Rendili StarDrive Offices

“The Director will see you now,” announced the reception droid, “we are sorry for the delay.”

Redrask Tite slowly rose from his chair, habitually spared a glance backward. No-one there…no-one was here when I came either…wonder what the Director’s up to. It’s not often Alliance sends anyone over here for fear of detection, and even then, we only get here when Rendili invites us here…I bet they arrange things so that the chances of even seeing us are slim to none, even with us wearing civilian clothing. I guess they’re taking no chances… The gray-man stared at the two durasteel doors in front of him, and spared a glance back; the reception droid was literally rolling away from him, back to its desk. The man shrugged. Was the droid talking to me? Ah, I forget…well, here goes nothing. The former New Republic captain rapped his fist on the door. It whisked open with a hiss, revealing a wood paneled office in which an older man stood in. The Director of Production swept his arm behind him, gesturing for the red-headed man to enter. He did, and no sooner had he when the door snapped shut behind him.

“Was there something wrong with the doorbell?” asked the businessman.

Tite slightly blushed. “Probably not. Forgive me, but I’m not use to those sort of features working…”

The other man frowned. “Not on your ship? Well, I suppose the Alliance is more concerned with keeping the main systems functioning…”

“Yes indeed, sir,” replied Redrask, “it’s getting harder to find parts for ships from Dac; especially after the Dragons attacked.”

The Director winced. “I’d imagine so. From what I hear, Mon Calamari ships are difficult enough to repair as it is…”

“Indeed sir.”

“Well, you’re probably wondering why you’re here then, yes?”

“Yes sir. Command didn’t tell me the nature of this meeting.”

“That’s because High Command doesn’t know it either,” smiled the man, “the less information that flows, the less there is to leak out. And ambiguity of who, what, when, and et cetera allows us to adapt to circumstances as they arise, particularly accusations. For right now though, you are an Outer Rim shipping company officer interested in acquiring some of older freighters, at least according to my schedule. But in sheer honesty, we are talking because the Board is somewhat displeased about the lack of the Alliance’s progress.”

Tite bit his lip. “Most of the Alliance military is busy with the liberation of Kalaan and setting up a government there. Faulkner is personally overseeing everything there, as far as I know. It’s hard to do much with what little we have…”

“I understand. You misunderstand me, Mr…who are you again?”

“Do you need to know?” questioned the Captain, “The less you know…”

“The better off I am, yes. Well then, I shall call you Mr. Blank. Mr. Blank, the Board understands the problems of the Alliance currently, at least to a degree. There is a will, there is a way, but there is not enough material to be used. At least not if the Alliance is to come about within a decade. We would like to change that, by providing some of the material needed for the liberation effort. Consider it a catalysis for change in the galaxy. Of course, this is only the first bit.”

Tite’s weathered face turned into a frown, “Has Rendili found a solution to dealing with the identification problem?”

For the past months, Rendili Stardrive had managed to funnel a minute amount of its profits to the Alliance, as well as several non-military ships sold on the open market. But what it had not been able to do was provide the Alliance with warships; a real issue when most of the Fleet was not only outdated, but also undermaintained, and gradually falling apart from a lack of spare parts. For any warship that Rendili had immediately available would be immediately recognized as being a Rendili design, and thus, would send any investigators right to Rendili’s door. And after careful and precise investigation, something that Imperial Intelligence could possibly do, could pin the ships as being sent directly from the company.

“Yes,” reported the man, “it’s taken some time to set up, but I believe we are finally there. A remote, automated production facility of ours in the Outer Rim has been set up to not only produce drone barges, but new corvettes.’

The man tapped a button, and the desk’s built-in holo-projector produced a floating image of twin-hulled ship. Redrask almost instantly recognized it: a Warrior-class Corvette. It was a reasonably effective design common within the New Republic Fleet during the height of its power. Tite had even served in one as his first command, back when he had first graduated from the Republic’s academy to fight the Yevetha. The director stared at him, and Redrask shrugged in response.

“Warrior-class Gunship, fast, reasonably well-armed…did pretty well against the Yevetha, at least.”

The man smiled. “Ah, but this is not the Warrior-class that you know. It is true, that it is based on the Warrior-class design, but it’s otherwise a remarkably different ship. We figured that a ship which seems not to be our product, but one which seems to be part of the Republic’s Navy. Modified from old Warriors, perhaps…anyways, we’ve dubbed them Warrior IIs. In any case, four of them are ready to be picked up at the plant; we can’t make any more of them until they removed from the internal drydocks. So, I would have you and some of your crew pick them up…”

The Director slid open a door in his desk, and handed out a data-disk to him.

“This,” said the Rendili officer, “will provide you the passcodes to the facility, into the ships themselves, and the location of the facility. The ship plans are also in there too, in case the Alliance has any other shipyard that we don’t know about, and so you can familiarize the ships’ crew before you board them. We do ask one thing of you: to give us a progress report of what the Alliance does with the ships within 3 months. Of course, we will call you when we expect it. Now then, you should probably go, before anyone else accidentally wanders into the area…’

Warrior II-class Corvette Halberdier, deep space

“This is the most ridiculous ship I have served upon, ever,” ranted Lieutenant Adrik, “and that’s saying something. I feel like a frakkin hobo in a Moff’s mansion...”

Captain Tite suppressed a smile; every since boarding the ship, Adrik, the ship’s newly-appointed captain had babbled on about the ship’s peculiar design. For Rendili had gone far past of making it not look one of their products, but had instead made it a luxurious tool fit not only to be a warship, but quite likely a state yacht. Walls had been painted in calming blues, only overlaid by occasional gold and white striping; the ship had somewhat impractical gold-tinged carpeting; seats and other furnishing were almost unreasonably well-padded. But perhaps the most luxurious feature onboard was the recreational lounge with its vista of the stars.

“…I didn’t know the Alliance could afford something like this. I mean, look our uniforms. They’re terrible and old…”

“I think I know why it’s like this,” interrupted Redrask, “and the manufacturers had good reason to do this, but not to all of the gunships…”

Adrik frowned. “They were donated? But who would-”

“It’s none of your concern. You know our mantra…”

“The less I know, the better off we will be?”

“Close enough,” accepted Redrask.

Faulkner has used a disarmed Warrior corvette as his personal transport to some places; maybe one of them was Rendili. If Rendili saw it, they might have planned that we’d be using them for diplomatic missions besides fighting. But a disarmed warrior isn’t terribly useful in battle, and we have a shortage of armed starships… Tite found himself staring at one of the other Alliance corvette through the bridge viewport. He cleared his throat.

“It appears that the Justiciar is listing a bit to the port…”

“Probably hasn’t figured out how to use the frakkin armor flaps yet…”

The Felucia native grinned. This is probably the only ship that uses its armor for auxiliary propulsion. Building retractable solar sail flaps into the armor is ingenious to some degree. It means no detectable engine or propulsion sensor signature for long-range stealth, and we can move if we’re out of fuel or power…but it also makes us rather slow and somewhat ungainly. Maybe we can fool the Imps into thinking that we’re yachts..heh…probably not. The helmsman cleared his throat.

“We’ve reached the navpoint to make the jump to Target Sharku.”

Adrik raucously swore, “Now we have to wait for those f-ing idiots on the Justiciar...”

Tite ignored the cursing captain, and picked up his long-range comlink. “All ships, assume the Geonosis Square and prepare to make the jump to Target Sharku. All ships will jump on my mark…”

Several minutes passed before the Justiciar managed to assume its position with the rest of the Alliance gunships. The starships had barely retracted their solar-sail flaps back into the hull when Captain Tite gave the order to make the jump. The four Warrior IIs surged into the luminous realm of hyperspace. Several hours later, Tite found his gray eyes staring out of the bridge’s viewport, idly watching the stars flash by the Halberdier. He felt a slight shift begin within the ship’s artificial gravity, and the corvette emerged into realspace. A world covered in shades of green along with a few splotches of deep blue dominated the viewport. Several of the consoles pinged, and their operators began to shout back and forth between each other.

“The Repulse isn’t here…”

“But I’ve got a dozen light freighters closing in on us fast…”

Redrask frowned and typed a few codes into his command console. The holoscreen flashed through a couple images before settling on a motley group of tramp freighters. His lip twitched. His dreadnaught isn’t here…which is odd enough, but we’ve never seen these freighters before on the recon runs. And the fact that they’re moving towards us, and rather fast…faster than any normal freighter should be able to do…they’ve been modified…the warlord’s irregulars, perhaps? The man sighed. Nothing ever goes as planned…

“Hail the freighters, and tell them to halt, otherwise we’ll shoot,” ordered Captain Tite.

“Ah…they’re not responding…”

“Criminals or the warlords forces then,” muttered Adrik, “well, give them hell then. All guns, fire.”

A miniature fireworks show exploded from within the gunships’ formation as dozens of autoblasters sent of endless torrents of minute red bolts towards the freighters. The needlebeam particle cannons opened fire, emanating pulsed rays of dark green towards the charging freighters. Most of the bolts harmlessly passed by the wildly dodging freighters, but one of the particle pulses hit a Gymsor freighter right on, passing through its shields and most of what would have been its normal cargo hold to hit its engines. A minor conflagration went off within the freighter as an auxiliary power generator with several of its connected circuits exploded. Debris from the explosion ripped apart the other engine room equipment. The Gymsor’s engines went dead, sending the ship to drift towards its foes. In the meantime, several of the assault freighters had launched missiles and proton torpedoes, which the autoblaster batteries mostly dispatched before they could hit the Alliance ships. Tite grimaced.

“Tractor in that disabled freighter, and prepare a boarding team. I want prisoners; I want to know what’s going on here…See if we can disable any of the other freighters, you might as well launch the Dx-9s to help us with that task…”

“Yes sir.”

Adrik grimaced as the screams continued, halting his speech as one particularly loud wail pierced through the bulkheads and into the corvette’s lounge. One of lounge’s doors slipped open, and another pair of Alliance marines stepped over to the man and his uniformed captive, just taken off the disabled Gymsnor freighter. The wailing grew softer, turning into dull moans mixed with the occasional curse, which then was followed up by an unusual harsh yelp of pain. Finally, the sound seemed to disappear, and Adrik continued talking.

“If you don’t want to talk; I undertand. I respect the loyal subordinate, but I can’t help you out then…” sighed the Lieutenant, “The captain’s a little crazy frak at times. I mean, he’s nice enough to us…not so much to people of your affiliation. From what I understand, a stormtrooper executed his wife in front of his own eyes…but, with all of your ships captured or destroyed, he’ll have plenty of people to work with for a while…”

“How long do I have?” questioned the warlord’s soldier.

Adrik shrugged. “Well, that depends. I can put in a word for you…Would you like to go sooner, or later? I mean, you can have all done and over with if you want, or you can prolong it, maybe get rescued…but then you’ll be brooding over it…either way, it’s going to be painful…for seventy creds, I can smuggle in some pain medications to you…”

The other man’s face contorted. “What does he do?”

“Oh, different things. The captain likes to experiment, but right now he’s using a neuronic whip I bet, judging by those screams. That poor guy probably will die from the captain purposely infecting the wounds, you know, letting them fester and such. Speaking of which, I remember a time when we had landed on some forlorn planet, so the Captain strapped a particularly hostile prisoner to the hull, and we lifted up spaceside you see…You know, let’s just let it stop there…”

The prisoner paled. “And what happened? Did he suffocate?”

“Well…no…the pressure changes got him first, it was a bit messy…”

“Is there no good way out of this?”

“Well, usually the only way we can keep the captain from killing or torturing prisoners like yourself is if we can prove that he’s useful…”

“I can clean the decks, be a virtual slave,” offered the man.

“I’m sorry,” replied Adrik, “but we’ve tried that with him, and it doesn’t work. The captain just says that we have droids to do that stuff, and that we can’t risk letting you run around the ship, even under guard…”

“Well, what can I do than? What have the others done?”

“They’ve talked, and not just a little, but a lot…I mean, you could talk a little, and he’ll prolong the torture sessions somewhat, I hope…I mean, he’s done it for a little under half of them if he takes a liking to them…”

“If I talk…is there any pain?”

“Well, usually we can stop him from doing it, and he has enough common sense not to kill a useful person…but if he finds out that you’re lying…well, let’s just say his regular torture goes up a few levels…’

“I’d just be in a cell then?”

Adrik nodded, “Yeah, the ship’s brig…”

Another scream emanated from the room behind them.

“I’ll do it.”

“Alrighty then, guards, take this one to the brig and tell the Captain that we have a talker..,”

The two soldiers nodded, and escorted the hand-cuffed man out of the lounge. As the door hissed behind them, a chair a table over swiveled about to face the Lieutenant. Fiddling with his datapad, Adrik only spared a glance at Captain Tite

“Think we have them?” questioned Tite.

Another scream echoed throughout the room.

“Whoops, wrong button,” informed Adrik, still fiddling with the datapad, “yeah, I’d say so. We’ve already gotten most of the Rover’s crew to talk. And I think the Astral’s crew has gotten several of the warlord’s men to talk already…I’m more concerned with what we’re going to do with them after they’ve talked…”

Tite shrugged, “Put them back on that Gymnsor. It’s only got life support working right now, and it’ll have plenty of cargo space after we remove their supplies.”

“And put the supplies where?”

“Well, we’ll have to load up one of the Dx-9s with them, likely. That or just leave them out in space for later pickup.”

“They’ll get damaged that way…” sighed Adrik, “I think we’re better off temporarily losing a transport for a bit, even with the planned assault, given the nature of the cargo…”

“Agreed. Crap, I was suppose to talk to the Colonel about the landing…” swore Tite, rising from his seat, “I’ll be back later. Keep the prisoners running scared in my absence.”

“I mean, what the frak? I could have swore it was green two minutes ago…”

“It must have been a trick of their star’s light,” mused Captain Tite, “according to Warlord Delurin’s men, everything down there is darker than normal, it’s going to seem like midnight there all the time to us; which makes the bombardment scenario more attractive in my opinion, especially since we don’t have night equipment for all of our marines. And given that it isn’t apparently in the best of shape.”

“Not unsurprisingly,” agreed Adrik, “it doesn’t seem likely that the base would ever be under attack given Krann’s location, and the planet’s conditions itself. But that being said, I am worried about the bombardment; we could hit some of the native Kluuzot, if they’re imprisoned there. And that could lead to some issues…”

“We could move in then, and call for the base to surrender,” offered Redrask, “save the lives of everyone involved, and some property too. I think if we have all of our ships move in to hover over it, it would be intimidating enough.”

Adrik snorted. “Assuming they can see them…but I have to admit, intimidation did work with the others. I bet their loyalty isn’t the strongest, nor their morale.”

“Can you blame them? Being stuck on some planet where you cannot see? I think we will have to make contact with the Alliance Resistance on-site, and work with them on this one.”

Chivez, Krann

Dromunt Kintor stared through the infrared, macroscope of his sniper rifle and picked out another hunched figure. Another one? Has Delurin finally decided that we’re worth the effort? Well…we’re probably not worth the effort; the exports are worth the effort of his Dragon Troopers. For the past few months, the SpecForce sergeant had been observing Delurin’s work on-planet, and organizing the native Kluuzot into effective resistance cells to oppose the Warlord. Thus far, they had accomplished little, having stolen four landspeeders and a cartload of nova crystals, as well as having disposed of almost three squads of Delurin’s men. In the process however, two Alliance specialists had died, along with two dozen Kluuzot. Not an especially successful campaign, but one that had inconvienced the invaders, at least. One of the hunched, reptilian creatures lifted his blade to the sky, and flourishing it about, unleashed a harsh, guttural shout. Kintor felt a shiver run up his spine, and pressed his eye closer to the scope of his rifle. Wait…they’re…they’re coming after us? But how, it’s so dark, and they can’t see…crap…they can smell probably… The sniper grimaced, and pulled the trigger on his rifle. A bright burst of crimson flared from the weapon’s nozzle, an soared over the foliage and through the helm and into the Dragon Trooper leader’s head. The alien soldier wavered and crashed onto the ground with a clash. Tumultous voices of the angry Dragon Troopers rose into the forest, but Kintor merely scoped out the rest of the base; noting with fear and annoyance the presence of more Dragon Troopers piling out of the pre-fabricated base. The soldier stood up, slung his rifle on his back, and began the two-kilometer trek to one of the Resistance’s landspeeders. He tapped the comlink clasped onto his chest.

“Vanguard One here, Halberdier, be advised that the facility is swarming with Dragon Troopers. There are more here than the Resistance can hope to deal with. I’m getting the heck out of here, and so are the rest of my observers. You’re on your own, for now…”

Warrior II-class Corvette Halberdier, Krann

Redrask found himself staring out of the bridge viewport and into the dark, swirling atmosphere of Krann. Glancing about him, the Alliance captain could make out two hazy shapes to the port and starboard, the Justiciar and Defender; both of which would be an alabaster white in normal lighting. The red-haired man plucked his canteen from his belt and took a swig of water. Adrik quietly strolled over to the captain.

“We’ve lost contact with Vanguard One,” reported the Lieutenant.

Redrask winced. “How?”

“He’s running away; apparently Delurin has just launched a mass sortie of Dragon Troopers against the resistance…”

“The warlord’s personal troops? Apparently resistance did too well…”

“And it leaves us in a bind.”

“Yes,” agreed Captain Tite, “Hm….well…we really can’t risk a bombardment without some sort of guidance…but ready the warhead launchers with low-grade proton torpedoes. I guess…I guess we’ll have to send our own team of spotters.”

“Sir?”

“You know, launch a squad of marines on a DX-9, have it drop them off..wait…no, launch the DX-9s and have them blaze through the Dragon Troopers. The gunships have night-vision, right?”

“They should have infrared,” replied Adrik, “assuming that Rendili gave us standard models…”

“Do it.”

Pairs of Dx-9 transports dropped out of the Warriors’ hulls and plunged into the atmosphere. At one hundred meters, the impromptu gunships engaged their repulsorlift engines, which halted their descent with a jostle of men and machinery. The starships quietly hovered closer to the ground; to their enemies. On the targeting screens of the transports, gunners picked out the dull red and black visages of the marauding Dragon Troopers, and swiveled their weapons to bear upon the Alliance’s foes. With the order given from Tite, the gunships fired. The quad laser cannons, their crimson bolts illuminating the darkened sky, poured out streams of wrath down into the Dragon Troopers. Most smashed into Delurin’s ranks, incinerating flesh and armor alike, and wreaking chaos in the process. But nearly as many missed; bolts connected with the native earth, incinerating a small portion of it and throwing the rest up into the air. Other bolts hewed native plants and trees asunder. And Alliance personnel watched the carnage dispassionately; an exercise in gunnery skills and tactics. But to those on Krann itself, it seemed as if the Kluuzon gods had finally come to wreak their vengeance and save their worshippers.

Crystalfall Base, Krann

At one point, Crystalfall had been little more than a set of Nen-Carvon Rapid Deployment Modules augmented by duracrete armor and walls; One of the many bases used by the Imperial Army to subjugate the Kluuzots. But with Delurin’s rise, Crystalfall became the Imperial base on Krann as the warlord’s manpower and resources fell with the rise of the New Republic. When the Republic had vanished, Delurin found himself with more men and material to spare, and Crystalfall had been refurbished and expanded; life had been jovial for most of the men. But with the Halberdier and her consorts bearing down on their base, they refound the fear instilled in them by their encounters of the New Republic. The Alliance gunships terrorized the Dragon Troopers, the nearby officers of Crystalfall Base quickly jotted down notes and continued transmitting live feed from the base’s sensors to the Galaxy Dragon. The garrison commander frowned as he realized via holo-projector that the corvettes were edging even closer to the base. A man lightly tapped his shoulder.

“So, do you want the bad news, or the bad news?” joked one of Delurin’s lieutenants.

Captain Morfonne’s face merely paled slightly. “What is it now? No reinforcements?”

“Well, someone sabotaged the Galaxy Dragon's hyperdrives…so, well, Delurin won’t be here to save us.”

The captain let out an exasperated sigh. “Well, we don’t have any weapons to deal with starships. That doesn’t leave us with many good options.”

The other man frowned. “You’re contemplating surrender?”

“Well, yes. I’m not sure what those corvettes have, but more likely than not, they’ll have weapons quite capable of demolish duracrete barriers…I feel no need to throw my life away, nor anyone else’s here.”

“But Delurin will…kill if he hears of this. Think about your Molly.”

The Captain snorted. “Yes, that sounds like something he might do. I’d suggest retreating of the base and starting our guerilla campaign against these newcomers, but I imagine the Kluuzon would get the best of us rather quickly. We either surrender, or fight to the death. I think….I think that I’d rather live and bear the risk of Molly dying rather than trying a futile fight.”

“But…but Delurin?”

“He can go to hell; he doesn’t apparently care much about us, or else we’d be better equipped,” snapped Morfonne, “now, if I give a direct order to surrender, everyone here in this base will obey me. None of us need to get needlessly shot. Will you drop your rifle if I say so?”

“Well…”

“Are you loyal to me? Or to Delurin? I have taken care of you and your brothers-in-arms. It is I who have sheltered and protected you-”

The private unholstered his blaster pistol and leveled it at his officer. “I know where my loyalty lies, and it’s to Delurin. He’s the one who took me off a backward world and showed me the amenties of modern living. He’s the one who has paid me. And I will do his will now in gratitude, traitor.”

His blaster’s muzzle flashed emerald, and the bolt surged into Morfonne’s chest, producing a smoldering crater where his heart had once been. As the Captain dropped to the durasteel floor in a heap, malice overcame the private, who began to sweep his weapon’s barrel across the other former Imperial servicemen. Most of them raised their hands or did their best to ignore the murderous man. A cruel grin spread across the soldier’s face.

“Any more traitors?”

A muzzle flashed again, and the private too fell to the floor, next to his fallen captain. Crystalfall’s second in command quietly resheathed his blaster pistol and stared across the room. He opened his mouth, shut it, and deliberately opened it again.

“I think we all know the Captain’s last wishes. As for me, I will follow them, but I will not choose for all of you. If you too want to surrender, come with me…”

Two days later…

Crystalfall Base, Krann

“The last of Fossk’s forces have surrendered, sir.”

“The ones holed up in the Hulas Mines?”

“Yes sir. The native resistance forces had them pinned, and when the Justiciar’s Marines moved in for the kill, they just all gave up.”

Captain Redrask Tite merely nodded, and at the prodding of his protocol droid, returned back to overseeing the primary reason for his groundside visit to Krann: the Crystalfall Accords. While the native Kluuzot along with Alliance Special Forces had worked against the Warlord’s reign over the planet, it had been an informal working relationship. One only needed a handshake, a quick introduction, and dislike of the occupiers that culminated in violence against them to get along: the proverbial enemy of my enemy is my friend. It was a mentality that had worked out well with the many different and separated groups of Kluuzot that had formed the resistance on Krann. But with the disposement of Delurin’s rule, of his Dragon Troopers, of his overseers, the Kluuzot had regained their long-lost freedom and independence. No longer would the resistance fighters struggle against a foreign invader, but they would struggle to refind who they had been, and who they would have to become in order to survive the upcoming years. It would mean having a formal government, to which the Kluuzot were in the process of creating, though it remained to see what that government would be. Some argued for a restoration of the Kluuzot Empire; others saw the Galactic Empire and the democracies of the galaxy, and after a long deprivation of the most basic freedoms, longed for all freedoms. Democracy was their watchword, and for the most extreme among them, anarchy. And yet while the sides debated their political ideologies, the interim Kluuzot Freedom Council ruled; an assembly of all of the major resistance leaders throughout the war. It was these leaders who Tite had to talk to in order to make a more formal, lasting relationship between the Kluuzot and the Alliance; after all, with Delurin’s defeat on the planet, no longer could unity come through violence against the Warlord’s brutal overseers and their enforcers.

A short, lemur-like being tugged at Tite’s trousers, prompting the red-haired man to swivel his head about and stare down at the being.

“Hm….Yes?”

“Thu?” translated the protocol droid.

“Tsk Krwu assdi por tia?”

“He wants to know how much of the Accord has been written up.”

Tite rolled his eyes. “Well, you know better than me; tell him.”

“Certainly sir,” replied the droid dejectedly, who then turned back to the Kluuzot, “Est kia assdi Krwu por Tyira.”

The Kluuzot made a surprisingly human-like nod, and scurried out of the base’s operations center the way he had came. Tite motioned towards the alien’s exit with his thumb.

“Where’s he off to?” demanded the Alliance officer.

“Well, I imagine the Kluuzot Freedom Council,” replied the prissy droid, “they are just camped out one point two kilometers southwest of the base.”

“Right. Anything else you would like to tell me? Like if the Kluuzot are cannibals?”

“Well, despite their use of totem skulls, they are not cannibals. But now that you mention it, there is a-”

“I meant that as a rhetorical question…”

“Well, sir, do not waste your or my energy by asking questions you do not want to be answered. I will get back to translating the document then; these ones use a very peculiar dialect…”

“Sir?” asked a sullen voice.

Redrask turned about again to face the familiar voice, with not a little pleasure; he broadly grinned.

“Adrik! How are the prisoners turning out to be?”

“Uh…I guess they’re all right. It’s kind of hard to tell, seeing that we’ve crammed them into those cargo barges that are lifting off to space. I’m guessing they’ll be fine, if the inertial compensators work.”

“I imagine the g-forces would be rather strong leaving the atmosphere,” admitted the Captain, “but I imagine that’s not what you’re here to see me about. Nothing that trifling, right?”

“No sir, but in order to use the barges to transport the prisoners, we had to offload their old cargo.”

“Anything useful or important?”

“That’s the thing…”

And after hearing it, Tite frowned.