Ikeat “Stix” Opport was not in a very good mood. A month and a half ago he and the five pilots he had on his payroll and been enjoying a leisurely time drinking and gambling. Then they had received word through the back channels that some bloke who went by the name Snipes was looking to start up a privateer venture that could prove very profitable. Stix and his small band, always on the lookout for a chance to make some profit, jumped at the opportunity. They had flown clear out to the ass end of the Galaxy, back into Vast Empire space, to a small planet that the locals affectionately called “Eyesore”. It fit.

The planet had been nothing more than a rock with a village on it. It barely had adequate starport facilities, and anything much bigger than Stix’s own StarViper-class Attack Platform would have to find a flat spot of ground and hope for the best. They had mulled around on that planet for another month, waiting for whomever else would decide to trickle in. Then the group, which by now was consisted of a dozen fighters, a handful of heavily modified freighters, a modified CR-90 Corellian Corvette, two Marauder-class cruisers, and a ship that barely passed as a Bothan Assault Frigate, did their very best to become combat ready. In that regard, Stix was pretty sure they failed miserably.

Smugglers, pirates, adventurers, outlaws, drunkards . . .these were the men and women that had answered the call. On the whole, most of them had very little experience crewing, commanding, or even flying a starship. By far the large majority of them were gunmen, not pilots, and definitely not crewman. For Stix, who had once been a senior non-commissioned officer in the Vast Empire Navy, the utter lack of skill shown by the various beings that were chosen to crew the capital ships was appalling. Stix wasn’t sure how the ragtag fleet was going to survive in combat against any kind of organized fleet, but he did know it was going to be a steep learning curve.

Finally the man who was apparently in charge of the operation, Snipes, decided that his small fleet was ready to take on their first target. That, or he was tired of dealing with a burgeoning population of less than respectable beings and wanted to get rid of some of them. In Stix’s opinion, the latter was far more likely. None the less, whatever the motivation behind the mobilization of the small fleet, Stix and his men were finally going to get some action, and hopefully some money. That’s what they had signed on for, after all.

Stix and his five pilots had long used the call sign Heartbreaker, and that was what they chose to use for this operation. The group was Stix’s own brainchild, using money he had virtually stolen from his rather well-off parents. He had bought the StarViper-class Attack Platforms from a less-than-honest merchant that owed him quite a small sum of money for a fraction of their market value, and he had picked up the pilots through various back-door channels. After that he had pretty much exhausted the original sum of credits he had ‘borrowed’ from his folks. He had, however, managed to keep the pilots on the payroll and the fighters in serviceable condition by pulling odd jobs off the various stations and starports they visited. Anything from escort duty to more illicit activities, Stix’s group did them all. Now they were with the Osk Company, which was doing much the same thing but on a much larger scale.

The Heartbreakers were stationed on the ragtag fleet’s biggest ship, a beaten up Bothan Assault Frigate that was rather disturbingly named Charlotte. The ship was under crewed, over populated, shabbily commanded, and was in piss poor condition. In short, it was a flying death trap, one Stix planned to get off of as soon as he was able to . . .which if all went as planned was in about thirty seconds.

Sure enough, a voice soon echoed through Stix’s cockpit. Unlike the TIE-series craft he had flown in the Navy, the StarVipers were pressurized and didn’t require a full life support suit. The cockpits were more spacious as well, and although the controls were different, in Stix’s opinion the StarViper was much easier to operate. The one thing he didn’t like about the fighter was the fact that incoming communications bounced around the cockpit and were often times hard to understand. In the end, though, it was a small tradeoff for the combined performance, survivability, and superior firepower the StarViper offered.

“Erm, testing,” the voice said, obviously new to the role of starfighter coordinator. “Right. All pilots, prepare to launch. Doors will open in…twenty seconds, nineteen seconds, eighteen seconds…” The voice quickly trailed off. Stix flexed his fingers around the StarViper’s twin flight sticks, itching to get moving. After a few seconds the doors began to slowly inch open, and Stix throttled up his fighter. He had had enough waiting.

The rest of his pilots followed suit, leaving the other six fighters that the frigate carried to their own schedule. The Heartbreakers were ready to shoot something. As soon as the doors were open wide enough Stix punched the throttle on the StarViper and the ship shot forward. He barely cleared the slowly widening opening between the frigate’s double durasteel hangar doors, but cleared it he did. And then he was free, cutting through the endless black expanses of nothingness, the unimaginable distances between celestial bodies that some ignorant beings callously called ‘space’.

The Charlotte was at the rear of the Osk Company’s small fleet, but it didn’t take long for the Heartbreakers to overtake most of the capital ships. When they reached the front Stix went momentarily cold as he realized that so far they were the only friendly fighters that had been deployed. Then he saw the starfighter forces arrayed against them, and he felt a little bit better. There were eight or so Z-95’s, which Stix didn’t even count as a real threat. Then there were half a dozen Preybirds, which Stix had only studied but never actually flown against. They would present a bit of a problem, but nothing that Stix and his five pilots couldn’t handle.

So far, things were going good. Taking another glance at his sensor readings Stix made sure that there were no other major threats in the immediate area, and then set a course directly for the Preybirds, who were starting swarm the CR-90 that the leader of the small fleet, Snipes, used as a flagship. They couldn’t risk the bossman dying, after all, even to a threat as insignificant as a few enemy fighters.

Maya Sharpe was dying. And there was nothing that her daughter could do about it.

Her mother's doctor was talking. Waving his hands about in an expressive manner as he attempted to explain how hopeless the scenario really was. He was relatively young, and still at a stage in his career that he was unable to completely remove himself emotionally from his cases. Despair was evident in his gaze despite the professional tone of his voice,

“...very unlikely she'll ever wake up,” He was saying, his eyebrows beetling over his nose as he examined his clipboard, “She's been in a coma for over a month and we've seen nothing to indicate that her body is recovering. The damage to her heart is simply too severe.”

“But the surgery,” Kami pressed her slim fingers briefly to her eyelids in an attempt to steal away the fatigue ingrained there, “You said the surgery could help.”

“There was always a very small possibility that the surgery would have any dramatic effect,” The doctor countered, if kindly, “Your mother is at a stage in her life that natural recovery is difficulty. Her body has systematically shut down ever since she was admitted.”

Kami came abruptly to her feet, surprising the doctor who automatically took a step back. She regarded him for a moment, before flicking her green gaze to the frail figure surrounded by tubes and whirring machinery a bare meter away. She had never been particularly close to her mother. But she was all the family she had left and she had sworn a few years ago to help her as much as she could financially. Despite this, personal contact had been sporadic, and the news that her mother had suffered a heart attack had come as a shock. Medical staff had since informed her that her mother had been admitted several times battling severe chest pain, and had refused their offer of help in terms of helping her find another profession more suited to someone of her age and physical capability. She would of made a great orderly in the hospital if she had agreed. Dealing with individuals of all shapes and backgrounds was something that had always come naturally to the Sharpe women. Unfortunately, stubbornness was yet another inherited attribute, and it had seen Maya persit on alone.

“What should I do?” Kami looked back to the doctor, aware that she was well at the end of her tether. Since her return to Tadath mid-mission her sleep had been sparse and she'd been constantly on edge, “What do you think I should do?”

The doctor's facade of control wavered yet again at the plea in the question, “Well...this will be hard to hear...but I think you should consider allowing us to turn off the life-support.”

Kami reeled back visibly. She'd known for a while that euthanasia was the only probable option. It was simply something she'd been trying to avoid thinking about.

“I wouldn't suggest it if there was anything positive showing in the test results,” The doctor continued quickly, attempting to explain himself, “I also understand that you might want to take some time to consult friends and other family members before...”

“Turn it off.” Kami's voice was hard, her expression settling into the implacable mask that had served her so well over the years of her military service, “You have my consent.”

Surprise registered in the doctor's features, “But...are you sure you don't want to consider-”

“I've made my decision,” Kami interrupted again. Ignoring the questioning gaze of the doctor, she walked over to the bed to look down on her mother for the last time. Her rich chestnut hair was now completely streaked with gray, her once beautiful face ravaged with the wear and tear of a difficult life. She hadn't been a good mother. But then again, she hadn't had much of a chance. A brutal husband had seen to that. Kami lifted her hand, meaning to rest it on the side of Maya's face. But she hesitated mid air, her fingertips hovering above the curve of her mother's cheek. Then, without a word, she turned and walked from the hospital room.

It was official. Now she was well and truly alone.

*        *        *        *        *        *

It tasted like whiskey. But then again, Kami didn't really care what it was. It was doing its job. Numbing her up from head to toe and turning her sharp thoughts into sluggish ignorable aspects in her mind. She'd almost thrown her entire military career away over her addiction to booze, and that threat had prevented her from getting well and truly hammered since. Until now. In her mother's cold, dark and empty apartment.

She examined the holotransceiver she'd moved over from the bookcase to the coffee table. It was an older model. Somewhat dusty with disuse but still functioning. She knew she should wait until morning. When she was sober and capable of composing herself more adequately. But she wouldn't. She wanted him to see her like this. Like she was through and through. Clearing her throat to free up her voice, Kami punched in the relevant designation code then shifted the small lens about so it would capture most of her upper body. Her makeup would be fine. She knew that. It was the one vanity she had allowed herself to maintain after the whole hellish day.

The machine whirred once...twice...before the speakers crackled to life, “The person you are calling is currently unavailable. To leave a message, wait until after the beep. Otherwise, please try again at a later stage. Thank you.”

She waited, her grip tightening about the bottle she held out of view. The machine seemed to stall for a moment, before letting out a sharp high pitched beep. Pulling in a deep breath, Kami forced herself to focus on the lens,

“I know you're angry at me. I've gone ahead and thrown you head first in the deep end work wise. I hope you know that was never my intention. I pulled you back because I missed having you around. But the success you've had since then has been all you. And I know that somehow you'll have managed to turn things around and get it all functioning. That's what you're good at. That's why you'll make such a fabulous commanding officer.”

She paused, glancing out the large window to Tadath's night sky for a moment to compose her thoughts. After a moment, she continued,

“You might be on the same planet as me at this very moment. Or you might be off god knows where  on some mission. Either way, I hope this reaches you before you get official word. I resigned this afternoon. Cosmic was adamant that I should stick around but I wouldn't budge. He couldn't understand why I would want to give up a veritable lifetime of military service. He argued that it was just my reaction to my mother's death. Said it was perfectly understandable in the face of my grief. But I know you'll understand why I've done what I've done. My family has dictated my way of life until now. And now they're gone. Now I have to decide what it is I really want to do with myself.”

Kami hesitated again, trying to conjure up the face that would eventually receive the message before the metallic lens, “I just wanted you to know that I was ok. I should have contacted you earlier, but things have moved quickly downhill since I arrived here. Despite...all this...” She gestured vaguely with one hand in the air, encompassing her body in a single sweeping gesture, “...despite how confused I am about where I'm going right now, I still want you around. I still want you in my life, even if I end up on the other side of the galaxy. I hope you feel the same way. If not, well, that's an option I don't even want to think about right now.”

The transceiver beeped again, announcing that her time had run out.

Kami slumped forward, cradling the bottle to her chest. There was so much she hadn't been able to say. She hadn't even been able to ask about Jester, and whether or not her strange little military family was alright. She hadn't been able to tell him how scared she was. She was on new ground, unmapped terrain. She had no clue where she'd go from here.

The next mouthful of the liquor became a large gulp, until suddenly, she was downing the bottle in a steady rhythm. When the supply ran dry she looked quizzically into the empty bottle through the head. It took a few seconds for her brain to register that she wouldn't be getting any more of the precious material unless she moved from her position on the couch. But her legs were incredibly leaden, and suddenly, her head was too.

Allowing her body to collapse backwards onto the tattered material of her mother's lounge suite, Kami gave up her fight with the real world and gave in to the blissful blackness of unconsciousness.

She would deal with it all tomorrow.

*        *        *        *        *        *

The steady beeping of her personal comlink sounded directly in time with the throbbing of her head. Kami opened one bleary eye, then another, momentarily confused by her surroundings. A bleak midday light streamed through the window opposite her to bath her lower body in a gentle heat. It was caressing. Comforting even. An invitation to go back to sleep.

The beeping continued, distracting her from further thoughts of rest. With a string of swear words typically reserved for the most foul mouthed of brigands, Kami swung her legs over the side of the couch and pulled herself up to a sitting position. She gave herself a moment for the intense spinning of the room to slow before stumbling over empty bottles to the kitchen counter.

She forced herself to read the message that flashed up from the small screen slowly, least she encourage her stomach to expel her meager dinner from the night before. Tilting her head in bewilderment, she forced herself to re-read it to ensure she hadn't conjured up the whole thing in a semi-drunken stupor.

Kams. Heard on the circuit that you're out of work. Have something you may or may not be interested in. Give us a call when you feel you're able. Sorry to hear about your mother. – Snipes.

Maya had died in the previous 24 hours. And at the last Kami had heard, Snipes was serving in the ranks of Jester. To have access to intel this quickly suggested something had drastically changed since her departure.

Her curiosity aroused, Kami stumbled back through the tornado of bottles to where her small duffel bag was resting. Stuffing the strewn contents back inside, she paused to swallow a dangerous amount of painkillers then swept swiftly out the door of the apartment and down the staircase leading to the street beyond. She knew she probably looked like shit, but it was only a ten minute walk to where her personal Advanced Tie Fighter was docked. She'd fix herself up and call Snipes on the way. Whatever it was that he was offering, she was sure she would take it. Anything was better than another day wallowing in self-pity and grief.

Even if the name Snipes was generally synonymous for disaster.

"Hubris. You're going in to fast, pull up. I say again, Pull up!"

The message was ominous for those who weren't near a forward viewing portal. The space station had gone from barely distinguishable to monolithic as the crimson freighter sped towards it. The blue glow that emanated from the stations main hanger into the surrounding bleak, nothing  was speckled with barely distinguishable dots that darted around. The civilian defenders had braced themselves for boarding parties but not kamikaze runs, and as they watched the freighter approach many lost their nerve.

The twi'lek bobble dancer on the dashboard was jiggling considerably as the stations defenses continued to exploded around them. From the pilots seat it was an amazing sight. Bright flashes of green and red with the occasional orange flying past at incredible speed. Roland fidgeted in his seat as they grew closer, his anticipation evident on his face. His pilot however simply bore a confident grin, his experiences with hostile fire had always tended to end poorly but there was a first time for everything. Their technician, Seb, had curled himself up in his room between the workstation and his bed. His hands were trembling uncontrollably and the occasional whimper passed his lips. He'd never felt fear such as this before, it paralyzed him and caused a flood of memories to blanket his mind.

Then everything ceased...

Cautiously he opened his eyes. A pristine silence had befallen the ship. Perhaps he was dead... maybe this is what death felt like... just silence. He touched both his hands to his face, he was still trembling slightly. With a trembling hand he touched the desk next to him, then the floor... the ever-present hum of the engines had ceased. Perhaps they had landed. Slowly he got to his feet.

"Hold on, kids. This is gonna be rough!" Donovan called over the Comms before activating the emergency breaks. A series of rockets that fired in the opposite direction to which the ship was traveling in an attempt to slow it. For a brief second Sebastian was weightless, floating across his room as if the artificial gravity had failed. It didn't last long, the gravity returning from its brief absence and throwing him hard up against a wall. A succession of cheer's and cry's echoed from the cockpit , being immediately drowned out by an earth-shattering 'crunch' noise followed by a long scraping sound of metal against metal.

"End of the line, Door's down on Three."

"One..."

"Two..."

The call of three was muffled over the roar of twenty or so pirates charging out of the lower deck. The stations artificial lighting flooded the poorly lit freighter dazing the occupants momentarily as they spilled out. The Milita who still retained their nerve's gave a cry and opened fire. The Hubris was peppered by inaccurate turret and light weapons fire as was the marauding pirate group. Almost half were cut down before they had made it ten feet from the cargo bay. Their corpses distributed in an increasing arc the further they made it.

"Donnie... you alive?" Roland groaned in his seat. A low chuckle indicated that he was, much to Roland's relief. He didn't want to spend a day cleaning pilot guts from the captain's chair.

"Forty four crashes, still kickin' " his pilot chuckled in exhaustion as he pulled himself out of his seat. "If you'd like to find yer' balls, there's looting to be done." he muttered, stretching and cracking his knuckles.

It took a few moments for Roland to collect himself. It'd been to long since his last near death experience, though it was the adrenaline high that followed one that he truly missed. Donovan reached under his seat and removed a shotgun, running a nurturing hand across the length of its barrel. Roland drew a machine pistol and cackled,

"Its not the size, its how you use it"

"All Killa', no filla'." His pilot retorted, pumping the action of the shotgun. The two made their way down to the lower decks, firstly to collect their technician/pack mule and secondly to make sure all the pirates had vacated the ship.

"Kid, we're lea-" Roland called as he bashed on Sebastian's cabin door, stopping when he heard the feint groan that echoed from inside. "Honey, are you alright?" he queried as he stuck his head in, discovering the crumpled, whimpering and barely conscious Seb hard up against a wall. "Balls" he stated. "I think we broke him" Donovan let out a quick laugh before motioning Graves to shake a leg.

"Now" he exclaimed in a stern, maternal voice to the incapacitated technician. "while your mother and I are out. Don't you go throwing any wild parties"  Sebastian groaned painfully again in response. "Buck up champ, we'll bring you back something nice" his captain finished before racing after Donovan. As he exited the freighter Roland grimaced. It was not a pretty site. The carcasses of both civilian and pirate mingled on the ground as if it was some sort of bizarre get together, minus the party hats and cake. The sounds of weapons fire and screams could be heard coming from the area's ahead of them, area's which they were now going to avoid. Neither were to keen embarking on a killing spree. Sure, if the need arouse they would certainly drop any misguided individual who threatened them, but actively seeking out victims seemed a bit... sadistic.

As his mother had always said, 'Make hay while the sun shines'. Though Roland pondered if that also included artificial light, and if blatant theft could be considered hay... either way, there was a considerable amount of looting that needed to happen and a rapidly shrinking time frame in which to do it.

Roland dropped to his knees and gazed up in awe. His machine pistol slipped out of his grip and clanked onto the floor next to him. He was transfixed by its monolithic, symmetrical beauty as it towered over him. Gradually he rouse to his feet and approached it, wrapping his arms as best he could around its wide berth.

"Its... mineee" he mumbled as he rubbed his face against the warmth emanating from the neon sign. 

A door at the other end of the hall slide to one side, allowing the burly pilot through. A bed sheet full of borrowed goods slung over his flabby shoulder, the barrel of his shotgun tapping the floor rhythmically each step he took.

"Graves, you rea-" he began as he hastily checked the corridor for signs of life, his sentence ending early as his eye's landed on his captain. "...Uh... Graves?" he called before approaching him. The man seemed to be under some kind of hypnosis. Though that didn't explain why he was embracing the Cola-dispenser.

Placing the bed sheet full of swag at his feet, Donovan proceeded to inspect the situation, his eyebrows raising in tandem as he completed a full circle around Roland. "Graves..." he sighed, giving the man a sharp nudge, "We'd best be hitting the long dusty trail... I'd rather not be a trophy on some Civi's mantel piece." With a frustrated sigh he attempted to relinquish Rolands grip on the dispenser but a low growl from the man made Donovan think twice.

"We'll, fine.. stay here. I hope you two live long and full lives..." Donovan sighed, retrieving his bed sheet. He hadn't moved two steps before Grave's grabbed a tight hold around his wrist.

"We're taking this with us..."

Donovan shook his head as he attempted to free his flabby wrist to no avail. It was becoming clear that he wasn't going to be leaving this corridor anytime soon. Roland was a man who once he had his mind set on something, it would take a little more then a few logical statements to bring him around. 

"You're carrying it then" Donovan stated bluntly, "I ain't throwing my back out lugging a soda-tower around a hostile space station." Roland snapped, throwing an extended index finger forward.

"Then think of a way! I refuse to leave her to the mercy of these ruffians."

-----

"Kid!" a voice called, though he couldnt tell where from. "Kid... Dammit, if you're sleeping I'll tear your heart out and force feed it to you"

Seb gave a moan, rubbing the front of his head. The world was still steeped in a slowly vanishing darkness, but he doubted whether or not he had the strength to rise up and enter it.

"Count of five, if you aren't on the Comm's I'm selling you to a slaver"

Strength or not. He was going to have to reply to that message... lest he incur the wrath which was Roland Graves. Shakily he got to his feet and scanned the floor for his Comm, surprise when he found it still in one piece as the flimsy ear-piece's had a tendency to break after a fall. A fact he had discovered on more then one occasion.

"Ca...Captain, Seb here." he stated with a severe lack enthusiasm.

"He Lives!" Graves cried over the Comm, the line crackling as he reached one of the higher notes. "Now, grab the cargo-dolly out of the lower deck and meet us.. uh" the line went quiet as Roland went to check where he was, "Cafeteria. Chop Chop"

Sebastian wasn't ready for what he witnessed as he dragged the cargo-dolly down the landing pad. Corpses lay in a wide arch that stretched across the length of the hanger, the floor in between them smeared with blood. He felt his breakfast beginning to climb up the back of his throat, but taking a second look at his previous meal would have to wait. The station was still swarming with civilian milita and pirates, either of which could and probably would kill him on site. As there was nothing to distinguish him as either. With a deep breath he crossed the hanger and entered the first of a series of hallways. The scene was no better. Again the corpses of both civilians and pirates lay scattered along both walls, which were also pocked with projectile and laser fire.

Taking another deep breath he pressed on, following the signs that pointed him in the direction of the cafeteria. Low moans could be heard as he passed bodies of the mortally wounded and dying. Apart of him wanted to help, but another part asked what he could possibly do.

"You have a few friends over? To easy, pop a few cold ones out of this baby and let the good times roll" He immediately recognized the voice. Its overconfident and deceptively eager tone had echoed through the corridors of the Hubris since the day he joined.

"Well its about Fuckin' time!" Roland exclaimed as he caught the first glimpse of his technician hurrying towards him with the cargo-dolly in tow. "What. Did you stop and write your memoirs before heading out?" Graves asked rhetorically.

"Uh.. Sorry captain, I was bus-"

"Captain Graves... Not Captian, Not Graves. Captain Graves" he stated irately, tapping thusly on the technicians head.. "But I don't have time to belittle you at the moment, so we'll take a rain check. Now, get this fine piece of consumerism back to my ship ASAP"

Seb lowered his head and nodded. He wondered how he ever got stuck on a ship run by someone as cruel as Roland, and why he hadn't already left and found employment somewhere else. The dispenser barely fit on the small cargo-dolly but he could still manage it. Roland refused to offer a hand in placing it on, merely standing back and watching as the young technician struggled.

"Huzzah!" he cried as Seb took a few well deserved seconds to relax. He had just closed his eyes for a moment when a blaster went off, sending him diving for the nearest cover. Both Donovan and Graves were chuckling as he got back to his feet, a smoking blaster pointing towards the ceiling in his captains hands.

"You flinch to easy kid, but you get credit for the dive" Donovan observed. Roland twirled the blaster in his hand briefly before throwing it back down in its holster. Missing it and sending the weapon to the floor, and the eye's of his crewmen onto him. The corridor went silent as each man pondered whether they should say something. It wasnt often that Roland failed, but that still didn't make it a good idea to pull him up when he botched something.. the man had a tendency to hit those who did.


"What... Fuckin' get to it!" he ordered as he kicked the blaster out of frustration. Neither of his crew said anything, but exchanged looks before they began the trek back to the ship. Roland cursed under his breath as he fumbled the blaster off the floor and back into its holstered before catching up to his crewmen.

Stix pulled his fighter in a tight arc, pulling in behind a Z-95 that had somehow managed to get on the tail of one of his pilots. Unfortunately the Z-95 pilot was rather good, and stayed close enough on his target’s six that Stix couldn’t get a clear shot. He didn’t want to blow up another Heartbreaker by mistake, after all.

Well, if the Z-95 pilot was good, then the Heartbreakers were just gonna have to be sneaky. Keying his throat mic, Stix spoke quickly, filling in his wingman on the details of his hastily developed plan. “On my mark, immelman hard and then dive. Give it full thrust,” Stix said, pausing for a second before amending his previous statement. “Actually, better just dive. Or something. Just get the hell out of the way so I can blast him.”

The friendly pilot didn’t seem too enthused about the plan. “Er, if you say so boss. Just hurry up. I don’t know how much longer I can keep avoiding his fire.”

Stix didn’t bother answering that. He flexed his hands around the flight sticks, held his finger over his laser trigger, and rested his thumb on the targeting controls. When he was ready, he began the countdown. “Alright, on my mark,” Stix said. “Three…two…one…NOW!”

Stix’s wingman did as he was told, throwing his ship into a spiral dive that would have made Stix sick to his stomach if he had been paying any attention. As it was, however, Stix was concentrating fully on his target, and as soon as his wingman was clear he manipulated the targeting dial slightly, received a rewarding beep signifying a target lock, and depressed the laser trigger. Red bolts shot out of the twin heavy laser cannons mounted on either side of the StarViper’s cockpit. As Stix watched, the first couple of lasers missed their mark, but it didn’t take long for the targeting computer to correct that slight mistake. The next six or seven bolts hit the Z-95 square in the engine bank, tearing through the light shields and armor and instantly vaporizing the enemy ship. Stix let out a whoop of delight as he zoomed around up the debris. The Z-95 pilot had been good, but not good enough.

That was Stix’s fourth kill of the day. Two of those had been the lightly armed and armored Z-95s, but two had been more formidable Preybirds. Still, the Preybirds were piloted by civilian agencies, same as the Z-95s, and as an ex-Navy pilot Stix found them rather easy prey. It wasn’t that the civvies were bad pilots, they were just simple pilots, although in space combat they often ended up amounting to the same thing.

The Heartbreakers had been joined by another six fighters (the Sand Panther fighter group) shortly after the fight began. Together the two squadrons had done extremely well against the police and defense forces in orbit around the station. Only one Z-95 remained, and only three Preybirds could be seen on the scanners. What few capital ships had been fielded against the pirate fleet had quickly been destroyed or scared away. In effect, there was nothing left in space to prevent the unadulterated plunder of the station and its loot. Stix checked his scanners one more time, and finding nothing of any real importance he decided to pursue the four fighters that remained.

“Alright boys,” he said over the Heartbreaker channel. “Let’s go hunt the rest of these bogeys down. On me.”

His wingmen did as they were told, forming up behind Stix, who set a course directly for the nearest enemy fighter, which happened to be a Preybird that was limping slightly. It appeared to have taken a stray blaster bolt to one of its engines.

Poor thing, Stix thought to himself. I guess we’ll just have to put it out of its misery.

Screams and shouts echoed down the hallway as Tanus came running up it. He brought the end of his hammer up, smashing a guard full in the face with the weighted end of the massive weapon; a sickening crunch told Tanus that the man would not be getting back up to retaliate. As they ran down the hall, shooting blindly at him, Tanus pulled out his gun and fired, sending a hail of bullets down the now blood covered hallway. Three of the guards fell down, lifeless, while the other two made it, albeit one wounded. Tanus started to walk down the hall, spinning his hammer in his hands when he heard a voice call out behind him.

“Ya know lad, you may want to leave some for us. My boys get a tad pissed off then they have nothing to kill.”

As he turned around, pistol drawn, what Tanus saw was both awe inspiring and absolutely terrifying. Before him stood 12 men – well, as close to what men could be in full combat armor. They are wore a mishmash of armor pieces, ranging from suits of 210 Personal to AV-1A Heavy Assault armor. Most of them were carrying large axes or swords, and saw a few hammers mixed in as well; Tanus even spotted a pair of men wielding a vibrosword and DT-57. Immediately, he knew who he was dealing with.

“Well, Marcus, it was a pleasure you could make it, but as you can see, I have things handled here, so why don’t you take your boys and scamper off. I hear there’s a sandbox somewhere near the galley where the kids can play.”

Tanus saw one of the men closest to him make a move to raise the axe above his head, but Marcus stopped him; Tanus just smirked as Marcus stopped him with a sharp slap to the chest with the flat of his blade. Sure, I may have died, but damn it would have been worth it. Marcus continued as if nothing happened.

“I’m just going to ignore that. At any rate, Snipes and the others are running around, presumably looting something killing anything that moves. Well, since that seems to be our department among the others, I’d rather not give it up. We’re coming with you, whether you like it or not.”

Tanus just sighed. Well, maybe they won’t be a total detriment to my slaughter. Hell, maybe I can use one as a shield. Worse comes to worse, they get in my way, I beat them with the hammer and call it collateral.

Tanus relinquished one hand from the shaft of his hammer to Marcus, who took it in a shake.

“Fine, you’re coming then I guess. Just try to keep up with me; I’m not slowing down to appease the tanks. Oh, and one more thing: Don’t shoot me.”

Tanus started down the hall, hammer in his hands and gun resting in its holster. He turned his head down the hall to see six more guards behind a barricade. Well, at least they’re starting to use cover this time. Tanus turned around to Marcus, who was wiping gore off his blade. The other were doing something similar, or at least flicking bits of skull off of their armor.

“Do you have any heavy ordnance? Because I don’t much feel like running behind your men for the duration of this trip. Besides, I haven’t filled my blunt force trauma quota yet.”

Marcus just smirked and held out his hand. Somewhere behind him a thermal det appeared in his hand. He started to prime it and moved in front of Tanus. As he tossed it down the hallway and slammed his back up against the wall, Marcus just started to mutter:

“Bloody newbies. They never come as equipped as they need to.”

Tanus ignored it as a thunderous roar of fire and death took the hall. There wasn’t even time for the guards to scream as they were torn apart by the blast. Tanus poked his head to see the barricade ripped to shreds and pieces of bodies strewn about the hall. The gore didn’t so much as make Tanus blink. As he walked down the hall, Marcus jogged up next to him and kept his pace.

“So the word on the street is that you’re a soldier such as our fearless leader.”

Tanus nodded. “Aye, that’s true. I lead Blackjack squad back for the army.”

“Oh, do you now? And what exactly does this little Blackjack squad do for the grand army of the Vast Empire?”

“Same thing your men do, only we’re better at it.”

Marcus just chuckled. “Ya know, Tanus, pride goeth before the fall. Best keep your ego in check.”

Tanus started to laugh; he was beginning to like Marcus Torrel.

“Ego? No, no. This isn’t ego. This is plain fact.”

They walked up to a door that was locked from the outside. They both stopped before it and gave it a look and then smirked.

“Would you like to take this, or shall I?” Tanus asked, clenching the grip of his hammer.

“By all means, soldier boy.”

Tanus stepped back and off to the side and raised his hammer. Center point of the door should bring it off nicely. He brought it down with meteoric force, crushing the door in and sending it off its sliding frame. He heard a scream as the door crushed a man behind it. He strode into the room, hammer in his hands and wicked smile on his lips.

“Honey, I’m home!”

The other two guards rushed to meet him, but Tanus made short work of them. One was knocked back to the far wall, a massive indent in his chest and blood pouring out of his mouth. Marcus and some of his men were walking in just as Tanus was removing the spike from the second soldier’s head. As he was wiping the bits of brain and skull off his spike, Marcus chuckled and reached for a crate and opened it up; Tanus had no idea what it was, but if it was loot, it didn’t matter.

“Ya know, if it weren’t for you being a soldier, I’d say you were a halfway decent outlaw.”

Tanus didn’t so much as change as blink. “No, I’m just half mad. Let’s finish up here and keep going. I have more loot to find.”

"We're lost" Seb observed as the trio entered a corridor which looked suspiciously similar to the one they had just left not five minutes ago. Every floor on the station was a mirror image of the previous, the rooms where different and occasionally the markings would change but apart from that they were all connected by identical, sterile corridors. The trio however, despite being navigational impaired continued on.

"Aha, quarters. See I told you we weren't lost" Roland cried excitedly, pointing at a rectangular plaque on the wall.

"That's quarters, level four... The ships on level nine"  Seb corrected causing Roland to stop dead in his tracks and turn.

"Is that so" he quiried with a deceptive smile, drawing closer and closer to the exhausted technician, "Because, and correct me if I'm wrong, because I clearly remember-" he began, ceasing his advance a few inch's off Sebastian face. "-No one asking for you're OPINION!" beads of spit hurtled out of the mans mouth, lightly spraying against  the face of a very frightened Seb. The man held his position just to make sure there were no further comments from the technician. A timid whimper signaled that Roland had made his point. Immediately his menacing sneer changed in an almost psychotic smile as he threw both his arms out to the side and strode away triumphantly.

"Do ya' see what happens when we all just settle our differences and get alo-"

His statement was cut short by the sound of a blaster pistol activating. The looks of shook and surprise from his two crewmen signaled that they where shocked and taken by surprise. Roland however remained optimistic and with a slight swagger he spun to face the source. His cheerful smile remained though his arms dropped as his eye's gazed across the small platoon of civilians and militia, each brandishing a firearm or a blunt object. 

"The codes for your ship, your weapons... now" a fresh faced, though clearly terrified militia ordered. Roland refrained from moving immediately. It was always important to test the will of your opponent before making an decisions, one of two practices that he picked up early on in his freelancing career.

"I.. I said hand them over!" the Militia ordered sternly, shoving the laughably small holdout blaster further into his opponents face.

"Ro- Roland.." Seb murmured, "Just give him the codes and you're weapons.."

"You'd better do what he says... I.. I've killed people you know" The Militiamen added, glancing back at his entourage. Roland took the opportunity to glance over as well. They were all like him, fresh , sort of pale with an identical look of terror smeared across their face. Another tense moment passed before Roland jerked his hand slightly. His attackers all jumped with the leader again shoving the holdout blaster into his face.

"Just going for my gun, you wanted me to drop it... didnt you?"

The Militiamen bobbed his head nervously, "Yeah... an- and the codes to your ship"

Rolands smile grew slightly, "Codes?... what Codes?"

His statement had produced the desired effect as it caught the Militiamen off guard. "The codes!, The ones that activate your ship!"

Sheepishly Roland looked back towards Donovan and Seb, shrugging calmly. "Don't have the faintest idea on what you're talking about. Sorry to disappoint" The stress of the situation had finally gotten to the Militiamen. Roland watched as the mans face twitched, it was a twitch that signaled the end of their little exchange. For the final time the holdout blaster was thrusted towards his face. Graves waited until the man had extended himself enough before smacking his arm out of the way, his reaction times clearly inadequate as demonstrated by the blaster firing into the wall next to him. With his balance thrown Roland pressed on with his gutsy maneuver, Spining the man around before grasping him firmly around the neck, in effect making him a human shield.

His compatriots, all startled and caught off guard by the sudden change of dominance did the only thing a group of frightened young adults with readied firearms would do... fire wildly at the closest target.

The Militiamen's body jiggled and twitched as both projectile and blaster fire ripped his chest open. His body armor and body mass did an excellent job at protecting Roland from the wall of fire as smaller caliber bullets failed to pass through the biological shield. In the brief few seconds that it took each of the six man entourage to empty their magazines or realise what had taken place Donovan had dropped his bed sheet of swag to the ground and pumped a round into his shotgun as he charged the group. Seb, with an almost girlish cry, dived for cover behind the monolith of relative safety that was the Cola machine. The young technician praying to any god that would listen as he curled up into a ball.

Roland released the body. Its burnt and bullet ridden mass crumpling to the floor in a sickening fashion. His smirk returned as the machine pistol that sat holstered on his right thigh found it ways into his hand, which raised it up. He tilted the pistol horizontally so that the kickback would give a level spread of the corridor, a technique he had once heard referred to as "Bandit shooting".

With out a word he let rip with a hail of bullets, emptying its one hundred round magazine in a little less then ten seconds. The half dozen Militiamen cried and attempted to scatter as the hail of bullets tore through them. Then as the cry's of agony ceased the weapon gave a noticeable 'click' and it was over. 

Seb opened his eye's when he realised that the shooting had stopped. There was no telling who had won, if in fact anyone had won at all. So, with a deep breath he cautiously peaked out from behind the vending machine. The corridor was darkened by a stray shot that connected with a light panel which combined with the light fog created by the weapons only granted him the view of a single silhouette. He watched as the figure spun the pistol on his finger before holstering it,

"And that." His captain announced, as he turned to face his crewmen "Is why we don't mess with Roland Bartholomew Graves" Seb watched as the smoke cleared, revealing the gleeful smirk that was pasted across the mans face, "Now, lets go. I don't think I can pull that off again"

Blood shot out of the man’s mouth as Tanus caught with the hammer head in the chest and slammed him against the wall. The crunch that followed was a sure sign that he was now a dead man. He drew his Model B and fired down the hallway as Blade Team was bust ripping into the doors, food stores and wall panels, trying to find anything that they could salvage as loot. He slammed a fresh clip into his pistol as blaster fire hit the wall next to him.

“You know, Marcus, a little help might be appreciated here!” Tanus shouted as he fired down the hallway.

Marcus turned around and smirked as he grabbed a large sum of credits from a box and stuffed them in his pockets.

“Why? You said you had it covered with the hammer. You said nothing of fire support.”

Tanus clenched his jaw and fired down the hall, hitting a man square in the face. He dropped to the ground, clattering his rifle on the ground as the others started to fall back down the hall. Tanus picked another target, a taller man with an older model E-11 and wearing a blast vest. Tanus pumped off three shots; two found their mark, one to the chest and the other to the arm. Now he had the others running. As he turned out of his cover, blood was already starting to pool around the two bodies. He turned around just in time to see Marcus coming out of a back room with both pockets stuffed with credits and a big smile on his face. Tanus wiped sweat off his head with the back of his hand and scowled; Marcus did not even lose stride.

“What, I TOLD you that you’d be fine. And look! You even killed two of them. It all worked out in the end.”

Tanus shook. “No. it wasn’t for my blunt force trauma quote. That was my ‘I-bloody-hate-the-people-I-work-with-when-they-don’t-help-me’ quota. See? There is a very distinct difference.”

Marcus shrugged. “It doesn’t much matter. We found a shit ton of loot in that storage room: credits, jewels, a couple of paintings and some good liquor. Figure we can haul it back to the Hound when we’re done here.”

Tanus shook his head; they had come a long way already and there was a good chance that guards were either on their heels or were covering the already attacked hallways.

“We can’t go back; I know that we’ll run into trouble if we do. What we need is a ship close by and one that can take a pounding should we need it. If this is a storage room, and if I know anything about space stations, then we are very near the hangar. My guess is that we will find something in there to accommodate our new findings. If not, then bugger the loot, I’m hauling ass back to the Hound and leaving the rest behind. I’m not risking my self for some coins and booze.”

Marcus stood there, his hand stroking his chin; Tanus saw the wheels turning as he did so.

“Well then, if that is the case, I can have my boys here take the crates and move them into the hangar. We can form a guard and move it in, find a ship and bounce. The worst thing we do is call in some support and get the hell out of here. Personally, I think a new ships would do nicely though.”

Tanus nodded. “Aye, that sounds good. But do you have any pilots or anything among you? I have a feeling swinging around an axe is not going to help us much when we hit vacuum.”

Marcus chuckled. I am going to hit this man. Tanus thought to himself.

“Of course we have pilots, and a few techs too. Just because we like to slaughter en masse does not mean we can’t fly a ship. We’ll get you your ship, don’t worry. Just help us get there in one piece.”

Tanus nodded. He pulled out his pistol and started up the column with Marcus to his left, who was holding a wicked assault rifle and a sword slung across his back. Eight members of Blade team we’re carrying the loot, including the paintings, while the remaining four formed the rear guard. They made their way down the hall, encountering no resistance as they looked for the hangar. It was not all that difficult to find in the end, with signs pointing them to the large door. As they approached, Marcus broke the silence.

“Hmmm. Seems to be they don’t want us here. Bloody door is locked tighter than Palpatine’s bedroom.”

Tanus looked to his left and saw a blue, glowing control panel near the door. He holstered his pistol and reared back, bringing his gauntleted fist down on the keys. He pulled it back as it started to spark and smoke. The door slid open as it did so. Tanus just shrugged.

“Well, now it’s not.”

Tanus did not wait for a response and walked in, brandishing his hammer as he did so. Strangely, there was almost no one in there. Three guards turned to fire on Tanus, but as soon as Marcus and Blade Team entered, they ran off, frightened like children. He looked around for signs of battle, and saw some near a large luxury yacht. Looks like we’ve been busy little pirates. And ambitious too. He walked towards the middle of the large hangar, trying to find something, anything that would get him, the cargo and Blade Team out of here in one piece. Then Tanus found it.

“Marcus, can your boys fly that thing?”

Marcus came over and looked at where he was pointing. He only smiled as he called names back to the group, who walked over to open the ramp.

“Yeah, I think we can.”

The vessel was a YZ-775 medium transport. It was designed for long range missions, and based on armaments, fully capable of surviving a scrap or five. It was a Silver and green model, and based on its registration seemed to come from the Colonies region. Well, now it belongs to me. Tanus helped load the loot on board ship and put it in the cargo hold, which was also quite large. As it got all settled, Tanus came up to Marcus.

“Listen, now that we have a ship, I think we can spare going back, now that we actually have a way to leave here and hopefully in one piece. Lend me three of your men so I can go back for more loot. Hopefully with this I can just buy a new bloody ship.”

Marcus laughed and nodded, pulling three men aside from the group and ordering them to follow Tanus; they trotted off, leaving Tanus to talk with Marcus.

“Aye, we’ll have the ship prepped so we can bolt at any time. We’ll wait for you to get back, but if things get too hairy, we’re leaving and heading back to the Hound’s staging area. You’ll have to find a way back on your own in that case. But, seeing as you’ve lived this long, I imagine you’ll be fine.”

Tanus nodded and ran off, leaving Marcus and Blade Team to their work.

Now let’s see what else I can steal.

Tanus forgot about the newest addition to people he ought to kill. Who the hell is that? Gotta say he has good taste though. That sword is beautiful. He whipped a guard across the face with his Model B, firing a shot right through the next guard’s face. The round sailed right through, pinging the wall behind him and cascading over the troops behind the fallen soldier with bits of blood, brain and bone. No time for the hammer now. They’re in too close. Thank the Gods for backup. Tanus pulled the M32 out of its sheath and proceeded to slice anyone that came in too close. Screams and shouts echoed down the hall as Tanus and the pirates cut down line after line of station guards. He stabbed a man in the stomach and twisted, twisting where the man’s liver was. He pulled it out and a red hot geyser of blood rushed out, falling on Tanus’ armor and running down its silver-gray finish. He slashed another guard in the leg, making quick work of the man’s light armor and artery. As he pulled back, bleeding and screaming, Tanus punched him in the throat, silencing him forever as he bled out and struggled for breath.

As he proceeded deeper into the seemingly endless wave of guards, Tanus seemed to forget about everything else: The loot, the ship, even the new mystery fighter. Bloodlust and adrenaline had taken their grim hold, and the guards would pay to satiate his thirst for death, drop by life-stealing drop. He sheathed his M32 as he kicked a guard back, sending him sprawling out into a group of guards behind him. He spun out his hammer in the half second before a guard brought the stock of his rifle down where his head had once been exposed. He caught the stock with his hammer and parried the blow, bringing the weighted end of the hammer to man’s temple. He fell over, blood pouring out of his nose and mouth; Tanus had no time to watch him fall, as he charged headlong into the remaining guards. He roared as he caught a man in the mouth with a vicious head butt. As he stumbled backwards, raising his hand to his presumably shattered jaw, Tanus swung his hammer wide, taking down three guards in a wave of bone shattering might and screams of pain. The others would suffer the same fate soon enough.

The Blade Team pirates he had with them were doing well, but what they were capable of was sheer brute strength; there was no finesse in their bloody work. Tanus, on the other hand, was a master. He danced around the bodies of slain enemies, bringing down his hammer in swift might on their heads and bodies. He ducked under the swing of a wide hook from a guard and brought the end of his hammer up in a sweeping arc, sending him off the ground and into the air. He fell with a crash as guards struggled to get back and at a safe distance to use their weapons. Not on my bloody watch you won’t. Tanus reached out with his hammer, feeling it as an extension of himself. He rammed the hammer head into a guard’s stomach, pushing him back into the wave of guards trying to get farther back. They all stumbled as the dead weight of a body crashed against them. Before Tanus could do anything, the remainder of Blade Team came up, hacking and slashing at anything before him. Well, so much for the coup de gräs. They sliced through armor, flesh and bone to the cacophony of screams and torrents of red hot blood. When it was over, Tanus swiped sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand and turned to the mystery man. We advanced forward, not knowing how capable the man was or what he would do next. With a curt nod, the pirate holding the gun to his head lowered it and kept it at his hip and drawn. Probably for the better. The man turned back to Tanus, his eyes pools of uncertainty and iron determination. This man is most definitely a soldier; I can tell by his stances and his moves. The question is from where? And what the hell is he doing here? Tanus initiated the conversation.

“So, I get that you’re here for… something. Question is why come here in the first place? I can guarantee you that people all throughout the region know about this.”

The man shrugged. “It seemed like I needed a get away from the job; hated taking it home with me. Turns out I even take it on a well needed vacation.”

Aye, most definitely a soldier.

“Well, if that’s the case, maybe we should get this settled. You obviously want to leave, and we obviously want the clothes on your back. So, you have two options: you drop everything you have and run which you may or may not survive. Or you stand here and act defiant, of which will surely kill you and I get your stuff anyway. Either way, it makes no difference.”

The man stood there, clearly amused by what was unfolding in front of him. He’s either an idiot, or very confident. Either way, it nets him a one-way ticket to the grave. The man stepped forward and unsheathed his sword; the pirate behind him raised his hand, but Tanus shook his head and the man lowered his pistol. Tanus took his hammer in one hand and spread the length of the shaft along his back at an angle, so the end came up near the left side of his head; his opponent brought the sword in a horizontal block across his chest. They were staring each other down, waiting for the other to open and make a bad move. Tanus, however, was a patient man.

“You know you’ve just signed your own death warrant right?”

The man shrugged. “Might be I have.” Then the man charged with surprising speed, bringing the blade up and over for an overhead cleave. Tanus brought his hammer up just in time to defend the blow. The force sent a wave through Tanus, but luckily he managed to keep his ground. Then the man grinned.

“Then again, might be I haven’t.”

Tanus gritted his teeth and pushed him off, sending the man back three steps as he thrust forward with the hammer. The man effortlessly parried the blade and came across with a vicious side strike. Tanus ducked and swung the hammer at his legs. He jumped over and back with his sword ready for Tanus’ latest attack. His hammer came down a furious wave of blows, and the man was hard pressed to block them all. Unfortunately, he was also fast, and managed to block every blow, one after the other until they parted, out of breath and sweating. Then it was the swordsman’s turn. He came at him lightning quick, swinging his blade in erratic patterns, and never cutting the same way twice. Tanus managed to counter and rebuke him twice and even despite reach and the lightness of his weapon, the swordsman pressed the attack, sending Tanus into a near desperate defensive stance. But Tanus knew better than that. This is what I’m trained for. If this bugger thinks he can finish me like this, he has another thing coming. Tanus caught the blade of the sword on his hammer, keeping it there for only half a second – and that was all he needed. He brought his fist in, landing a heavy shot to the shoulder. The man went off balance and the control of his blade relinquished slightly. At first, it all seemed as if Tanus would end it there – until a heavy fist caught him on the thigh. The blow stunned him, and they parted once more. He fights like a soldier and moves like a soldier. He even thinks like a soldier. Who the hell is this guy? Tanus barely had time to finish the thought.

The man came in hard again, bringing the sword across for a strike and Tanus’ neck. Tanus raised his hammer to block the imminent strike, but it was too late. A feint? Oh, this guy is… good. The kick hit him square in the leg where the knee connected the leg and thigh. As he went down, instinct took over. Tanus lashed out with his fist, hitting the man square in the stomach. The soldier had not expected the counter, and stumbled backwards as the air got knocked out of his lungs. He slammed the sword point into the ground and cursed as he tried to regain his breath. Tanus was busy cursing not seeing the blow coming. As he tried to get up, one of the Blade Team pirates stepped in front of him, axe barring his way. Oh, this will not end well… Tanus put on a smile for the armored hulk.

“Um, while I find this noble boys, I don’t think it is needed. The man is beaten. Now let’s just take his tuff and let him be.”

He heard a low chuckle from the once in front of him. Apparently he didn’t feel the same way.

“To hell with that. We’re taking his shit – and yours. We’ll tell Marcus you went down all noble-like. You’d like that, soldier boy.”

Tanus then slid the Model B from its holster and angled it up, clicking back the hammer of the pistol.

“Oh, that was not a smart thing to pull.”

Tanus pulled the trigger three times in quick succession. The rounds punctured the underarmor weave of the AV-1A armor and came out the top of his head. Blood and bone sprayed everywhere as he heard screaming from behind the falling hulk. When he finally did fall, it was with a crash and a violent shake as blood started to pour from the top of the man’s head. What he next saw made him smirk in satisfaction: the Mountain of a soldier had impaled one of the pirates with a hammer, and was kicking him off the blade. He looked over at Tanus and nodded his head. Tanus put the butt of the hammer on the ground and pushed himself up, shaking lose the numbness and pain. As the man walked over, he wiped the sword off and sheathed it while he drew his pistol. He raised it and fired. Tanus winced as it flew past his head, only to turn to the view of a falling pirate with a smoking hole where his face used to be. When he turned back, he could only formulate a smile.

“I knew I’d seen you before. You were never far behind when Angel came to call with squad news.”

The man extended a hand in a shake. “And I know you as well. You’re my boss when the other one goes off gallivanting. Pleasure to make your acquaintance Tanus Solvona.”

Tanus accepted his hand and shook it in friendship. “And you too, Jegora Fal. Now, if you don’t mind, let’s get the hell of this ship before anyone else has to die.”

Jeg nodded his head in approval. “I fully agree.”

With that, they sprinted headlong down the hallway, hoping to the Gods above that Marcus hadn’t left them behind.

The Heartbreakers had just finished mopping up whatever defense forces remained in the surrounding space when things took a turn for the worse. Stix’s first indication that something was wrong was when his sensors began to beep wildly, signaling that something was about to revert from Hyperspace. Then that something actually reverted from Hyperspace, and all hell broke loose.

Apparently a New Republic patrol had been passing by, because what appeared right in front of Stix’s StarViper was nothing less than two Nebulon-B Frigates, four CR-90s, and a heavily modified Quasar Fire-class Bulk Cruiser serving as a starfighter carrier. All of a sudden the Osk Company pilots found themselves outnumbered as two full squadrons of X-Wings and a squadron of old Y-Wings were dispatched from the carrier’s large hangars. Stix and his fellow Heartbreakers were instantly forced into defensive maneuvers, and it was all they could do to make it back to the relative shelter of the Osk Company main fleet.

Not only were the Company ships now outnumbered, they were also caught by surprise. The tables had been turned, and it was time to make their escape. Stix just hoped they could get away before they were all completely destroyed.

“All starfighters, this is the Charelotte,” said a voice that echoed suddenly through Stix’s cockpit. “We need you blokes to provide a screen while we get our people off the station.”

Stix shook his head. “No can do, Charelotte,” he said. “There’s way to many bogies out there. We need to get out of here pronto.”

“That’s a negative. Provide a fighter screen, or you won’t have a carrier or a port to dock on, and you can forget about getting paid,” the voice responded, sounding rather upset. Stix muttered an oath and keyed his throat mic, this time speaking to his five pilots.

“Alright boys, apparently we have to go get ourselves blown up. On me,” he said, turning his ship to meet the incoming enemy fighters head on.

Glancing down at his instrument panel, Stix saw that the enemy fighters would be in range within twenty seconds. Knowing that military pilots would never break protocol and fire out of range, Stix decided to fight dirty. Arming his proton torpedo launchers, Stix lined his ship up the best he could with the oncoming fighter wave. Uttering a small prayer to as many different deities as he could think of, Stix let the two proton torpedoes fly.

Somehow, his plan worked.

The torpedoes detonated almost right on top of the enemy fighter screen, the nuclear warhead contained in each of the missiles instantly vaporizing at least six of the fighters, damaging just as many, and scattering the rest. It was a miracle shot made out of pure desperation, and the Heartbreakers wasted no time in capitalizing on their enemy’s misfortune.

The StarVipers sped in, picking off the damaged fighters first with deadly accurate barrages of laser fire, and then turning on any of the New Republic fighters that failed to recover from the blast in a timely manner. After their first pass the Heartbreakers had managed to thin out the enemy fighters by almost fifteen ships, but that still left over twenty hostiles to take on the six Heartbreakers. As Stix and his men turned to joust the enemy once again, the seasoned pilot really hoped that the rest of the pirate fighters would hurry the hell up.

OOC:

Short, but I’m tired.

"Its..." Roland mumbled as he froze in place. The still warm machine pistol clattering to the ground for the second time in a day.

"Gone"

The crew of the hubris stood in a stunned silence as they reached the landing pad. The arch of bodies leading from the lower cargo bay was still horrifically evident, as was the streaks of red paint that were created on their less then stellar landing. Roland felt his knee's grow weak, dropping to the ground when they finally gave way. The realisation gradually began to sink in that his ship... his pride and joy... his only ride off the station... was gone and it might never come back.

Both Seb and Donovan kept their distance. Both had seen the man when things didn't go his way, it never went well for anyone in the immediate vicinity. A soft, almost indistinguishable sobbing sound began to emanate from their captain as he slumped further forward. Seb and Donovan exchanged worried looks though remained as silent as possible. Their captains sobs grew progressively louder before halting all together, the dull ambient hum of the station returning with its departure. Seb lent back on the drink machine, the well meaning and friendly part of him wanted to walk up and comfort the obviously distraught Captain... his friend, but the crewmen of the Hubris side of him advised against it. Still frames of every time he'd attempted to connect with Roland flashing into the forefront of his mind like a bad graphic novel.

It was a long fight but eventually the caring individual in him won out. Seb swallowed nervously as he made his way over to Roland. "Ca..Captain" he managed to stammer, cautiously placed a hand on his back, "It's okay..." For the moment it seemed as though his plan to comfort his captain was going to work. Roland went silent, again freezing in place with his hands hiding his expression.

It was as he went to open his mouth again that the distraught man removed his hands from his face, his head gradually tilting up revealing a cold and homicidal look smeared across it. Told you so' the part of Seb that was against this little bonding session announced with a disappointed sigh. Without a moments hesitation he removed the hand from Rolands shoulder and began to backup. Roland followed, rising slowly to his feet, a murderous twinkle apparent in his eye.

"He-Hey now. Lets just take a moment and assess the situtati-" Seb began, stumbling over one of the numerous bodies that littered the area.

Roland paused and lent back, placing his hands on his hips. "Assess the situation he says, take a moment he says..." Seb nodded nervously in the hopes that this bizarre little episode was just a ruse in order to scare the wits out of him.

"Yeah.. just ta-" Again Seb was cut short mid sentence, though this time his captain's composure had given way to an incoherent string of curses and shouting. It was clear who he blamed for the missing ship, the technician picking up the odd 'You' and 'lost my ship' followed by 'You'll pay'. All mixed in with a variety of colourful curse words both in basic and in languages he'd never heard before. It was in the midst of another long string of cursing and violent arm movements that Seb stumbled for a second time on a corpse, but unlike the first, he failed to regain his balance and landed flat on his back.

There was no time to pick himself up. Roland was steadily gaining on him, his arm movements and cursing growing more and more violent with each passing step. On a regular day Seb was threatened with death at least twice. Maybe more if it was a particularly bad day... but all those times he knew it was a bluff. This time was different. For the third time that day Roland drew his machine pistol and pointing it out in front,

"Start praying you sniveling shit!"

Instinctively Seb threw his arms in front of his face and squeezed his eye's shut. A useless gesture at best... but the shots never came. Hesitantly he opened his eyes, peaking through the gap between his arms. Donovan had replaced Roland, though unlike Roland he didn't have a machine pistol pointed in his general direction.

"You kids gotta' learn how to play nice... I cant turn my back for one second without you pulling something."

Rolands body lay crumpled over a another, the machine pistol still in hand. Seb remained frozen in place, his arms still fixed above him. It still hadn't dawned on him that Donovan had just saved his life by king hitting Graves.

"Well, get up and lets go." the pilot grunted as he threw the incapacitated captain over his shoulder.

"What will you do when he wakes up?" Seb managed to say as he shakily got back onto his feet. Donovan let out a chuckle that Seb mistook for a grunt,

"Hit him again..."

"But... well, you can't just keep hitting him. Can you?"

Again Donovan grunted, "Sharp kid. I'm not... eventually he'll come to his senses and stop trying to kill you. Just don't find yourself alone with the guy... he tends to hold a grudge" His death at the hands of Roland hadn't be averted, just put on hold until a more opportune time. A fact which made the future a very daunting place to be heading towards, but the present hadn't left either and all three were still stuck on a hostile space station with no way off...


A sharp nudge from the paunchy man bought him back to reality, "Dammit. Don't just stand there, go and find me a way to get us off this station. I see why Roland get's so mad at you..." Without hesitation Seb nodded and ran ahead to both find a ship or at least a way off and to distance himself from Roland. The man was going to wake up eventually and he wanted to be at least three rooms away before that happened.

Merrick took the bottle from Snipes’ hand and took a swig. “Hm, good stuff. How’s tricks my friend?” Without waiting for an answer, or an invitation, Merrick pushed past Snipes and took a seat on the couch in his cabin. He slowly closed the door and pulled up an armchair opposite, taking the bottle as she thrust it back his way. He stared at her for a while. Yup, it was definitely Merrick. Significantly more scarred looking and with a more amused expression on her face than he had ever seen, but it was her.

“You, too dumbfounded to speak? That has to be a first!” Merrick laughed to herself.

Snipes finally snapped out of it. “Tricks? Yeah, they’re good. Um. Where the hell have you been?”

Merrick shrugged. “Here and there, doing this and that. Nothing has kept me interested for very long. Seems when you’re not in the army, my kind of good time is looked down upon.” She grinned as Snipes chuckled.

“Wait.. how did you get on board?”

This time Merrick chuckled. “Well now that would just ruin the fun. Anyway, do you really care? I didn’t steal or damage her so what’s the point in asking?”

Snipes nodded while wondering if he had just been too busy or too tired to notice some obvious point of entry for his former superior.  “Hate to sound blunt but... what do you want?”

Merrick took the bottle back and took another mouthful of the whiskey. She shrugged. “Do I really need a reason? I’m rich, I’m bored... I need something to DO. You seem like my kind of people. Your lot have certainly made a name for themselves. I guess I was hoping you could find room for a bored ex General.”

Snipes stared at Merrick for a bit longer this time, trying to decide if she was serious or not. He realised though that she wasn’t the kind of person to ask a favour lightly, so chances were she was deadly serious. He quickly ran through his head a list of ships whose captains might need a... break... from their duties, but hadn’t finished when she spoke again.

“That’s not to say I want to command anything. I’m done with that. Just give me something where I can do some damage and have some fun.”

Well that made it easier, Snipes thought. “Well if you like I’m sure we can find a place for you among one of the boarding parties on the Hound. Just be warned that the living quarters aren’t exactly up to the standard of a General.” He was briefly surprised when she laughed and hid it by taking another mouthful of whiskey.

Merrick shook her head slightly. “Geeze Snipes, anyone would think I’d come to tell your that your favourite pet died. Stop looking so miserable, it’ll be fun. Or you can toss me on another ship, I really don’t care. I’d rather not make you uncomfortable...”

Snipes cut her off. “No, it’s not that at all. I’m just really surprised I guess. I’m happy to have you join the crew of course! I’m just a bit concerned that you’ll scare some of the others off.”

This time Merrick laughed loud and long. “Always a comedian Snipes. I’m not as scary as you all used to think. Wait and see!”

Snipes relaxed and smiled at Merrick. “It’s good to see you, it really is. Wanna come meet the unruly hordes? They’re er celebrating at the moment, so I don’t know if they’ll remember you, but anyway.”

Merrick grinned. “Sounds like I chose a good time to come aboard. Show me the party!”

Snipes nodded, put away the whiskey, lit a cigarra and opened the door to his room.  He let Merrick past into the corridor, closed the door behind them and led the way to the mess. He asked again as they walked what she had been doing since her retirement from the army but she only laughed and gave him nonsense answers. Snipes didn’t care, if she wanted to keep it private that was up to her.

They could hear the sounds of the crew’s merriment well before they reached the mess and Snipes started to think it might be a bad time to introduce them to Merrick. Oh well, what’s the worst that can happen?” he thought to himself, and then instantly regretted it. He puffed on his cigarra and stepped into the room, Merrick stepping in to stand beside him. It wasn’t until one of the crew members said hello to Snipes that the rest of the room realised he had entered. They all turned to greet him, but all their eyes ended up on Merrick. She grinned and waved, and before Snipes could introduce her the entire room erupted into cheers, laughter, whistles and lewd invitations. Merrick laughed and nodded to Snipes. “Unruly indeed. Where do I get a drink?” This brought new roars of laughter from the men close enough to hear as well as Snipes, especially when half the room offered her their drinks, regardless of how much was actually left.