Aboard the Nebula Raptor, Xander and Roona had met most of the crew. Bep Borum was the Ortolan who was part of the on planet scheme with their friend Cohr Zerk to get them "captured" by Imperials so they could get smuggled off Coruscant. Dorn was obviously the muscle of the group and the droid GI-61? They called her Gigi but she seemed way too dangerous. Something to stay plenty clear of. Venlana seemed the most normal of them all, sophisticated and professional, but definitely with a measure of aloofness. That seemed to mask her true intentions, like she was sizing up prey.
Finally there was the captain. Vanda was a Zeltron. They typically dressed in wildly colorful and revealing attire and Vanda was no different. Xander wondered to himself why she seemed so familiar to him. Had they met in some dimly lit cantina before? Xander couldn't trust his own thoughts when he was in her presence.
Venlana headed off down the hallway--leaving the pair alone--and then hesitated and turned back toward Xander. "Oh... don't get too comfortable tonight..." she added with a sly smirk. "Vanda has plans for you."
"Plans?" Xander asked, but Venlana only laughed before disappearing around the corner. "What do you think she means?" Xander turned to his Rodian companion.
Roona immediately scanned the room—small, but tidy, with two narrow bunks recessed into the walls. The faint scent of ionized metal and that damn floral perfume lingered. She holstered her blaster, antennae twitching. "This whole crew smells like trouble," she muttered in Rodian, then switched to Basic as she jabbed a finger at Xander. "And you—stop acting like nerf in mating season just because she kiss you."
Xander rubbed the back of his neck, still grinning. "Hey, I’m just appreciating the hospitality." But his smile faded when he noticed the flickering light above the door—too rhythmic to be a malfunction. A surveillance cam, barely concealed. He exchanged a glance with Roona, whose black eyes narrowed in understanding.
The engines roared to life beneath them, a deep-throated vibration that rattled the bolt-sealed panels of their converted cargo hold. The deckplates thrummed like the skin of a drum, and Xander braced himself against the bulkhead as artificial gravity fought against Coruscant’s pull.
Roona didn’t bother with niceties—she folded herself into the lower bunk with practiced efficiency, her blaster still within easy reach. The Rodian’s antennae twitched at the whine of repulsors straining under the ship’s weight. "Feel like Bep flying drunk," she muttered.
Xander barely heard her. The mattress groaned as he flopped onto the upper bunk, still tasting Zeltron lip gloss—something with a hint of spice and mischief. The ship lurched violently, slamming his shoulder into the bulkhead. "Ow! Kriffing hell—" The overhead light flickered again, casting jagged shadows. Outside the viewport, Coruscant’s skyline tilted at a nauseating angle as the Nebula Raptor clawed its way free of gravity.
The engines shuddered—not the clean hum of hyperspace prep, but the gut-deep growl of a ship straining against inertia. Roona’s antennae flattened against her skull. "We’re not jumping," Xander questioned . The silence between engine pulses was worse than the noise. No telltale whine of hyperdrives charging. Just the oppressive quiet of a ship hovering at the edge of the atmosphere, waiting.
Roona rolled onto her side, her blaster now a cold weight against her ribs. "Customs scan," she muttered. "Or Imperial hold. Either way, sitting ducks." Her fingers drummed against the bunk’s padding, each tap synced to the sporadic flicker of the overhead light. The floral scent had turned cloying—like something meant to mask fear.
Xander pressed his palm to the bulkhead, feeling the ship’s pulse through durasteel. "Could be worse," he offered. "At least we’re not—" The comlink crackled to life above them, Venlana’s whispering voice dripping like honey laced with neurotoxin. *"Darling passengers, do keep quiet. Imperial inspection droids have such *sensitive* audio receptors."* The transmission cut with a hiss.
Roona’s fingers curled around her blaster grip. She exhaled through her tapered snout—slow, silent—counting the seconds between the ship’s vibrations. No boarding clamps. No tractor beams. Yet.
Then it came—the deep, resonant hum of sublight engines throttling up, followed by the unmistakable gut-punch of acceleration. The deckplates groaned as inertia pressed them into their bunks. Through the pitted transparisteel viewport, streaks of starlight smeared into oblivion. Hyperspace.
Roona exhaled, her blaster grip loosening just enough for circulation to return to her fingers. The overhead light stabilized, casting the room in a sterile glow. Xander rolled onto his side, listening to the ship’s new rhythm—the steady thrum of hyperdrive coils, the distant hiss of coolant cycling through ancient pipes. Safe. For now.
Interlude - Destination: Tatooine
Moderator: GM Fang
Re: Interlude - Destination: Tatooine
Venlana’s voice slithered through the comm speakers again, this time laced with amusement. "Darling stowaways, you may now roam freely." A pause, then the sound of nails tapping against the mic. "Try not to trip over Dorn. Or Gigi. Or—stars forbid—Vanda’s ego." The channel clicked off before they could respond.
Roona was already on her feet, her boots silent against the deckplates as she slid toward the door. The panel hissed open, revealing the corridor’s dim glow. The overhead lights flickered as they passed, casting jagged shadows that moved just a fraction too late, like something tracking their progress.
They emerged into the common area—an odd collision of luxury and practicality. Low, circular gaming tables of polished obsidian gleamed under ambient lighting, their surfaces etched with holographic Sabacc grids. Plush couches, their upholstery a deep crimson, curved around them like the jaws of some indulgent beast. Vid screens lined the far bulkhead, cycling through silent feeds of racing pod chases and Twi’lek dance performances.
Venlana lounged across one such couch, her cerulean legs draped over the armrest. She nursed a tumbler of something amber, as she swirled it with deliberate disinterest. The Pantoran’s asymmetrical bob swayed when she turned her head, her gold eyes narrowing like a nexu spotting prey. "Ah," she murmured, "You survived the turbulence."
Xander rubbed his shoulder—still sore from the bulkhead collision—and glanced around. Every detail in the common area felt curated, from the soft jatz humming in the background to the faint scent of Corellian brandy lingering in the air.
Venlana took a slow sip from her tumbler, then lowered it, watching the amber liquid swirl. "I suppose you have some questions," she said, her voice smooth as polished obsidian.
Roona crossed her arms, her blaster still holstered but her fingers twitching near the grip. "Just one," she hissed. "How much longer until we find out if this is a rescue or a kidnapping?"
Venlana's gold eyes sparkled as she set down her tumbler with deliberate care. The glass made no sound against the obsidian table—too practiced, too controlled. Venlana let out a long slow sigh. "I suppose you have every reason to be wary. Not to worry. We're on our way to Tatooine."
Xander looked to Roona and she nodded. That was where they started their adventures together. Doing an inspection job for Bargos the Hutt. It had only gone a little awry.
Venlana leaned forward, her fingers steepled together, elbows resting on her knees. The playful smirk had vanished, replaced by something sharper—the calculating gaze of someone who didn’t waste credits. "Now," she said, "let’s discuss what you’re going to do in exchange for this little detour."
Roona’ looked over to her comrade. Xander rolled his shoulders, feigning nonchalance, but his pulse jumped when Venlana’s piercing gold eyes locked onto him. "Black Sun," she murmured, rolling the syllables like they were a delicacy. "You didn’t just run from them. You took something." She paused, letting the statement sink further in.
Venlana leaned forward, her manicured fingertips lightly tapping against her thigh. "Specifically," her voice dropped to a purr, "security protocols. You must have used a computer spike and a data breaker on your job or you'd be in Black Sun's clutches already." She nodded toward Xander. "Which means you sampled their security protocols. I want them and the specs on the spike."
Xander hesitated, weighing his options—but there weren’t many. He swallowed hard, glancing at Roona. He exhaled sharply. "They’re valuable," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not sure I *want* to give them up."
Venlana laughed—a rich, rolling sound that filled the room. Her head tipped back, revealing the delicate curve of her throat, her gold ear cuffs catching the light as she shook with amusement. "Oh, sweetheart," she finally managed, wiping an imaginary tear from the corner of her eye. "You think you have a choice?"
The air shifted. Roona's fingers curled into fists, her knuckles whitening, but she didn't draw her blaster—not yet. Venlana’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes darkened, the playful glint hardening into something colder. "Actually, you do have a choice." She picked up her glass and took a slow sip, contemplating her next words.
Xander swallowed hard, his mind racing. The Black Sun protocols were volatile—not just encryption keys, but routes, blindspots, entire holo-feeds from syndicate vaults. "You don’t understand," he started, but Venlana cut him off with a raised finger.
"Oh, I *do*," she said, leaning forward. "Smuggling you off Coruscant past the Imperials and avoiding Black Sun isn't because we like you. There is a significant risk and therefore a significant cost. Your friend Cohr managed to forward some credits. But without those protocols and the data, you're going back to Coruscant."
Xander froze. Roona took a step forward, her voice low. "You wouldn't." Venlana's laughter echoed against the curved bulkheads, bouncing mockingly back at them.
"Oh, I would. But let's not pretend you have options, darling." The Pantoran traced a lazy circle on the obsidian tabletop with one fingertip. "Tatooine's a pit—but it's your pit. Think of it as... a homecoming."
Xander exhaled through his nose, the sharp scent of Venlana's Corellian brandy suddenly cloying. His fingers twitched. Roona's boot nudged his, silent confirmation.
"Fine," he gritted out. "You'll get your damned protocols and spike schematics." The words tasted like foul. "But not until Tatooine's dust is under our boots."
Venlana's grin widened, slow and satisfied, as if she'd already won. "Smart boy." She tapped her commlink—once. Roona shot Xander a look, but he kept his face carefully blank, even as his mind raced through contingencies. Giving up those protocols meant handing over leverage—but alive and free was much better than dead and forgotten in some Black Sun gutter.
The Pantoran stretched, arching her back like a loth-cat in sunlight before settling deeper into the couch's embrace. "Now," she said, swirling her drink again, "since we're being cooperative..."
Roona was already on her feet, her boots silent against the deckplates as she slid toward the door. The panel hissed open, revealing the corridor’s dim glow. The overhead lights flickered as they passed, casting jagged shadows that moved just a fraction too late, like something tracking their progress.
They emerged into the common area—an odd collision of luxury and practicality. Low, circular gaming tables of polished obsidian gleamed under ambient lighting, their surfaces etched with holographic Sabacc grids. Plush couches, their upholstery a deep crimson, curved around them like the jaws of some indulgent beast. Vid screens lined the far bulkhead, cycling through silent feeds of racing pod chases and Twi’lek dance performances.
Venlana lounged across one such couch, her cerulean legs draped over the armrest. She nursed a tumbler of something amber, as she swirled it with deliberate disinterest. The Pantoran’s asymmetrical bob swayed when she turned her head, her gold eyes narrowing like a nexu spotting prey. "Ah," she murmured, "You survived the turbulence."
- v19a.jpg (21.95 KiB) Viewed 3977 times
Venlana took a slow sip from her tumbler, then lowered it, watching the amber liquid swirl. "I suppose you have some questions," she said, her voice smooth as polished obsidian.
Roona crossed her arms, her blaster still holstered but her fingers twitching near the grip. "Just one," she hissed. "How much longer until we find out if this is a rescue or a kidnapping?"
Venlana's gold eyes sparkled as she set down her tumbler with deliberate care. The glass made no sound against the obsidian table—too practiced, too controlled. Venlana let out a long slow sigh. "I suppose you have every reason to be wary. Not to worry. We're on our way to Tatooine."
Xander looked to Roona and she nodded. That was where they started their adventures together. Doing an inspection job for Bargos the Hutt. It had only gone a little awry.
Venlana leaned forward, her fingers steepled together, elbows resting on her knees. The playful smirk had vanished, replaced by something sharper—the calculating gaze of someone who didn’t waste credits. "Now," she said, "let’s discuss what you’re going to do in exchange for this little detour."
Roona’ looked over to her comrade. Xander rolled his shoulders, feigning nonchalance, but his pulse jumped when Venlana’s piercing gold eyes locked onto him. "Black Sun," she murmured, rolling the syllables like they were a delicacy. "You didn’t just run from them. You took something." She paused, letting the statement sink further in.
Venlana leaned forward, her manicured fingertips lightly tapping against her thigh. "Specifically," her voice dropped to a purr, "security protocols. You must have used a computer spike and a data breaker on your job or you'd be in Black Sun's clutches already." She nodded toward Xander. "Which means you sampled their security protocols. I want them and the specs on the spike."
Xander hesitated, weighing his options—but there weren’t many. He swallowed hard, glancing at Roona. He exhaled sharply. "They’re valuable," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not sure I *want* to give them up."
Venlana laughed—a rich, rolling sound that filled the room. Her head tipped back, revealing the delicate curve of her throat, her gold ear cuffs catching the light as she shook with amusement. "Oh, sweetheart," she finally managed, wiping an imaginary tear from the corner of her eye. "You think you have a choice?"
The air shifted. Roona's fingers curled into fists, her knuckles whitening, but she didn't draw her blaster—not yet. Venlana’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes darkened, the playful glint hardening into something colder. "Actually, you do have a choice." She picked up her glass and took a slow sip, contemplating her next words.
Xander swallowed hard, his mind racing. The Black Sun protocols were volatile—not just encryption keys, but routes, blindspots, entire holo-feeds from syndicate vaults. "You don’t understand," he started, but Venlana cut him off with a raised finger.
"Oh, I *do*," she said, leaning forward. "Smuggling you off Coruscant past the Imperials and avoiding Black Sun isn't because we like you. There is a significant risk and therefore a significant cost. Your friend Cohr managed to forward some credits. But without those protocols and the data, you're going back to Coruscant."
Xander froze. Roona took a step forward, her voice low. "You wouldn't." Venlana's laughter echoed against the curved bulkheads, bouncing mockingly back at them.
"Oh, I would. But let's not pretend you have options, darling." The Pantoran traced a lazy circle on the obsidian tabletop with one fingertip. "Tatooine's a pit—but it's your pit. Think of it as... a homecoming."
Xander exhaled through his nose, the sharp scent of Venlana's Corellian brandy suddenly cloying. His fingers twitched. Roona's boot nudged his, silent confirmation.
"Fine," he gritted out. "You'll get your damned protocols and spike schematics." The words tasted like foul. "But not until Tatooine's dust is under our boots."
Venlana's grin widened, slow and satisfied, as if she'd already won. "Smart boy." She tapped her commlink—once. Roona shot Xander a look, but he kept his face carefully blank, even as his mind raced through contingencies. Giving up those protocols meant handing over leverage—but alive and free was much better than dead and forgotten in some Black Sun gutter.
The Pantoran stretched, arching her back like a loth-cat in sunlight before settling deeper into the couch's embrace. "Now," she said, swirling her drink again, "since we're being cooperative..."
Re: Interlude - Destination: Tatooine
Venlana sits back and starts to explain the situation, in between sips of her drink. She suddenly seems less dangerous and Xander wonders if that makes her even more so. She was good at what she did.
Venlana taps the table between them, activating a small holo-projector. A star chart flickers to life, its blue lines tracing hyperspace lanes like veins across the void. "Three standard days to Tatooine," she muses. Her nail—sharp, lacquered in black—traces a detour route that skirts the Corellian Trade Spine. "Black Sun's got eyes on every major artery between here and the Mid Rim, but they can't reach everywhere. And they can't find us in hyperspace."
"They are too fractured and too large to find you, as long as you don't screw up going forward." She smiled a brief smile that Xander was unsure about.
Venlana leaned back into the couch, crossing one leg over the other. The light from the holographic star chart cast jagged shadows across her face, making her gold eyes gleam like twin suns. "Black Sun’s been tracking you since the moment you lifted those protocols," she said casually, as if discussing the weather. "But here’s the fun part—they don’t actually know *what* you eventually took. Just that something was compromised." Her grin turned razor-edged. "Guess that spike of yours was sharper than you thought."
Xander’s fingers tightened around the edge of the obsidian table, the cool surface biting into his palms. "You didn’t answer," he said, voice low. "How do you know?" Venlana took another sip, studying him over the rim of her glass. The silence stretched like a hyperlane between stars, until she finally set the tumbler down with a soft 'clink'.
"Because," she said, tapping the side of her temple with one black-lacquered nail, "Black Sun doesn’t deploy bounty hunters for petty thieves." Her smile didn’t reach her eyes this time. "They deploy them for *messy* thieves. The kind who leave breadcrumbs—say, a sliced subroutine signature that traces back to a very specific electronic signaturel." She leaned in, close enough for Xander to catch the citrus-sharp tang of her perfume. "At least when you went back in, you covered your tracks the second time."
Roona shifted, her blaster grip tightening. "You’re saying they didn’t get past the spike schematics?"
Venlana’s laugh was a whisper of sound, almost lost beneath the hum of the ship’s engines. "Oh, they got something. Just not the right thing. Impressive enough work after the first mishap. Maybe you learned something?" Xander bristled at her casual dismissal.
Venlana tilted her head, a knowing smirk curling at the corner of her lips as she took another measured sip. "Cohr's little stunt with the Imps was inspired," she admitted, swirling the amber liquid absently. "Your ship—what was it called again? The 'Archelon'?" She chuckled, low and throaty. "Gone. Confiscated by 'Imperial order.' Paperwork filed, chain of custody logged—Black Sun's slicers will hit a wall trying to trace it." Her gold eyes flicked to Roona, then back to Xander. "And you? Officially, you're in a detention block on Coruscant awaiting trial for spice-running. So, congratulations. You're ghosts."
Xander exhaled sharply, the tension in his shoulders loosening—though not entirely. Ghosts didn’t owe favors, and Vanda hadn’t brought them aboard out of charity. Roona’s fingers drummed against her thigh.
Venlana flicked a stray curl behind her ear, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “Cohr’s work was… elegant. The Imperial confiscation logs list your ship’s transponder as scrapped—melted down for parts after a ‘contraband sweep.’” She smirked. “Black Sun’s slicers will chase that signal straight into a dead end. As for your lovely faces?” She tapped her commlink, pulling up a grainy holo of two figures in Imperial custody—faces blurred, but builds close enough. “Enjoy your stay in a Coruscant detention block that doesn’t exist.”
Roona leaned forward, her voice low but sharp as a vibroblade. “Cut bantha poodoo. Handing over protocols and spike specs *clears* our debt?”
Venlana’s fingers traced the rim of her tumbler, her smirk widening. “Debt?” She scoffed, shaking her head. “Oh, darling, you don’t owe us. This isn’t charity—it’s business. That data buys you passage,... and freedom.” Her gold eyes flicked to the star chart still shimmering between them. “But yes, it’s worth slumming it on Tatooine for a bit.”
Venlana taps the table between them, activating a small holo-projector. A star chart flickers to life, its blue lines tracing hyperspace lanes like veins across the void. "Three standard days to Tatooine," she muses. Her nail—sharp, lacquered in black—traces a detour route that skirts the Corellian Trade Spine. "Black Sun's got eyes on every major artery between here and the Mid Rim, but they can't reach everywhere. And they can't find us in hyperspace."
"They are too fractured and too large to find you, as long as you don't screw up going forward." She smiled a brief smile that Xander was unsure about.
Venlana leaned back into the couch, crossing one leg over the other. The light from the holographic star chart cast jagged shadows across her face, making her gold eyes gleam like twin suns. "Black Sun’s been tracking you since the moment you lifted those protocols," she said casually, as if discussing the weather. "But here’s the fun part—they don’t actually know *what* you eventually took. Just that something was compromised." Her grin turned razor-edged. "Guess that spike of yours was sharper than you thought."
Xander’s fingers tightened around the edge of the obsidian table, the cool surface biting into his palms. "You didn’t answer," he said, voice low. "How do you know?" Venlana took another sip, studying him over the rim of her glass. The silence stretched like a hyperlane between stars, until she finally set the tumbler down with a soft 'clink'.
"Because," she said, tapping the side of her temple with one black-lacquered nail, "Black Sun doesn’t deploy bounty hunters for petty thieves." Her smile didn’t reach her eyes this time. "They deploy them for *messy* thieves. The kind who leave breadcrumbs—say, a sliced subroutine signature that traces back to a very specific electronic signaturel." She leaned in, close enough for Xander to catch the citrus-sharp tang of her perfume. "At least when you went back in, you covered your tracks the second time."
Roona shifted, her blaster grip tightening. "You’re saying they didn’t get past the spike schematics?"
Venlana’s laugh was a whisper of sound, almost lost beneath the hum of the ship’s engines. "Oh, they got something. Just not the right thing. Impressive enough work after the first mishap. Maybe you learned something?" Xander bristled at her casual dismissal.
Venlana tilted her head, a knowing smirk curling at the corner of her lips as she took another measured sip. "Cohr's little stunt with the Imps was inspired," she admitted, swirling the amber liquid absently. "Your ship—what was it called again? The 'Archelon'?" She chuckled, low and throaty. "Gone. Confiscated by 'Imperial order.' Paperwork filed, chain of custody logged—Black Sun's slicers will hit a wall trying to trace it." Her gold eyes flicked to Roona, then back to Xander. "And you? Officially, you're in a detention block on Coruscant awaiting trial for spice-running. So, congratulations. You're ghosts."
Xander exhaled sharply, the tension in his shoulders loosening—though not entirely. Ghosts didn’t owe favors, and Vanda hadn’t brought them aboard out of charity. Roona’s fingers drummed against her thigh.
Venlana flicked a stray curl behind her ear, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “Cohr’s work was… elegant. The Imperial confiscation logs list your ship’s transponder as scrapped—melted down for parts after a ‘contraband sweep.’” She smirked. “Black Sun’s slicers will chase that signal straight into a dead end. As for your lovely faces?” She tapped her commlink, pulling up a grainy holo of two figures in Imperial custody—faces blurred, but builds close enough. “Enjoy your stay in a Coruscant detention block that doesn’t exist.”
Roona leaned forward, her voice low but sharp as a vibroblade. “Cut bantha poodoo. Handing over protocols and spike specs *clears* our debt?”
Venlana’s fingers traced the rim of her tumbler, her smirk widening. “Debt?” She scoffed, shaking her head. “Oh, darling, you don’t owe us. This isn’t charity—it’s business. That data buys you passage,... and freedom.” Her gold eyes flicked to the star chart still shimmering between them. “But yes, it’s worth slumming it on Tatooine for a bit.”