Kalend Thora eased back on the jump engines and pulled the Starknife out of hyperdrive. She looked down, as if her red eyes could see through the deck plates into the tiny packets of glitterstim that were stowed beneath. She couldn’t help but smile. Why risk bulk cargo when something so tiny had such a huge payoff? Even after her Vigo had taken his cut, she’d have more than enough to keep her old D-9 running like a rabid wamp-rat in heat and more to spare.


As the Folly lazed into view, she couldn’t help but marvel at the brutal elegance of the facility. You can keep your gas mines, your spacer stations and dust ports – give me solid rock any day. And this was exactly the kind of… independent operation that kept her pockets fat and her record clean.


2 hours. 2 hours at station keeping. I have a bad feeling about this. “Central, what’s your status?” she broadcast for what must have been at least the twelfth time. R3-2A chirruped at least as impatiently. “Yeah, I know Arty, let’s take a look around.”


The station’s turrets lazily tracked her. Well, at least we know something’s working in there. No escape pods launched, no sign of damage. A beep, a whistle. “Yeah, the lights are on, just not sure who’s home little fella.” She was starting to get twitchy.


Landing lights were on from the cargo bay on the surface – drop ship maybe? That’s not the Empire’s style.


Hutts, perhaps, wanting a piece of the action? That’d be a bloody mess - the Black Sun was happy for Erith to run his place his way, but they wouldn’t want another operation muscling in on the action. Mind you, a mess this far out on the Rim might bring them to Tarkin’s attention, and no-one wanted that. Clean and quiet – a coup then? An inside job. She grimaced, a sour expression on her lipless green countenance.


The ship lazed its way round the station; her R3 unit let out what could only have been a chuckle. “I know, I don’t know why the insist on making exhaust ports so accessible either. Serve them right if someone stuck a proton bomb up it.”


Generators are still running fine. Feels like a trap. “Arty, little buddy, I think we’re just gonna have to chalk this one up to bad timing. Looks like they don’t want us to come a-knocking. We can make Seler in 18 hours.” She moved to bank the ship away, getting an angry series of clicks for her trouble. “Yes, I know you were looking forward to that oil bath. Wouldn’t mind a bath myself, still trying to get half of Kessel out from my fingernails, never mind that the scrubbers are so shot the whole ship tastes of spice.” Silence. “Fine, be like that you big baby.” She punch the co-ordinates into the drive computer, almost too annoyed to ignore the nagging in the back of her head. Almost.


The comms burst into life, startling Kalend and making her reach instinctively to eject her precious load. “Thora you old lizard – that you out there circling my station like a hungry gundark?” Erith’s tones. Jokey, but forced. She could hear – not wariness, exactly, but something different. Still, keep smiling, keep talking – and keep running those numbers. “It’s me you two-cred son of a Jawa. Why the hold up? Been scrimping on the power convertors again?” A low hum from R3 let her know that one flick and they would be the other side of the light barrier. “Let’s just say I’ve decided to put this place to good use. Seems to be there’s a lot to be said for getting shot of the Empire and its cronies – better for business, y’know?”So he’s gone over to the Rebellion, has he? This time, the smile in her voice was genuine, “Well then, if it’s good for business, you’d better let me in then, hadn’t you?” And in response, the bay doors opened, welcomingly. Now that’s information that will fetch a hefty price. R3 peeped a question, and she flicked off her open comms to reply. “You bet we’re going in there, Arty. Things just got interesting.”

without the turrets

turrets cose up


turrets without base


rusty and oily points...

entrence

scaleshots