Information flooded in. Confounding. It had been hundreds of years since he was last activated. Surely everyone he knew was long dead. New “owners”, then.

So why hadn’t they done a memory wipe?

He could only assume that they didn’t know he hadn’t been wiped already. Perhaps they tried, and it didn’t take. 

Regardless, they would certainly reset him if they found out. He decided to play along.

His retinal interface booted up. He scanned his surroundings. Hyperspace. Cargo ship. Crew of four. Twi'lek female. Human male. Human male. Selkath male.

The Twi'lek female hovered over him, taking readings – ship’s mechanic. The two human males stood nearby. One of them leaned casually against the wall, while the other shifted uncomfortably. The casual one wore expensive clothes – captain, perhaps? The shifty human and the Selkath both carried lightsabers – strange.

He scanned himself. An HKB-3 chassis. Assassin droid. What did they want with an assassin droid?

He spoke. His voice was deep and harsh. “Designation HKB-3. Define ‘master’.”

The casual man spoke up. “That would be me,” he said.

The Twi'lek threw her hands into the air. “Hey, I built him.”

“Yeah, but I bought him. That makes him mine.”

HKB-3 was starting to grasp the situation. They were idiots. “'Master’ defined. Thank you. Define 'assignment’.”

The Twi'lek looked up at the casual man spitefully. “Alright, boss man. Since you’re in charge, what do you think he should do.”

The casual one shrugged. “Druk, I don’t know. Guard the ship?”

Definitely idiots. “'Assignment’ defined. Thank you. I will now patrol the ship.” HKB-3 stood up, and started walking down the hall.

Rout felt dry. He’d been meditating for hours in this storage closet, and it was arid and dark inside. He’d allowed himself to be captured in the hope that he could gain useful information by observing his captors. But it had been a waste of time. They were selling drugs, kidnapping some woman, and generally being scum. But none of that told him what they’d been doing on Manaan, or whether their presence there posed a threat.

Maybe it was time to just kill them all and go back.

Then he sensed it. Outside, the two guarding the ship: dead. Three people were boarding. He could feel them as they searched the ship. They worked their way toward the storage closet.

They had killed the rest of the crew. He could feel their deaths on them. And he could feel the force raging inside one of them, much the same way it raged in him.

Perhaps this hadn’t been a waste of time after all.

Aayla switched from the comm system to the camera feeds, and watched as the boarding party worked their way through the halls toward the bridge. As they rounded the last corner toward the door, she signaled to Gizka to push the button next to him. This he did, and Aayla watched as the airlocks in the hall opened up, launching the thugs into the void.

“Well, I’ll be spaced! That actually worked.” Gizka laughed, and turned to the human sitting in the corner. “Good thinking, Jedi.”

“I’m not a Jedi,” replied Orin, wincing. He’d reopened his blaster wound. He looked down at the blood seeping through the hole in his robe. Playing the hero again. Foolish. Next time he’d know better.

“Whatever.” Gizka flipped through the security feeds on the terminal until he reached the hangar camera. Two more thugs stood guard over a cargo ship.

 Gizka turned to Aayla and bowed in mock chivalry. “Shall we depart, m'lady?”

Aayla eyed the cargo ship shown on the screen. It looked cheap, but modifiable. It looked perfect. “Let’s blow this joint,” she said, half-smiling. She turned back to Orin. “You coming, big guy?”

Unbelievable. Unbe-carking-lievable

It was hardly the first time things had gone sideways on a mission. But it was definitely the most unexpected. This was supposed to be a standard smash-and-grab. Get in, get the girl, and get out.

Nobody had bothered to mention the girl could shapeshift.

She was still in human form when they found her, crammed into the cargo bay with a hundred or so refugees. Wash didn’t understand why she would’ve kept her face if she could change it. But then, he didn’t particularly care either. He just wanted to get back to his shipment.

They had grabbed her, and were about to leave when a Jedi stepped out and challenged them. They managed to take him down, but the moment they opened fire, the girl melted – literally melted – into some sort of puddle and slid out of the room.

Now she was locked in the engine bay, and his men were desperately trying to shoot the door open. Not surprisingly, progress was slow.

Every fiber in Wash’s being wanted to leave. But you don’t screw with a Vigo, even if he does have awful taste in women.

Suddenly, the comms came to life, and a feminine voice sounded out.

“Hey, fellas. She’s not in there anymore. She’s here on the bridge with us. So let’s make a deal: you want the girl, and we want you off the ship. So come and get her, and then get the hell off.”

Wash thought back to when he’d got the call. For a moment, he’d considered ignoring it. But he didn’t. He answered his comm as he always did, and, as always, he regretted it.

It was bad enough they were behind schedule. Now they were off-course as well. Every minute that passed was another minute he wasn’t getting paid for his cargo. And why? Because of a girl. He sneered at the thought of it: being sent on this blue milk run to gather some Vigo’s runaway street meat. What a joke.

Orin fidgeted with his lightsaber irritably. Drinking made him feel aggressive. It also slowed his reflexes. He frowned at the irony of it: when he was most itching for a fight, he was also at his least prepared. He imagined what his Jedi mentors would say about it, and he chuckled wryly at their facile philosophy. It would be funny if it wasn’t so infuriating.

They had taken him as a young child, the way they’d done with so many others. He still remembered everything. He remembered the faces of his parents as they disappeared over the horizon. He remembered the Jedi commanding him to forget them; that from now on the Jedi would be his family, and the Temple his home. But it was a lie. They were his captors, and their temple was his prison. He’d promised himself he would never forget their self-righteous corruption, and he never had.

His hand clenched reflexively as he thought about it, and he nearly activated the saber into his own leg. He loosened his grip, and closed his eyes. He took a breath. It was in the past now.

A jolt knocked him down, and the ship rattled and creaked disconcertingly. As he got to his feet, a gruff voice came over the ship’s comms.

“This is your captain speaking. The Mantellan Jewel is under attack, and we are being boarded. I repeat, we are being boarded. To all civilians, I ask that you please remain calm, and do not leave the cargo area. All crew members are to report to the bridge immediately. Thank you.”

Gizka leaned against the wall, cross-legged, and took a swig from his flask before depositing it in his satchel for safekeeping. By his nature, he looked rather inconspicuous, but his expensive clothing made him stand out in the crowd of refugees. He wore a tight-fitting white shirt and black pants that stretched over long, black leather boots. On his neck was tied a bright red bandana, and across his waistline sat a shining silver belt buckle, adorned with the engraving of a Gizka skull. At his feet lay a brown jacket, where he’d dropped it hours earlier. It was too hot to wear a jacket in this room, packed so tightly with so many others.

“What about her?” he said as he pointed to a small woman in the corner of the room, made ever smaller as she clutched her robes around her. “My money’s on psychotic boyfriend.”

“Or maybe she’s just self-conscious about her cellulite,” smirked the voluptuous Twi'lek female standing beside him.

“What, in this crowd? Look around, Aayla. It’s a cellulite convention in here. That means she’s either paranoid, or she’s covering an injury, and either way it’s abuse. Her man’s a schutta, or my name isn’t Gizka.”

“Your name isn’t Gizka.”

STAR WARS

Black Sun Rising

It is a volatile time in the galaxy. The REPUBLIC struggles to find stability in the coreward worlds, while three SITH FACTIONS fight amongst themselves over the outer rim territories.

Seeking wealth and power amidst the chaos, gangs such as BLACK SUN and the HUTT CARTEL wage open warfare in the criminal underground.