Once free from the tense meeting, Barak and Sjani found some quarters that were available for the night. It wasn’t much to look at; two small, metal bunks, a rusting wash-basin and refresher and a cracked-but-functional shower cubicle. While Barak unpacked their basic provisions, the girl headed to the shower without another word to her Trandoshan friend. Barak busied himself with checking what food they needed for the next day and gave their weapons the once-over. He noted that powerpacks needed charging and his own armour was badly in need of some repairs, which they could do after the next leg of their journey.
Not that he knew where that would lead. Rubbing his eyes with one of his clawed fists, he eased his scaly form onto the bottom bunk.
Easy to protect small one, if night is interrupted, he reasoned.
Sometime later, Sjani emerged relieved to be clean, though exceedingly drained after an emotional couple of days. Exhausted she pulled herself onto the top bunk and laid staring at the ceiling. Her mind refused to stop replaying her mother’s arrest and, with each replay, her anger against the Republic and the smarmy Jedi welled up inside.
When sleep finally took her, her dreams were filled with revenge.
The pair left Port Nowhere early the next day. Pre-flight checks were hastily done and lifting out of the hangar did not bring the sense of freedom both passengers had hoped for. As they flew steadily out into the starry skies Sjani frowned at the sight that came into focus. Scrap metal, dismembered droid components and starship engines were floating around them. It was all Barak could do to be able to steer the bulky freighter through the pieces.
“Why-Em?”, the girl called to their little astromech.
The droid had been jokingly re-numbered to Y-M3 when they had first acquired him, but he did not seem to mind his new designation. Whistling as he entered the bridge, his display answered the question they had yet to ask. Barak turned his head around sharply pulling a muscle as he did. Wincing, he asked
Y-M3 beeped in confirmation.
“That’s not a good sign,” Sjani muttered, playing with her own controls and wondering when they would be able to calculate the jump the Lightspeed.
With her and Barak in deep thought, the starships seemed to come out of nowhere.
“Barak, look out!” Sjani cried.
The Trandoshan veered sharply to the left as the approaching ship zoomed over their heads. A floating crate bounced harmlessly off the side of the smugglers’ ship but the sickening thud still caused the pair of them to take an audible breath in. There were multiple contacts and it was not clear who was friendly and who was not. As another fighter came towards them, Sjani fired up the cannon, pumping a river of green at the aggressive on-comer, whose ship burst into flame and disintegrated. As they swung the ship around the space station, Y-M3 plugged himself into a terminal to control the shields.
“Yes I can see that Why-Em!” Sjani shouted at the droid informing them of at least three hostiles.
Other ships bearing various Pirate clan emblems could be seen leaving Port Nowhere. Some were clearly making a run for it, while others seemed to join the fray.
“Soft thing, behind!”, Barak hissed.
Sjani frantically looked at the displays and saw the two ships that were rapidly closing in on the freighter. Barak pulled the freighter in an upwards loop in an attempt to lose them, but in doing so failed to see the remains of the wing of another ship, which collided with the top-mounted canon. Their ship shuddered and Y-M3 announced a probable hull breach, rolling off quickly to investigate.
Barak was pushing buttons and flicking levers, trying to stabilise the ship and manoever it back to the space port. The last thing he and Sjani saw was a looming red and white capital ship and a blinding flash of blue.