Lunar Surface, Qetix IV

Lieutenant Rush Anarth’s crimson fighter raced across the lunar plane, continually contorting its flight path to match that of the rocky landscape. His Hunter’s ion engines moaned as they kicked up a steady cloud of dust behind him. A warning light flashed in his cockpit. The Corellian uttered a profane curse, clumsily slapping a wave of controls on his dashboard. Lights blinked out in the cockpit as the systems hastily powered down. Mako Nine collapsed to the ground with all the grace of an unfledged hawkbat falling off a Coruscanti skyscraper. Gritting his teeth, the man clutched his control stick as he attempted to manually land the craft. The starship roughly connected with the rock and dust of Quetix’s IV surface, jostling the man in the cockpit and kicking up a great cloud of dust to obscure the starry sky. The fighter skidded to an abrupt halt. Anarth tentatively let out a sigh of relief, caressing the dashboard of the fighter. Dust slowly drifted down to settle on the Inferno starfighter’s dorsal side in a thin, concealing coat.

Five minutes passed before he could hear the distinctive howl of Twin Ion Engines reverberate through the thin atmosphere and off the canyon’s walls and rocky outcroppings. Glancing upward, the Corellian searched for the craft through his partially obscured canopy. The narrowed his eyes when one of the craft revealed its telltale profile while starting a search grid. A Republic Tie? Antiquated piece of junk. These shouldn’t been be a problem. The man hesitated. Unless they call in some f’ing buddies. Frak it. Let’s do this sucka. He flipped all of the switches on the dashboard, turning the ship’s Bertiak combat jammer on in the process. The engines whined to life, kicking up more lunar dust in the process, further obscuring the opposing starfighters. Pulling the flight stick back, Rush goosed the Hunter/i’s nose up; orienting it with distant stars. He tapped another button, activating the ship’s twin scramjets. Mako Nine accelerated out of the gray cloud at breakneck speeds. When the scramjets cut out mere seconds later, Anarth broke hard to port, followed by a steady stream of orange bolts.

The two Ties converged together to form a flight pair and surged towards the Hunter, firing wildly. Rush brought up his HUD, highlighting the lead piratical fighter. He snapped out a flurry of cyan, ion cannon bolts at the duo. Each Tie immediately veered off in different directions in a gambit which forced the Inferno Fleet lieutenant to choose and a pursue a single target. Anarth’s lip twitched. That fighter seems too confident. Time to shatter that. The Corellian’s Hunter lazily veered off to follow the formerly lead Tie starfighter. The piratical fighter began to immediately jink around haphazardly as the Hunter steadily caught up with its prey. Anarth squeezed the second firing stud, filling the space between the two with cyan. The Tie haphazardly corkscrewed around the incoming bolts. Rush frowned. The craft might be outdated, but this guy sure knows how to fly it. The back of his craft shuddered under the impact of bolts from the other piratical fighter. The man sighed, diverting some of his forward shield power to bolster his rear defences. The Hunter and the lead Tie reached nearly point-blank range.

Anarth tapped the dual ion cannon’s firing stub. The twin pods of the Hunter sputtered out more bolts. Expertly side-slipping the attack, the lead Tie immediately veered to the left in a class Aerelion loop. Frowning, the Corellian pulled the joystick back and to the right, attempting to mimic the enemy pilot’s maneuver. F*** this. Not playing any more of these close-quarter, I can turn better than you can games. He slammed the stick hard to left, inverting his craft, and dived towards the moon’s surface, the second Republic Tie in close pursuit. Rush pulled the stick back, forcing his ship to pull up in a tight loop. The lead Tie had continued on its course, putting the pair of combatants several hundred meters apart. With the crosshairs not even lined up, Rush pulled the trigger. Ion bolts surged through the atmosphere around the lead Tie. The first trio of bolts surged over the craft, but those shortly connected with the minute starfighter. Blue tendrils of energy sprawled across the craft, occasionally raining down sparks. With the Tie’s radiators fried, it jerked to a dawdling pace. Rush tapped the first firing stub. Explosive tipped slugs smashed into the fighter’s side, tearing apart the solar panels before beginning to chew into the ball-shaped fuselage. Micro-explosions blossomed across the craft in a violent, time-compressed version of spring. The craft careened out of control to the surface, either from the inflicted damage or the pilot’s last death spasms. It struck with violent force, crumpling the remains of the fighter into a diminutive, dimpled ball and kicking another violent cloud of dust.

Anarth solemnly nodded, silently lamenting the death of another pilot skilled with his craft. But better him than me. His Hunter shuddered again from laser impacts on his rear shields. F*** you. Time to end this. The Corellian immediately cut all power to his engines, duping the lesser experienced pilot to overshoot him; a fatal mistake. A single concussion missile leapt forth to chase the pirate. At such at sort range, the missile connected with the Tie’s ion engines within seconds, before the other pilot could have even realized its presence. The spherical cockpit exploded brilliantly into a ball of incandescent gases, shaking off the solar wing panels with spectacular force. Scraps of metal, the solar panels, and any remaining parts of the starfighter leisurely sunk down to the surface to join the wreck of the first Tie. The Corellian expatriate silently saluted the downed pilots and veered off to orbit, to hyperspace, and the awaiting Armageddon’s Hammer.

Bridge, Bothan Assault Cruiser Armageddon’s Hammer, Deepspace

The crimson-clothed command crew of the Armageddon’s Hammer huddled around the bridge’s holo-projector, intently staring at a nominally flat plane of seemingly unending gray. Silence permeated group, save for a sole redheaded man who monotonously drawled on about his analysis of the image.

“…so if we strike here…and here, that should wrap up their point defences for a bit. From the recordings off of Mako Nine’s fighter, it appears that they have expanded the base’s original hangar bay to allow larger ships to enter.”

Dha’tey frowned and leaned back. “And apparently they’re very careless if they’re not only keeping the landing lights always on, but needlessly broadcasting in the open too.”

“They’re either overly confident or complete idiots,” acknowledged the intelligence officer, “but if I were to make an opinion, I’d say they’re overconfident. The pilots Lieutenant Anarth faced seemed to be good. At least the first one.”

Kre’fey snorted. “The only reason Anarth was able to pull that off was age of the enemy’s designs.”

“Not necessarily,” stated the human, “standard Republic Ties only carry one laser cannon, not two like the ones the good lieutenant faced.”

Dha’tey snorted. “So they appear to have been upgraded numerous times?”

“More likely built that way.”

Kolir stepped back. “Explain.”

The man tapped a button, pulling up a composite image of the enemy Tie formed from data downloaded from Mako Nine’s starfighter. Slowly, the fighter began to rotate in a circle, presenting its profiles to all the viewers. Murmuring to himself, the intelligence officer froze the picture and pointed at the fuselage.

“If this were a simple modification,” drawled the man, “this here area underneath the viewport would have been very scratched up or plated over, as the single laser cannon hardpoint of the original model is centralized, and the two cannons shown here are in the more typical positions of a Tie/ln. But as you see here, there isn’t as much as a scratch on that area. There’s nothing like a mismatching paintjob or a raise in the armor plating to signify that anything’s been done. If this where anywhere else, I’d chalk it up to them being built that way by their former owners. But this is Qetix IV, a significant Alliance starfighter repair base during the Galactic War. It could have been easily upgraded over the years to manufacture starfighters.”

“Which begs the question, my good Colonel,” mentioned the Bothan Commodore, “how exactly did these brigands find and a get a hold of the base?”

The man shook his head. “I only have speculation, but it could be that after the Civil War, the rebels there couldn’t adjust to a civilian life; the military and this base was all they knew, so they struck it out as pirates and mercenaries, like many other soldiers displaced out of their work. Alternatively, there could have been a criminal mole who had been recruited into the Alliance and revealed its location to his fellows. Those are my best guesses, since pirates wouldn’t even have a reason to be out here otherwise; and their chances of finding the base on its own should have been nil The only reason we know about it is because of our Alliance and Bothan Spy Network connection.”

“Agreed,” concurred Dha’tey, “we shall have to do something about this, like forge the base’s destruction by some natural calamity in any reference that we can find.”

“Already done,” replied Sei’lar, “I had it done nearly a month ago. Any records of the base and its existence in the few known Alliance documents have been changed to report that it was caved in by natural occurrences and covered in dust. In addition, there are no longer any coordinates or references to the base’s locations on any records; not there were many to start out with.”

“So Colonel,” questioned Dha’tey, “how soon should we conduct this little escapade?”

“Within two days at the very most. The pirates are probably questioning and searching for their missing comrades. They’ll be suspicious, and probably wondering if they were double-crossed by their old friends. They may try evacuating the base along with its equipment.”

“We can’t let that happen,” muttered Dha’tey, “not if we want to keep our starfighter fleet well-serviced.”

The Bothan Commodore turned his hazel eyes to Commander Thompson, the man in charge of the Fleet’s starfighter complement. Thompson gravely nodded.

“Three hours at the earliest. Some starfighters need to have their maintenance finished and the crews need to be prepped. In addition sir, I would like to know what we will do after space superiority has been achieved.”

The Bothan leaned back. “We can’t send in any capital ships in, as you may know in case one of Fossk’s or DMC’s ships show up. They’d be too easy to detect at even long distances. So instead shuttles and transports will be used to ferry marines across to the facility in order to capture it. Your starfighters will ensure that they reach their landing zones.”

Three hours later…

Three Flight of Mako Squadron, led by Mako Nine, dropped of hyperspace; the spearpoint of a large formation of Inferno Fleet fighters. Hunters formed the outermost ranks with a tight knit nucleus of Kalrechi Assault Fighters forming the center. The spearpoint hurled down to the moon in a determined descent. His body tingled with the rush of adrenaline from leading the charge, Lieutenant Anarth gripped the joystick tightly. He slowly raised it up, leveling out his Hunter’s dive.

“I have something at my scope, Target Sector 8,” reported Mako Ten.

“Confirmed,” acknowledged Rush, “their full-sprectrum transceiver profile matches those of the Republic Ties I encountered earlier.”

“There are other types,” reported Mako Leader, “some of those appear to have profiles very similar to Headhunters and Corellian light freighters.”

“Might be trying to evac then. I’m engaging my scramjets,” reported Anarth, punching a button on his dashboard.

The ship’s engines briefly sputtered as they inhaled the thin atmosphere, before ascending to otherwise unheard velocities. Through the viewport, everything appeared to be discombobulated blurs of black and gray. Voices played through his headset, but Anarth heed them no attention, instead glancing down at his sensor board, carefully monitoring his closing distance. As his Hunter entered within ten kilometers of the base, he cut out of his engines. Sheer momentum in the nearly zero-G environment continued to propel the craft at speeds which few fighters could ever typically obtain. Blurs slowly resolved themselves into a well-defined, celestial vista. The Corellian squinted his eyes, picking out tiny specks of a myriad of colors; all them cohesively floating and whirling about the base’s entrance. The pirates. They’ll notice me shortly…and I’m outnumbered. Which means it’s time for my games. He tapped a button; the engines of Mako Nine hummed to life. Taking a deep breath of heavily conditioned air, the Inferno pilot squeezed the top firing stud. The slugthrower directly underneath him rattled to life, spewing forth a steady stream of explosive-tipped rounds into the vortex of enemy fighters. Micro-explosions sparkled across throughout the piratical formation. Ties, headhunters, and freighters chaotically whirled out of the formation, nearly crashing into each other as they broke formation.

His warning light flashed on the dashboard. Rush tapped a button, pulling up his aggressor on the ship’s targeting computer. Another one of those odd Ties. The man shrugged. I’ve killed them before, I’ll do it again. Mako Nine hurtled through the remains of the piratical formation and looped upwards to engage his target. Space around him seemed to spontaneously combust. Anarth’s craft violently shuttered. The Corellian instinctively glanced down as his targeting screen. His piratical opponent wavered as his radiator panel was sheered off his wing pylon. The Republic Tie began to roll uncontrollably. More bright blue bursts slammed into the ship, enveloping it a series of blossoming blue fires. The other solar panel burned off as the ruined fighter plummeted to the unforgiving lunar surface. The man glanced to his portside, immediately spotting the armada of crimson-coloured Inferno starfighters. He shook his head. Of course.

Most of the elite Mako squadron had haphazardly charged through the pirates’ formation, wreaking destruction and confusion in their paths. Other squadrons had taken a more measured approach, under the watchful eye of Commander Thompson, who used the confusion wrought by his elites as an opportunity for uninterrupted mass fire tactics with the Kalrechis. While most Kalrechi pilots had a hard time using chain ion cannons on enemy fighters in one-on-one engagements, mass firing the weapons into a cloud of confused pirates was brutally simple and effective. Rounds designed for penetrating the skin of armored freighters and light warships penetrated through starfighter-grade armor like a lightsaber through warmed butter. Hundreds of CIC rounds tore up the formation, breaking ships like a rancor playing with a child’s toys. Those pirates which survived the onslaught immediately scattered; some attempting to flee the moon, others charging forward to engage the intruders. Those that attempted to fly away were immediately pursued and engaged by the faster Hunters of Inferno Fleet. Anarth picked out a pair of damaged Republic Ties and began his pursuit.

The enemy Republic Ties, designated Alpha One and Alpha Two by his targeting computer, constantly swirled around his viewport in a series of complex weaves and turns. Several seconds ago, Rush had given up on tracking them visually with his eyes; the opposing craft were too maneuverable and unpredictable for him to both observe and fly his Hunter at the same time. Instead, he focused on the simplified view of his targeting computer, which portrayed the two ships as a pair of red, blinking dots on a three dimensional grid. For some reason, it seems easier to follow and predict them like this. Maybe it’s not getting fooled by which direction they’ll go since the pilots seem to like spinning. Frak them, frak them hard. The Corellian shook the thought away. All right, time to stop fooling around. He tapped the second firing stub. Twin streams of cyan bolts erupted from his engine pods, lashing out at the piratical fighters. The lead pirate fighter frantically evaded the attack in a sidestep maneuver which almost collided the two allied Ties. Alpha One immediately veered up and to the left, intentionally drawing the Corellian’s fire. Simultaneously, Alpha Two cut back his throttle, dropping behind Mako Nine.

Anarth silently swore, directing all of his shield energy to the rear of the craft. Micro-seconds later, Alpha Two fired, unleashing two twins of lava-like fire. While the back of Mako Nine rocked under the laser impacts, Rush paid it no heed, knowing full well that his shields could endure a prolonged laser attack. Instead, the Infero Fleet pilot focused on hitting the highly maneuverable starfighter in front of him. Rush guessed the pirates next move, firing a cascade of ionic bolts in the area. The first two sets missed, but the third knicked the edge of the ship’s radiator panels. Alpha One banked hard to the right, attempting to force the Hunter to overshoot him but the virtue of the Alliance’s fighter’s superior speed. Oh no you don’t. Jerking his stick back, Anarth pulled his Hunter upwards and out of Alpha Two’s fighter. Before the loop could be completed, he barrel-rolled to the left, away from Alpha One. Within seconds, he jerked the stick back to the right, lining up behind the enemy Tie. He pushed the top two firing studs, firing a mismatched trio of weapons composed by his dual ion cannon and the slugthrower. Cyan lighting plied across the spherical cockpit, shorting out flight control systems, targeting computers, and the twin ion engines. Blue exhaust from the engines faded as the pirate’s ion engines went offline. Explosive-tipped rounds from Mako Nine chewed through the disabled craft, distributing a chain of micro-explosions which decimated the innards of the craft. In a typical Hunter kill, the mostly destroyed craft drifted into space and oblivion.

The warning klaxon of increasing failing shields prompted Anarth to roll his craft out of Alpha Two’s field of fire. Alpha Two easily copied the maneuver, continuing to fire orange bolts at the Inferno Fighter. Jerking his joystick to the side, Mako Nine banked hard to the right and cut his thrust halfway through the maneuver. Alpha Two attempted to copy the maneuver but overshot the Hunter. Anarth goosed his fighter so that his targeting brackets easily tracked the Tie. The brackets turned a bright green. He fired. A single concussion missile leapt forth to harass the pirate. Almost immediately, Alpha Two wildly jinked and juked, desperately trying to shake off the missile. The two intricately danced together in the wild, harried steps of the hunter and the hunted. Rush lined up his fighter to face the distracted pirate. Eying the opposing Republic Tie, the Corellian pressed and held the top two firing studs, sending out a steady stream of slugs and ionic bolts. Alpha Two immediately rolled out of the stream, and into the concussion missile. The two connected in a vibrant explosion which nearly blinded Lieutenant Anarth from the other starfighters nearby him. As the fireball faded, the man glanced about the lunar surface.

Flights of Hunters had mopped up the few remaining pirates, achieving space superiority for Inferno Fleet in the process. Few Kalrechis remained, most of them having hypered out of system to meet the Death’s Jaws for a deepspace recovery and then a voyage home to Inferno. Bright flashes of Cronau radiation drew Anarth’s attention. He goosed his fighter up and immediately targeted one. Oh boy, here come the groundpounders. Well, I guess everyone has to have their own time for fun and games. The pilot’s headset comm. crackled.

“Attention Inferno forces, this is Commander Thompson. Our troop transports have arrived and are descending to the surface. They are to be heavily guarded; Mako squadron, you will escort the lead shuttles to the base. Blackwatch, you have the next wave…”

Hangar Bay, Qetix IV

“Come on, move it!”

A dozen Inferno marines in full battle armor charged off of the freighter’s ramp into the low-gravity hangar of the base. Lieutenant Kell Dissek spared a glance at his men. Almost a decade ago, these men would have been part of New Republic Special Forces in either 1st or 3rd division, making them marines and urban commandoes respectively. With the fall of the New Republic and its fractioning of resources, Dissek’s original battalion had lost and gained men to and from various local governments and rebel groups; making the group more diverse in what missions its elements could accomplish. But all had adopted the full-encompassing blue, now crimson, Space Ops armor of the 1st Division. With the subsequent capture of the Supreme General’s convoy, everyone in his unit now wielded Blastech E11/H carbines, DL-30s, and a handful of grenades. It could be said that most sailors and pilots of Inferno Fleet were green and fresh, but its trooper core was hardened and more experienced than most units fielded by the Imperial Navy.

“A7 here,” announced the Battalion’s scout specialist, “the hangar seems to be deserted aside from the repair and maintenance droids. Those…ships might have people on them though. Suggest we investigate them first.”

“Lead here, 5th Battalion is in charge of inspecting and securing the hangar,” reported Dissek, “they’ll be on the next flight down.”

“But sir-”

“I know it sounds like a bad idea, leaving our backs to them, and it wasn’t planned; their transport blew a fuse in their hyperdrive motivator shortly before arriving in-system. So they’re running on their back-up hyperdrive. Besides, there really isn’t any place for these pirates to go. I’m confident that air superiority has been achieved. To those central blast doors, men.”

Kell’s leaf green eyes peered through the ceraglass visor, sweeping across the hangar; double-checking for any possible threats. The duracrete floor was scarred with soot black criss-crosses, doubtlessly left by pilots engaging their ion drives too quickly. In one corner of the rectangular bay, half a dozen tramp freighters, most of them looking like derelict wrecks, lay haphazardly scattered. On the opposite end, duraplast crates and other cargo containers were neatly stacked up; either from a recent unloading or for the base’s evacuation. Directly opposite of the Magcon field stood a pair of massive, metal blast doors. Dissek’s blaster rifle swept across the area; but no threat revealed itself. Satisfied, he moon walked up to the blast door, where one of his demolition specialist was applying Plasma-burn Tape to the door frame.

“How’s it looking Blast?”

“Good sir. Appears to be a pretty standard door; jammed lock naturally. Nothing we can’t take care of…I’m all done. We can blow it whenever you’d like, sir.”

The Lieutenant nodded. “Very good. Everyone take their positions then.”

Dissek jumped back, gliding gracefully away from the door. He smiled. How I love low gravity. Other Inferno Marines fanned back, forming a crescent around the door. Blast turned to Inferno Lead, who nodded in turn. The demolitionist tapped the remote clutched in his fist. A shower of sparks erupted across the door frame; the doors groaned, and fell onto the hangar floor with a tumultuous din. No enemy fire greeted the marines. No lights shone out to reveal what laid beyond the hangar. Only silence and darkness. Dissek’s hand curled up into a fist, which he raised up into the air, and jerked forward. The men of 5th Battalion quietly stepped forward in fire squads of four, and entered the former Rebel base.

Darkness engulfed the men of 5th Battalion as they silently slid down one of the facility’s shafts. All of the lighting had been down thus far, which intrigued the Lieutenant. More intriguing to the man, he had encountered very little resistance. Those occupants they had encountered quickly surrendered or promptly received a beatdown from one of the marines. Dissek heard a clatter emanate several meters in front of him. Quickly raising his hand to halt his men, the man toggled his helmet visor to switch from night vision to thermal imaging. Bright blobs of neon light replaced the last vestiges of green-shaded crates. He smirked. So that’s where you all are; hiding behind the crates. A little surprise for your guests? Perhaps your guests have a little surprise of their own.

Dissek pressed himself against the wall and slid down to a crouch. Directly opposite of him, another Inferno Marine mimicked the Lieutenant, crouching on one knee. Behind the two men, other marines quietly assumed a firing squad formation similar to the fabled Genosis Square utilized by the Old Republic’s Clone Troopers. Kell leveled his E11/h Blaster, a variant of the ubiquitous Blastech E11, favored by the 5th Regiment. Originally intended to provide increased anti-armor capabilities to the foot soldier, the carbine had the power of the much larger A280 in half the size. The perfect close-quarters weapon. But the Inferno Fleet soldiers did not fire their blasters. Dissek arced his free hand up.

Several of the marines tossed spherical hand grenades towards their opponents. The concussion grenades bounced off of walls and crates to crash noisily on the durasteel floor. Several disembodied voices shouted. The grenades detonated, erupting into fiery blossoms and spraying metal shrapnel about them. Cries of anguish echoed throughout the cavernous room, in turn eclipsed by the war cries of the surviving pirates. Dissek moved his hand down and pushed it forward. The Marines fired. A firestorm of crimson erupted from the Inferno formation, hammering and chewing through the crates utilized by the criminals as cover. More agonizing screams and groans joined the rising cacophony. Several bolts soared across from the defenders, striking the densely packed formation of men. Dissek felt the armored knee of a marine strike him in the back as the soldier behind him wavered and collapsed onto the floor. Kell lowered his rifle for a second and glanced at the man. Anthony. Looks like the armor stopped most of the damage. He’ll be all right, but a wound to the gut hurts like hell. Another Inferno Marine crawled over to the downed marine and pulled out a medpac. Nodding at the other man, the Lieutenant turned his attention back to the ensuing firefight. He raised his blaster rifle to his visor and began to immediately take precise shots at distant opponents.



One Day later…

Commodore Dha’tey and Sei’lar quietly toured the captured base.

The base itself was a multi-layered, subterranean complex of winding tunnels, expansive caverns, and deep shafts. It turned out that the starfighter manufacturing facility used by the Alliance, and then the Sky Slayer pirates, was a grounded and partially disassembled X7 Factory Space Station. Aging, but fully adequate, droids and automated tools had churned out dozens of starfighters, from A-wings to Y-wings, for the Rebel Alliance during the first Galactic Civil War. The Sky Slayers in turn had modified the facility to produce their favoured variant of the Republic Tie, which they had unimaginatively dubbed the Slayer. If a bunch of amateur pirates and several outlaw techs could modify the facility to make a completely different type of starfighter, then the Bothans had little doubt that their expansive team of Bothan, Effel, and human engineers could modify it to produce any small starship or vehicle. The problem, of course, would be finding the people to pilot them. Footsore, the Bothans finished their tour in the base’s gymnasium, where several dozen Inferno Marines kept watch over their prisoners; nearly three dozen enemy pilots and fifty support personnel, none of their marines had survived combat against the hardened Inferno troops. One of the marines took off his helmet and approached the pair. He saluted; the Bothans returned in kind.

“Good to see you, Lieutenant,” greeted the Commodore, “It seems like your men performed admirably, though I would have preferred to have had more prisoners.”

Dissek frowned. “More prisoners mean more mouths to feed, sir.”

“Indeed,” noted Sei’lar, “at least in most militaries. Have you found their leader?”

“I have,” reported the marine, “he’s the swarthy gentleman over there, wearing the blue bandanna. I have him in stun cuffs, but he’s been surprisingly polite. He seems less like a pirate than a normal civilian.”

“And you are sure he’s our man?” questioned Dha’tey.

“Yes sir.”

“Very well,” acknowledged the Bothan, “I am going to have a little chat with him. We are going to need some private space, so I would appreciate that both of you leave us, but keep an eye on us.”

“Ah…sir?” asked the marine dumbfoundedly.

“Final negotiations?” probed Sei’lar.

“Indeed,” stated the humanoid, walking towards the Sky Slayer’s leader.

The Sky Slayer’s leader was a thin, wispy man dressed in a set of loose trousers and a white, linen shirt; almost looking like an elderly Han Solo wannabe, save for the man’s thin moustache. Dha’tey nodded at the man.

“You’re the leader of the Sky Slayers?” questioned the alien.

“Perhaps,” snorted the man, “what is it to you?”

“Enough. I already know that you are,” replied the Inferno Fleet Commander, “I have to admit. You’ve done quite well; producing these Sky Slayer Ties and amassing a sizeable amount of booty too. I’ve seen markings on the crates in the warehouse; and there are many prominent logos on them of this Sector’s businesses. You and your men must have some skill at your trade.”

“Altair is my name,” stated the man uneasily, “Why all the compliments? What do you want from me?”

“Altair, you and your men have committed many crimes against the peoples of the Trax Sector. Piracy is an act punishable by death by many governments or at least a few years in prison. You deserve punishment, but what I am going to offer you is attonement.”

“Attonement?” questioned the man bewildered, “I don’t need any attonement, ‘specially from another pirate like yourself.”

“My men and I are no pirates,” replied Dha’tey testily, “we are freedom fighters. We seek to liberate the Trax Sector from Supreme General Fossk. And you and your men can either help us do that or be punished. I don’t believe in the death penalty, so you will not at least have to fear for your life. But what I will be content to let you rot in some cell or brig for the rest of your life. Or alternatively, put you in labor camps.”

“And if we help you?”

“You will receive attonement, a pardon, and become one of us. While you might not possess the spirit, we would be fools to ignore your skills and knowledge of the area. You will do what you use to do. Your pilots will fly fighters, your support personnel will service them or make new starships or cook or whatever they do.”

“You’re simply going to trust us?”

“I’m going to trust that you do not want to be bored or forgotten; I’m going to trust that you do not want to die, which is what I guarantee if you attempt to betray us. I’m going to trust that you want liberty, which is what you will receive once this war is over…”