La Galissonière-class Star Destroyer Foudroyant, in orbit via Genon

“Atten-hut, Captain’s on the deck!” announced the marine.

“At ease,” replied the man, throwing a half-casual salute at the marine, “As you can see here, Mr. Jha’frey, this is a fine warship. Have no doubt that we will be able to safely covney you back to Regalum II.”

“Regalum III, captain,” corrected the Bothan, “I do hope that your navigator has the correct name.”

Captain Aspholme blushed, “I am sure that he does; High Command directly sent my command crew the briefing.”

The Bothan’s fur rippled, “High Command gives the precise orders of your ship, and you merely enforce them?”

“Ah, well, not normally,” explained the red-haired man, “They just said that this case is particularly urgent; particularly important.”

The Bothan nodded. “Indeed it is, both for my people, and for yours. The Grand Admiral has gone too far this time with his blockade.”

Captain Jim Asphome bit back a smile. This is the worse paper-blockade ever. Some impertinent pirate leader had managed to gather a sizeable fleet of modified yachts, detoriated freighters, light warships, and scrounged up a bulk cruiser to continually harass Regalum III, and he calls himself a Grand Admiral. Yet then again, perhaps he has the right to if he can keep Sephaciss Corp’s homeworld under blockade for what was it? Five months? Not bad, I suppose. You’d think that a corporate world would have the defences or monies to deal with a bunch of outlaws though. Wonder why they haven’t…

“Ah…indeed… he will be punished mercifully…” stated the man.

“You mean she,” corrected the alien again, “did you read your briefing captain? I am beginning to have serious doubts in your abilities as a Confederate officer. No, in this task force if your performance is anything to show by.”

“And I in yours,” bit back Jim, “what kind of CEO needs to come to Brandenburg to bail out his company’s world from a gang of ragtag low-lifes? Frankly, sending out a star destroyer and a small group of escorts is a work beneath us, and certainly too much for their kind of scum. Like using a hammer against a piece of bread…”

The Bothan raised a bushy eye. “A piece of bread?”

“You know what you mean…”

“I think that I shall retire to my quarters,” informed the CEO, “please send someone to come get me when we’re about to arrive at my homeworld.”

Jim bobbed his head up and down. “I’ll be sure to remember that if nothing else.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

The Bothan rose a foot to advance on Jim at that latest remark, but halted midstep. Abruptly, the alien pivoted a hundred eighty degrees and stomped out of the bridge. The blastdoors had barely shut behind the CEO when the bridge crew broke out in murmurs. A long-necked repitilian alien stealthily snuck up behind the Captain.

“What is this, sir?”

Jim spun about on his heels, half-bemused, “Ah…Tresk…Some personalities can be difficult to get along with at times. Let me tell you my friend, those Bothans can be catty as hell.”

The Kon’me lowered his face downwards, which Aspholme had learned was the Kon’me gesture for questioning. Jim sighed.

“This guy…this CEO has been all up in my face about performance and efficiency since he’s been onboard. Uptight more than Lira’s undies-”

“Hey now,” interjected a woman, “how would you know what my underwear is like?”

“You have not mated with this one yet?” asked Tresk.

Jim blushed. “Not exactly…”

“Have you been looking over the security feeds in my quarters?” asked Lira.

“There are no holo-cams in anyone’s quarters,” lied the captain, “invasion of privacy and all.”

“What about those-” started the alien.

“-about the dinner we were going to have tonight,” finished Jim, “I almost forgot about it. I’m afraid I’m going to have to hold off on showing you the delicacies of Audacian cuisine. As much as I hate to admit it, I should probably go over the briefing again.”

“As if we’ll need it,” replied the woman, rising from the tactical station, “from what I’ve read, they’re pretty bad outnumber. They’re probably more likely to run than fight if they see us approach. The Foudroyant alone is nearly twice the size of their biggest ship and probably packs around twice as much firepower as their entire fleet…”

“One never knows…one never knows,” replied Jim, “this Grand Admiral may end up being quite a pain for me. My father was a military troubleshooter of sorts; worked for all sorts of people, and he always said what seemed to be simple cases always ended up being a pain in the rear.”

The Kon’me nodded. “Ah, no worries then my friend. I was just going to the medbay to get some painkillers…”

“Ah, not that kind of pain,” explained Lira, “it’s called a figure of speech. Some day, you might understand half of what the Captain here does and doesn’t say…”

The previous day…

Atlas Hall, Brandenburg, Genon

The Bothan stalked up and down the U-shaped table, attempting to read each councilor as he passed under the guise of his presentation. His words cut through the subeteranean air and inspired visions of fire and angst, of tyranny and fear. He was a truly eloquent spokesperson, and combined with his Bothan heritage, left little wonder as to how he had managed to rise through the company ranks to achieve the position of CEO. Yet the councilors seemed less than interested in his presentation, less believing as he would have liked.

“…and so you can see, Ribogga the Hutt is attempting nothing less than grand piracy and extortion,” announced Jha’frey.

Silence greeted the creature’s declaration. A single man shifted in his chair, drawing the Bothan’s attention.

“The case is not so simple as you make it out to be,” replied Harding, “Ribogga is not a simple pirate or extortioneer; he’s been a major lender to your company in the recent times. And from what I know, you’ve paid back the principle, but not the interest.”

The Bothan’s fur rippled. “He changed the interest to an exorbitant amount by the time I had already paid over half of the principle. He expected me to fail so that he could absorb the company that my clan has led for seven hundred years. I was not going to give into his demand so that he would think that he could raise the interest even more. He’s a criminal, you all know that.”

“So you refused to make any interest payments at all from the start,” mused Thorn, “because he hinted that he would raise the interest even before you made the first principle payment.”

The Bothan’s fur rippled again. “Has your Confederation been spying on me?”

“Yes and no,” replied Director Howe, “we were spying on Ribogga the Hutt at first, simply because it makes sense to keep track of large criminal syndicates right outside our space, and then we heard through our spies about Regalum III and the issues he’d been having with you. He’s hired one pompously named Grand Admiral to deal with you.”


Jha’frey leaned back. “And she’s failed so far.”

Howe snorted. “You were nearly assassinated by people wearing your corporation’s uniforms…”

The Bothan’s fur rippled. “I survived, and they did not. I have my own friends. Sometimes I don’t even know them.”

“Indeed you don’t,” commented Howe, “because those that saved you were CSIS operatives trying to eliminate a pirate leader. You live today because of us.”

The CEO scoffed. “I live because we had mutual interest in these criminal’s demise. And now knowing that they were your men, I know that you arranged for my safe travel through the blockade and an audience with the Council. That certainly would be hard thing to obtain in the troubled times like this. So my question is why are you even talking to me? You need me for something.”

“We have mutual interests,” echoed Harding, “beside our dislike of Ribogga and his cronies, you have something of value to us. Regalum III is one of the largest aquaculture worlds in the mid rim. You grow aquatic plants and animals of all sorts in tanks, and then your company harvests them.”

“You want my corporation’s product then?” questioned the Bothan, “you went through all of this trouble to tell me that? A simple holo-net order could have sufficed, along with a solution of getting it through the blockade.”

“We share more interests than merely that,” coaxed Thorn, “Not that having a mutual enemy is not a good starting ground. Your corporation, and by extention, its world, espouses similar values to our own-”

The Bothan nodded. “You really need my food for some reason.”

“You really need our military for some reason,” countered Howe, “we are suffering a food shortage on a few of our worlds because of the Reever crisis. So yes, that is part of it. But if that was merely the case, like you’ve said, we would have bought or bargained for it, like we do with many other outside interests. But Regalum III is special. Do you know why?”

The Bothan shrugged. “You must really like fish.”

“It’s a potential food source that’s about to disappear into the hands of our enemy,” explained Howe, “and if there is anything I hate more than wasting food, it’s letting the enemy eat food that fill the stomachs of our own.”

“You want an exclusive contract then,” considered the Bothan, “and you are willing to provide at least protection for it during its travel to the Confederation. Once the food crisis is over though, whenever the supply lines are restored or some other source of food enters your way, you’ll drop the contract then, essentially leaving me to deal with the problem of Ribogga then.”

“That is one course of action,” agreed Pro-Consul Thorn, “and would certainly be the most convenient one if we were looking for a quick fix. However, we would prefer long-term stability for ourselves and our trading partners. We would like to extend to you an offer of full membership into the Confederation. We would have our food, and your corporation would have a permanent military force to guard and protect it, and you, as the planetary leader. That is, however, assuming that you do not become some megalomaniac.”

The Bothan’s fur rippled. “I could just hire some mercenaries and charge your Confederation exorbitant prices…”

“You could,” acknowledged Harding, “but again, it would be a short-term fix. And how can you trust mercenaries and vice-versa after your dealings with Ribogga? Ribogga has a bounty on your head. Do you really think that they would be a safe option? We are your best bet.”

Jha’frey muttered. “Unfortunately, perhaps. I suppose it could be worse, this could be coming from the Empire.”

“You are loathe to give up your independence,” surmised Thorn, “is that it?”

“I’ve seen how your Confederation works,” replied the Bothan, “and there is more freedom in it than in most governments, yet it is not the total freedom to which I have been used too. But it is certainly better than death or ruin. I accept your offer, but before it can be made official, it must be passed through the board. I doubt there will be any problems since my family owns the corporation, but at the very least, formalities must be kept. And the board would like to see some gesture that demonstrates the veracity of the proposed plan.”

Harding nodded. “You would need a secure transport back as well, as that CSIS group that brought you in has already left the space port. To both ends, I have directed High Command to form a small group of warships to begin hunting the pirates in the area and to break the blockade. One of the ships is a star destroyer fresh out of its battle with the Entymals from Taicho. It is a good ship with experienced crew, and I believe the pirates or Ribogga will have anything that can remotely counter it…”

La Galissonière-class Star Destroyer Foudroyant, Regalus System

“We’re making the final jump,” announced Captain Aspholme.

The Bothan frowned. “An intra-system microjump?”

Jim nodded. “Yeah, of course. I wouldn’t want to revert right into another ship. We’d both be goners.”

The starlines flashed for a brief second. As quickly as they had come, the streaming light faded back into pinpricks. The Foudroyant’s white wedge plowed through realspace directly towards the gray and blue mottled planet. Directly to the star destroyer’s portside, the Montcalm Frigate Stormfire spun about on its X-axis, bringing its main batteries to bear on a squadron of blockading light freighters. Green bolts from the starship ripped apart half of the squadron before the pirates began to fleet. The three corvettes of the task force maintained the triangular perimeter around the two larger craft; merely content to blast any light ship which entered the range of their quad lasers. Yet the guns of the Foudroyant were silent.

“Criminal forces in the intermediate area are fleeing…” reported an officer.

“Hold formation,” ordered Captain Aspholme, “confirm geosynchrous orbit with the capitol city.”

“Queensland is directly below us,” acknowledged an officer.

“Have the Sublime deploy its drones to form a CAP around the ships,” ordered the captain.

Jha’frey stalked over to command console. “When can I get to the surface? I am expecting a meeting with the board of directors within a couple of hours…”

“As soon as perimeter has been established by the drones, we’ll be able to launch your shuttle with its escorts,” replied Jim, “Flight Ops, is the Foudroyant’s Fervor ready?”

“Yes sir. I have the Vigilantes in their cockpits already. So fighter escort is ready whenever Mr. Jha’frey is.”

“You expect this CAP to be established soon then,” commented the bothan.

“Shouldn’t take more than five minutes,” answered Jim, “assuming that there is no resistance…”

“Sir, we have a large formation of starships approaching us…it looks like the Grand Admiral is coming our way…”

“Put it on the command holo-projector,” demanded the captain.

The holo-projector whirled to life, displaying a single emerald bulk cruiser surrounded by a swarm of freighters and starfighters. As the ships crossed past the horizon into view, they began to slow to a halt. Aspholme squinted.

“Sensors, get me a better visual of that bulk freighter. The highest magnification of the vessel as a whole that you can get.”

“Here you go sir.”

Jim winced. “That’s the Coromant.”

“Transponder says that it’s the Fortunate Warrior,” disagreed Tresk.

“It’s not,” replied Jim, “See those ridges over there near the stern? It’s a nonstandard cooling system. I should know, I helped install them when I was twelve. And I’m willing to bet that there is no Grand Admiral in charge either. Communications, give me a line with the Coromant.”

The visage of the bulk cruiser dissipated to that of blonde woman in the scruffy shirts and trousers which Han Solo had made famous. Her blue eyes stared at him questioningly. She opened her mouth to speak and abruptly shut it, sparing a glance off-camera to someone else. She turned back to Captain Aspholme.

“I am Grand Admiral Terry Smets. Your appearance is most confusing and irritating. Your people have killed dozens of mine, and you chose to contact me via holo-line. Why? Why have you interfered with our legal proceedings, Captain?”

“Shove it,” replied Jim, “get off the screen and put on Daniel Aspholme. I’ve had enough theatrics for a lifetime.”

She frowned. “There-”

“I know the inside and outside of your ship, and I knew half the crew five years ago. I know how the Coromant works, it’s method of operations. You can quit your acting. Put on the vessel’s commander, now, before I send a couple hundred of your people to eternal peace,” demanded Jim.

The woman frowned and slowly rose out of the command seat. An older man hobbled over and collapsed into the seat. The two men exchanged a harsh stare.

“Do my old eyes deceive me? You look remarkably familiar,” suggested the opposing commander.

“I should hope that your son looks familiar to you,” rebuked Jim, “It’s good to see you too Dad. Now, kindly take your excuse for a fleet and leave orbit.”

“Jim?!” exclaimed the man, “but what are you doing here? And what friends have you made? You side with the criminals and loan-defaulters now?”

“Debate and morals were always among my weaker suits,” countered Jim, “so let’s skip past the moral dilemnas and get to the point: I have a bigger stick than you.”

“You wouldn’t blow up your inheritance…”

“As if you would ever give me the Coromant, even if you were dead,” replied the Confederate officer, “if you want to give me my inheritance, you can give it up now.”

“I can’t do that,” replied the elder Aspholme, “but perhaps we will have time to talk later. You know the interesting thing about smaller sticks? They’re a hell of lot quicker than the big ones.”

Tresk leaned in to the captain’s side. “The enemy fleet has been retreating, and the Coromant is beginning to turn about to follow them.”

“Consider that son, if you try to race me. You can’t win, you’re too slow,” laughed the elder, “I thought you would have at least learned this when you grew up with my crew. We will always be able to keep part, no, most of the planet under blockade. But I must go now. I will see you soon, son. Coromant out.”

The father’s visage cut out.

“Frak him,” swore Captain Aspholme.

Four hours later…

“Well, that looked like the best family union I’ve ever seen. So why did you choose to talk to him instead of trying to instantly blast him out of space?” asked Lira, “I mean, I know you’ve never been much of a family guy…”

“I thought I could maybe intimidate him into surrender,” explained Jim, “The Coromant means everything to him, and moreover, we can’t really catch it. It’s too quick of a ship for either the Foudroyant or the Stormfire, and the corvettes don’t really have the firepower to take it down without heavy casualties…”

“And so your father used the talking as a distraction to withdraw his fleet from danger,” considered Agders, “he’s a crafty guy; quick on his feet; you have to give him that. It won’t be easy to take him down.”

“Is crafty the same as lying?” asked Tresk, raising an olive hand, “he mentioned that they were loan-defaulters….”

“It can be, but I know nothing about this,” replied Captain Aspholmes, “but if the Confederation didn’t mention it in the briefing, it’s probably not true. My father was always pretty good at putting a spin on things. I’d bet Regalum III isn’t making an extortion payment that the Hutt want, so hence the blockade. That or my father was lied too. But it doesn’t really matter. Jha’frey is down on Queensland right now, talking to the board. He doesn’t anticipate any problems passing the membership through the board, meaning that for all intents and purposes, Regalum III is practically a member state under blockade from criminal forces. So irregardless if they’re loan-defaulters or what not, we have to act.”

“The only real choice is to break the blockade,” declared Lira, “and we have done that. Freighters are moving back and forth between Queensland and deep space.”

“But only for Queensland,” emphasized Tresk, “the blockade only partially is lifted. We must meet the enemy on the field and utterly decimate them. I myself would like to face this enemy in a boarding action.”

Jim grinned. “You want a close-quarters fight with my father?”

“He is a dishonorable man,” defended the alien, “he should be dueled to the death by an officer.”

“Well, that can’t happen yet,” added Commander Agders, “we’ve got to force them into a combat, and based on the recording of that last father-son conversation, he isn’t inclined to fight us on an open battlefield.”

“As opposed to a closed battlefield?” considered Lira, “would there be some way to make it so that it could be settled in a duel, or heck, even pay them off?”

“Not really,” replied Jim, “my father isn’t the dueling type, and even if he were, he’d think any face-to-face meeting would be a trap, or he’d use it as such. And money, well, where are we going to get enough money to pay off an entire fleet of mercenaries? Heck, what would happen if every pirate heard that the Confederation paid off its attackers? We’d have criminal fleets running at us from everywhere; heck, even other legitimate governments would come after us just for the money. No, we have to take them down somehow.”

“The clear way is to counter the enemy’s advantage,” advised Agders, “which is his speed and dispersion. And we can do that?”

“How?”

“Well, if the main ships loose their propulsion systems, we can move in and blow them up at our leisure. And if the main ships are gone, and so is their leadership, the smaller ships are going to flee or at the very least, suffer from disorganization and poor morale.”

“And just how do you plan to remove the Coromant’s engines?” questioned Aspholme.

A3 Nemesis-class Assault Bomber Justice Five, Montcalm-class Frigate Stormfire, in orbit via Regalum III

Jason gently nudged the control yoke forward; his Nemesis drifted over the gunmetal deck as if a paper planed gently drifting along a breeze. The deck disappeared, and the starbomber dropped out of the Stormfire’s hangar bay. Regalum III’s gravity almost immediately drew the craft towards it atmosphere. Jason yanked the yoke upward briefly, and the starbomber jetted up towards the frigate’s ventral side to level out parallel with the Stormfire’s plating. His comlink buzzed.

“Cutting it a bit close don’t you think? I thought I was about to be smashed against our own ship…” mewled his bombardier.

“Hey man, relax,” countered the pilot, “I’ve got everything under control….now frak, where is six?”

He glanced down at his sensor board, noting the eleven blips labelled in red; the Stormfire’s other stealth bombers. Invisible to the eye in most cases, and to sensors as well. The only way to know where one’s comrades were was by communication and datafeed from each individual Nemesis. Jason skimmed through the blipping dots, finally picking out the sole red dot which maintained a course parallel to his own. He thumbed his comm.

“Six, get your rear up here, now,” demanded Jason.

As if to reply, the sensor dot labeled Justice Six jetted even closer to his own starbomber before slowing. Must of engaged her SAS. Ah well, Tyria’s always been a bit of a slowpoke at times. He glanced out of the viewport, watching a quartet of Piranha drones surge by; oblivious to the starbombers’ presence. Throughout the Confederate vessels, everything appeared to be completely normal: the bigger vessels held their positions, the drone fighters continued to make their predictable sentry rounds across the fleet.

“When do you want to do the grav sling?” asked Tyria,

“Umm…now?” replied Jason.

“Sure.”

The two wraith-like ships edged closer to the gray-blue world; almost skimming the confines of its atmosphere. Regalum III sucked their craft closer in, as if seeking to devour them. But as the gravity increased, so did the Nemesis’ velocity while the orbit’s radius shrank. The starbombers passed over endless urbanscape, soared over cerulean seas, and slipped past dozens of blockade vessels; most of which appeared to be little more than dots; almost mishued stars in a celestial vista. But one dot grew steadily larger, slowly engendering itself into the familiar bar-shape of a bulk cruiser.

“Passive targetting sensors are on…the Coromant appears to be making a stationary orbit…it’s not under power right now,” reported the weapon’s officer, “it’s a sitting duck. Should be an easy shot.”

“Six here, my weapon’s officer says we’ve got a pretty good shot at this thing.”

Jason gazed ahead at the colorful cruiser. A blur of gray eclipsed it and grew larger. Instinctively, he pulled the yoke of his fighter up; Justice Six climbed up. Several seconds passed, and a light freighter surged past the two bombers right where Justice Five had just been. He shook his head.

“Assuming we don’t hit anything, or nothing hits us,” bit back Jason, “but otherwise yes, we’re good to go. Jammer, report to the Foudroyant that everything looks clean from our side. Six, let’s throttle down and wait for the others to get into position.”

The two starbombers soared upwards, escaping the pull of the Regalum; letting their circular orbit fling them up effortlessly towards the Coromant. Five cranked down the throttled, letting the darkened craft drift past several guard freighters and closer to the bulk cruiser. He rolled the yoke, jerked it, slid forward; jostling his fighter to stay oriented towards the Coromant; Justice Five flew towards the bulk cruiser like a thrown dart in slow motion. As they neared the mercenary vessel, he pressed the floor pedals, and the starbomber rapidly deaccelerated into what seemed to be a halt. But Jason knew better, they were orbiting Regalum III at hundreds if not thousands of kilometers per second. But everything is relative; especially time. An hour seemed to pass before a single voice interrupted his thoughts.

“This is the Captain speaking, all bombers can open fire at will.”

Jammer seemed to take relish in the news, rapidly punching buttons on the console directly behind Jason. Two dual torrents of dark dragonfire appeared to fill space with dark gray exhausts and black thorns. Concussion missiles from the two craft slammed into the cruiser en masse. A cancerous explosion grew over the Coromant's stern. Jason almost immediately jerked the stick hard to the right. Sending Justice Five into rudimentary evasive actions just as the first missile barrage fell silent; as the motley crew of pirates and mercenaries realized that they were under attack. The ephemeral fireballs blossomed and withered away, leaving scorched plating. Charred sections of the Coromant’s engines floated off into space or simply dissolved into dust which intermingled with the dozens of other particles of space.

“Oooh…that’s gotta hurt,” smiled Jammer, “I don’t think the Coromant’s going anywhere.”

As if to reinforce that point, the wedge of the Foudroyant flashed into their vicinity. The star destroyer’s turbolasers flew into a rage, spraying the hapless and surprised merc ships. Freighters exploded into fomenting suns of debris. As the pirate freighters fled or perished, the Coromant stood unmoved. The Foudroyant edged closer to the bulk cruiser, and in a flash of light, the Coromant disappeared from view.

La Galissonière-class Star Destroyer Foudroyant, Regalus System

“No word on the Coromant,” reported Tresk, “We are certain that both the sublight drives and the main hyperdrive were destroyed in the attack run.”

Aspholme sighed. “He must have recently installed a new back-up hyperdrive then. Still, the Coromant cannot go too many places without any sublight drives. Heck, the reserve hyperdrive can probably only take the Coromant on a couple of jumps. He might have escaped us now, but we’ll get him. But I suppose the main thing is that the blockade is broken. How have mop-up operations been like?”

“Easy,” reported Lira, “I think the Stormfire’s stealth bombers have pretty much terrified any opposition we could possibly have. No-one wants to sit around to get blown up to tiny bits without a speck of warning. It’s very unprofitable I hear.”

“You hear?” questioned Tresk.

“She’s using what’s called sarcasm,” explained Jim, “it’s sort of like my bad jokes…”

The alien’s face wrinkled. “I do not understand you people at times. But I do not care.”

“Uh…thanks?” replied Lira.

“You don’t understand us? We don’t understand you,” said Jim, “mutual ununderstanding. I like that.”

“Captain,” called out a crewman, “the last of the food freighters has taken up position within the convoy formation. We are ready to jump.”

“Well then, we jump back to Brandenburg…you may begin the jump countdown, lieutenant.”



Bulk Cruiser Coromant, Deep space

The two men stood staring at the holographic projection of a Hutt. One stood silent, dwelling in the shadows of the quarters like a wraith; out of sight from the alien. The other one animatedly debated with alien, going so far as to point his blaster at the Hutt at times.

“The blockade is shattered, and the planet is free,” stated the elder Aspholme, “I barely escaped with my ship. And it is not a remotely intact ship. With the repairs I’ll need, the Coromant will be a drydock for a couple of months. I expect you to help pay for these as per our agreement.”

The Hutt laughed. “You failed your end of the agreement.”

“I did not,” countered the Captain, “I was only contracted to blockade the planet for three months, not the four it ended up being. You got an extra month out of my crew and my ship.”

“Yes Aspholme,” admitted the Hutt, “I did. But our agreement says that I would only have to pay for damages rendered to your ship during those three months. Clearly, two days ago was not part of this three month stint. You are on your own.”

“Bastard,” swore the captain, “I was doing this for your benefit. You wanted it.”

“And do you always do what others want?” questioned the Hutt, “surely you can’t do that for everyone. People have conflicting views. And I can’t pay for those repairs, because I do not have the money since Jha’frey refused to pay interest.”

“He repaid the principle back…”

“But that wasn’t my money,” replied the alien, “it was another beings. I borrowed money to lend to Jha’frey, so I essentially made no profit at all. I took a loss instead because of the incompetence of your people. And you think I going to pay for your failure? To heal yourselves from your failure? Your failure and its consequences are your own. Goodbye, Captain.”

The holo-projector viseage faded, and the elder Aspholme swore. “When it comes to money, it seems I can never trust anyone. Not my partners, not my employers, heck, not even my own kid. And now he somehow has a bigger ship than I do.”

“But it is not his,” replied Sarcev, “nor does it really matter. We have a bigger ship for you, a bigger job, and even perhaps a chance for revenge. I suggest you take it.”

The aging man turned a stare back at the fallen Jedi. “Why wouldn’t I? I have nothing to lose now, do I?”