I set Landslide down on the outskirts of the small camp.  Frankly, I was surprised at what I saw.  I had been expecting tents, Mason had called it a “camp”.  Instead what we landed beside was a small village.  As we set down I saw a small column of people coming out to greet us.

“Let’s get ours off-loaded and make tracks away from here,” I commed to my crew.

Returning to the lounge, I counted Mason, Relastra and Mikita moving bodies down the loading ramp and handing them off to some of the villagers who had come to greet us.  “Where is . . . “ my voice trailed off, we were missing one.  “Ubbit?”

Mason gave me a grunt and a shrug as he assisted a body down the ramp.  Mikita and Relastra gave me studiously blank looks.

Ubbit was found face-down in the bunkroom.  I checked to make sure he was alive, and decided he was fine where he was and left him there.  I returned to the lounge and helped unload our passengers.

“What did you do to him?” I asked Relastra and Mikita as the last of our passengers were unloaded.  There were no bruises on him and I’d heard no sounds of a scuffle.  Mason had been in the cockpit with me, and the doctor didn’t look as though he’d been shot, so I knew Mason hadn’t put him on the bunk.

Mikita wrote:

"A dose of his own medicine, literally."

Relastra nodded agreement.  "He pulled out a syringe of some sort, saying something about nourishment and rest, just about dropped it and when he caught it, it stuck in his hand.  He took a few steps and was snoring like a savrip."  Rel shrugged and added, "It was easier to move him out of the way than to keep stepping on him."  Avoiding eye contact with the Captain, Rel hurried to keep up with Mikita and help shuttle more passengers off the ship.

“Fierfek,” I snarled under my breath at Mikita and Relastra.  I remembered Ubbit’s syringe.  “Don’t do that again,” I grated out at Bondara and Raynstar.  “Yes, maybe he deserved it, but if anyone is going to knock out anyone on board my ship, it’ll be me.”  I kept my voice low, carrying just to them.  I sighed.  As messy as it had ended up, Mikita had made a good call – unintentional it may have been.  “Good judgement though.  Not sticking anyone with anything strange.”

I trotted down the ramp, chuckling to myself at the sight of Mason and his little ‘shadow’.  Be a shame to break that duo up.  I didn't think Mason was capable of smiling.

“’Dannik’ will do,” I nodded at Mason’s friend, as I arrived to stand next to the taller man.  “I don’t mean to be a social killjoy, but I think we ought to scoot.  Soon.”  I saw the older man staring at me, and I did a double-take as I realized he had no eyes.  I’d only heard of Miralukans, never met one in the flesh before.

“We don’t know if we’ve maybe been followed, and I don’t want anyone riding my jets down to here.  We just broke our friends loose; I don’t want them ending back up in that situation again.”  I rolled my good shoulder, loosening stress-tightened muscles, and anticipating objections as I addressed Mason.  “Feel free to come back anytime.  I think Bondara and Raynstar may be returning, they seem to want to help more.   But I’ve still got a responsibility to make a profit for you all, and I can’t do that from here.”

"Spiders!" Ubbit yelled, his head snapping up from a puddle of drool on the bunk. He blinked a few times, looking around. "Where..?"

After a moment, he realized the distinct lack of assorted buzzing and humming that meant the ship was no longer moving. Looks like they had landed to offload the prisoner. He pieced together what he could of what had happened, and realized perhaps it was best if he continued pretending he was asleep. After all, it's not long they wouldn't give him his cut of whatever profit they made, right?

Right?

I trudged back to Landslide, up the boarding ramp, through the lounge and on up to the cockpit.  Weariness was beginning to tug at me as I checked on my messages.  No one had sent anything to me since I had broadcast my own inquiries.  By now, Mason was back on board, so I closed the ramp and eased Landslide into the air.  I engaged the autopilot and told the ship to take us on an arc, back up to the edge of atmosphere and then cruise back down to the spaceport we’d departed from more than two days earlier.

I returned to the lounge, eyeing the scattered crew.  I felt my lip twitch in disgust.  It wasn’t at them, it was for myself.  Sure, we’d done a good job, but I also hadn’t made a profit for us either.  I took the second couch (the one not inhabited by Mikita and Relastra) and heard it creak as I slouched back with a sigh.  I pulled my helmet off; I could smell the faintly acrid smell of sweat from myself.  There’d been no sleep for me since we’d lifted off almost fifty hours ago and a little voice in the back of my head was telling me that dozing all the way back to the spaceport was a really good idea.

Instead I was rudely interrupted.  “Sir!  I have an incoming message for you.”

Exhaustion fuzzed my brain and I didn’t realize that Arty wasn’t addressing me through the commlink in my helmet that was cradled in my hands.  Instead he was addressing me through the ship’s intercom.

Exhaustion-induced stupidity was what I later blamed for my next sentence.  “Go ahead and put it up.”

“It’s a pre-recorded message,” he explained, but put the message up anyways.  The holoprojector flickered to life and a man with dusky brown skin and a crown of cranial horns swam into view.  A Zabrak.  He was well-dressed and it looked like he stood beside a desk.

“Good to hear you’re still alive Matock.  In case you’ve forgotten me, I’m Guynus.”  I remembered him well, and I didn’t need his condescending smile to joggle my memory.

“I heard a shipment of slaves for Goros the Great has disappeared.”  He added air quotes around ‘the Great’.  “I give you my congratulations: good job.  That is a lot of raw capital that just went missing.”

“As you have probably guessed, he furious.  He is vindictive, and he has very large pockets.

“Don’t stress though, because this is not a warning message.  I want to give you an explanation.”

“You see, when my master – Goros – lost his cargo, he wanted the heads of whoever took said cargo on a platter.  But I reminded him that his majordomo – my now-deceased predecessor – hired out Kuyuk Brothers for the run.  Kuyuk Brothers has been evading Goros’ clutches for years.  It would be a much more satisfying accomplishment for Goros to snap them up and make a profit, rather than chasing around shadows, and sinking untold amount of money into the chase.  Especially when we had no idea where to start looking for those shadows.

“This message is actually a ‘thank you’.  With a fifth of their shipping fleet gone - having somehow blown itself across Hutta's upper atmosphere - Kuyuk Brothers could not keep up with their shipping runs.  Even worse, when word got out that they were being targeted by pirates, they lost eighteen contracts.  When Goros moved in, we bought the company for a pittance.  The company has been ours for  –“ he checked a rich wristwatch “– five hours.”

“And I say ‘we’ because as of two hours ago, you’re looking at the new CEO of Kuyuk Brothers Courier Service.  Goros granted this company to me as a reward.

“So.  Goros has been satiated, and you are in the clear.  I would still be careful where you go on Tatooine from now on though.”

Guynus relaxed back in his chair, and kicked his feet up on the desk.  “I wouldn’t advise coming near Glee Anselm either.  Good doing business with you.  Scum.”  The holomessage ended.

Somewhere during the recording I’d risen my feet, all traces of exhaustion gone.  I felt a vein thumping in my forehead.  As the message flickered out I hurled my helmet across the lounge in a rage.  It struck the bulkhead with a resounding crack. I forced myself to take several breaths, pushed myself back into the couch, and just sat there for a while, holding my head in my hands, trying to think.  Time, effort, money.  Gone.  I had been played, just like one of my dejarik pieces.

And then I started chuckling.

Relastra wrestled Me from his pocket nest as he settled on a couch while the Landslide lifted away from the small colony.  Rel absentmindedly wondered just what percentage of those poor souls would wind up back in bondage…trying to make a go of it, coming on hard times again, winding up in the wrong place at the wrong time.  He verified the grid co-ords one last time; if nothing else, it could be a handy place to pick up help for an odd job here and there.  People in the city check their holos, access their datapads, order some food, what-have-you; all benign actions, but actions on the grid nonetheless, whereas these people don’t, and when it comes to organizing a crew to keep tabs on a warehouse or docking bay, off the grid is worth its weight in nova crystals.  Plus, they’d likely work for cheap.

Rel was just about to access his tap on the Jewel’s security network to see if any easy marks were at the Pazaak tables when his attention was captured by the holo of the Zabrak.  Rel watched in disbelief…there was NO WAY they could have picked up the Landslide through his transponder slice.  One of those incoming birds would have had to have gotten a direct visual on the hull and been able to ID it vs. all the other BT-7’s clogging up the spacelanes.  Granted, the inside was pretty unique he thought, admiring the lounge once again.  But no…aha!  This guy is how Skorlen knew about the shipment in the first place…played by a second string ‘domo. Nice. Rel winced as Skorlen’s helmet bounced off the bulkhead.

Mikita hopped up and went to work on the captain immediately.  Smoother than water beading on a bulkhead in zero-g.  The back of Rel’s brain registered there was a lesson in tactfulness to be learned here, but he lacked the age to appreciate it and was already at a disadvantage with his common sense eroded by fatigue and the doc’s painkillers.  Besides, the captain’s laughter was infectious.

“Well, I may be green, but it ain’t with envy,” Rel chuckled.  “So, what’s our next play, Captain?  I can see leaving this guy alone,” Rel gestured towards where the holo was moments before, ”though if Goros doesn’t know who jumped the shipment, then the bit about staying away from Tatooine was a personal jab, I’d think.  He can’t possibly think he could rat you out when you have a copy of this…confession. But…I still need to make enough to buy that Merr-Sonn off ya; I rather like it.  So what’s plan B?  Boot a load of nanosilk and run it to Corellia?”

I caught my helmet as Mikita dropped it in my lap, as I looked up and saw my crew looking right back at me, I closed my mouth.  I must’ve looked absolutely unhinged.

Instead of saying anything I gathered myself and turned back to the table.  I slouched back in the seat, drumming my fingers on the chest of my armor, thinking.

An angry squelch of static broke me from my thoughts a heartbeat later.  I’d caught the tail end of Mikita’s question.  “I don’t think that needs translation,” I told her over my shoulder as I stood up and paced across the lounge.

“I’m not going after Guynus,” I addressed Mason as I crossed the lounge.  “Not yet,” I added.  I checked the chrono on my wrist, there was still time before we landed.  My track took me across the lounge towards a specific one of my maps next to the hatch leading to the galley.  A corner of the map was peeled back, a quick rhythm was tapped on the wall panel behind, and Arty obliged me by popping open the panel, revealing the compartment behind.  I reached in and retrieved a tall bottle and five glasses.

The five glasses were set on the table and a shot from the bottle was poured into each.  Whyren’s Reserve.

“A toast to stupid.” I said, sitting back down and raising my glass.  “I’m first up as I disobeyed my own rule: Always double-check your intel.”  I downed the shot and poured a second.  “The next is to Guynus.  He’s not only given me Who to hit, Where to hit, and How to hit him, he’s also given me a damn good reason Why I Should.”  I downed the second shot, and set the glass firmly down on the table/holoprojector.  “I was doing a good job of being ‘dead’ until he showed back up . . . and I got greedy.”

I drummed my fingers on the table as I thought out loud, “he gave me the information that led to that ship, yes.  I didn’t check it, and that’s what got us into this.  So,” I planted my feet and sat straight up with a frosty look, “I’m getting even.  If you want in, fine. 

“Actually,” I interrupted myself and pointed at Relastra, “I’m conscripting you, unless you can point me to a better dataminer before we land.  You’ll work that pistol off and I’ll call it even.”

I poured a third shot, but I sipped this one slowly as I spoke.  “If any of you want in, know this: we’re doing this operation my way.  I’m not going to kill him,” I answered Mason’s ugly look and readied weapons.  “I’m not going in off-the-cuff this time.  Not like this last time.  I’m going to take my time, do it absolutely right, and I’m going to bleed him. 

"This will probably take a few weeks or months to set up to my satisfaction, but the heat will be off any of you who wants to come since the only person he’s expecting to come after him is myself.”

My fingers were still tapping on the table as I continued thinking and planning in my head.  “Regardless, if you want in or not, you’ll be free to go once we land.” 

“I know right now I could sell those cuffs to a fella I know who works a penal colony on Adex One-Two.” I told Mikita as I remembered her offer from earlier, “It’s out in nowhere space, and he’ll only give me market, so I’m going to wait for better.”  I turned back to the group.  “When I do get the money, I’ll split it and send each of you your share.”

"Of course," I grumbled to myself into my drink, "I might just save a couple pair, stick Guynus into them and fire them off."

I leaned back and stitched my fingers behind my head.  “Last thing: did any of you have any prior experience in ship hijacking before coming on this job?”

Mikita glanced away with a frown at the blurt of static as Dannik walked off. Did his ship just hiss at her? And she’d thought Dessie had issues meeting new people…

In any case, it didn’t look like she was going to get to touch the helm, at least not yet, so she folded her arms and turned to lean against the back of the couch that Skorlen had vacated. That was just as well, since he’d stopped laughing and hadn’t jumped blindly at Mason’s suggestion to dart off after the unfortunate offender. Maybe he hadn’t completely cracked after all. Although, she still questioned his judgment as he broke into a secret stash of booze while Mason sat priming his blaster. She opted to hang back and not approach the offered drink until he’d had a shot at it… hopefully not literally.

So she stayed put as the captain voiced his plans, brooding over them as she raised one hand to bite idly on a thumbnail. All of the hard work of tracking down the one responsible for the slaves had just sort of fallen completed into her lap, and if Skorlen was going in anyway, now any plans she might have come up with to do something on her own were going to risk clashing with whatever he would be doing.

It was becoming logically obvious that she should volunteer to help, although she was still trying to come up with a reason to say out loud apart from ‘it’ll help clear my soiled conscience’ until…

Skorlen wrote:

“Last thing: did any of you have any prior experience in ship hijacking before coming on this job?”

Mikita straightened up, her hand dropping back to her side as she cast a glance around at the rest of the crew. Was that a trick question?   But Relastra was already recounting a few other priors he’d done.

She cleared her throat before speaking up. “Um. Yes? Extensively, actually. Why, uh… why do you ask?”

Hesitating, she processed some of Rel’s rambling, and she turned suddenly to face him. “Swapped the orthogonal? Did you break into the paralight system to pull that off, or send some kind of spike in through the motivator itself?”

I tuned out and listened absently to Mikita and Relastra banter and talk shop.  Good, I had two bodies for sure for this next scheme of mine.  Relastra was turning out to be a surprise.  Genuinely useful.  Not too hot with a blaster, but outside of that, useful.

It wasn’t too much longer before Arty guided Landslide into the docking bay we’d left almost three days earlier.  I got the information for Mikita’s contact and sent them on their way.  I cleaned up, got some sleep, and then flew to Tatooine to meet with Mikita’s contact.

I was a surprise for her contact, but he did give me three times market for the half-dozen, which gave me thirty-six thousand in the wallet.  I met a few of my own contacts, split between the KSC, and the guy I knew on Adex One-Two.  I sold most of them and walked out with a total of one hundred thousand in my wallet.  The pay was split five ways, and once I landed back on Ord Mantell the transfers went through.  Everyone came up twenty-thousand richer.

I did keep four sets of those cuffs.  Yes, they were ugly, yes they were illegal, but I could picture in my head a dozen scenarios in which they’d be useful, and that was enough – in my mind – to justify keeping them around.  I popped open a hidden compartment in the armory and stashed them there, with their release codes (I also sealed a backup file of the release codes in Arty’s memory banks.)

It took a few more days before I heard anything else from the crew.  I wasn’t really surprised.  My costing them time and effort wasn’t too popular I imagined.
What was surprising was who I was contacted by.


“I have a message for you sir!”

I was in the middle of getting ready to go out.  There was a swoop race tonight, and I was entered.  It was on one of my favorite tracks, and the crowd was sounding promising.  I would rather have been tinkering on my armor.  I had an idea to use the shield emitter to pulse an energy surge, instead of just keeping up a steady pace and providing a defensive shield.  The idea of a surprise weapon was something I wanted to explore more.  Unfortunately, I didn't have the money at the time.

“It’s from ‘Doctor Wheatley Ubbit’.” He informed me.  “It’s a text message sir.”

What did Ubbit want?  I shrugged.  “What’s on his mind?”

“Do Wum Kuff Puh.”

I stopped at that. I looked around, did Ubbit send me a virus?  Some thanks, that.  “Say again?”

“Do Wum Kuff Puh.  Sir.”

“Run a self-diagnostic.”

“Sir, the problem is not with my programs, it’s in the message.  I do not recognize the word.”

“Send it to my datapad.”

“Yes sir!”

The message flashed up.  Dwumcfp.  I grinned.  Acronym, had to be.  I thumbed through the message, and felt a rising excitement in my chest.  It was a gamble, sure, but it could well be the break I needed.  “Send him a reply.  Tell him I’m in.”