Kai's Journal #6
[encrypted holojournal, 2 BBY]
Back at the hangar, the crew talked things over, and we decided to sell the Headhunter I flew in our quick escape the last time we were here. With two turrets in the YT, we at least each have a spot to man. And we really need the capital, if I ever want to get a proper business or colony going, and Slee might need the credits to buy his sister back when we find her.
After some discussion about our YT-1300, we decided to christen her, “It's a Trap!” - clever, Slee, very clever. Those “medical” supplies…
Now, the problem we faced was that we had no documentation for the Z-95, and Crim was in no position to tell us where they were. Keva had a good idea. “I've heard of a… uh, used ship dealer around the Broxin district here. I bet if we ask around we can contact him.”
In the absence of better ideas, we all headed out together. The Broxin district was not what I'd call a commercial center, though not a slum either. 87 and I stuck together, not entirely in our element here, as Slee and Keva talked around with the shady streetdwellers. An obese alien of some sort gave us a lead. “A bar called Angels. Stairs going down, with a door at the end. The password is “The Grease is Warm” - a Devaronian named Murgo will let you in.” 87 then proceeded to make a comment about his rotund waist, and he nearly kicked us as we headed toward Angels.
We walked into the shady lounge with dancing girls on the stage and two-bit jizz band. We didn't attract too much obvious attention, since 87 and I were holding our heavy weapons, though the droid did get a few dark looks.
At the bottom of the stairs was indeed a steel door with a slot built in, about eye-level. I gestured for Slee to take the lead, and he knocked. The slit opened, blood-red eyes peering out at us. “What do you want?” growled a Devaronian.
“Uh, we heard that the, ah, grease is warm around here…” Slee nervously told him.
The eyes blinked, then the slot closed suddenly. There was a murmur of voices talking from behind the door, and then the lockbar being drawn, and then the door opened and we stared at the business end of a blaster. “What did you say?”
Slee repeated the password, and said, “We're looking to sell a ship, a nice shiny Headhunter.”
“Alright. Come inside. Droids aren't welcome here,” he snarled.
“Stay at the door and watch our six - kick down the door if we call,” I said quietly to 87 as I passed him, hoping he wouldn't start a fight outside. The rest of us stepped through the door, and Murgo slammed it as he glared at the droid. I guess the Clone Wars are still fresh out here on the Rim.
Slee, Keva and I were ushered into the next room, where there were a few chairs scattered around. I remained standing as a Toydarian fluttered to face us. “Bentha Sim. You're lucky I didn't blast you straight away - you used last week's password. Whattaya here for?” asked the gruff little alien, hovering at eye level, trying to be intimidating. Keva hopped up and stood on one of the chairs and puffed out his chest, now the same height as everyone else.
“We have a ship, mint condition, that you might be interested in. Headhunter, all the rage with pirates out here in the Outer Rim,” I replied in my best sales voice.
“Eh, we don't sell to pirates here,” Sim stated as he crossed his arms. I just laughed, maybe just a bit on the forced side…
“Alright, what model? Is it the AF-4?” he continued. I nodded and showed him a holo of the ship. We started haggling, and I think my earlier laughter at his original bluster must have impressed the little guy, along with the great condition the starfighter was in. Good thing I didn't get hit during our little melee with the Black Skulls.
We settled on 27,500 credits along with some repairs to the Trap, but the repairs were going to take a few days. I think I could have scored quite a bit more if the Z-95's ownership papers weren't “in the mail.” We bade him farewell, and I think we might deal with him in the future. It's not like there are reputable ship dealers on Keyorin, anyway.
We had some waiting to do, so we decided to split up and do some research on Moff Trykin. AD-87 and Keva went to see if they could slice up some info, while Slee and I did the cantina circuit to gather rumours. I played some sabaac and chatted up off-duty guards while Slee would talk in the dark corners with his contacts.
We didn't find much out that we didn't already know, but it seems clear that the Moff had “efficiency” problems at his previous post, and was shipped out here as punishment. It seems as though no one was ever directly hired by the Moff or his staff.
In the face of a dead end, we decided we either had to go to the Hutts or the Black Skulls and try to get a job again. “It's not much of a choice, but at least the Skulls are here on the planet,” I observed to Slee, and he nodded.
“I'll put the word out that we're looking to hire on with the Black Skulls and Hosk,” Slee replied. It was getting late before we all finally gave up; no success tracking down the local Crime Lord.
As we all headed back to the hangar together to bunk on the Trap, a familiar figure appeared. “You have the entire street talking about me. That's giving me a serious problem,” snarled Hosk, and he stepped forward into our hangar along with 4 other hulking Bothans. They were all heavily armed and looked dangerous.
“Hosk! Good to see you! We've been trying to set up a meeting; glad you came!” I said as cheerfully as I could across the hangar bay.
“What? You have the nerve to ask for a job after you stole my weapons, shot at me, and then wasted two of my Headhunters on the way out!?” He didn't look impressed, and he fingered his customized Heavy Blaster Rifle. “You've created a big problem for me.”
“Hey, nothing personal. It's the nature of the business - we were just doing our job, and we did it well at that. Now, maybe we can help with your problem. What do you say?” I did my best to stay relaxed, but I surreptitiously flicked off my stun blaster carbine's safety.
“Yes, you can solve my problem - by dying!” Hosk leveled his blaster at us and fired, scattering deadly bolts across at us. I dove towards him, behind some crates, while Slee hid behind some cargo by the ship and Keva ran off behind me.
AD-87 was miraculously not hit, as he calmly took a step forward, glared and rattled off a barrage into the closest rival with a powerful rifle. Hosk's first man dropped before even leveling his blaster. “Nice shot, 87!” I called out, dodging a shot from another thug.
Hosk dove behind the stack of crates as well, and ordered, “Kill them all!”
Keva screamed in pain as he ran out of the room, a stray blast managing to catch him on the side. I could hear Hosk laughing on the other side of the crates, and I saw his powerful blaster swing towards me. I dodged sideways just in time - a nearby durasteel crate blew into pieces, but Hosk started swearing as his own weapon overheated and started smoking profusely. Looks like we'd have some time before it cooled off. I'm starting to believe in the Force that my mother talked about growing up!
In the meanwhile, 87 professionally swiveled his rifle towards the second Rifleman, and the huge salvo killed another Bothan. I triumphantly called out to my fellow crewmen, urging them on, as Slee and I caught one of the Bothans who was packing a carbine in crossfire, and he too dropped; stunned or dead I wasn't sure.
The fourth Bothan I nicknamed “Whitey” had taken cover behind another pile of equipment across the hangar bay, and was taking some potshots at 87 and Slee. “Hey guys!” a squeaky voice called over the commlinks. “We've got company… Aqualish coming through the door.”
And then disaster struck. Hosk had tossed his smoking rifle down, and drew a wicked-looking vibroaxe. “87, look out!” I called, too late. The blade swung down and crunched into metal. 87 had already taken a couple of blaster shots in the inital attack, and this was too much - he fell down, and didn't move.
Just as the hangar doors opened, they suddenly shut closed again, with Keva…
