Interlude - Sold out!

[GM Fang]

The alley dumpster reeked of spoiled meiloorun fruit and engine coolant. Someone had kicked over a synth-grease can three blocks down.

His silver chin tuft trembled as Cohr Zyrk adjusted infrared goggles over his yellow eyes. Rain slid down his bald, crimson scalp and pooled in the grooves of his horns.

The Devaronian’s calloused fingers drummed against a damp durasteel pipe. Below, through the grated catwalk, Xander Churr paced the smuggler’s bolt-hole, boots crunching discarded nutrient bar wrappers. Roona Eskoroo leaned against a flickering holosign, her Rodian eyes scanning alley shadows. Cohr had promised them a means to safe passage aboard their ship the Archelon in two hours.

A low chime vibrated against Cohr’s wrist comm—a single pulse. Bep Borum’s signal. The Ortolan had insisted on meeting near the Uscru District’s entertainment sector, claiming Imperial patrols avoided the area. Cohr’s jaw tightened. "Too convenient". Borum supposedly owed favors to half the Pyke Syndicate lieutenants on Coruscant. He dropped silently from the maintenance ledge, landing in a puddle that splattered oily water across his boots.

Xander startled, hand darting toward his blaster. "Kriff, Cohr! Give a warning." His eyes darted to the alley entrance, raw nerves frayed from three sleepless nights. Cohr ignored him, peeling off the infrared goggles. Rain plastered Roona’s pink hair to her green skin as she hissed, "Did you secure the transit codes?" Cohr tossed a thin data chip onto a rusted coolant drum. "Borum guarantees clearance through Sector Delta customs. For a price." The Rodian snatched it up, sniffing the air like she could scent betrayal. "What price?" Cohr’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "He wants Seedoneeo’s blackmail logs. Says it’ll settle debts."

Xander’s breath hitched. Those logs were their leverage—fabricated proof showing that Seedoneeo had sold Black Sun spice routes to the Zann Consortium. Handing them over felt like stripping armor mid-battle. A speeder’s engine whined overhead, casting jagged shadows across damp permacrete. Cohr’s comm buzzed again—a dual pulse this time. "Move," he growled. "From here, the Archelon’s docking bay is two levels down. Borum’s contact meets us at Bay Aurek-Seven."

Roona’s antennae twitched. "Why Aurek-Seven? That’s Imperial Customs overflow." Cohr’s claws tapped his belt pouch. "Exactly. Patrols thin out near shift change."

Just then a pair of fringers walked by. The trio sank further into the shadows. "Men. Malan Thule's" Roona whispered. Malan Thule was a notorious bounty hunter. He had men all over the Outer Rim, but seeing them on Coruscant was unusual. The men passed by not noticing them, partly due to the obvious inebriation they possessed.

The trio slipped through a service conduit, its walls slick with algae. The stench of ozone stung Xander’s nostrils as he crawled behind Cohr’s bulk. Below, a Customs droid’s photoreceptors swept the bay—dead on schedule. "Too smooth", Xander thought. Borum’s contact should’ve been waiting. Instead, Aurek-Seven yawned empty except for the Archelon’s turtle-like hull. Rain sluiced off its faded GHTroc insignia.

Roona hissed, "Where’s the—"

A blinding floodlight sliced through the gloom, pinning them against the Archelon’s landing struts. Four Imperial stormtroopers materialized from behind cargo crates, blasters raised. "Freeze! Imperial customs inspection!" Their white armor gleamed like bone under the harsh light. Behind them, Bep Borum waddled into view, his blue Ortolan snout twisted in a simpering grin. "This is it", Cohr thought. Borum’s wide black eyes avoided theirs as he chirped, "Apologies, friend! Regulatory oversight—"

Roona didn’t hesitate. Her Rodian reflexes snapped into motion, shoving Xander sideways, hoping that the pair had not been seen yet. She vaulted towards the Archelon’s lowered ramp, blaster drawn. "Go! It’s trap!" she stage whispered, her voice nearly silent in the cavernous bay. Xander scrambled after her, boots slipping on rain-slicked permacrete. Cohr lunged not toward the ship but stepped behind a nearby fuel drum, a smug smile gracing his features.

Above them on the reinforced metal gantries, heavy footsteps echoed—more stormtroopers emerging from adjacent corridors. Their stark white armor clashed against the grimy bay walls as they took up overlapping firing positions. Behind them marched Imperial Security Bureau agents in gray uniforms, faces obscured by featureless helmets, electrostaffs crackling with energy. Their presence confirmed this wasn’t routine—it was a targeted ambush.

Cohr stepped forward slowly, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. Rain dripped from his horns onto his shoulders as he projected his voice over the hum of distant repulsorlifts. "Officers! This is the vessel I flagged—the GHTroc 720 registered to the perpetrators who sabotaged the Kelerium Processing Plant in Sector 943. Its planetary engine coupling showed trace radiation signatures matching the blast residue." His words hung in the damp air, sharp and deliberate. Borum blinked rapidly, stubby fingers twisting together.

The lead stormtrooper tilted his head, blaster unwavering. "Verified. Proceed with seizure protocols."

Cohr added evenly, "Check the aft cargo hold. They stored stolen tibanna gas converters there." Cohr's plan was going perfectly so far. The Stormtroopers would confiscate the ship and imprison any crew on board.

Xander froze mid-step, heart hammering against his ribs. Cohr's betrayal sliced deeper than any vibroblade. The Archelon’s ramp was still fifteen meters away—an impossible gauntlet of blaster barrels. Rainwater trickled down his neck like ice. Beside him, Roona hissed through clenched teeth, her blaster trembling as she calculated angles. The Rodian’s survival instincts screamed: "Cohr sold us out." It was only a matter of moments before they were located.