Public Docking Rights and... Wrongs [Nar Shaddaa]

[Braze]

The Smuggler’s Moon prided itself on being ungovernable. A glittering rock of plausible deniability, unpaid tariffs, and creative interpretations of 'ownership'. A deplorable den of debauchery where dubious dealings and back alley backstabbings were simply how business was done.

Which made it deeply inconvenient when, by breakfast, half the docking pads had new authorization codes, updated contracts, and a very polite notice reading:

Docking Rights Under NEW MANAGEMENT. Payments Accepted Through Terminals. Complaints Filed in Writing May Be Submitted at the Kiosk.

Stranger still, there were no loud explosions. Nor scorch marks to denote that any hostile takeovers took place. No dramatic declarations of conquest either. Just a trail of dubiously legally binding signatures and several crime lords blinking at datapads like they had lost a limb.

Apparently, while everyone else had been busy smuggling, someone had discovered the far more dangerous weapon; paperwork.

For those wily enough to dig a little deeper, the truth was less glamorous and far more irritating. Rumors had started weeks ago; insurance carriers withdrawing coverage, quiet audits pending, old debts about to be called in. Then traffic began to thin. Certain captains, discreetly compensated, avoided specific pads and muttered about liability risks and potential seizures. Income dipped… just enough to make owners nervous.

Right on cue, a wealthy intermediary arrived with offers well above market value; generous, fast, and clean. Several outstanding debts were quietly purchased and forgiven upon transfer of ownership. And for a stubborn few, subtle reminders surfaced regarding unregistered shipments and irregular manifests best left forgotten.

Sell high. Clear your name. Sleep easier…

The installations and closings happened overnight. Terminals were replaced; access protocols rewritten; blast doors reinforced. Polite kiosks now stood near the docks, vending access cards like refreshments from a machine. Credits in… permission out. Security grids recalibrated. Defensive measures upgraded from inconvenient to lethal.

By dawn, half the Moon’s docking network answered to a single, impeccably organized authority.

 

[Mauve du Vain]

“Uh, Miss Du Vain?”

Dead space… what was it now?

“Someone is trying to change all the docking codes.”

“What?” Mauve set her drink down.

“Yeah they uh. They’re trying to issue a planet wide edict.”

Mauve rolled her eyes. “Let the Underlord know. Honestly, people these days.”

She thought a moment.

“Also, have the individuals who obeyed that edict rounded up.”

“And shot?”

“No… well. Not yet,” a languorous smirk curled across her lips.

Velzari Tharn Braze

 

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

The galaxy keeps trying to teach Kinley Pryse lessons, but she keeps skipping class.​

Canto Belle settled onto the pad with a muted thunk, landing struts locking into place like they were proud of themselves. Kinley cut the engines and immediately knew something was wrong. There was no shouting. No blaster fire. No dockhands trying to charge her twice for the same service.

Instead, a slim, cheerful kiosk rolled up on repulsors and chirped.

"Welcome! Please insert credits to receive temporary docking authorization."

Kinley stared at it.

"…No."

She swung down from the ramp, boots hitting duracrete hard, and leaned in close enough that her reflection warped across its polished screen. "Listen, toaster. I've docked here since before whoever programmed you learned what a liability waiver was."

The kiosk emitted a pleasant tone. "Unauthorized docking detected. Please resolve outstanding balance to avoid enforcement action."

"Oh this is personal now," Kinley snapped.

A Smooth Criminal