Smuggler Captain
The space lanes of the Outer Rim were a graveyard of broken promises, drifting wreckage, and quiet deals made in the dark. That was exactly why Colton Renth loved them.
His ship — the Shadow Hawk — slid silently through the shadow of a fractured asteroid belt near Ord Mantell. To an untrained eye, the freighter looked like a battered YT-1300 transport held together by mismatched hull plates and stubborn luck. In reality, it was one of the fastest ghosts in the sector.
Colton leaned back in the pilot's chair, boots resting on the console as starlight flickered across the cockpit glass.
"Come on… don't make this difficult," he muttered, watching the sensor display.
A red blip blinked into existence.
Then two more.
He sighed.
"Of course they brought escorts."
Behind him, a mechanical whirr sounded as a battered astromech unit — designation K3-V0 — rolled forward and beeped sharply.
"Yeah, I see them," Colton replied. "Black Sun wants the shipment intact. Nobody said anything about it being easy."
The job had been simple on paper: intercept a SoroSuub transport carrying spice derivatives and prototype shield emitters, relieve the crew of their cargo, and deliver everything to a Black Sun contact on Nar Shaddaa. Standard pirating work.
Except nothing in the Outer Rim was ever simple.
The transport emerged from the asteroid shadows, bulky and slow. Two Z-95 Headhunters flanked it, scanning for threats.
Colton's fingers danced across the console.
The Shadow Hawk's illegal modifications hummed to life — sensor bafflers, military-grade stealth plating, and overclocked thrusters stolen from an Imperial courier.
The freighter disappeared from scans.
"Let's dance," he said.
He cut power and drifted silently, letting the convoy pass.
At the last second, he ignited the engines.
The Shadow Hawk surged forward like a striking viper.
Before the escorts could react, ion cannons flashed blue.
One Headhunter spiraled helplessly, systems dead.
The second pilot panicked, overshooting the target as Colton slipped beneath the transport's belly.
"Boarding clamps, now."
Metal groaned as the freighter latched onto the transport hull.
Inside the cargo vessel, alarms erupted.
Colton grabbed his helmet, sealed it, and pulled a compact blaster carbine from the rack.
"Watch the ship," he told K3-V0.
The droid gave a sarcastic whistle.
The cutting torch ignited, burning through the hull. Moments later, Colton dropped into the cargo bay amid startled crew members.
"Easy," he said, leveling the carbine. "Nobody gets spaced if nobody gets brave."
They chose wisely.
Minutes later, crates marked with SoroSuub sigils were floating through vacuum toward the Shadow Hawk's cargo hold.
As the last container locked in place, the remaining escort fighter returned, weapons hot.
"Should've stayed gone," Colton muttered, sliding back into the cockpit.
Laser fire streaked past the viewport.
He smiled.
The modified thrusters roared.
The Shadow Hawk spun through the asteroid field, weaving through impossible gaps. The fighter clipped a rock and vanished in a blossom of fire.
Silence returned.
Colton set a course for hyperspace.
Stars stretched into white lines.
He exhaled slowly, tension melting into satisfaction.
Smuggling. Pirating. Living between the cracks of empires and crime lords.
Dangerous work.
But Black Sun paid well — and in the Outer Rim, credits meant survival.
K3-V0 beeped curiously.
Colton smirked.
"Yeah, yeah. After Nar Shaddaa, we take a break."
He paused.
"Short break."
The Shadow Hawk vanished into hyperspace, carrying stolen cargo, a growing reputation, and a pilot who thrived where law and order dared not follow.
.
