'd dealt with Customs before, of both the Alliance and the Empire. Most of the time it was a rote and routine stop and search. But he'd also learned that showing fear to such officers heightened their already high suspicion against any and all freighter pilots. Nervousness was all right, if only barely.

"I've got nice Tarisian silks and a lot of synthleather. Lots. Maybe you could use some? I'm sure the missus would love some. Beautiful stuff. It's got the cutest little flower designs on it."

Assistant Inspector Kadrak was generally a stoney leader of inspections but he could not stop himself from smiling at Ben's attempt at an icebreaker.

"Thanks," he said, "but my husband isn't a great fan of florals. Even if he was, it'd be an ethics violation to buy from the subject of an inspection."

He held up a hand to head off the inevitable offer of be-flowered fabric as a 'gift'.

"And taking it for free would look like taking a bribe or stealing. Also ethics violations."

He motioned to two of his team.

"Frisk 'em."

"Husband!" Ben grunted in dismay. He might have been able to keep talking if he'd been able to pick up on that. But Imperials were hard to read, usually.

Shuvin and he were pulled up, and were pushed, none too gently, against the wall.

"Watch the hands!" Shuvin growled. Ben rolled his eyes, though since his face was smooshed facing away from Shuvin, she wasn't able to see it.

"Maybe if you'd worn actual clothing this wouldn't be so bad now, would it?" he asked, while the Imperial checked his coat for hidden weapons.

"You told me to wear it if I liked it!" she shot back.

"I wouldn't have said that if I could have seen it! I was flying the damn ship! Why were you wearing it anyway? We still had three hours of flight time left."

"You never go out when we make port, and haven't had a girlfriend in how many years, dad, so you wouldn't know how important it is to be prepared for a good club scene!"

Ben was pulled back to face the Imperial leader, and gave him an imploring look.

"Can you tell her she looks ridiculous? Please? Maybe she'll listen to you."

Shuvin only huffed in irritation and looked away quickly enough that her lekku flared out violently with the motion.

Kadrak had not expected hidden weapons or violent resistance: these two did not seem the type.

He had produced a datapad and was making notes of the inspection's progress so far. He glanced up and gave Shuvin the once over.

"Perfectly acceptable in the right circumstances, I'm sure." His tone was mild and remained so as he began the process of questioning with the usual innocuous, "What are your names?"

The answers to this and several other questions would be checked against the identity documents (if produced) and then against the database aboard Far Reach.

"Captain Ben Merasska and mechanic Shuvin Undhi, of Alderaan," Ben answered, suddenly remembering that he was face to face with representatives of an organization that had blown up a planet. It was scary to think that he'd forgotten that fact; but routine did that to you sometimes. "Ghtroc-720 light freighter. Private ship; berths are Antar 4, Contruum, and Phindar. Been working with Von Metzger Munitions and Armaments—"

"If it don't work, you did something to it," Shuvin said, somewhat triumphantly, still riding a shaky victory with the Imperial's lack of out and out agreement with Ben.

"Phinonia Textiles—"

"Luxury looks for economy prices!"

"Haadegaard Medical Supply—"

"From fatal wounds to little ouches, don't trust anything without HMS on the pouches!"

"And some private interests. Got a cargo from Phinonia right now. Was on my way to Thisspias before you guys stopped us."

Ben knew that he'd show up in the Imperial database. He'd done nothing overtly illegal that the Empire had fast and hard evidence against, though that wouldn't stop them from throwing him in a cell if they felt like it. He'd listed off the companies that regularly sent him over the border to do business — despite it being tacitly admitting to a form of smuggling, as using him bypassed a lot of the high tariffs and levies placed on shipping between the Empire and the Alliance, there was a loophole that gave him some wiggle room in just these circumstances — as those would show up and make a nice contrast to the list of suspected crimes. Von Metzger especially, as there had been a little scandal recently as it had been learned that VM Arms had struck a deal with a couple Imperially aligned worlds in the neutral sectors, supplying them with much needed cheap weaponry without needing the Empire to go between, saving them the trouble of actively supporting and propping them up against the various independence movements that had sprung up.

Ben hoped that it would be enough. Every moment with these Imperials on board was a moment that they might be able to find his little hidey holes with the blaster casings (used to disguise a military grade blaster as a sporting grade blaster among other things) and the cases with splicing tabs in them; used for smuggling slaves off worlds without setting off their slave-collars, or for a quick take down of a security network, favored by thieves and terrorists, making them highly regulated and only shipped through certain carriers in certain lanes.

If those were found, he might have some explaining to do, which he knew wouldn't end well.

Kadrak noted all of this in his datapad.

It seemed perfectly satisfactory if a little over-detailed. Nervous people talk too much he knew. There were all sorts of reasons to be nervous during a customs inspection. Some were benign and some were not.

"Alright," he said keying up the next section of the digital form, "I'll need your flight plan and manifest. While you're about it, fetch out the registration and licences for yourself and this vessel."

He turned towards the team members standing along the bulkhead.

"We might as well start on checking the cargo and ship structures," he pointed out four of the six, "You four: start running the scanners. The usual places."

Usual places were (usually): bunks, galley storage, escape pods, and obviously, the cargo bay. It was a constant game of chance, dependent on number and morale of freighters and the customs agents opposite them, where they were coming from and going to, where they were boarded, and often the race of the freighter captain. Smugglers would stack the deck with hidey holes and secret compartments, and would do more and more things to them to keep them safe in case they were scanned. Feedback scanners, which would send a preprogrammed response to any scanner, overriding its base scans quickly enough that most beings wouldn't notice it; muffled deckplating, for underfoot secret compartments, which would mute any scans done on them, to good old half stack cargo crates, which had a top compartment that hid a lower compartment.

Ben had muffled deckplating, but not for smuggling. He didn't have much else, as he didn't have either the time, the money, or the inclination to go in and add other ways of foiling a scan.

All he could really do was hope.

While Kadrak went over the documentation, his subordinates poked and pried and peered around the ship. They were well-trained so they did it well as a matter of course. This time the team were aware of the special visitors aboard Far Reach so they were extra attentive going over things twice.

Still, they did not find anything as a result of this effort. As was sometimes the case in investigative work it was a matter of luck that led to a breakthrough.

Officer Palda stood up from a randomly selected crate that had turned out to be half-filled with pieces of packing foam. How disappointing. He had worked innumerable inspections and this was how it always went. He poked into crates and storerooms and never found anything worthwhile. It was always someone else who got to shout excitedly, "Sir!" and present something of note.

He stretched his aching back and sighed. Well, it wasn't like there was any difference in the monthly payslip if you did find something.

"Nothing here," he said to his companions picking up his blaster rifle, "I'll try the other side."

He turned towards the hatch not noticing the block of foam he had not put back. His boot slipped on it and he slid towards the bulkhead, rifle muzzle first. With a hollow thunk, the muzzle connected with the metal.

A hollow thunk...

Palda cocked his head.

A HOLLOW thunk in a supposedly solid bulkhead.

Palda reached out his gloved fist and tapped it against the bulkhead where his rifle had connected. The same sound. He tapped it against a place somewhat lower. A solid clunk. He tapped somewhere to the right. Again a clunk. He went back to the first spot. A thunk

He put his rifle down and yanked of his gloves the better to feel the bulkhead. His fingers ran across the metal and there, right there, was a definite edge where there should not be an edge. He got his nail under that edge and pulled.

"Sir!" he called excitedly, "Sir!"

Ben grimaced and frowned as a voice called out from inside the ship, and shot Shuvin a warning look. She looked frightened now a bit, but did her best seem more at ease.

"Everything'll be all right," Shuvin whispered to him. "Right, Cap'n?"

Ben wanted to tell her that they'd be let go in just a few seconds, but all he could get out was:

"Everything will be fine, Shuvin. Keep a calm head on your shoulders and things will work themselves out." His expression however belied the words, and while she nodded, he could tell she wasn't very happy with the answer.

At the call, Kadrak stepped out of the compartment. He was gone for a several minutes during which the remaining officers kept an eye upon the two spacers. When the assistant inspector returned there was a plastic bag, neatly labelled, in his left hand.

"Perhaps," he held the bag out towards Ben so that the erstwhile captain could clearly see the contents, "you can explain this?"

"Well," Ben started. "It's not ours. We were just holding it for a friend."

"I see," Kadrak said crisply, "and who is this friend?"

It seemed for a fraction of a moment that he expected an answer to be forthcoming but then he continued asking questions.

"Where is this friend? What does he do?"

Again a fractional pause and then more questions.

"Why? Why you? Why this? Why here?"

This time he came to stop and looked expectantly at Ben.

"Well?"

Ben had nothing really to say; they had been caught out, and he couldn't talk his way out of this.

"Nothing personal," Ben said finally.

Kadrak handed the evidence bag to one of his men in exchange for his datapad.

"Of course not," the customs agent sighed, "it never is."

He ticked a few boxes and entered a couple of lines of text on the digital form.

"Take them away."

***

Back on Corellia, Brask was weaving his way through the crowds of the docking area. Alongside him, one of his hotel's porter droids was carrying a large trunk. Brask himself carried only a small, rather old fashioned leather bag.

He looked about him for the docking bay entrance.

In slip 33-D Arya popped an access panel back into place in the floor of the passage inside Wing of the Raven and wiped her hands on a rag. She stomped down the ramp, tucking the rag partially into the back pocket of her pants, and banged on the hull to get Jaas' attention. "Get that fuel umbilical unhooked as soon as we're full," she said, unnecessarily. "I'll go see if our Mr. Admar got lost."

Arya walked to the docking bay pedestrian entrance, and poked the button to open it. She stepped out to the edge of the sea of people heading to transports, and looked up and down the walkway.

"Betss arre off jif jyou fjind hjim. That'ss cheatjing." Jaas called after his captain as she trundled off. Shaking his head before he went back to scraping fuel slag out of the exhaust port. Another side effect of their failing systems. This one in particular was high on their list of repairs. Fuel efficiency was very important when space travel is your primary means of income and your income is low. He poorly whistled a song from his homeworld while keeping an eye on the fuel gauge attached to the umbilical.

Brask was scanning the docking slip numbers. The task of identifying the correct one was somewhat complicated by the Corellian adherence to the pre-Empire practice of displaying them in various languages. The Aurebesh characters of Basic on the scrolling displays above each hatchway alternated with selections from half a dozen other languages.

It was a little after the appointed time for boarding so Brask was pleased to spot Ravenwing as she emerged into the thoroughfare.

It would not do to miss a second flight.

With a cheery wave he began making his way across the contraflow of pedestrian traffic. The porter droid stomped along behind him.

"Captain!" Brask called to the spacer, "I hope I'm not too late."

She waved back, and waited for him to catch up. "Not too late, no. We're just finishing fueling up." She led the way into the docking slip, the porter droid clunking awkwardly behind them. "The accommodations on board are small, but comfortable. Your trunk should fit in your cabin just fine."

The Chevvette77 Wing of the Raven sat in front of them ramp extended invitingly. "Cabin besh," she told the droid. "Go ahead and stow the luggage." Arya put her hands on her hips. "She may not look like much, but she's got it where it counts."

Jass came around the ship, wiping his hands on a rag, and she nodded. "Looks like we're set. You bring the credits?"

Brask reached into his jacket, "Of course."

He withdrew his hand from the inner pocket to reveal a small packet neatly wrapped and bound in waxed paper. It felt quite heavy for its size and the surface beneath the paper was hard and cold indicating that the payment was being made in the resurgently popular form of credit ingots.

Acceptable on both sides of the border and rather difficult to trace AND with an intrinsic material value, too. All useful features in these troubled times. Not that these two would have need of such advantages I'm sure.

Brask successfully stopped a smirk touching his lips at that thought and proffered the package to Ravenwing.

"I am sure the accommodation will be perfectly acceptable and we'll make good time."

The murmur of approaching voices bubbled over the sound of Jaas struggling to pull the fuel umbilical off the Wing of the Raven. The nozzles had a tendency to be difficult to remove. The connector was bad or some such nonsense, but they hardly had the credits to worry about replacing something that was only sort of broken. After putting the umbilical back on it's rack, Jaas stepped around the ship, wiping the leaked fuel off his striped hands; his tail was draped over his forearm like a towel to keep it out of the way. A good practice when operating machinery.

"All rreadjy to go Captjain. Let me take jyourr bag."

Grabbing the trunk from the porter droid, Jaas only paused a moment to eyeball the heavy parcel. Credits. Good. The trunk was easily lifted up on to a shoulder and carried up the access ramp, although it had to be immediately lowered in order to make it through the threshold and subsequent passageway in order to get it to the passenger cabin. It proved more difficult than anticipated. It was hard enough walking through the ship when your a large Cizerack, but more so when you are carrying a large trunk. Still, he managed it, and with only chipping the paint on a few doorways and bulkheads.

Arya hefted the package and managed not to wince at the bangs coming from inside her ship as Jaas took the trunk inside. "Then let's get to it. After you, Mr. Admar." She gestured at the ramp, and followed him inside, closing up the ramp and hatch behind them. "Cabin besh, as I said, and make yourself at home in the common area. Kitchenette is at your disposal. You can sit there or in your cabin for take off."

She headed into the cockpit and strapped in, signaling spaceport control that they were ready for departure. A countdown appeared on her console indicating when her window was, and she fired up the repulsors, getting everything ready. "Better find your seats," she called back via the intercom, and then the Wing of the Raven​ was lifting up and pulling for the upper atmosphere.

Beepbeep! Beepbeep! Bee...

Brask's eyes snapped open. His right hand found the chrono on his left wrist and shutoff the alarm. He sat up.

Not long after Wing of the Raven had entered hyperspace he had retired to his cabin and stretched out on the narrow bunk, which stood against one bulkhead, and allowed himself a short nap. His chrono was set to wake him thirty minutes before their scheduled exit from the first leg of the trip through hyperspace.

Plenty of time.

Rising from the bed, Brask made for his trunk. It was one of those large, old-fashioned affairs designed to be stood on one end and opened as a kind of travelling armoire. The Cizerack co-pilot had noticed the markings indicating this and stowed the trunk accordingly.

Not that the minimal floor space would have allowed it to be laid flat.

Jaas had also tethered the trunk to the bulkhead, presumably as a precaution against sudden jolts. Given the turbulence on takeoff this had been a welcome precaution.

Brask reached out a hand and touched a thumb to the biometric keypad. After a few moments, during which his readings were taken, the lock loosened and he was able to open the trunk.

Inside was a small hanging space on the right with a few shirts and a spare suit. A spare pair of shoes occupied a slot beneath this. The rest of the space on this and the left side was divided into drawers.

One advantage of classic styling is that no-one expects these things to come with modern conveniences like grav dampening to prevent wrinkling...

Brask knelt by the left side and opened the lowest (and largest) drawer. From this he removed a blockish object that could only be described as a bag of translucent jelly. It quivered slightly as it was moved to the floor.

With a swift, well-practised tug Brask removed the drawer from its slot revealing it to be appreciably shorter than would be expected. He reached into the space vacated by the drawer and felt around. After a few moments he withdrew his hand, which now contained a sleek looking disruptor.

...or sensor dampening for that matter.

With surprising deftness given his general demeanour, Brask checked the weapon over, noting its one shot charge, and then sighted along its barrel. The weapon was then stowed in a jacket pocket.

Working rapidly, he then returned to the drawer to its place, closed up and locked the trunk, and hefted the jelly bag. He made for the door, opening it to check that no one was around and entered the common area.

As he had hoped it was unoccupied. His travelling companions would be in the cockpit making a show of working hard for the benefit of their well-paying client.

Brask surveyed the furniture, selecting a chair on to which he deposited the bag. It quivered in a disconcerting manner. He walked back to the door of his quarters and considered the scene.

Plausible enough.

With a satisfied nod he made his was forward to the cockpit.

"No, no. jYou'rre wrrong Arrjya. Hawkbat man can't jusst kjill the Jessterr. That would brreak hjiss code of honorr. He neverr kjillss anjyone. He chassess them down, beatss them up, and thrrowss them jin prrjisson. Ssurre thejy brreak out everrjy now and agajin, but he'ss wjilljing to chasse sscum ljike the Jessterr forreverr jif jit meanss keepjing corrusscant ssafe. That'ss dedjicatjion, that jiss." Jaas said, very matter of factually, as he fluffed the comic book in his hands to stop the pages from crinkling. The cover was quite grim on this issue. The Jester had Hawkbat man tied down in a chair and had pinned his own face on top of his, the Jester's face a bloody mess because of the missing face. Naturally.

"jYou can't even comparre hjim to Captajin Corrusscant. He jusst clubss everrjyone to death wjith hjiss bjig sshjield. Hawkbat man could totalljy take hjim jin a fjight. He hass a gadget to help hjim beat everrjy enemjy he facess." Closing the comic book, Jaas swiveled the copilot seat to the side to face his companion. The chair squeaked under his weight. He was about to continue when he heard footsteps approaching the cockpit door. The comic book was quickly stowed away in a compartment and his chair was spun around and he made a show of working, even though Arya more or less exclusively piloted the ship.

"Wait, I thought Captain Coruscant was in a totally different universe of heroes. How would he even fight Hawkbat Man?" Arya studied the console in front of her as Jaas opened his mouth to argue the point, and then she looked over at him with a teasing grin on her face.

Their passenger made an appearance, and Arya turned slightly in her seat to look at him. "We're about ten minutes from the end of the first leg of the trip. Hope the bunk was comfortable enough."

The man who stepped into the cockpit was not the "Mr Admar" they had picked up. He was a subtly different being. His gait was firmer and he seemed to stand just a little taller.

Here goes...

"Perfectly adequate," the voice was sharper and crisper than before.

Brask registered the surprise on Arya's face and Jaas's turn to look who had spoken. He did not, however, allow either to speak.

"In the next few minutes we shall be pulled from hyperspace. Most likely there will be a couple of customs cutters and an interdictor cruiser. Any attempt at escape you make is bound to fail."

Keep going. They need to hear all of this or things are going to go wrong very quickly.

"They'll board this ship search it and find me. I'll be arrested and you along with me. I doubt very much you want that or what will come afterwards.

"I can ensure our escape but only if you co-operate with me completely."

Arya stared at Admar - or whoever he was - and blinked. "Uh... what?!"

The second word was louder than she'd meant it to be, but there was little chance to continue her bewilderment because klaxons began wailing, the console lit up with reds and oranges, the entire ship shuddered, and hyperspace fell apart around them. "WHAT?!" She turned in her chair and flipped switches and silenced alarms, the great hulk of an Imperial Interdictor looming ahead of them and slightly above, relatively speaking. In fact, the ship looked like it was hanging upside down in space, no doubt caused by Wing of the Raven's traumatic exit from hyperspace messing with their Z axis and spinning them around.

"I had hoped to have more time to explain," Brask apologised as the ship shook, "But clearly," he waved a hand at the looming cruiser before them, "I miscalculated."

An especially violent aftershock of the violent return to realspace shook the freighter, knocking Brask into the nearest bulkhead.

"At this point," he said shoving himself back to an upright position, "you'll just have trust me."

"jYou betterr sstarrt talkjing then, Pjinkjy!" Jaas yelled through clenched teeth over all the alarms that were currently going off. Being plucked out of hyperspace was not a pleasant experience, and the sudden deceleration had thrown him against the console. His fingers played across the console, silencing the annoying alarms. He had no idea what was going on. It was all way over his head and pay grade. Something something Empire. Too many holes. Not enough information. All he knew was they were in for a bumpy ride so he pulled his crash webbing over his waist and chest.

Arrested. He said arrested. There was no way Jaas was going to go to prison again. Kessel was a hell to which he could never return. He would rather die.

"There really isn't time to explain." Brask realised he was shouting to be heard over alarms no longer sounding and lowered his voice accordingly. "Any moment now, they'll start the boarding pro..."

His words were drowned out by a voice over the speakers.

"This is the Imperial Customs Cruiser Far Reach."

"...cedure." Brask continued raising his voice again to be heard.

"Your ship is being detained for inspection."

"They're after me but they'll take you for accomplices."

"Your hyperdrives will not function and we are armed."

"And believe me, you don't want that."

"Power down your sublight engines and prepare to be boarded."

"You're only hope is to co-operate with my plan."

"Do not resist or we shall open fire.

"Or would you rather spend ten years in an Imperial detention facility?"

"This is your only warning."

Jaas looked about ready to throw off the crashwebbing and throttle the life out of their passenger, so Arya reached out and put a hand on his arm to remind him to stay sitting. The ship drifted, the sublights never engaged after their abrupt dismissal from hyperspace, and she toggled the comm. "This is the captain of Wing of the Raven - we will cooperate fully, Far Reach."

The freighter jolted as a tractor beam lanced out and caught it, and she briefly wondered if they'd still be upside down to the cruiser when they linked up for boarding. Arya turned to Admar, her blue eyes flashing with gold fire. "I can't cooperate with a plan I've never heard. But you should know, we've both been 'detained' before. Iif your so-called plan doesn't work, you won't survive long enough to regret it."

That transmission was not in the plan.

"Believe me, if my plan doesn't work they'll do for me before you get the chance to. Now come with me."

He turned and dashed back along the passage to the common area, his mind working furiously to revise the plan.

It can still work. Just.

By the time the others reached the common area, Brask had dived back into his cabin and retrieved a bundle of bound fabric. He tossed this to Arya saying, "Put those on. Quickly!"

He then turned to Jaas. "Take that," he pointed to the jelly bag on the chair, "and put it on the Captain's chair in the cockpit and wait for me there."

Arya shook out the bundle, revealing an Imperial tech uniform, and looked at Jaas, who was still hesitating. "Do what he said!"

The ship vibrated loudly as the tractor beam pulled it, and she quickly pulled on the uniform.

His eyes darted repeatedly back and forth from the Imperial ship in the viewscreen and the passenger who's fault this apparently all was. His fingers had tightened into fists, and it wasn't until pain started shooting up his arms that he realized that his nails were cutting into his palms. There wasn't much to do. He doubted there was any chance of escape. He was tempted to just sit here and wait for the end. Arya yelled, her voice cutting through the conflict in his own mind; snapping him back to reality.

"Traanjirra take uss all!" He cursed, pulling the crash webbing free and pulling his monstrous body out of the seat. He grabbed the jelly bag and set it in Arya's chair and then backed away, all the way, to the very door to the cockpit. With the way things were going he could hardly trust the man or anything he said. This whole thing was forrda piss.

Back in the common area, Brask politely turned his back to Arya. It was probably unnecessary but there was no point risking offence.

Well...further offence after dragging her into this.

"You have somewhere aboard you can hide?"

It was only half question. Every sensible spacer's ship had a hidey hole if not to facilitate criminal activity then as a safety precaution.

Arya turned the cap over in her hands, loathe to put it on. "That's your plan? Hide?" Her knuckles whitened, the tech cap crushed in her fist as she seriously considered just throttling her passenger. Half paid wasn't too bad. Half paid and dead by Stormtroopers was worse, though, she reminded herself.

"Yes. A place. Haven't used it since the big guy came on board, though."

"Part of the plan."

If only I'd had more time to explain this would have gone more smoothly.

He turned to face her as he explained, speaking rapidly lest they run out of time.

"You hide while your co-pilot will give the authorities the impression that I killed you. They'll arrest us..."

The ship bucked again. The violence of the movement suggested they had been brought to a halt at the desired distance. Little time remained.

"...and then they'll send techs aboard. They'll check the place over and clear it to be brought aboard. You come out of hiding and disembark with the genuine techs. Then you use the uniform and this to bluff your way to the detention cells."

The this to which he was referring was a code cylinder, which he held out to Arya.

"That doessn't ssound ljike much of a plan, Pjinkjy." Jaas called out from the doorway of the cockpit, which he was hanging out of from the frame. "Thejy'll neverr beljieve a ljittle thjing ljike jyou could keep me frrom rrjippjing off jyourr head jif jyou kjilled Arjya. We need to make jit convjincjing. Hjit me." He stepped out of the doorway finally, moving right up near the man. He wanted so much to reach out, pick him up and throttle his neck until his face turned blue and his little feet kicked in the air. Jaas resisted, but only just barely. Instead he tapped the corner of his forehead, and bent his neck to give the shorter human reach.

"Do jit."

The ship had another hard vibration run through it, and Arya shook her head, tucking the code cylinder into her pocket. "Have fun." She ran down the passage to the hatch, flinging it open and sliding down the ladder into the cargo bay. Two orange optics shone in the semi darkness of the hold, and she said, "Oh gods, Twopio, I forgot all about you!"

"What is happening?" Twopio tottered out of the darkness as Mistress Arya pulled a panel off of the bulkhead, revealing a hidey-hole. "Why are we stopped?" He paused, processing what she was wearing as she climbed into the space in the bulkhead.

"We're being boarded by an Imperial patrol. We don't have any contraband, but apparently our passenger is wanted by the Imps so we're screwed." She paused, reaching for the panel awkwardly. "C'mon, help me out here Bluebird."

He picked up the panel and helped her fix it in place, with her concealed behind it. "What do I do, Mistress?"

"Ideally, switch off. They'll probably turn you on, though, so just remember - you've never seen me before in your life. Jaas is telling them I'm dead." There were a couple muffled curses in the wall as she tried getting comfortable. The space was only just big enough for her, so the odds of her finding a good spot were low. Twopio looked around, trying to figure out a good, casual spot to be found by rampaging Imperial techs and their scanners. By the ships ladder? The outer doors? The middle of the floor...?

He wandered down the side of the hold, and past the crates that held their personal supplies of food and sundries. The Wing of the Raven shook violently as it was snagged by an airlock umbilical, and he tumbled into some loose tie-down webbing, tangling himself up quite securely. "I have a bad feeling about this," the droid moaned, struggling to get free, and then giving up. "Good luck, Mistress."

Then he went into hibernation mode, all systems spooling down and going to standby.

Brask had turned at Arya's departure. Now he turned back to eye the well toned arm Jaas was still brandishing at him.

"We really don't have time for this," he sighed.

Then, in a single smooth motion, he drew the disruptor from his pocket, levelled it at the pilot's chair and fired.

Jaas' striped body stiffened at the sudden discharge of the weapon, his tail rising almost vertical with his spine. Eyeballing the chair's smoking remains he contemplated a lot of things in a small moment.

"Fajirr enough." He said at last and dropped down to the ground, sitting up against the wall as one might do when their ship has been forcibly taken over by a single man with a blaster. He practiced several different faces of distress and anger before settling on one he liked, a sort of brooding contempt that said he could wait years to get his revenge for the death of his Captain.

Brask was somewhat taken aback by this acquiescence. He had fully expected the large, claw-equipped spacer to grab him and do him serious physical harm. The pain would have been worth it for the verisimilitude it would have lent the story he was going to have to spin for the customs officers whose imminent arrival was heralded by a series of crashes aft.

One more deviation from the plan.

With a sigh he turned the disruptor towards the Jaas. He knew what was coming next.

***

Kadrak and his men were trough the hatch in record time, fanning out through the vessel in orderly fashion. He led part of the team around the corner towards the cockpit and came upon a surprising sight.

A short, rather unimpressive man in a suit was standing over a far more imposing figure on the deck. Behind them, in the cockpit proper was the smoking remnant of a chair. In the man's hand was a...

"Drop your weapon immediately!" he barked as his men levelled their blasters at the potential threat.

"Drop your weap..."

The assistant inspector did not get to finish the second round of the command because the man with the weapon turned towards them slightly and, as they were trained to do, the inspection team opened fire sending a series of blue stun rays down the passage and into the cockpit.

***

Perfect.

"Such a shame, Kadrak, to have ended your run like this."

The assistant inspector nodded his agreement. Four years, seven months, two weeks, and six days without a weapons discharge during an inspection. Despite their somewhat fearsome rhetoric and dangerous "clients", Imperial customs officers were not keen on using weapons beyond the occasional warning shots. Inspection team leaders actually competed to demonstrate restraint. A five year run was very respectable.

"I'm still up on my previous record, sir." Had Inspector Hardige paid close attention he might have noticed the edge to his subordinate's tone but he was too busy looking over the reports spread on the desk before him.

"A good haul I think," his tone was almost gleeful, "A very good haul actually."

"Yes, sir," Kadrak agreed, "These 'special orders' are usually less productive."

"Indeed," the inspector held out a datapad, "I'm especially pleased with this one."

Kadrak took the offered 'pad and turned it around to read the report header. "A fairly minor infraction," he opined, "but taken with the list of pending investigations and flits," he thumbed down the lengthy list, "it makes him a good catch for us."

"Yes," Hardige smiled, "Especially if we can crack him on the blaster casings now and jump the queue."

Kadrak smiled back. There was a well defined pecking order within Imperial law enforcment that covered the agencies and the offenses in which they took an interest. In this case, there were numerous offenses within the purview of Imperial Customs and, being of similar level, none had outright precedence. However, the investigations and/or charges of longer standing were, strictly speaking, to be taken first. Neither Hardige nor Kadrak was particularly keen on delivering their prisoner up to another division so they could try to pin him down before passing him to another and another. Looking at the list they could be waiting years before getting credit for a conviction.

"What did you have in mind, sir?"

"Well it occurs to me that Mr Merasska might be getting a little lonely in his cell. And we really don't have the room aboard to keep the accommodation single sex and offer single occupancy. We aren't an hotel after all."

"You think a room mate might encourage him to talk?"

"Yes, I do. If he is sufficiently uncongenial."

The detention area aboard [I]Far Reach[I] was very much like such facilities across the Galaxy. A series of cramped cuboid cells occupied an extensive part of the inner zone of deck five. Each bank of twelve cells stood along a passageway access to which was via its own control point.

The cells themselve were devoid of furnishings save a hard bunk and a head tucked in the corner. Everything was a black plastic coated for reasons of hygiene and through a dearth of imagination in interior design. A single glow panel mounted in the ceiling (actually filling most of it) cast everything in a stark white light. The lights, like everything else, were controlled by the guard at the end of the hall.

The one redeeming feature of these arrangements was privacy. Each cell was intended for a single occupant. There was an overflow "tank" nearby, a large holding area, but this was rarely used. Customs Officers liked to isolate their detainees so that they could not scheme together.

It would be a lie to say it was all an act as he was dragged out of the ship. The moment those binders clicked into place he began having flashbacks to the last time he was in this situation. The anger and the fear came flooding back. He didn't struggle like last time. No need to turn around and face anyone. Eraanni wasn't standing back there on the ship. He didn't care how they handled the passanger they took on, the one who's fault all this was, and Arya was safely stowed away in a hatch. Instead he looked ahead, allowing the Imperial Officers to pull and push him along. He could resist. Easily. It had taken a squad of marines to drag him away last time. However, he had a part to play and the only chance they had was to do as he was told.

He was dragged through processing, forced at blaster point to identify himself. His name turned up little. Arya and himself had managed to keep themselves from getting caught with anything, and any criminal charges to his name would be locked away in Cizerack space. Hardly accessible even by the long arm of the Empire. Then the pushing and dragging resumed, and he was pulled through the hallways of the prison ward. Through the cell bars he could see the depressed faces of the other prisoners. He tried to not meet their eyes. Instead looked ahead; jaw set, eyes narrowed.

Finally he was pushed into a cell, the door slammed behind him, and the cell's single other occupant looking up. A human. Blond haired. Looked like every other human to Jaas. Unremarkable. Continuing his brooding act, he walked over to the wall and sat down on the floor; his eyes moving between the other occupant and looking out of the cell for a sign of, well, anything.

Ben just stared at the Cizerack from his position beside the door, where he had been hiding from view. He looked familiar. A bit too familiar.

Ben liked familiar. But when things got too familiar, well, it meant bad things were going to happen.

"I've... I've seen you before, haven't I?"

Turning his head around, his squinted at the human for a closer look. Yes, there was something familiar about the human, but without stripe patterns he had such a hard time telling them apart. Just an entire face of unremarkable flesh that he would never remember. It was a wonder humans could tell anyone apart from the other. Seriously, they needed to be branded; or maybe facial tattoos that resemble stripes. Someday, maybe when the Cizerack finally rule the galaxy. That would be a bleak future.

"Kessssel?" He ventured, still unsure, but the man did remind him of that plucky, talkative pilot that took them away from that infernal rock.

Ben's eyes widened.

"Sarin's job? Whole group of people? Uh, lady complaining about a draft?" he sighed. "The galaxy's supposed to be a whole lot bigger than this."

Ben looked at the closed cell door.

"Well. I guess this is the part where I ask what you did to get yourself here," he slid down the wall until he was crouched in the corner. "Unless it comes with an escape plan that I can tag along with though, I can't honestly bring myself to care."

"Well..." Jaas words stumbled off as he looked out the bars of the cell. There weren't any guards in sight. Probably just a brig warden sitting behind a desk, feet up, reading some form of contraband. And why not? It wasn't like they were expecting a prison break and escape. Not here, aboard a mighty vessel of the Empire. Hell, Jaas wasn't so sure a break was even possible, but he had to hope that their passenger knew what he was doing.

Looking back at the human he made a decision. "We got caught transsporrtjing a human that the Empjirre wanted. He hass a plan to get uss out of herre. Not ssure about the detajilss but keep jyourr ejyess open and jyou mjight get out wjith uss. jIf we get out... jI'm Jaass." A striped and clawed hand was extended toward the pink human, across the width of their small cell.

"And if we don't get out?"

The smuggler looked at Jaass seriously.

"M'name's Ben. I'll be honest with ya, I'll probably just use you guys to get out of here and to my mechanic. Togruta, girl, probably trying to flirt her way out of her cell. See her on your way in?"

One section over, Kadrak considered his other prisoner over the top of a datapad.

"You seem a very," he reached for a suitable adjective, "charming young lady. How did you come to be mixed up with Mister Merasska?"

Shuvin frowned and looked at Kadrak with a scrutinizing eye.

"How old are you?" she asked. "You don't seem to be that old, but you also look like you've been around a while. But you can't, because if you were, you'd know that there's a lot of ways people get mixed up with other people, right? And that really most of the time it doesn't matter how we get mixed up with people, it's how we go about it afterwards that's really important."

She leaned back in her seat.

"That said, you're not going to make me a slave, are you?"

"Oh I don't expect so, no," the customs man said with a reassuring smile that slid from his face, "though some time in a labour camp is a distinct possibility."

The pad was slid across the bare metal table between them. It showed a list of the seemingly innumerable times the prisoner's companion had crossed Imperial law enforcement's scanners.

"If we can make any one of those stick your friend will be doing time in a camp. If we connect you with the same incident you'll join him unless..."

Kadrak disliked playing the cartoon cop but it was something they all had to do from time to time in Imperial Customs.

"...you make the connection for us that is."

There were those that wondered at the insistence of men like Kadrak and his superiors upon due process. After all the Empire was supreme. Partly it was to keep people on side. Partly it was to keep score properly. Partly it just seemed...right.

"Care to help me out?"

Come out of hiding and exit with the real techs. Use this to bluff your way to the detention cells. Easy for him to say. Arya's leg was starting to go numb in her hiding spot, but the Imperial technicians had come through the hold and it was time for her to move. She hooked her hands into the straps on her side of the removable panel, and cautiously pushed it outward while wriggling to get her feet out first.

She landed harder than she liked, her right leg buckling as pins and needles rocketed up through her nerve endings. Arya mouthed a curse as she nearly dropped the panel, but she managed to hop for a bit and get it back into place. Twopio was still powered down, and tangled up in a bunch of crate tiedowns. She edged past him and made sure the code cylinder was secure in one of the pockets of the tech uniform before climbing up the ladder and out of the hold.

She adjusted her cap a little, smoothing her hair and keeping her eyes on the ground. The last of the technicians were going through the galley, but a couple were exiting the ship, and Arya slipped in behind them, matching her gait to theirs and following them out of the ship.

The technicians ahead of Arya were carrying one of their all too familiar scanning kits. The large black and silver box with scuffed edges held between them, they shuffled rather to rapidly down the ramp. The tech leading the way, back to their course, was struggling to maintain his grip.

"Easy!" he growled at his companion to no effect. His companion was paying little attention.

The box slipped from the first tech's fingers. A wild grab failed to arrest the fall. The leading edge of the box hit the ramp with a bang and, encouraged by its angle, slid forward at speed. The second tech's grip was too loose to stay the motion so, with a horrid bony thud, the box smacked into the first tech's lower legs.

"Damnit!"

Arya stifled her anxiety, and took a couple long steps to catch up with the hapless technicians. "Watch it!" she barked, crouching down and helping pick up the scanning kit, doing it with such haste that the other techs were too busy trying to grab the ends of the kit to take a good look at her. She rolled her eyes at them and stalked past as they continued to wobble with the box, trying to infuse her body language with got-better-things-to-do/ain't-got-time-for-this-shit. It seemed to work, carrying her across the hangar and into a corridor without being stopped.

She made it into an empty turbolift, and peered at the grid of buttons. Fortunately they were well marked, and Arya poked the indicator for the detention levels. So far, so good, which was more than she could say about the rest of this crazy trip.

In the detention levels, Brask was seated on a hard metal chair at a bare metal table beneath an overly bright glow panel. It flickered just a little seemingly at random in a manner that would, eventually, induce a headache.

A classic setup. When you have perfected an interrogation suite, why mess with it?

His jacket, waistcoat, accessories (including his chrono) and even his shoes had been taken away. His formerly crisp white shirt was rather rumpled. His body ached from the stun blast.

He was not entirely sure how long he had been here but he could make a reasonable guess based upon experience. It would have been a while but less than it actually seemed.

At least I haven't eaten yet. The shifting meal schedule is always fun.

The door behind him hissed open. He turned to look at the visitor even though he knew he should not because that was what he ought to do. He was rewarded with a barked "Prisoner do not move!" over the speaker concealed in a corner of the room.

Footsteps behind him and a shadow fell across the table.

The shadow rested on the table for a moment as its owner considered Brask. Then it slid onwards. The shadow's owner was a customs officer in neatly pressed uniform carrying a datapad under his arm and a mug of something steaming in his hand.

Obviously decided that I am not up to doing anything untoward with hot liquids then.

The mug was set down and then the pad. The customs man then settled himself in the opposite chair.

"Your name, please."

"Admar Brask but I..."

A hand was raised, "There will be plenty of time for explanations when I have finished. Your place of residence, please."

So they went through the questions he had already answered with the previous officer. Each question phrased not as a question but as a request. The officer polite, calm, uninterested. It took an age.

"Now how did you come to be," at this the officer made a show of consulting his pad, delivering the next part of his question in the monotone of a quote from a dry written report of something extraordinary, "'holding a disruptor apparently in an altercation with a non-human felineoid in proximity to a substantial deposit of coagulated biomatter'?"

"As I explained to your colleague, I booked passage with that beast and his consort out of necessity. En route I found that they were planning to rob me and I took steps to defend myself."

"With a highly powered and highly illegal weapon."

"With an old family heirloom that I carry mostly for show. In my line of work one has to be careful."

"A," again consultation of the pad, "tailor has to be careful?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I travel a lot. I have many customers, many who are very important. Tailors learn things that other want to know. I had a partner once..."

Again the hand, "Thank you." A check of the pad. "And you say that your name is Admar Brask?"

"Yes. But as I already..."

"...explained to my colleague you are not the Admar Brask we are looking for. You have said so already."

Not to you I haven't.

Brask paused and said, "Well yes, exactly. I can't be. I have never done anything that would be of interest to you."

"Indeed?" A smirk touched the lips of the officer. "I think that possibly you have."

In his office, Inspector Hardige looked away from the feed from Interrogation Room Six and towards his "guest" with an unspoken question.

Is this really the man you had us do all this for?

His guest wore the uniform of Imperial Intelligence. In the hierarchy of the various security and intelligence agencies, ImpIntel ranked quite highly - certainly higher than ImpCustoms - but was certainly the poorer relation of the dread Imperial Security Bureau. Or at least it had been before The Treaty. With the drawing of the Treaty Line and the emergence of not only the so-called-Alliance of Free Planets but also numerous unaligned worlds on its far side, ImpIntel was on the up. After all, the I.S.B. was essentially an internal force; it lacked the skills, knowledge, and above all, the mandate to operate outside Imperial space of their erstwhile colleagues. Nevertheless, it did well for a humble customs officer to treat such visitors with some respect or at least show of it.

The intelligence officer did not answer immediately. His eyes left the monitor long enough to register that enquiring look before fixing again on the image of the little man in shirtsleeves sitting across from what appeared to be another customs officer - actually someone from INTEL in a borrowed uniform - with the slightest of smiles.

"Inspector, you have done very well. This man is the one we came here for. You will discontinue your monitoring of the interrogation room." He sensed Hardige stiffen at the thought of loss of sight of operations on his ship. "It is best that you do not know what is said in that room. I can assure you nothing will be done to him. We only wish to talk."

"Very well," the inspector conceded, keying the relevant controls to show immediate acquiescence though he knew his guest would set a lock on the feed to ensure compliance, "And what about the others? And their ship?"

"They are yours," the guest had turned away from the now blank screen, "I have no doubt that you will be able secure the credit for their conviction in due course." He stalked towards the door. "I am going to oversee the questioning of my prisoner," there was subtle emphasis on the possessive there, "and then we will arrange suitable records and reports. I am sure that I can rely upon your assistance with that."

The doors slid open and then closed, leaving the inspector alone. After a few moments of introspection during which he decided that co-operation in full would now be his lot like that of those he detained, he keyed the comm.

"Have the scanning crew that dealt with that last ship report to me now."