With the TIE fighter formation in tatters, Wedge and Wes made short work of the stragglers. On the bridge of the transport, the captain seethed with barely contained fury. His complexion had transitioned through various shades of red, until reaching its current sickly purple hue. Thick, bulging veins pulsed across his damp brow while his left eye twitched incessantly, like some malfunctioning droid with a faulty processor. His crew had failed him, he reasoned inwardly. Ineptitude and incompetence amongst his feeble pilots, a pathetic bridge crew, he felt surrounded by the dregs of the Imperial war machine. How could he be expected to fight back against rebel scum and saboteurs in these conditions? While the assault continued, he turned his attention towards blame, beginning to piece together the report he would send to the admiral, and how best to absolve himself of recrimination.
Meanwhile, Dak's mission was not yet completed. With the freighter now unguarded, he could concentrate on disabling its shields. He readied his craft's ion bombs as he passed over the transport, before dropping his payload. Eight glowing balls of blue energy spewed forth from the underbelly of his Y-Wing, and arced towards the vessel below. The first pair of orbs collided with the forcefield projected by the freighter's shield generators. Upon impact, the bombs spread a large electrical discharge across the shield, causing it to flare brightly before flickering and fading momentarily. A moment just long enough for the remaining bombs to slip through and impact the hull. The freighter's surface sparked as ionized tendrils of electricity danced across it. The charge spread throughout the vessel, conducted through its metal frame. Throughout the ship, power conduits, energy couplers and electrical fuses blew out as the ship's systems were overloaded. Even the main reactor shut down, stranding the transport and rendering it as immobile and defenceless as a junked husk.
Aboard the bridge, the lighting dimmed before switching to the dull, red glow of the emergency illumination. The backup generators were used in such scenarios to provide essential systems such as lighting and life support. The captain scowled in the half light, disturbed by the scarlet tint surrounding him. He hated the colour, it always seemed to him as if the bridge was suddenly coated in blood, and he hated blood. He grew faint even when he cut himself shaving, for Sith's sake.
"How long until full power is restored?" he asked his first officer, his voice quavering oddly with a mix of anger and anxiety.
"Ten minutes until the reactor is re-primed sir. Full operational capabilities will take longer, until the service crew patch the fried systems. It's over sir. The Rebels have us dead in space."
The captain thought of retorting, admonishing his officer for admitting defeat, until he caught himself. Such patriotic zeal was unlike him, all the excitement of the battle must have gone to his head. Instead, he resignedly said "Open a comms channel. We have no choice but to surrender."
Wedge smiled to himself as his comms board lit up, signalling an incoming transmission on an open frequency.
"Okay, R5. Patch it through."
"Rebel pirates, this is Captain Atticus Wurmley of the Gozanti-Class Cruiser Exigious. Please state your intentions."
"Ah, Captain. What a pleasure it is to hear from you." fawned Wedge, exaggeratedly. "As you are painfully aware, we have disabled your vessel and have you at our mercy."
"Yes, but to what end, exactly? If you plan on destroying us, then I hope you don't expect me to beg."
"We have no desire to attack you further, provided you follow our instructions."
"Oh, and what is it that you demand of us?"
"Your entire cargo."
"And how exactly do three snubfighters plan on hauling such a cargo?"
"We don't. That's her job."
There was a sudden shimmer of movement at the edge of the system, as a Corellian freighter entered realspace. A momentary blur appeared and contracted into a recognizable shape, as the craft emerged from lightspeed. It was a YT-1000 model, nearly a century old and practically a museum piece, the precursor to the more popular (if still outdated) YT-1300, of which the Millennium Falcon was the most infamous. The YT-1000 bore a lot of similarities with its successor, though in a more primordial implementation. Like the YT-1300, it was shaped like a saucer with two forward facing angled protrusions jutting outwards. The YT-1000 however, had much stubbier cargo mandibles. Its cockpit was nestled between these mandibles, along the centerline of the ship, unlike the side mounted cockpit of later models. Overall, this gave the craft the look of a paddling turtle when viewed from above. At the helm sat Rebel mechanic Lara Ashanto, and her co-pilot, a Sullustian male called Teebo-Neit. Lara was wearing a set of navy overalls, whose upper half was tied around her waist, allowing her greater movement of her upper body, along with a shirt which must have once been white, now stained by years of grease and carbon dust. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbow, revealing equally filthy arms scored with various nicks and scrapes from her duties. Over her shirt she wore a black waistcoat, its multitude of pockets and pouches bulging with an assortment of tools and instruments. Her hair was short, a brunette mop and unevenly cut.
"Right Red Leader, we can handle the transition from here." she announced to Wedge, her voice lightly accented. "Imperial transport, prepare to be boarded."
***
Some time later, the Rebel raiding party had returned to their moon base in the Grebb System. Tucked away in a nondescript cave nestled in the desolate, umber landscape of crumbling crystalline crags, the base was about as remote as feasibly possible. It was only a staging post, converted from an old smuggler's hideout, and used to coordinate raids and take stock of the bounties captured before shipping them to more significant Rebel locations. In the hanger bay, Wes and Dak leaned against a stack of crates observing Wedge and a loader droid remove the last of the liberated supplies from Lara's craft. Lara meanwhile was tapping on a datapad, generating a log of the supplies.
"So that's 2,500 ration packs, enough to keep a few Corvette crews flying for over a month at least." she said aloud, while continuing to type. "Plenty of bacta and other medical sundries..."
"And what's in this last one?" grunted Wedge, struggling to lift the final crate. "It's heavier than a Bantha!"
Wes and Dak struggled to contain their giggling as Wedge continued to strain against the crate, while the droid admonished him for his inefficient lifting techniques.
"Fine. You two have had enough fun at my expense." Wedge announced, with a smirk. Wes' face fell suddenly. He knew that look, and from experience, it never ended well for him. "Move this crate. That's an order."
"Is that all?" Dak asked, either oblivious to, or uncaring of, Wedge's tone.
"Yeah. That's all. The loader droid and I have both earned a break though, so don't count on his help." The two pilots groaned as Wedge stepped over to Lara.
"Good move. Those two were starting to grate on me." she said, with a grin.
"They're good guys, really. When they're quiet. So, what's in the mystery container, anyway?"
"Just mining equipment, according to the ship logs. Tool heads, saw blades, that sort of thing."
"Worth anything on the black market?"
"Ordinarily no, there's no big demand for industrial tools. But this is some high grade kit, doonium tipped. Just selling the metal will give us enough to cover months worth of fuel."
Wedge pondered for a moment, his brow furrowed quizzically. "Why would Andriss need such specialized gear?"
"Who knows? Maybe they found a new vein of a more difficult to mine mineral, or the local Moff just had to use his quarterly budget?"
"Or it's not actually doonium. Could be some Imperial bureaucrat hiding a credit swindle with a false manifest." Dak interjected as he rejoined the conversation, followed closely by a slightly panting Wes.
"Spoken... like a true.... scoundrel..." Wes wheezed.
"Takes a crook to spot one." Dak admitted, before turning towards Lara. "By the way Smudges, I noticed the door hydraulics could do with replacing. There's some shoddy patchwork on display. You better not be running my ship into ruin."
Lara jabbed a finger into his chest, causing him to recoil with surprise.
"Firstly, that's your darn patchwork. Secondly, the Centurion is mine now, shock-jock. You gave it to me, remember?"
Wes clapped his hands with smug glee, having caught his breath.
"Gramps, you gave her your ship? I mean, as grand romantic gestures go, it's not bad, but don't you think Smudges here is a little young for you?" Wes had faced down countless TIE fighters, and gazed at so many barrages of deadly laser fire, yet not of it felt quite so fatal or frightening as the look Lara was giving him in that moment.
"It wasn't a romantic gesture, fly-guy. If anything, Dak is like a father to me. I inherited the Centurion when he took to a Y-Wing. But don't go getting any ideas Wes, your time would be better spent trying to chat up my loader droid." With Wes suitably admonished, she made her exit, striding gracefully toward her quarters. As she passed Wes by, she whispered one final declaration.
"And if you ever call me Smudges again, I will personally feed your organs to a Sarlacc." with that, she gave him a wink and continued on her way.
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