Chapter Text
Privateer for Hire
Chapter 1
13:3:18 ArS
Merrat Station, Zygerria System
Captain Gredar Dolpho
I swirled a drink, its ice long since melted and watering down the last of the amber liquid inside. I made no attempt to drink it, slouched in my booth seat and looking as miserable as I felt. The bar was popular, for a space port in the borderlands of Corporate space - especially for a backwater like Zygerria. Which was to say, it was not happening at all. Two dozen smugglers, slavers and wastrels mingled and drank and fought - as hard men so often liked to do. I might have fallen under any of those descriptors, but my well-to-do accent matched my preference for quiet smoke rooms and soft music. A man of rich tastes and shallow pockets, which was why I was here in the first place - the alleviate the latter.
I ran packages for enterprising groups - pirates, governments, pick your poison. I was not a smuggler with a fleet of modified freighters and a can-do attitude. Sometimes, over the course of my work, I found something useful to someone else. People in this type of community knew better than to ask many questions and those that did were typically not ‘one of us’.
The package on the bench next to me was as unobtrusive as a package could be, another troublesome sort here to do business. A credit to the fat customs officer and I was through without any questions. Not that it was outwardly anything wrong, but a Zygerrian government official had sticky fingers and a nose for credits.
I had been in this nameless bar for two hours, nursing the same drink as my free hand never strayed far from my blaster. Finally, my contact arrived - a ragged-looking Zygerrian. The feline humanoid was tall and broad in his shoulders, looking even larger in his loose-fitting clothes. He cut through the crowd without hesitation, eyes locking on to me.
“Nar.” I greeted him, nodding to the opposite bar - and not bothering to hide my annoyance. “You are late.”
“Gredar, my friend.” His tone was friendly, even through the deeply accented basic - but I was never at ease around Zygerrians. Their inhuman appearances might have been off-putting to other Core Worlders, but it was their mannerisms that kept me on edge. Zygerrians were real big on that machismo culture - displays of physical strength to establish a pecking order for negotiations and arguments. Now, I was not one to say no to a good old fashioned beat down, but a Zygerrian Nar’s size could probably pick me up and throw me across the room - and that after tearing me open with his claws. Hence, the blaster.
“Is that any way to greet your old friend?” Nar asked with his mouth turned up in a toothy smile, showcasing each gleaming point within his maw. I did not react beyond glaring at him, careful not to show any outward sign of discomfort or fear. I waited for a moment, a beat to see if he did anything more, then plastered on a bright smile.
“Just busting your chops, old chap.” I signalled over the bartender, putting up two fingers. Being surly was another sign of discomfort, being on edge was another way to put a Zygerrian on the attack - dealing with their species was exhausting.
“The flight in wasn’t too bad, I hope?”
“What, this dung heap? I was nearly robbed or threatened three times in.”
“Ah, Zygerria…” Nar sighed, his tone fond for his homeworld. I hummed, tapping my left hand on the table as the right remained on my holster. An old palmgun fresh from BlasTech’s foundries around fifty years ago - the ideal blaster for the discerning gentleman. Which meant it wasn’t worth a damn in a fight - might singe an ESPO thug’s armour something fierce, piss him off before he put a blaster bolt in your chest. But there was one place Nar did not want to get shot, it would ruin his running plan of building a net-ball team with all the daughters he had - both teams.
The bartender set down the drinks, a light swill unlike what I had started with, forgotten completely now and pushed to one side. I took my shot glass and raised it to Nar, who saluted me with his drink as well before drinking it down. I did the same, though my eyes remained on him the whole while.
We finished at the same time, setting our glasses down. Nar was making a face, pushing the empty glass away.
“What? I thought we were drinking, what garbage is this? Bartender!”
“I prefer not to do business drunk.” I said, shaking my head at the man when he looked at me next.
“That is where we differ - I find drink makes business far smoother.” Nar argued, but did not press me - signalling with his hand what he wanted. He was an old patron of this place and a known face, surprising given his status as a retainer to a Zygerrian nobleman. A pirate would always be a pirate at the end of the day, though usually when Nar said that he was referring to me. ‘Too Core’ he always said, acting too ‘high and noble’ to be a pirate.
Privateer I would say.
What’s the difference? He would say, and accepted no attempt to explain the difference.
A new drink was set before the Zygerrian, amber in its colour and with that noxious odor that this world’s strongest swill so often came with. Nar knocked it back like it was water, sighing his contentment as the liquid vanished. It was set back down on the table with a thud. Finally, his gleaming eyes turned back to me. There was none of his jovial nature in those depths, but rather the determined eyes of a predator. I felt the change and leaned back in my bench further, to make it easier to draw my pistol - and make some distance. I knew the game, but Zygerrians were unpredictable. He could just decide to kill me, tear my throat out here at the table.
“Onto business, then. You have it, I presume?” My left hand slipped from the table and to the package sitting next to me - feeling its cold face just to reassure myself that it had not vanished. However, before I answered, I made a show of looking the Zygerrian over.
“I do, but you are looking a little light on credits Nar. Forget your case in the shuttle?”
“Gredar.” The alien offered another of his toothy grins, bringing his hands up onto the table. They sat, palms down, on the surface - far from a blaster, but weapons in their own rights. I fought the urge to look down and see if his claws were out. “Trust is as important a currency as any in this business. How can I be sure you brought what I want?”
“Well, that puts us at something of an impasse, Nar. You do not trust me, I do not trust you.” I said, putting emphasis on the flat annunciation of my mother accent, before favouring him with another smile. “But as a show of good will…”
I lifted the heavy case up and set it down on the table. It was about the length of my forearm and hand - from the tip of my middle finger to my elbow, and perhaps a foot in width.
“One star chart and memory drive ripped from a Consular-Class Light Cruiser - formerly the flagship of Captain Horo Agows.”
Greed flashed in the Zygerrian’s eyes - once a pirate, always a pirate. Agows had been part of the Republic Customs Office here in the Chorlian Sector, one that had run afoul of my superiors. Once he was dead, they did not care if I decided to make a few credits on the side - and Agows had been in his job long enough to collect important information. Or, his ship, in any case. What pirate and slaver groups he had been tracking and where they were last spotted. Nothing exact, but Nar had more resources now to pour over that data.
“Untraced?” He asked, sense getting the better of his greed.
“I would not have brought it here if anyone knew I had it. The Constance was destroyed, any survivors who knew what hit them think it was an unpainted Corellian rustbucket called the Shadowstreak. That narrows it down to… oh, one hundred Corvettes? In this sector alone. Assuming, the one behind it stayed behind-”
“Alright, alright.” Nar said, eyes back on the case. “You’ve made your point, Gredar, you’ve made your point.”
He reached a hand over to the case, but I quickly grabbed it and pulled it back. His hand recoiled and an unamused glare was sent my way.
“Ah, payment, Nar. I do not work for free.”
Movement in the corner of my eye, two tall and thinner figures moved from the bar’s doorway just out of sight. More Zygerrians, but smaller than Nar - and the real muscle in this operation. They wore their blasters openly, unmarked uniforms but doubtlessly House guards from Nar’s most recent employers. Steps up from his usual thugs, it made me nervous.
Being nervous around a Zygerrian was a bad idea. Nar bared his teeth in a silent snarl, as if smelling out the rapid beating of my heart.
“Your payment is leaving here alive, Gredar. And the privilege of a job well done.”
I would be a fool to come alone, but unlike Nar I neither could nor wanted to flash my muscle so openly. My gaze drifted to the bar, the stooped back of a Weequay. Wublik Tra wore a simple jacket over his flightsuit, obscuring much of his lithe form. By his own accounting, Tra was a sport shooter back before he joined up with me. Though if he were any good, I had to wonder how he ended up on my ship. Still, that wiry Weequay was a better shot than anyone on my ship - I knew a blaster in his hand was worth ten in anyone else’s. Still, the three drained bottles next to him made me question his worth against even those thugs.
There were two other men, humans like me. One was out of my line of sight, seated in another booth and watching the crowd. Darro Lowsyk was not a match for Tra when it came to the blaster, but the man was properly trained - a PDF Private before his gambling debts got the better of him. He might not be half the shooter the Weequay was, but nowadays he was the best I had for a level head when the blaster bolts started flying. The last was outside, armed to the teeth. If fighting started, Valsi Bitee would come lumbering with a heavy repeater and hopefully not hit my people in the chaos.
So I was confident, maybe more than was earned, as I looked back at Nar. He was gauging my reaction, eyes narrowed. Then, he reached for the case again - and I drew my blaster. I flicked its activation switch, letting the soft hum be my warning to him as I brought the case a bit closer.
“Now, that is just bad business, Nar.” I said, briefly glancing at his thugs. Neither had stepped closer, but their hands were resting on their blasters. Only the bartender seemed to realize what was going on, his gaze moving from the thugs to my table. I kept my blaster pointed at Nar from under the table, the Zygerrian caught half way out of his seat.
“You are bold, Gredar, very bold - drawing a blaster on a government official is an executable offense.”
“If you count as a government official, then I will swallow my own blaster. Me, meanwhile? If my superiors don’t hear back from me, there will be a Cruiser in orbit in a week. How would your benefactors like having to explain to the Queen why that is?”
I was lying through my teeth, my superiors did not give a damn about me - hence why I was here in the first place. But Nar was lying, too. He was a tool, one his benefactors would not care all that much about if he died. Still, there was hesitation in Nar’s eyes - trying to see if he could call my bluff. Not about the Cruiser, but the unspoken threat of my blaster. Killing him still put me at bad odds, did I have security nearby?
“You are bold, Gredar. You should meet my daughter, she would like you.”
“Which one?” He did not answer beyond a laugh.
Finally, finally, the game was over and Nar sat back down heavily. He let out a laugh, raising a hand to gesture to his guards. One of them stepped forward, reaching past his holster. Tra spun quickly on his stool, leaning back against the bar now as he pulled his jacket aside. His leathery hand landed on the broom-handled grip of a blaster pistol, ready to draw at the first sign of trouble. His sharp eyes drank in the situation, likely thinking things had gone poorly when the guard stepped forward. The Zygerrian guard stopped, hand on a short case as he stared down the Weequay. I raised a hand to Nar, who met my gaze. He carefully let go of his blaster, though his hand remained on his lap.
The guard finally reached us and set the case on the table, pushing it toward me.
“Look a little light, Nar.” I commented, opening the case.
“I’m legit now, Gredar. The days of cases and cases of solid credit chips are behind me - the banks take my money.”
“Your money, or your benefactors? Do they know what you spend it on?”
“So long as I make more than I spend, Gredar. Actions speak loud, results speak louder.”
The case was padded on the inside and sequestered within was a transfer chip - unmarked and basic in its appearance. I picked it up carefully with one hand while the other went for my hip - finally holstering my blaster as I grabbed a datapad dangling by a small link. I plugged the chip inside and watched as it read the amount - all totaled and correct. It was transferred to another account - one with a Corporate Alliance shell bank. Only when the transfer was completed did I set the datapad back down and push the case over to the Zygerrian. Nar grinned - less threateningly - and opened the case. It was turned toward him, but I knew what he would find with it.
“Good… Very good.” He closed it just as quickly, standing up. “A pleasure as always, Gredar. I will be in contact. For the drinks.”
He tossed a few golden peggats down on the table - Zygerria had more faith in the Hutt currency than it did Republic Credits.
“Until next time, Nar.” I said, giving him a salute. Nar walked off, his guards in tow as he carried the case in one hand. Only when all three of them were gone did I allow myself to relax and let out a long breath.
I hated Zygerria. Every interaction was like this - from the lowest guards to individuals like Nar. Never mind the condescension the locals showed everyone that was not Zygerrian - still carrying the pride of their long-dead Empire. Their slave market had long since gone underground, but the Zygerrians still acted like they were Kings in this Sector - they were never even that good at being slavers. The Hutts had that market cornered and mastered, no one could hold a dim candle to the complexity of Hutt slavery.
Still, let the Zygerrians have their delusions - it made them bold and when they inevitably screwed up enough someone would pay to wipe them out. Nar had managed to dodge that for this long, but with his new backers I suspected that would soon come to an end. He would get bold, which means he can mess up.
Finally, I got up - leaving the peggats on the table as I moved for the exit. Tra and Lowsyk followed me out, the blonde human hurriedly knocking back the rest of his glass.
“How much did you two drink?” I asked, wondering if they would have been any good in a fight.
“Just a bit.” Lowsyk said hurriedly, before asking, “... You are still payin’ for it, right Cap’n?”
I just sighed and walked out. The thoroughfare was busy, less than half of the traffic being Zygerrians. I picked out the heavy figure of Bitee in an alcove across the ‘street’, sat on a bench and looked extremely out of place. He perked up at my approach, rising to his feet. His coat swept open somewhat to reveal that his bulk was partly due to his armour, and the repeating blaster sat along his leg.
“Captain.” He greeted me, shaking out his leg.
“Let’s go.” I ordered, nodding my head toward the docking bay. We moved through the crowd, just another group of rough-looking humans.
The customs officer gave me the runabout when he saw the case I was carrying, but another credit in his furry hand saw him conveniently forget to check it - or notice the heavy blaster rifle. We were allowed out into bay A4, where larger ships were allowed to dock.
Stretched out before me was the familiar bulk of a Corellian CR70 Corvette. One-Hundred Twenty meters long and its hull scrubbed of all distinguishing paint - leaving it a dark grey. The ship was mostly stock, barring the two questionably legal laser cannons that were put on its top and bottom sides, just behind the bridge. The Zeltros Song, it had been my ship for over a year now, yet still the sight of it brought back a bitter loss.
“Home sweet home.” Lowsyk said happily, not reflecting my feelings.
I was a Privateer, or so I called myself. Officially, I was a renegade pirate - formerly in service to the Murkhana System government as a Privateer - for all of one month. However, it was not that simple, Corporate Alliance business never was.
“You’re payin’, right, Cap’n?” Lowsyk repeated as we split - me heading to the bridge while they moved toward the crew quarters. I paused and looked back, before sighing.
“Forward your invoices… with receipts!” It was not as if I did not trust my crew - I did not, at least when it came to money - but I did not pay without proof of purchase.
The Alsakani being miserly? Who’d have thunk it? The crew would mutter to themselves, but there was a reason my debt with the Corporate Alliance was square and why they were still serfs.
I was twenty-nine - for thirteen-years I had been in service to the Corporate Alliance in one way or another. It had started as debt - my darling parents had sold my service to pay back their gambling debts. Some might ask why a CA subsidiary handled small-time gambling, but where there was a market there was a corporation. Just like how the CA handled my banking, maintained my ship and funded my efforts - all through shells and subsidiaries. The Alliance was on the smaller scale as well - the power of corporations like the Trade Federation, InterGalactic Banking Clan or Techno Union - or hell, the Corporate Sector Authority - boggles the mind.
Anyway, at twenty-four I had worked my debt off and my superior - a bastard Koorivar who was otherwise fair - offered me a job. Become a corporate enforcer, get my own ship and pay - and pay the job did. For four years, I flew Alliance green - stomping down debtors for the company.
Then, my old boss died - old age, they said, but he was a bastard. Bastards did not make a lot of friends.
My new handler needed someone unattached to the Alliance to do a few less legal jobs. He offered me the pay and a choice - either do it, or lose my job in the CA. Which was to say, there was not much of a choice. A former debtor fired from the one job he ever had did not invite much interest, at least from the kinds of groups I wanted to work with. Now, I was a ‘renegade’ traitor to the CA and Murkhana, where I was briefly stationed to prepare for my cover story. I was working under the hope that I would some day wear my colours again, and be back on my ship.
The Zeltros Song was a fair Corvette, but I had commanded a DP20 Gunship. A proper warship, armed to take on most civilian and pirate groups with ease. The Surge had been my ship since I paid off my debts, taken from me so that I could command an unattached ship. I was bitter about it, but I took the hits - eventually, I would be back to my proper job. Some day.
The bridge was sparsely populated, with only a skeleton crew to look over the ship. Most of the Koorivar I had served with were gone now, all save three. One was my Chief Officer, my XO who followed me from the Surge to the Zeltros Song. He was tall for a Koorivar, standing over the pilots as they worked. Terran Macket had served on two dozen ships before mine, never rising above his former rank - by choice, since he had experience enough to command his own ship. He lacked creativity or any real drive to lead, or so the Koorivar himself claimed.
Since all of us were stripped of our ranks, we used a civilian system - adopted from cruise liners. I was still the Captain, but my highest ranked subordinate was now the ‘Chief Officer’. Second and Third Officers oversaw our guns, sensors, communications, and piloting - all other duties fell to Seamen. Sometimes they called themselves by their ranks, I did not really care - on paper, we were pirates, so I used non-military terms.
“Captain.” Macket greeted me, turning away from the pilots - both humans - to face me. He saluted, sharp and professional, as I entered the bridge in my casual clothes. A year ago, I would have had someone flogged for that - grooming standards for the Alliance Fleet were loose, but I maintained discipline on my ship. However, a year as a pirate had seen me relax those standards.
“Macket. My business is done here, are we prepared to set out?”
“Immediately, Captain.”
“Good, I will take the conn.”
“Captain Dolpho has the conn!” Macket announced loudly before nodding to me. I sniffed before addressing my crew.
“Navigation, I need a course plotted for system TZ-7981-AB1. Communications, request permission to decouple from the station and a flight path away.”
The crew rushed to obey me and within a few minutes the Corvette was away. We hurtled from Zygerria, though I suspected we would be back sooner rather than later. The dead Customs official had been from more CA handlers and, though they likely knew I was successful already, I still needed to report.
And find out what my next job was.
Navy Ranks:
P = Positional
L = Line
S = Specialist
Captain Gredar Dolpho’s Ship
Zeltros Song - Modified CR70 Corvette - Captain Gredar Dolpho, Chief Officer Terran Macket, Corporal Wublik Tra, Corporal Darro Lowsyk, Corporal Valsi Bitee.