Chapter Text
Privateer for Hire
Chapter 9
13:4:8 ArS
Nathema System, Chorlian Sector
TK-8713 Trooper Anton Iona
There are those on the Star Galleon, known now as the Bountiful Harvest, that faced the nature of our existence with a feeling of despondency. Knowing that we did not truly exist until we appeared in this galaxy, and at this time. I could not speak for my fellow Stormtroopers, but I did not share this mentality.
A Stormtrooper existed for a purpose of naught but war, our personhood coming as a distant second.
What is my name? TK, as all Stormtroopers are called. Where was I born? Carida, where all Stormtroopers are born. What is my purpose? War, the same as all Stormtroopers.
It was this certainty of my purpose that chased away any doubts or existential crisis. Loyalty to the Empire, and the Captain, was all I needed to survive. When I was called to don my armour and take up my blaster, I did so without hesitation.
The Bountiful Harvest had been brought up alongside the damaged pirate Corvette, attaching its docking umbilical with the smaller ship. The narrow hallway was filled with twenty Stormtroopers hugging the walls, half the current complement of the Frigate. The other twenty waited deployment on the other end, back aboard the Bountiful Harvest.
Based on the brief, a ship this size had forty bodies onboard, maybe more to account for security and boarding teams. Weapon quality was expected to be poor - given the current year the galaxy was in, even lower.
I was second in the left line, TK-1001 in front of me. He reached up and messed with his helmet, adjusting it before grabbing his blaster in both hands. Our heavy gunners were in the back, the initial push would be made by the carbineers.
A Navytrooper Engineer was knelt in front of the blast door separating us from the interior of the ship. A solid facemask protected him as he slowly cut around its perimeter with a fusion cutter. Sparks flew down the hallway, my helmet automatically dimming to protect my eyes. Minutes ticked by as we silently waited until, at last, the Engineer rose back to his feet. He did not say a word as he gathered his gear and ran for the exit, letting the Sergeant move forward and plant a breaching charge on the door. The man returned to the line, pushing a button on his wrist. On my display, a countdown appeared in the corner. It ticked down the last seconds before-
BOOM!
The door sailed inwards, landing inside the pirate Frigate. In that split second where smoke covered the entrance, my helmet automatically spotted and marked hostiles. Six down the hallway. Two were close, likely using doorways as cover, while the other four were at the far end. That brief heartbeat passed, and then the blaster fire started. The pirates laid down a suppressive barrage, trying to keep us from entering. Their rate of fire indicated a lack of heavy weapons, which pushed TK-1001 to kneel and fire around the door.
Miss. Miss. Hit.
One of the hostiles at the far end of the hallway flickered, hit - or else being forced to cover. One of them got lucky, a bolt caught TK-1001 in the side of his helmet and sent the man sprawling backwards. Reflexively, I glanced at the squad display - his vitals indicated he was alive, either just knocked flat or else unconscious. I gave this information no more thought as I moved up and into the hallway behind the lead man on the right - TK-9992, his identification tag indicated. We pushed to either side of the doorway, letting the Troopers behind us still fire while we fought. I brought the pirate on the right side into my sights and shot him, two to the torso before moving on. The one on the left was dead as well, leaving three-to-four at the far end of the hallway. The precise and withering return fire had forced them to cover. Two durasteel barricades had been set up as temporary cover, now riddled in carbon scoring. I did not need orders to move, swiftly pushing down the hallway with my blaster raise. TK-9992 mirrored the move on the opposite wall. One of the pirates poked their head up, making me stop and squeeze a few shots in their direction.
No hits, but they went back down. A hand hit my shoulder, a Trooper on my back indicating I could push while he covered. I moved on, pushing as suppressive fire kept the pirates pinned.
One tried to point their blaster around the barrier and blind fire, but a bolt caught them by the hair before they could get more than two shots off. As I reached the two barricades, the pirates got wise and moved. I saw flashes of them where the shield almost met the corner of the hallway, though there was not room or time enough to fire. I broke into a run, slamming into the shield with my shoulder. TK-9992 moved around the right side, hugging the wall to peering down the turn. He raised his carbine and fired twice.
His helmet immediately updated the squad battlenet, indicating six - no, five now - additional targets down the new hallway. The man retreated as return fire pummeled the wall, stopping only to grab the handle of the barricade and drag it sideways.
“Heavy, move up!” The Sergeant barked, before his fist hit the top of my helmet. “Help him move it!”
I rose and joined TK-9992 on the shield, taking the other handle. With our combined effort, we hefted the thing up and into the next hallway - its armoured face toward the defenders. Blaster bolts slammed against it, but nothing got through. The shield did not even rock, sitting on two wide and heavy legs. TK-1317 ran up, crouched low with a heavy blaster rifle clutched to his chest. Two more Troopers joined us while a third stood at the corner. TK-1317 fumbled with his blaster for a second before nodding at us.
“Cover.” He requested, and all five of us broke cover. I turned around the right side of the shield, still crouched and laying down covering fire. Most of the pirates ducked while the bold ones tried to return fire. Someone got a kill, a pirate disappearing back behind a doorway. The fight was over in another heartbeat as TK-1317 stood and let his blaster rifle roar. Blaster bolts went out in a solid stream, killing another pirate and keeping the rest down. Two troopers swept out on my right, hugging the wall and going around the shield. Two more, led by the man holding the corner, pushed down the left - the corner taken by another trooper. I held my position and my fire, waiting for someone to poke out their head. TK-1317’s suppression became intermittent and only when necessary, Stormtroopers moving down the hallway in waves and searching every turn off. Blaster fire filled the hallway all the same as strongholds of pirates were uncovered and burned out. Minutes stretched, more pirates appeared at the far end of the hallway only to be forced back. It seemed the entire crew was converging on our location, though few were bold enough to stick their neck out. Pirates were a flighty bunch at the best of times, but these ones had no experience with a war-torn galaxy or the heavy handedness of the Empire.
As far as they were concerned, we were supposed to be pirates as well. Eventually, the forward teams pushed into the defensive lines of the pirates, picking through them at a gradual pace. The pirates further back could only way, not suicidal enough to attempt a direct assault. The Captain of the vessel had taken to trying to command his forces over the intercom, which only served to showcase his desperation. Finally, swathes of the pirates surrendered, not eager to be picked apart one at a time.
Fighting swept through the craft, ending at the sealed blastdoor to the bridge. The pirates had no way to open it, sealed from within by the ship’s Captain. So, the Navytrooper Engineers were called back in. Two of them this time went about the much longer process of cutting the doors open. This process would take hours, but it was as much a morale tactic as it was a genuine attempt to get inside. Eventually, there was a small pirate civil war inside - ending with two of them dead and the Captain being surrendered to us. No honour among thieves.
The door was opened as the pirates relinquished their weapons to us, the Captain being bound to a console - spitting threats at his subordinates before clamming up when we walked over. We must have seemed strange to the alien; men in plastoid combat armour and fighting with military precision. I allowed myself to consider these aliens, uniform in their species. They reminded me of Cathar: Large bipedal felines, though with features closer to the humans. These ‘Zygerrians’ were a burly bunch, or their males appeared to be in any case. Either the species lacked obvious sexual dimorphism, or this was simply an all-male show.
“This is the Captain?” The Sergeant demanded of one of the captured pirates, its hands bound behind its back.
“Yes, that’s him.” The Zygerrian announced with a bobbing head, its voice deep and rumbling. The Sergeant jerked his head to another Stormtrooper, having the prisoner hauled off to the rest. He glanced at me, not turning off the speaker on his helmet as he gave me an order.
“Release and detain him.” He ordered, before then muting himself - likely to contact command. I moved to the Zygerrian Captain, kneeling behind the alien to unbind them from the chair. The alien’s lips opened to showcase a row of razor-sharp teeth, a growl rising from its chest. I answered in the best way possible, by cramming the barrel of my blaster into its gut as my free hand deactivated the restraining cuffs. Unsurprisingly, the Zyggerian rethought their hostility.
The alien was hauled to its feet before its wrists were bound behind its back, the Sergeant returning moments later.
“Bring the prisoner aboard the Bountiful Harvest, Captain Dolpho wants to interrogate him personally.” The Sergeant announced gruffly. “An Itto will be there. Either of you two finish your Enhanced Interrogation training?”
The question was asked rhetorically; of course we were. The Itto, a shorthand term for the IT-O Interrogation Droid, required specialized instructions. Any Stormtrooper knew how to give it basic commands, mostly limitations so the subject did not expire. That droid was more than capable of handing an interrogation on its own - the physical aspects, in any case. The Bountiful Harvest had one; a stripped down sub-variant, but doubtlessly effective against a pirate.
He turned away without waiting for an answer, allowing the other Trooper - TK-2147 - to drag the Captain toward the exit of the ship.
“What’s an ‘Itto’?” The pirate demanded. Neither of us answered.
13:4:8 ArS
Nathema System, Chorlian Sector
Captain Gredar Dolpho
“Zeltros Song, this is Lancer-Class Frigate.” A cultured voice called over the speaker to my holotable, the ship having accepted our attempt at communication immediately. Identifying yet another Core Worlder, though I struggled to place his accent, I responded.
“We are receiving, Lancer. You are aware of your situation?” I asked cryptically, not wanting to give away too much to my more mundane crew. Even if they would soon enough have their memories altered to always accept the presence and existence of this Frigate, it felt strange to discuss the System with anyone not already in the know.
And not bound to be loyal to me.
“We are.” The man answered, before adding. “Though it appears we arrived at an inopportune time, after the fighting has already ended.”
“It seems that will be a recurring theme.” I admitted, eyeing the Frigate closer. Its shape had not changed, but it was only as the sensors got a readout that I realized how large the thing was. At two-hundred and fifty meters she was fifty meters shorter than the Bountiful Harvest and devoid of ship-to-ship weapons. Its length would make it a ‘Frigate’ by that Anaxes System, but its firepower was laser cannon based. Twenty to be exact, facing in every direction. These were not the civilian weapons strapped to my Zeltros Song, though - twenty quad cannons of a make we could not identify. Sleek, modern and likely another example of future technology.
“Who am I speaking to?” I asked at last, realizing I had forgotten.
“Lieutenant Faelen, Captain. Just Faelen.”
“Very well, just Faelen. I request you to come aboard. I have questions for you, just as I am sure you have questions for me - and Captain Varnox. He commands the Bountiful Harvest, see. The… uh, Star Galleon, if you are familiar?”
“I can not say I know the class, sir. We will dock momentarily.”
Much like with the Bountiful Harvest, we were dwarfed by the larger Frigate - though not to the same degree by width. A docking umbilical connected our ships and Lieutenant Faelen made his way across. I was immediately struck by the Lieutenant’s youth. I was in my late twenties - likewise with Varnox if I were a guessing man - but Faelen barely looked out of his teens. Still, he stood at attention - sharp and well-groomed. Brownish-red hair - favouring the red - and a dusting of freckles across his fair face. His eyes were blue and piercing, containing an intensity more even than Varnox - who I had already found oppressive in our first meeting.
He saluted me sharply as he entered my ship, again drawing attention to the general lack of discipline among my crew.
“Welcome aboard, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Captain Varnox will join us as soon as he can get a shuttle over, his Stormtroopers are dealing with the last of the pirates. Do you have Stormtroopers, Lieutenant?”
“No, sir. Just Navytroopers - Naval Security.”
“Ah, shame. This way.”
I brought the younger man to the same conference room where I spoke with Varnox, sitting him down and dismissing my guards. There was little point in the preamble, so I ran through the salient points.
“Are you from the Empire?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What year do you think it is?”
“Year Twenty-One, sir. It is month two, day fifteen.”
“So the Clone Wars have been over for… five years?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It is year thirteen, month four and day eight here.”
“Understood, sir.”
“... Any thoughts on that?”
“No, sir.”
Any thoughts at all? I kept that response to myself and pressed on.
“Well, that is… good. You mentioned your name is ‘Faelen’. Do you have a given name?”
“No, sir.”
“No? Captain Varnox got one.”
“I have no memories of a place of birth, but my mind seems convinced I culturally belong to Fondor.”
“... Any thoughts on that? Your lack of memories?” Faelen paused to think on my words for a moment.
“No, sir.”
Wasn’t this man just the picture of childlike wonder? Varnox had a miniature existential crisis over his lack of memories, while this Faelen took it in stride. The Fondorian humans did not take given names, going by their family names. The fact that he had some unknown connection to the world but no memories of it clearly did not bother Faelen. The man was like a droid.
“Do you have any questions?”
“About, sir?”
“Anything, I suppose.”
“I have many questions, sir.”
“Ask away, we have nothing but time.”
“Sir. What is our current objective? The overarching operation, I mean.”
“I am a Privateer in service to the Corporate Alliance.” I explained. “Unofficially, at least. I do contracts for them.”
“The Corporate Alliance?” Faelen repeated slowly, a troubled look crossing his features as the first real emotion this man showed. I leaned forward, interested once more.
“Yes. I am aware several companies did not survive the war.”
“The Alliance would be among them, sir. Nationalized by the Empire. May I make a recommendation, sir?”
“By all means.”
“I would recommend not being part of the Corporate Alliance when the war starts. In one month and thirteen days by my approximation.” I shuddered at his words, a reminder of how close a galactic-scale war was to starting. Messing around in the Esstran Sector had washed that thought from my mind somewhat. However, more damning was this new news. Varnox had not named the Alliance among the companies to be destroyed, but this changed things. Already, the other Captain had warned me against sticking with the company - that just became a much more pressing matter.
“That… Uh… I see. I will need to take that under consideration.” I said. “Was there anything else?”
“Yes, sir. Have you received formal command training?”
Taken aback, I stared at the younger man for a few moments before responding.
“Uh… I was trained to be a Corporate Enforcer, if that is what you are asking?”
“But no formal military training for fleet command?”
“No…?” My tone was questioning, but there was a dull sense of annoyance at his tone. The insinuation, intentional or otherwise, was clear. I was a civilian officer.
“I see. Has this ‘Captain Varnox’ provided necessary resources for Imperial fleet command? Tactics? Strategic analysis?” Faelen pressed, his tone intense.
“No.” I answered simply, making the younger man lean back once more. He hummed, tapping fingers on the table.
“I see. I will have our records copied and forwarded to the Zeltros Song. I will also include what records we have for Separatist and Republican military doctrine, in preparation for the coming war.”
“Okay, were there other questions?”
“Yes, sir. The matter of pay.” I frowned, but he continued. “But also food. The Lancer-Class has a crew of Eight hundred-”
“What?! Eight hundred?” I exclaimed, eyes bulging at the number. That was insane! That was around double what the Bountiful Harvest boasted, and that was a Freighter on top of being a Frigate.
“Eight hundred and ten.” Faelen corrected. “We have approximately three months of consumables, so long as we meet the expected dietary requirements of all members.”
And with that, this entire endeavour seemed woefully insufficient. Even if I wasn’t paying the crews, feeding and watering them would be debilitating. I was living off of inconsistent contracts from the Corporate Alliance and what I could make off bounties and piracy. That was enough to keep the Zeltros Song running, and the Bountiful Harvest could carry her own weight as a Freighter, but this Lancer? This thing was clearly a purpose-built warship, given its weapons and size.
“Why does it have that big of a crew?” I wondered, though my tone came out a whine.
“The Lancer is a high-performance and taxing ship to command. It has four shifts and a considerable crew of engineers to maintain and monitor its status.”
“Is the ship… unreliable?” I asked, realizing another issue I had not fully considered - maintenance. Who could I possibly pay to maintain these ships? Not Kuat, not on my salary and assuming they would even know what they were looking at.
“Not particularly. It is a Fleet ship.” Faelen explained.
“I presume most… are?”
“No.” The man shook his head. Seeming to come to a realization, he explained. “A Fleet ship refers to standard warships. Those expected to see combat for long periods of time. Days, weeks, maybe even months. A four shift crew is pretty standard, especially for a vessel like a Lancer.”
A mentality borne of war, I realized at last. I had three shifts on the bridge of the Zeltros Song, though only one was really expected to be of any use in combat. I had no idea how shifts worked for the guns, or the engineering - leaving that to those specific officers to dictate. After all, a strict order was unnecessary, we were not a warship.
Captain Varnox chose that moment to arrive, the door to the conference room sliding open and revealing the man. He stepped in, offering me a quick salute before turning his attention to Faelen.
“Captain Ren Varnox, of the Bountiful Harvest.”
“Lieutenant Faelen, of the Lancer-Class Frigate.”
Varnox found a seat at my order. I waited until he was seated to interrogate him.
“You did not send me tactical information.” I accused the other Captain, who looked at me with a bemused expression.
“Sir?”
“He’s offering me tactical data and strategies saved on his system.” I said, pointing a finger at Faelen this time. Varnox followed the finger before looking at me again.
“... He is commanding a Lancer, sir. A Fleet ship. He would have that information, I would not.”
“You are familiar with my ship, then? Sir.” Faelen asked, pulling Varnox’s attention back to him.
“Yes, a Lancer-Class Frigate. They came out pretty early after the end of the war, if my facts are right. Why, are you not familiar with mine?”
“No, sir. Year twenty-one.”
“Year thirty-three.” It took Varnox a heartbeat to realize what Faelen was asking. “A twelve year difference. Huh… Captain, an issue just occurred to me.”
“Let me guess, logistics?” I asked.
“That as well, but the Lancer-Class appeared fairly early after the end of the War. It is possible that the design is already nearly complete, a design which will look remarkably like his ship.”
That was an issue that occurred to me, albeit in a different form - repairs on a ship that did not exist yet.
“At best, that may see you mired in legal issues. If the designers believed you copied them somehow.” Faelen agreed.
“It seems the System accounted for that somewhat. My crew were surprised by the appearance of the Bountiful Harvest at first, but then their minds were rewritten to retroactively believe the ship was always there. I did not push too hard, admittedly.”
“It would be wise not to test it.” Varnox agreed, though from the sickly look on his face I had to wonder if that was as much for his benefit as it was mine.
“Forgive my ignorance, but System?” Faelen asked. Remembering Varnox’s own ignorance, I quickly explained to the younger man the basics of the Gacha System, though that invited a host of new questions from him.
Faelen eventually returned to his ship, allowing the Bountiful Harvest to attach itself to the Zeltros Song. Varnox and I moved across, directed toward a holding room for the captured pirate Captain. The success of the Stormtroopers was astonishing, even if I had high expectations for a post-war shock trooper organisation. They had three casualties, no deaths, to show for the engagement - killing a little over half the pirate crew.
The room was as uniform as the rest of the ship, with a Zygerrian sitting at it. His wrists were bound to the table by restrainer cuffs, stripped of his uniform and put in a simple tunic. Two Stormtroopers were within the room, drawing themselves to attention. However, my eyes were drawn to a floating spherical droid in the corner of the room - ominously humming as it hovered. It was covered in a number of accoutrements; needles and blades and other tools I could not identify. There was little ambiguity for what the droid did, but I decided to ask anyway.
“What is that?” I asked Varnox, pointing at the droid.
“An I-TO Interrogation Droid.” He explained simply.
“Huh… A droid for organic interrogation? How good is it?” In my time as a Corporate Alliance enforcer, I had interacted briefly with Baktoid OOM-Series Battledroids. They were more intelligent than a lot of dumb droids, but the minutiae of interrogation seemed beyond them.
“Good with direction. They can keep a subject alive well enough.” With that ominous statement, I turned to face the captured pirate. True to Zygerrian custom, he fought to look anything but intimidated. Hateful, furious, contemptuous - but the way those dilated eyes glanced toward the droid was telling.
“I am going to assume you were waiting for me to pass through, so let us skip that part and move into why you were hired?” I asked, taking the seat opposite the Zygerrian and resting my elbows on it.
“Would it not be better to ask who hired him?” Varnox asked.
“Was the crew all Zygerrian?” I asked one of the Stormtroopers, who merely nodded his head. “Then he had no idea who hired him. He is probably from one of the Zygerria-based agencies, a triggerman hired anonymously to deal with rivals. So, are you feeling talkative? Because I want to test this droid out.”
Zygerrians were a hardy bunch, but men like this were a double-edged sword. They could be hired under the table to complete simple or direct tasks, but they had zero loyalty to their buyer. These weren’t Trandoshans, where every slight or defeat was life or death. Zygerrians were canny, better to take the hit now and live than die for nothing.
“We were hired to target a freighter moving between Vaynai and Zygerria. When we learned you left the system, I had us wait in the Nathema System with a scout at Malachor, depending on what direction you took.”
“You assumed I was going back to Vaynai eventually?” I asked carefully. “Why did you not assume I would go there immediately?”
My assumption was that someone knew I was trading Slick - albeit briefly.
“I did, but we were told afterwards that you would wait. Until things cooled down, I guess.”
That raised a problem. I sold Slick to two groups: an open market dealer and Nar. In the case of the former, I highly doubted they would waste the credits to take out such a small-time dealer when billions of credits were changing hands every day. What I could deliver was a rounding error. Therefore, that left only one option - Nar. He had been leery of taking any of my product illegally and I suspected now something had spooked him. The more I considered this possibility, the more certain I became. Nar had gone legit, so he could not send his own people. What’s more, if he was trying to cover his tracks, then he needed to use a neutral third party to remove any connection between us.
“Was anyone else hired?” I asked, but the Zygerrian just shrugged his shoulders. It was pointless to ask, but I wanted to be sure and hope that he knew. The agencies kept a lot of the work given to their contractors under wraps, all in the interest of secrecy. That meant this man had nothing more to offer me. I got up and drew my blaster pistol in the same move, putting a bolt directly in his chest before he could react. His body rocked back with the force of the blaster bolt. As his arms were still bound to the table, he jerked back forward and slammed face-first into the surface.
I holstered my blaster with a deep frown.
“What should we do with the other survivors?” Varnox asked, showing no real reaction to the execution.
“Blast them.” I ordered off-handidly. Even in my anger, I saw an opportunity. Leaving no survivors of those I captured would paint me as a more dangerous target, which meant future prospective hunters would bring bigger and better ships - ships that might be worth more to the System.
Yet the scheming amusement I felt at the thought was tempered by the sting of betrayal. Nar and I were not friends, but I thought we had a decent enough working relationship. Clearly, Nar needed to be taught a lesson.
I left for the Zeltros Song once more, briefly checking with my crew to check that, yes, they now retroactively accepted the existence of the Lancer. Moving to the bridge, I was stuck waiting until the strike team sent aboard the pirate Frigate were fully back on the Bountiful Harvest.
Using this downtime, I checked for alterations made to the System. The full list of possible rolls now had a new ship revealed, the Lancer, while my ‘Conquest Currency’ was at eight. With the progress of the Corvette kills at six, I was four away from a Silver Ticket - and possibly an additional Bronze Ticket!
With that in mind, I also made a note to request some of Varnox’s Stormtroopers over to my ship when we next made a stop. True to the request of Davies or Malfax or whoever he was.
Before we left, I was reminded of one last thing. Raising the Lancer, I spoke briefly with Faelen.
“Have you thought up a name for your ship?” I asked the younger man.
“Nothing immediately comes to mind, sir.”
“How about…” I humm, pulling a name at random from my mind. “The Fusilade?”
“Understood, I will have it put on our transponder. Fusilade, out.”
With that, we left the Nethema System behind - the remnants of the Zygerrian pirates left floating in the merciless void.
Navy Ranks:
P = Positional
L = Line
S = Specialist
Captain Gredar Dolpho’s Ships
Frigates:
Bountiful Harvest - Star Galleon-Class Frigate - Captain (P) Senior Commander (L) Ren Varnox, Lieutenant (P) Senior Lieutenant (L) Armand Davies (Gredar Malfax)
Corvettes:
Fusilade - Lancer-Class Frigate - Lieutenant (P) Senior Lieutenant (L) Faelen
Zeltros Song - Modified CR70 Corvette - Captain Gredar Dolpho, Chief Officer Terran Macket, Corporal Wublik Tra, Corporal Darro Lowsyk, Corporal Valsi Bitee and MN-2PO Protocol Droid