Chapter 2

The sky was an unyielding sheet of gray, which dutifully and ceaselessly poured its toxic rains down on the city from above. In the midst of this early morning shower, two figures dressed in long raincoats could be seen running to one of the city's numerous docking bays, where ships of all shapes, manners and sizes were often docked. The two quickly approached the bay's door, and, after placing an electronic key into the key-slot, moved into the shelter provided by the access tunnel on the other side of the door. The docking bay itself was open topped in order to allow ships to land therein, but a small room or office and a tunnel leading from the bay to it and the city streets had been built into the thick wall of the docking bay. The tunnel was provided as a safety precaution against possible backblast from engines or, in worse scenarios, to protect people from explosions which came from within the bay. For the two men in longcoats, it provided them a respite from the polluted and corrosive effects of the planet's rain.

After having rested for a moment, the two men proceeded down the tunnel to the awaiting ship. There, berthed in the bay, sat a vessel unlike any other, illuminated by the large lamps surrounding the area of the landing pad. Painted from fore to stern in a coat of the flawless black of night, the Phoenix, as she was named, appeared to be a great hole in the bay's lights, almost soaking up the light provided by the lamps. Her hull was long and sleek like a large knife or other blade, tapering toward the craft's nose and tail from amidships. With a length of no less than twenty-five meters, and a breadth of at least fifteen at her widest point, and a height of hull at around six, the ship was small by no means. Her cockpit extended from the craft's starboard side, just aft of amidships. At the craft's rear, mounted atop and beneath the hull, were four powerful Quadex Kyromaster engine drives, each slightly modified to put out greater thrust than their designers had ever intended. At the ship's stern, mounted between the banks of sublight engines, was a highly modified hyperdrive, capable of outrunning most starships of like size, or larger. At the ship's highest and lowest points, aligned to the central axis of the craft, were two rounded, black blisters. These blisters were the ship's sensor systems, which provided an omni-directional scan capability, and did not require the use of a vulnerable uni-directional dish. Hidden beneath these blisters lay two Corellian Engineering Quad-Laser gun mounts, which revealed themselves whenever the ship's captain or engines could not get her out of trouble. The only sounds to be heard, excepting the rain, was the sound of the repulsorlift engine driving the cargo lift into the ship's hull, and the voice of a cursing Iotran.

"Dammit, Ghrikk, you said six o'clock!" The taller of the two coated men said as he approached the ship. "What's taking you so long?"

As the empty cargo lift descended from the ship's hold, the Iotran controlling it responded, "I thought you said sixteen tons of spice, not sixty! The cargo arrived an hour ago, but I can only move so much at a time!" A thud resounded through the confines of the bay as the lift set down. Ghrikk dismounted the lift and proceeded to prepare another load of crates for loading, each carrying a small fortune of illegal spice. Ghrikk, like the ship he was loading, was unique. Standing only one and a half meters tall, he was not as thick as most Iotrans were stereotyped to be. He was of slight build, and had the rough skinned characteristics of his brethren. His three fingers and thumb were slightly longer than average, and so too was his neck. His clothing consisted of a well worn set of working overalls, custom made working boots, a long sleeved shirt, and a toolbelt. The belt carried various tools of importance to spacecraft repairs, as well as a large, two handed sledge hammer. This was Ghrikk's "special tool", with which he claimed to be able to make almost anything work. As he continued about his loading work, he said to the others, "You know, it wouldn't hurt for you two to give a hand. I may be the first mate, but I am not the designated laborer, y'know."

"Sorry, Ghrikk. I'll give you a hand," said Wilson, the other of the two men approaching the ship. Wilson quickly boarded the ship with Travis and removed his coat, placing it on the holo-game table in the lounge as Travis entered the cockpit to do a pre-flight check. Wilson quickly returned to the bay and assisted Ghrikk in loading the ship. Ghrikk, with Wilson's strong back, was able to load the remainder of the cargo within twenty minutes. With their work done in the ship's hold, the two sealed the cargo hatch and fastened down the cargo before heading into the cockpit. "We're all loaded and ready to go Travis."

"Control, this is the Altarian Mud Sloth, docking bay two-seven-seven, requesting clearance to depart," said Travis into the ship's comm system.

After a few moments, the starport controller responded, "Confirmed, Mud Sloth. You have a departure window set for oh-six-fifty, on course one-eight-zero, altitude three-five-double-oh meters, to the outer markers. Understood?"

"Gotcha, control. Course one-eighty, at thirty-five hundred to the outer markers. Departure time set at six fifty. Thanks for the hospitality." With that, Travis promptly cut off the comm system and leaned back in his chair. "Well guys, we've got a wait in front of us, so you'd best get comfy." Before they could relax, however, the sound of a warning system cut through the cockpit. "Aw, dammit! Wilson, somebody's just come into the bay. Probably the local mob enforcer here to collect some cash or somethin'!"

"Relax, Trav, I'll check it out. Who knows, it might be a friend and...oh, wait, that's right. You don't have any friends around here. I'd better take my blaster..." said Wilson, as he slowly walked out of the cockpit and down the boarding ramp.

With Travis and Ghrikk watching from the cockpit, Wilson walked out in front of the Phoenix to meet their guests as the rain came steadily down. Wilson's dark hair slowly became matted down and his pony-tail clung to his back as the rain soaked it further. Without his coat, Wilson's statuesque physical form was revealed as his rain soaked tee-shirt began to cling to him. Years of physical training had developed Wilson's nearly perfect musculature, which was thick, defined, and well-proportioned. His dark slacks hid his legs which possessed the strength of a horse, and he held his huge cannon arms akimbo as he waited. Within a few moments, two figures, a human male and a Twi'Lek female, emerged from the tunnel and walked toward Wilson. The man was wearing long khaki slacks, brown shoes, and a white button-up shirt. He stood roughly the same height as Wilson, but much slighter in build. His brown hair remained untouched by the rain, and his dark eyes stayed fixed on Wilson. The woman was several inches shorter than the man, and wore a dark shirt with khaki slacks. She followed to the left and behind the man, and carried a large umbrella over the both of them. Her head and head-tails were wrapped in a dark blue cloth and, like the man, she bore no weapons. "What can I do for you?" asked Wilson as they stopped before him.

"Well, yes, you can. I am Calvern Gossman, a business man on this world. In fact, I oversee all transactions dealing with my docking facilities. I have recently discovered that you gentlemen have a cargo of spice which you intend to take off-world, but have failed to pay me my usual fee. Therefore, I have come to collect."

"Uh, gee, that's real interesting, but I don't see how we owe you anythin', so why don'cha leave?" Wilson slowly moved his hand to his holster as an attempt to persuade the man.

"Oh, come now, there's no need for a show of force. Truth be told, I abhor violence; can't stand it. That's why I employ Yah-sella here. She handles all of the rough chore. As for the money, I have a rate of 100 credits per ton of spice shipped into or out of this port. In return, I don't inform the Imperials or the local authorities. When I am not paid," he spreads his arms and smiles, "well, neither of us benefit. Understand?"

"Yeah, I understand. Now you understand this: we're not paying you shit."


In the cockpit, Ghrikk and Travis watched as the scene began to unfold.

"There's two of them, Trav. You think we should go down there too?"

"Nah. Wilson can handle himself," assured Travis. As Wilson and the two strangers began to converse, Wilson's attitude began to become very evident to the crew. "Gee, Wilson's lookin' kind of pissed. I wonder what that guy said to him?"

"I dunno, but you're right, Wilson does look pretty pissed. Let's hope this guy don't do anything rash."

"I betcha five creds that Wilson throws the first punch. How 'bout it Ghrikk?"

"Hmmm...sure, why not. The girl seems to be a bodyguard from the way the guy keeps gesturing to her, and stayin' real close. I say the girl puts a hurt on Wilson before he even throws a punch. Besides, I don't think Wilson'll hit a girl outright; she'll have to coax it out of him."

"Are you kiddin'? Wilson?! Hell, he'd kick his own mother's ass if she looked at him funny!"

"Yeah, but his mom ain't as good lookin' as this girl. Just keep your money handy."


"You don't know how sorry I am to hear that," said Calvern. "You're sure I can't change your mind?"

Folding his arms across his chest, Wilson replied, "Absolutely." A split second and a resounding "crack" later, Wilson's face met Yah's foot, then found its way to deck as his body spun to his left and fell.

"Too bad. Yah, take the fee out of his hide, then make sure the locals find him and his cargo. I'll meet you outside when...," he never finished as the ship's hull-mounted anti-vehicle blaster turned his face into a used match-head.


"Ooops. Well, I guess Mr. Congeniality won't be making any more new friends, except at the morgue."

"Hey, Trav, why'd you do that?! You didn't have to incinerate 'im!"

"Sorry, Ghrikk, but I couldn't let him get away! He would've done something like call the Imps, or somethin'! Besides, I couldn't let this fight become too lopsided against Wilson."

"Uh, Trav, I don't think that would've happened. Wilson's pretty tough, y'know! Aside from that, we'll probably have another warrant out for our arrest because of this. We won't be able to do business here for a while! Geez, sometimes your short-sightedness keeps us from makin' money in the long run!"

"Oh well, I never liked it here anyway. We can make up for lost business elsewhere. After what we're about to pull on Makosh, I don't think we'll ever want to do business here anyway. Oh yeah, here's your money. She threw the first punch."


"Ouch," Wilson said as he slowly got back up on his feet. The Twi'lek was standing a few feet away in a fighting stance, watching him intently. The ship's blaster had stopped firing, it's target having been properly disposed of. "Listen, I really don't want to fight you, so let's call it a draw, and we both walk away happy and unhurt," he said to Yah as he returned to a fully upright position. "Or better yet, let's not and say we did. Hell, you can even say you won...."

Yah quickly responded with an elegantly executed right roundhouse kick with the intention of removing Wilson's head from his shoulders. Unfortunately for her, Wilson moved slightly faster than she, as he swiftly ducked under her kick and closed the distance between them. As her leg completed its arc, Wilson uncoiled himself before her and landed a solid uppercut to her chin, sending her sprawling backwards. Wilson stayed close to her as she stumbled back, trying to keep inside where her kicks would be less effective, and his raw strength could be put to good use. Yah recovered from the punch and reset herself in her original fighting stance. Blood poured in a river out of the corner of her mouth and down her chin, mixing with the rain to form a maroon film which slowly covered the left side of her neck. Not backing down, Yah unleashed her right arm in a powerful punch, unwinding from her hips and drawing power from her shoulder and torso. Still, Wilson remained elusive, stepping left and parrying the attack with his left arm, forcing it out in front of him and across his chest. He immediately countered with a spinning right elbow to her face, which made solid contact with its target. His attack landed just below her right eye causing a cut to form as Yah again reeled from Wilson's attack and fell to the ground several feet away from him.

Yah gingerly and unsteadily regained her feet, and resumed a semblance of her fighting stance as Wilson approached. In a desperate attack, she launched herself at Wilson in a jump kick, trying to catch him off guard. Wilson smashed her hopes as he side stepped Yah's attack, and executed a perfect side kick, catching Yah in the jaw as she drifted into Wilson's oncoming foot. The impact resulted in a loud crack as Yah's jaw broke and sent her into unconsciousness, while her body promptly dropped to the ground, its momentum having been stopped in mid-flight. Wilson quickly bent over Yah's body and checked to see if she was still breathing. Confirming that she was, indeed, alive, Wilson unwrapped her head-tails and bound her hands behind her back. This having been completed, he dragged both bodies into the empty room connected to the access tunnel and deposited them on its floor before returning to the ship.

As he boarded the ship, Wilson called out to Travis, "Hey, Trav! Can we leave now? I'm getting sick and tired of beating up all of these stupid mob guys. Not only that, but this damned rain is ruining my hair..."


At exactly 0650 hours, the light freighter Phoenix lifted off from docking bay 277 and streaked away from the starport heading due south as it climbed to an altitude of 3500 meters. Within moments, her ion drives propelled her out of Milton's atmosphere and into the vast reaches of space. Meanwhile, a group of Imperial security agents entered docking bay 277 in search of a possible smuggler, only to find a dead mobster and his bodyguard with a broken jaw, lying unconscious in the docking bay's office.

A little after 0800 hours, the crime boss Makosh and his two business partners, Dillen and Fahr-gul, became aware that Mr. Darsten had stolen the cargo of spice they had originally taken from him, plus an additional thirty tons from one of their warehouses. Within moments of coming to this realization, a visitor by the name of Marcus, and his blaster "Bye-Bye", made an impressive, and quite fatal, impression on the three in a well timed, quick, yet misguided attack on the mobsters.

By Thomas Hill