Star Wars Character Cafe - The Floating Fortress Part 3

THE FLOATING FORTRESS

14. Sleeper Unit Three and the Eva After

Gavorr Inter-Continental had insisted that Eva Pah’ker remain on board her ship, and that trained medical professionals were being sent to perform an irradiation. And so, she had spent an hour waiting – an hour in which she became sicker and sicker. At many points during that hour, she had wondered suspiciously whether, on an Imperial world such as this, they might refuse to treat her.

Because she was Twi’lek, not human.

The human passengers were immediately lifted to the closest hospital, obviously of much greater worth than a Twi’lek to be treated in a superior facility. The smug look of triumph on Christof’s face as he boarded the Med-e-vac transport lingered in her thoughts, suitably punctuating the worst trip of her life.

Certainly, the paramedics had been very short with her – and utterly non-discreet in performing the procedure that left the more modest sect of society feeling rather vulnerable.

And so it was, as she descended the ramp of her ship finally, that she began seething with rage. No sooner had she left, however, than she noticed the black-clad man tailing her through the crowded corridors of Gavorr Inter-Continental. Sithspawn, she hadn’t expected the Imperials to discover her this quickly. Something was wrong. Someone had tipped off the authorities – her mind immediately flashed to Christof, the mercenary who had threatened to shoot her on the way down from space.

The Force damn the sithing coward!

But anger would serve no purpose here…she had to move. She still carried a blaster, strapped firmly to her left hip. Whilever she carried it, she rated herself as a chance against the shadow agent. If she could lead him into a secluded area, somewhere nice and quiet, where there were few witnesses…

But that was impractical. If there was one Imperial following her, then there were at least two others watching where he was going. Any sign of trouble, she’d bring an entire garrison down on top of herself. She wouldn’t rate herself a chance then, even if she carried a thousand blasters in a thousand arms.

What to do…what to do…

The best she could hope for at the moment was to give him the slip. Yes, that was what she would do. Head for the most bustling areas of the transit port, and try to loose him. Customs would serve her purpose nicely…or perhaps the food courts –

An abrupt crack startled her – a crack she immediately recognised as a blaster discharging – and she threw herself to the ground. Evidently, her follower didn’t want to wait for her to get too far away, no matter how many witnesses there were.

Frantically, she grabbed for her own blaster, yanking it from the holster and flicking the safety off. She knew it was hopeless. By the time she could turn and track the imp, he could have shot her twenty times.

But something was wrong, she knew straight away – simply because she was still alive. There were no follow up shots to finish the job, either. And she didn’t think it likely that the Imp could confuse her throwing herself to the ground with dropping dead. No, something was wrong, alright…

And there. Something was miraculously, wonderfully wrong. Standing over the top of a dead Imperial agent stood a person she fully recognised – a very wanted man on most civilised worlds. It was Ex-Imperial captain Airen Cracken.

A Rebel.

In amongst the screams of the frantic crowd he stood, like a pillar of virtue. He took the dead man’s blaster and comlink, and then fiddled with the small cylinder for a moment. It looked as though muttered something into it, then stood quickly, running to where she lay. Genuine concern blazed through his eyes as he picked her up, looking her up and down.

“Are you alright?” he asked quickly. She didn’t quite know how to react, but there was something about him… she wanted to trust the man. He had, however, just talked openly on an Imperial channel – or so it appeared. But she was not certain of that…and he had just killed the man he’d taken it from

So she nodded her head. Cracken nodded his head also, and then grabbed her arm to lead her away. She barely kept pace with him as they ran quickly, back the way she had just come, toward the Eva After.

“Where are we going?” she asked through sharp intakes of breath.

“Back to the landing pits, bay 12,” he answered shortly. She had no idea why. But if that was where Cracken was going, that was where she was going. Rumours had spread throughout the galaxy about the great captain Airen Cracken, and the genius behind the name. Many Imperial commanders had despaired the day he defected.

Many others had defected because of it.

Just what Cracken was doing on Gavortis she also didn’t know. But he had saved her life, and in her book that counted for a lot more than allegiances or politics. Someone had just died. This was now a survival situation, and her gut told her that her best chance of survival was with Airen Cracken.

“Who were you talking to?” she spoke again.

“Sending the Imperials a message, buying us some cover.” His response was curt, but not impolite. Even so, Eva decided that questions were probably best saved for a later time.

Wordlessly, they sprinted back to landing bay 12 – toward a reprieve of safety. Once she was away from Gavorr Inter-Continental, then she could concentrate on her mission. Until then, it couldn’t hurt to give the Rebels a quick assist.

In fact, the path to her final objective might well depend on giving the Rebels a quick assist.

15. Insolent Bureaucrats

Admiral Tigellinus did more than frown at the news from the captain, he positively exploded with rage. Did they not understand? Were these politicians so dense that they could not comprehend their own insignificance? The nerve. The nerve!

“You will tell them that if they wish to maintain their position as friends of the Empire they will prepare to board this ship immediately!” he shouted harshly. The captain recoiled, and Tigellinus held his icy gaze.

“Y-yes sir,” he stuttered, and turned to relay the message. A few moments later he returned, his skin a ghostly white. “Sir, I’m afraid the response was negative. They are claiming that under Imperial Protocol zero-one-oh-four-”

“Captain, stop. Don’t allow the filthy words of these politicians to sully your mouth. Allow me,” he said, considerably more coolly. He approached the comm unit, and spoke very slowly into it.

“This is Grand Admiral Tigellinus of his Excellency’s the Emperor Palpatine’s New Order. I command that you prepare yourself for a formal greeting aboard the Star Destroyer Conquistador immediately. Failure to do so will result in unfavourable action. Comply,” he said. There was a momentary pause from the other end of the line.

“Admiral Tigellinus, this is assistant to Governor Merl Thrisst. I’m afraid I’ve been instructed to inform any military staff that under Imperial Protocol zero-one-oh-four section four that all planetary visits, unless consensually otherwise arranged, are to be conducted within the offices of the local Governor, or a venue of convenience that-”

“Please assistant, put Governor Thrisst on the line immediately,” Tigellinus said coldly. There was another pause.

“I’m sorry sir, the Governor is occupied.”

The transmission ceased.

Tigellinus straightened, all eyes on the bridge fixed on his expression. Against all of his character, he kept it in check – years of military training and breeding keeping him from getting as angry as before. He glared directly at the captain, who stood uneasily under the gaze.

“Are there any reports from Sleeper unit three, captain?” he asked. The captain shuffled on the spot, glancing over at the communications pit. The leading officer there took it as leave to report, and did so.

“Sir, just moments ago the report came through – the dissident scavengers are dead,” he said confidently.

“Good,” Tigellinus responded. “Then prepare a shuttle, captain – and divert a squadron of TIE fighters. We are going to visit the offices of the local governor, and then consensually otherwise arrange for his punishment.”

16. Gavorr Continental Government House

The tinny little radio crackled again, and yet more messages spilled from the communications tower of the Imperial Star Destroyer. The four figures all leaned forward, each brimming with anxiety – perhaps this would be the signal. Perhaps now they could quit being bored and complete their mission – and more importantly, get paid.

There came the usual preamble from the Imperial communications officer, who kindly informed them all that this message was bound for the Gavorr Government Offices. The curiosity of the four beings pricked up – that was the right destination.

They listened as the Imperials made a formal request for a meeting of the Governor of Gavortis to travel immediately to the warship Conquistador, who subsequently refused. The request came a second time, with a more insistent edge to it – still the governor insisted that the meeting should be held within government offices.

But none of them were prepared for what they heard next – it was too good to be true.

“This is Grand Admiral Tigellinus of his Excellency’s the Emperor Palpatine’s New Order. I command that you prepare yourself for a formal greeting aboard the Star Destroyer Conquistador immediately. Failure to do so will result in unfavourable action. Comply.”

But the Governor did not comply.

The four looked at each other in turn. The time had come. Grand Admiral Tigellinus was on his way – here. Quickly, excitedly, they donned their Stormtrooper helmets, completing the total uniform.

“Contact Cracken, now,” their leader ordered through the helmet comlink. They raised their rifles to chest height, and marched in standard formation from their concealed location. It was happening, just as Cracken had told them it would. How could he have known? It seemed all too impossible.

Ahead a little ways, and around a corner, they waited. They stood two to each side outside the large doors that lead into the majestic stone building.

The sign above the doors read “Gavorr Continental Government House”.

17. So Who Pulls the Pin?

It was a magnificent sight – well, if not magnificent, definitely unusual – the hulking mass of the Imperial Star Destroyer floating peacefully on the purple water. In the passenger side seat of the expensive airspeeder, Clip couldn’t take his eyes off it. It looked like a floating fortress of impenetrableness. Even from here, probably thirty or more kilometres away, the dark bulwark was the most foreboding thing he’d ever seen.

That was what they were going to try and sink. Seriously.

It couldn’t be possible, no way were they going to do it. Not him, not Booster, not the Rebel Alliance. While the buzzing black dots of the fighters lost their impressiveness from this distance, Clip knew better – he’d tangled with TIE’s once before. He’d been very lucky to escape that encounter. And that had been only two fighters – just two. A full ImpStar complement was six squadrons. One wing.

72 fighters.

At even odds, he might just back the Rebels against the nimble fighters. But not now. They had no fighters left, if he had overheard the comlink correctly – the imps had thwarted that plan by destroying the hangar they’d been using. That left them only the possibility of sending out armed freighters against the TIE’s.

It would be no competition – even against so few fighters as the Imperials had deployed.

But he could feel it in his bones. The Rebels were going to try anyway. It baffled him, utterly. Why do it? Why send yourself to die against an enemy that probably wouldn’t even be fazed by the distraction? In fact, the enemy pilots would probably be glad of the practice. Even if they succeeded, the Empire would hardly be crippled. They were talking one Star Destroyer here, one single warship.

Last rumours had put the Empire’s total warship count at 25,000 Star Destroyers alone.

Okay, granted killing the Admiral might be a blow to them. But Admirals could be replaced easily in an organisation that large. The younger officers in the New Order were just itching to be promoted – up to prospects beyond their wildest dreams. Clip had seen smugglers be seduced by the lure of command.

And they always had Vader.

Clip shuddered at the thought of the … he hesitated to say man. He had never placed much stock in names or reputations, but this one was genuinely chilling. A whisper of his name at a business meeting was enough to send the most intrepid of men scampering away, tails planted firmly between their legs.

Even if the Rebels killed every Admiral in the Imperial Navy, they’d never get Vader.

Never.

“A credit for your thoughts,” Booster said softly from the driver’s seat. Clip smiled easily, and looked away from the floating monstrosity.

“I was just burning up all the pessimism internally so I wouldn’t blurt it out in front of Wedge,” Clip explained, letting his right arm find it’s way to his empty gun holster. Sithspit, he’d forgotten it had been ‘confiscated’ back on the casino. Not only were the odds stacked against them, he was also unarmed.

“Yeah, I get your meaning,” Booster replied, nodding his head. “Figure I might try and convince ‘em to evacuate. You know, we can fit most of ‘em on the Skate. We’d have a hard time talking Wedge around, though.”

“Yeah, that’s what worries me. Knowing him, he’s probably cooked up an insane plan with his lunatic Rebel friends. But without a ship underneath him, I guess his fighting capacity is pretty reduced. You never know, they might simply want a lift off system while the Impstar is grounded,” Clip reasoned. Booster chuckled, and stared the other man in the eye.

“Do you think you’re even close to being right?”

Clip didn’t answer. Ahead, Gavorr Inter-Continental grew ever larger in the airspeeder’s windscreen. Strangely enough, no traffic flowed from the vast landing pits. There was, however, a large crowd of hovering vehicles sitting in low orbit, waiting patiently for clearance.

With a sinking feeling, Clip concluded that they’d be waiting there for some time – the transit port was locked down. He looked over at Booster, who looked back rather worriedly. A complete lockdown usually meant one thing: something was about to erupt. Something big.

“I think,” Booster said, removing the comlink from his belt, still set to Wedge’s frequency “You’d better call Wedge.” Clip didn’t argue. He snatched the small cylinder, and flicked it on.

It buzzed for exactly one second.

“Antilles,” Wedge answered, infuriated.

“Wedge, Clip,” he informed him simply. Despite himself, Clip felt a surge of excitement. This was everything he’d seen on Holovids as a kid – abrupt conversation, sneaking into secured areas, stealing expensive airspeeders. For the first time, he really allowed himself to fall into the excitement.

“Clip, Booster, where are you?” he asked anxiously.

“We’re coming up on the port now, where are you?”

“Are you in the Skate?” came the counter-question.

“Neg that,” Clip said shrewdly, smiling as he did so “we’ve confiscated an airspeeder.” Yeah, exactly the same way those ‘troops’ confiscated my blaster.

“Excellent – you need to bring it around to the eastern landing pit, Bay 12. We’ve got a marker running, you can follow it in on this comm frequency,” he explained. Clip deliberately caught Booster’s eye, and mouthed the words east and twelve. He must have interpreted it correctly, as the airspeeder now jetted off toward that area.

“Coming around – ETA: right now,” Clip answered. There was no reply from Wedge, he’d turned the comm off at his end. “You get that? Bay twelve,” Clip reiterated for Booster, who adjusted slightly.

“Yeah kid, I got it. Get ready to-” he began.

His words were severed by the harsh, loud slash of laser fire against the side of the speeder. Too startled to say anything, Clip gripped the sides of the seat as Booster set the little craft into a spin.

“TIE fighter! Hang on!” he shouted. Simultaneously, he cut the repulsorlifts on the underside of the ship. It dropped like a stone, hurtling toward the gaping hole of landing bay 12 in the eastern pit. Inertia swallowed Clip – he had to fight not to loose his stomach, a frivolous instinct preventing him from doing such a thing in an expensive speeder.

With about twenty metres before ground zero, Booster hit the repulsors again. With a jolt that, for Clip, would define the word ‘impact’ for the rest of his life, the expensive ship slammed to an uneasy stop. Alarm bells screamed, warning lights flashed, and a light wisp of smoke passed Clip’s eyes. He absently hoped that Booster hadn’t intended on escaping Gavorr Inter-Continental in this speeder – it wouldn’t be flying again for a long time.

A final screech from the engine signalled the death of the repulsorlift coils altogether, and the ruined craft plummeted the final ten or so metres to the ground. A second, less violent crash coursed through Clip’s body – and finally they were on the ground.

“Phew!” Booster yelled emphatically “never done that before!”

If Clip had possessed the wits to talk after the fall, he’d have said things to Booster he’d never said to anyone in his life. As it was, it was all he could do to breathe regularly. Adrenaline and excitement had well and truly left him now – he was running on anxiety alone.

His door burst open suddenly, and he felt hands on him, yanking him out of the wrecked craft. The figures pulling at him were dressed in bright orange and wearing strange looking life support gear – pilots, he recognised. It took a moment to realise they were talking to him.

“Don’t tell me Booster let you drive, Clip,” a familiar voice wafted toward him. It was enough to make him forget the horrific fall. He turned and regarded his old friend – his old Rebel friend.

He didn’t look much different at all. In fact, he looked no different. Still the same blazing eyes and scruffy brown hair, even the same amount of growth on his chin. For a split second, Clip was taken back five years, to the good old days. Here they all were, Booster, Wedge…if Mirax – Booster’s daughter – had been there, things would have been perfect.

Clip spread his arms apart “don’t look at me, this is his holodrama,” he said, pointing at Booster. The larger man came around from the other side of the airspeeder, huge grin firmly in place.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Hello, Antilles,” he said jovially. Wedge flashed a quick smile, and then shook his hand vigorously.

“It’s been a while,” he said simply. Booster shrugged.

“Two years ain’t that long.”

“I was talking about all of us,” he corrected, standing back to allow Clip into the frame. As touching as the ensuing silence was, Clip couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious with all of the other Rebel pilots standing around him. He cleared his throat to break the quiet.

“Wedge, I hate to push on, but we were just shot down, and-”

“Right,” Wedge said immediately, springing into action. “Sorry about that, by the way. We don’t know what it was that got you, but the best guess it that they’ve got some sentries placed on the causeways,” he explained.

“Not a TIE fighter?” Booster asked, a little disappointed. Wedge shook his head.

“If it were, we wouldn’t be standing here now. They’d have spotted where you landed, and then strafed the hell out of it. If nothing else, we’d have heard it. No Booster, not a TIE fighter.

“Basically,” he continued “our situation is looking pretty grim. Our team of divers has been killed – murdered in cold blood. They weren’t even armed. That means blowing the star destroyer is going to be a lot more difficult than it was before. To make matters worse, our two squadrons of fighters have been eliminated by an Imperial bomb, which means we do not have air superiority. About the only thing we have got it this,” Wedge said, sweeping his hand across to reveal a decrepit looking freighter. Clip and Booster both laughed.

“A really big paper weight?” Booster ventured.

“Not quite – a really big, flying, explosive paper weight. The Femme Fatale. There’s enough thermex aboard to take out a few city blocks.” Clip whistled, impressed. He’d heard of flying bombs, but never actually been near one. In fact, now that the thought dawned on him, he felt uneasy – he was standing next to a flying bomb.

“So who pulls the pin on this grenade?” Booster asked.

“Well that isn’t a problem, Commander Cracken has rigged up a remote pilot terminal. We can guide it into the big ship from here. The problem is, a big, lumbering freighter like this makes for a pretty easy target – and it wont take much to set of that thermex. If we want to get it close enough to the Impstar, we’re going to need a distraction,” Wedge explained casually.

Booster snorted an incredulous laugh. “A kind of suicidal distraction, eh?” he asked.

Wedge gave a half-hearted smile.

“You haven’t heard the plan yet.”

Clip rolled his eyes. “That, my friend, is the summary of my day.”

18. The Shortcomings of Sleeper Unit Three

The commander of Sleeper Unit Three had witnessed his own man killed in the corridors of Gavorr Inter-Continental. He had watched as the man – in all likelihood a rebel – shot him once, neatly, in the back of the head. It was a remarkable shot – from at least fifteen paces, in a crowded corridor. The Commander instantly respected this man.

For the briefest moment, he considered calling in the loss to the Admiral – but that was not within the mission parameters. He needn’t report until the mission was complete – until that time, the Admiral would not know of the shortcomings of Sleeper Unit Three. He had no time limit, the mission was in no danger. One less in number simply meant one less subordinate to coordinate.

Silently, he followed the man and his charge back the other way, toward the landing pits, where he could finish the job the dead man had started.

19. Limp, Quiet, Dead

“Pilots, we got problems,” an unfamiliar voice carried across landing bay 12. Clip looked up, startled by the man’s sudden appearance. He, unlike the rest of the rebels present, wore civilian clothes, a minuscule Alliance crest on his shoulder the only indication of his allegiance. He dragged behind him an intent-looking Twi’lek woman – they both carried blasters.

The pilots all ran to him, pulling their own blasters from their holsters. Clip felt decidedly vulnerable among the crowd of perfectly armed personnel. Not wanting to be left out, he and Booster jogged up to the rear of the massed crowd to get a better glimpse of the man.

“I’ve just killed one imperial agent in the corridors, and there more of them out there – probably coming in behind me. Everyone spread out! Keep clear of the ship. Antilles, Janson – come with me…” he trailed off as he noticed Booster and Clip. Time was too pressing to ask for introductions, so Booster invited the man to continue.

“Where do you want us, Cracken?” he asked. Clip furrowed his eyebrows – that name was familiar to him. One of the more famous Rebel defectors, if he remembered rightly. He’d never seen holos of the man, but apparently, this is what he looked like.

“Just take cover and help any way you can. You’re armed?” he asked. Clip let out a huge sigh of relief internally – thank the force someone had thought to ask.

“I lost my weapon,” he admitted, displaying the empty holster. Without blinking, Cracken flipped him a ridiculously small and heavily silenced pistol. He was willing to bet his last credit he’d taken it from the Imperial he’d killed.

“It’s more effective than it looks,” he assured Clip. Clip flashed a wry smile, and snapped the charge mechanism into place. It gave a short whine as it engaged, and the small digital reading proudly displayed the number ‘0045’. Forty-five shots till empty.

Clip had never been much of a marksman, nor had he been all that skilful at combat in general. But he fancied himself as stealthy, and usually had a good sense of resourcefulness.

Drastic situations could often be changed simply by using one’s surroundings to good advantage.

Wordlessly, the posse of pilots broke apart, each taking up a different position around the landing bay, with the forward team of Wedge, Cracken and Janson inching forward through the front doors. The woman who had been following Cracken moved to stand beside Clip and Booster, the three of them making for a motley trio indeed. All three backed against the wall of the landing pit, and crouched behind a set of mag-lock connecting arms.

Clip wanted to ask the woman who she was and what she had to do with this – was she some mysterious Alliance warrior like Cracken? Was she a smuggler like him? Or was she just a poor citizen caught up with events?

He caught her eye, and they regarded each other quickly. Clip supposed she was about thirty years old, and judging from her expression and hard-edged features, she had seen her fair share of this kind of battle. A burn above her left eye marked the spot where an eyebrow should have grown, and dark circles had embedded themselves permanently under her eyes. In fact, by Twi’lek standards, she looked rather plain.

He ruled out the possibility of ‘average citizen’ when she flashed him an agrarian smile, and sighted her blaster in on one of the side entrances to the landing bay. He snorted a quick laugh and returned her smile with his pathetic boyish grin, bringing his own blaster up to eye level.

And then everything erupted.

Not from the doors – any of them – but from overhead, from the edges of the open roof construction of the landing bay. Clip felt a twang of panic as he realised that the cover they had chosen would serve absolutely no purpose – the shots were coming from above.

Great. Now I’m going to die.

Recklessly, he pushed off the side wall of the bay, using his momentum to carry him as far toward the shelter of the closed corridors as he could. Those corridors, however, were at least forty metres away. His eyes seeing, but brain not registering, he fired toward the black figures on the roof.

Vaguely, he had the impression of Booster and the woman doing the same thing, pelting for cover. The yells of downed rebels pierced the warm haze of panic surging through Clip’s head. This was hell. He’d be going down any second now.

Suddenly, the sith-serving Imperial Star Destroyer seemed the least important thing in the world. The Empire be damned, and the Rebels be damned too! Nothing was so important that he should be standing here now, watching people die around him, waiting impatiently for a thin line of scarlet death to strike him. It was all he could do to try and take one of them with him.

With that thought in mind, he found something to grasp at.

Yes, I will not die without at least making them remember me. I am not a wartime statistic. I am not a statistic…

He turned to face the elevated attackers, orienting himself to run backwards for the enclosed corridors. His absurdly small blaster clicked – soundlessly – away at the black figures, and for a fleeting second he thought he saw something amazing. Something so incredibly gratifying that he couldn’t feel anything else.

One of the black figures fell forward, limp, quiet.

Dead.

He didn’t know whether it had been he who’d struck the soldier, or one of the Rebels, but it didn’t matter. One of them had died. Already they had paid a price for trying to kill people who didn’t want to be killed.

Immediately moving on, he shifted his aim to track the next shooting figure, though the moment he did it was already dropping like the first. Distantly, he was aware of a strange sensation around his legs – he was tripping on something. Before he knew it, he had fallen the six or so feet to the ground and slammed hard into the metal flooring. His legs were tangled in among the legs of a fallen rebel, who was screaming loudly at the pain Clip had just put him through.

Still firing, Clip had the unique ability from this position to see both the Imperials on the roof and the Rebels on the ground in the same field of vision. Cracken, Wedge and the unfamiliar man named Janson were back in the landing bay now, taking careful aim and picking off the few remaining Imperial agents. He let out a heavy sigh, his breath coming in ragged, shaking gasps.

The last of the black clad Imperials went down, and suddenly it was over. The silence was an incredible contrast to the intense roar of the firefight that had just passed. Clip shook his head a few times to clear the buzzing in it, and forced himself to focus again. It was then he realised he was still lying on a wounded pilot.

“Is everyone alright?” an authoritative voice – Cracken’s – resounded through the bay. Clip assessed the Rebel for a fraction of a second, and determined he had fallen unconscious in the last few seconds. He swung his legs off the man’s lower half.

“Over here,” he called, waving at the Commander. Several other cries for help went out, and the wounded were soon tended to. Apparently, this squadron of pilots held no shortage of Medics.

“Strap ‘em up quick people – we have to move,” Cracken ordered, his voice conveying the military version of desperation. Within half a minute, all pilots were back on their feet, though some needed support from two others.

Clip glanced intently around for Booster, who was strolling casually toward him, conversing with the mystery lady. Clip felt the last traces of panicky heat drain from him, and he chuckled to himself. In amongst a heated firefight, Booster had found time to introduce himself to the new girl.

He stood as they approached him.

“We didn’t have a chance to meet before – I’m Eva Pah’ker,” the mystery woman identified herself, extending a hand in greeting. Clip shook the hand, and her Lekku twitched as she smiled. Her skin colour was a rather pleasant shade of blue, and was typically smooth and dry for her race. Though she was stockier than most Twi’leks, Clip had the distinct impression that this was due to an excess of fitness rather than a lack of it.

“My name’s Clip – I see you’ve met Booster?” he observed. She nodded once.

“Yes, we have many friends and business acquaintances in common,” she replied. So, she was a smuggler too – it was good to know he and Booster weren’t the only two caught up in this mess. At least, if the Empire brought the heavy end of the hammer down on them for being involved, they would have some company.

Eva twisted and pointed to the roof, where several blackened limbs were hanging. “That was a good shot, back there, I saw the whole thing. Got him right there,” she said, poking Clip playfully in the chest – the typical subconscious flirtatious behaviour of Twi’leks had earned them a reputation throughout the galaxy. His eyebrows shot up.

“That was me?” he asked, stupidly. He immediately regretted it – both of them nearly doubled over from laughter. Booster whammed a hand down on his back, and turned him to face the gaggle of pilots once more.

“No need to gloat, kid,” he said cheerfully.