Private Red Dagger Down

[Vashra Foss]

The hyperspace tunnel collapsed into starlines, then snapped into the ugly orange haze of Mek-Sha's system.

From the cockpit viewport the asteroid looked exactly like what it was: a half-dead mining rock wrapped in scrap metal and bad decisions, its surface pocked with glowing refinery vents and the flickering scars of old explosions.

The intercom crackled. A familiar reedy voice slithered over the channel as slimy as the Rodians gums.

"Chut chut, Red Dagger! Mek-Sha Traffic Control – eh, rodo!" (Hello Red Dagger, this is Mek-Sha traffic control. Respond) Even if that rock would see enough traffic to warrant a control center nobody would care.

Iftak was forever cracking jokes.

Maybe before long his neck bones would crack too.

"Hello traffic control." Vashra relied, her sarcasm probably lost on the frog, "I have your package."


"Vashra, N'ee chuba da Wermo! Hoo jew BYOO? Da slicer gree untouched, Hassk?" (Vashra, my favorite human! You have BYOO? The slicer is unharmed, yesss?)She leaned against the ladder to the cockpit, voice cool, almost bored.
"BYOO's in the brig, zip-tied and gagged like you asked. Five- thousand credits wired to my account the second I touch down, Iftak. And this time the exchange happens inside my ship. I don't step onto your filthy rock until I see the money hit. Clear?"A pause. Too long.Then nervous laughter.

"Nyasoo wupi jee, jee tah. Docking Bay Nine. Meega no bata!" (Always so careful, little dancer. Of course, of course. Docking Bay Nine. I come alone.)

Vashra killed the channel without answering.

Little dancer? Yes, his neck bones would snap. Vashra made a mental note that if she ever got a chance to kill Iftak she would do it with her bare hands.

She didn't trust alone. She didn't trust Iftak breathing. The Red Dagger banked hard, thrusters flaring as it lined up on the scarred landing scar of Bay Nine, a crater gouged into Mek-Sha's crust centuries ago and never bothered to repair. Rust-red floodlights painted the crater walls the color of dried blood. A single figure waited on the deck: Iftak, lime-green skin glistening under the lamps, flanked by two loader droids that definitely weren't there for cargo. Alone was different. Vashra let the freighter hover above the ground, engines whining softly in standby mode.

She she keyed the external speakers. "Money first, frog. Send the confirmation code.And send away the droids. Then, and only then, your slicer walks out."Iftak spread his hands in mock innocence. His snout twitched.

"Oota goota, nabo biznesz Vashra? Chuba." (Always business with you, Vashra. One moment…)

He tapped something on his wrist comm.Thirty meters away, half-buried under slag and forgotten gantries, a concealed turret whined to life.
Twin barrels, old Clone Wars surplus, rose from the crater rim like a waking predator. Vashra saw the targeting laser kiss her cockpit viewport and her reflexes beat technology a quarter-second before the first bolt hit. The Red Dagger rolled and took the hit with its hull plating instead of the plasteel window.

It was bad enough though.
The world exploded. The anti-starship round punched through shields like they were tissue, slammed into the Red Dagger's belly, and detonated.

Alarms screamed. The deck bucked beneath her boots.
Second bolt, third, fourth, the turret walking fire across her hull with mechanical patience. Vashra was already moving, sprinting forward as the freighter lurched sideways, engines dying in showers of sparks.
She slammed the emergency harness in the cockpit just as gravity flipped. The Red Dagger rolled, screaming metal, trailing fire and debris, and fell.It hit the crater floor nose-first at a forty-degree angle.Impact was a white hammer.

The cockpit crumpled. Viewport shattered into a spiderweb.
Vashra's harness snapped taut, ribs creaking, teeth clacking together hard enough to taste blood. Then silence, broken only by the hiss of escaping air and the distant, triumphant chittering of a Rodian laughing over open comms. Dust and smoke billowed through the shattered hull.

Somewhere aft, BYOO was screaming behind his gag.
Vashra spat blood, unclipped the harness with shaking fingers, and drew her BE-09.She smiled, thin and sharp."Alright, Iftak," she whispered to the burning cockpit. "You want to play for keeps?"

"Let's play."

Plover

 

[Plover]

The dagger flipped over in the air once, then again, and now a third time. Each time it came down, slender pale fingers would grasp the hilt and toss it back up once more, its razor sharp blade reflecting the little available light there was in the dimly lit room.

It had been three days since the "Ghost" had arrived on this rock floating in space. There was nothing glamorous about it, but she had seen worse places and being here gave he time to think about her next destination.

Her last job, a "reduction of the Hutt influence in Teth" as her benefactor had labeled the task to her, left her coffers filled to the brim and more credits were added when she landed on this desolate rock and presented an old relic left behind at an abandoned monastery by monks of the B'omarr Order. A trinket that the Hutts had come in ownership of during their explorations of the ruins that apparently held some sort of mystical charm and thus held value that Venya made hers and then used as payment to "disappear for a few days" to a Rodian named Iftak that seemed to be in charge of this place, whatever it was.

Venya would lie low here for a few more days. The search for whoever or whatever took down some of the elite of the Hutt operation on Teth would likely by then pass by and she would be in the clear to move on to her next stop. Where that was, well, she had no idea as of yet. She would keep a close watch on news coming across on her data pad. Perhaps a clue there would lead her to her next job.

The roar of engines now echoed through the corridor outside of the room she was in. This was nothing new or unexpected as the little rock did seem to get some traffic from time to time. It was not that which caught the attention of the Rattataki, it was what happened next.

"Money first, frog. Send the confirmation code. And send away the droids. Then, and only then, your slicer walks out," said a voice coming through an intercom, no doubt of the ship that just arrived. She would hear a reply made by the Rodian, but what was said was not distinguishable over the roar of the engines. However, there was little doubt as what the next sound was as the sound of turrets firing echoed through the corridor now and brought Venya to her feet.

Sheathing the dagger she had been tossing in boredom, the "Ghost of Rattatak" made her way to where the corridor led into the docking bay that the ship was precariously hovering in. The work of the turrets evident on the ship's hull and across the way stood Iftak, a smug look on his less than comely reptilian face.

Keeping to the shadows, the Rattataki would watch to see what would happen next.

Vashra Foss

 

[Vashra Foss]

The crater floor of Docking Bay Nine was a jagged graveyard of twisted metal and smoldering debris, the air thick with the acrid bite of burnt wiring and scorched durasteel. The*Red Dagger* lay broken, its nose buried in the ground, hull groaning under its own weight like a wounded beast. Smoke curled from shattered panels, and sparks hissed sporadically in the dim glow of Mek-Sha's rust-red floodlights.
Above, the turret's barrels whined as they swiveled, searching for a target, but their angle was too steep now—Vashra's crashed ship sat in a blind spot, untouchable for the moment.

Vashra crouched near a fractured viewport in the cockpit, her breath shallow but steady, gray-green eyes sharp despite the blood trickling from a cut on her forehead. Her BE-09 blaster was warm in her grip, finger hovering over the trigger. The harness had bruised her ribs, every inhale a dull ache, but pain was an old friend—she'd grown up with worse on Nar Shaddaa. She wiped blood from her lip with the back of her hand, her smirk cold and dangerous.

Outside, Iftak's loader droids clanked closer, their servos whining over the uneven terrain. Their optics glowed a sickly yellow, scanning for movement, heavy manipulator arms raised like crude weapons. Beyond them, Iftak's lime-green snout peeked from behind a half-dismantled speeder bike, its frame stripped to skeletal bars and dangling wires. His bulbous eyes darted nervously, his earlier cackling replaced by tense silence. Caution had finally kicked in.

Good.

Vashra liked her prey rattled.She steadied her aim through the jagged hole in the viewport, shards of plasteel digging into her leather-clad elbow. The first droid's optic cluster came into view—perfect target. A single crimson bolt snapped out, punching through the lens with a shower of sparks. The machine staggered, circuits frying with a pitiful screech, before collapsing into a heap of twitching metal.

The second droid pivoted toward the shot's origin, too slow. Vashra's next bolt caught it square in the power core; it shuddered violently, then exploded in a small fireball, scattering shrapnel across the crater floor. Now Iftak was alone.

"Nice try, frog," Vashra called out, her voice cutting through the smoky haze, laced with venom and mock amusement. She shifted position slightly, keeping low but ensuring Iftak could hear her loud and clear.

"Seems we've got a Corellian standoff here. You downed my ship, sure, but I've still got your slicer. Somehow, I don't think your client will be thrilled if you sacrifice their precious cargo just to settle a personal grudge."

From behind the speeder bike, Iftak let out a nervous chitter, his voice trembling over the open comm still crackling in Vashra's earpiece. "Chuba na boola, Vashra! Mee no wamma slicer koochu! Jee-jee tinka deal, yesss? Noddo mo shoota!" (You're crazy, Vashra! I don't want the slicer dead! We can rethink this deal, yes? No more shooting!)

Vashra's lips curled into a predatory grin, though her eyes never left the speeder bike, scanning for any sign of movement or backup. She could hear BYOO still whimpering in the brig below, tied up and useless—a bargaining chip worth more alive than dead, at least for now. Her mind raced, calculating odds. Iftak was a coward when cornered, but he wasn't stupid. He'd try something—another trap, maybe, or hired muscle creeping in from the shadows of Mek-Sha's labyrinthine slums.

"Deal?" she spat back, letting her tone drip with disdain as she checked her blaster's charge—still plenty of juice for a few more lessons in manners.

"Here's my deal, slimeball. You wire me five-thousand credits—plus twenty-thousand for my ship—and you get your slicer in one piece. Otherwise, I drag him out here myself and we see how much of him is left after I'm done venting my frustrations. Your call."

A long pause followed, filled only by the distant hiss of leaking pipelines and the faint hum of Mek-Sha's failing infrastructure echoing through the bay. Iftak's snout twitched visibly behind his cover, his suction-cupped fingers drumming on the speeder frame. Finally, his voice slithered back over the comm, quieter now, almost pleading. "Tee-toka… Chuba steela mee armpit! Bu… meega thinka.( You're robbing me blind! But… I'll consider it. Give me time, yes?)

"Time's not on your side, Iftak," Vashra shot back, her voice hard as durasteel. She glanced around, reflexes buzzing, ears straining for any sound of approaching trouble—boots on gravel, droid servos, anything. "You've got five minutes to send that confirmation code before I start carving up your investment down there. And trust me, frog, I'm real good with a blade."

She settled back against the cockpit wall, blaster still trained on the speeder bike's silhouette through the viewport. Five minutes was generous—too generous—but it gave her a window to plan her next move. Mek-Sha was a cesspool of opportunity if you knew where to strike, and Vashra always struck first. Iftak was surely up to something..

Plover

 

[Plover]

Vashra Foss

The Rattataki observed from her place in the shadows. A business deal gone bad? An opportunity for herself perhaps? Some more silent observations might shed more light on what was transpiring here.

"Seems we've got a Corellian standoff here. You downed my ship, sure, but I've still got your slicer. Somehow, I don't think your client will be thrilled if you sacrifice their precious cargo just to settle a personal grudge."

The voice from inside the cripple ship would say. A slicer? Hmm, must be a person of value. But how much and to whom? Venya was not a bounty hunter. Her work usually left someone or someones dead. Was there a price on the head of this slicer? Was there a price even if they were dead? The Ghost would think some more. Usually a slicer was needed for a particular need that someone had, so bringing them in dead would likely not merit her credits. She would listen further.

"Chuba na boola, Vashra! Mee no wamma slicer koochu! Jee-jee tinka deal, yesss? Noddo mo shoota!" (You're crazy, Vashra! I don't want the slicer dead! We can rethink this deal, yes? No more shooting!)

Ahh, so the Rodian did need the slicer alive, that's where their value lay. Interesting. Venya wondered who he was working for? Who needed this slicer onboard the crippled vessel? No doubt a sizeable price was being paid if he all of the sudden wanted to stop the shooting.

"Here's my deal, slimeball. You wire me five-thousand credits—plus twenty-thousand for my ship—and you get your slicer in one piece. Otherwise, I drag him out here myself and we see how much of him is left after I'm done venting my frustrations. Your call."

Five thousand credits? Hmm, Venya was used to higher sums for the work she did, but to the Rodian the slicer likely had a higher value. Were they worth the price for exchanging hands and fixing the ship though?

"Tee-toka… Chuba steela mee armpit! Bu… meega thinka.( You're robbing me blind! But… I'll consider it. Give me time, yes?)

Give him time? Hmm, that sounds like they are stalling for option two, their option where they get the slicer alive and don't pay a damned credit for anything. Venya grinned as her pale grey eyes went back to the ship to await what the response of the pilot might be.

"You've got five minutes to send that confirmation code before I start carving up your investment down there. And trust me, frog, I'm real good with a blade."

Five minutes? Generous...or foolish. The assassin held her spot. She had five minutes to spare and this little drama had brighten up her otherwise ho-hum day.

 

[Vashra Foss]

The tension in the air thickened as Iftak's nervous chittering was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps echoing across the docking bay. Vashra's instincts kicked in, and she tightened her grip on the BE-09, heart racing in anticipation.

Emerging from the shadows were four armed thugs, each a different species, their weapons drawn and ready. A hulking Wookiee, a lean Twi'lek with ornate tattoos, a grizzled Devaronian reminiscent of a devil in flesh, and a stocky Rodian, each exuding a palpable aura of menace. They moved with practiced precision, flanking Iftak and closing the gap between him and Vashra."Looks like your friends have come to join the party," Vashra called out, her voice laced with mockery as she shifted her aim to the group. "Tell them to back off, Iftak. I'm not interested in a dance.""

"Nu shushon ko sli. Nu shushon ko dye yousa!" (I want no slicer. I want you dead!) Iftak screamed, his voice high-pitched and frantic, as he pointed a trembling finger toward her.

Now the Loth cat was out of he bag. Pleasure before business. Alright Iftak. Now it´s you or me. Kid gloves are off.

The Wookiee let out a guttural growl and charged forward, blaster rifle raised to unleash hell. Vashra's reflexes kicked in, and she fired without hesitation. The crimson bolt caught the Wookiee in the chest, staggering him back, but not before he unleashed a volley of blaster fire. The shots whizzed past Vashra's head, singeing her hair as she ducked behind the wreckage of the Red Dagger."Nice try!" she shouted, pivoting to get a better angle.




Plover

 

[Plover]

Venya watched with interest as the four entered this poor excuse of a docking bay. A slight grin broke across her face as she spoke softly to herself, "Well now, this is becoming more and more interesting."
The verbal exchange now over and the exchange of blaster fire taking its place, Venya felt the itch to get involved. Why should they all be having fun while she was on the path to a slow death by the hands of boredom.
Looking to her left wrist, the Rattataki would press a few buttons on the screen of a wrist worn data pad. After pressing the last button, she would disappear from sight, the effect of a personal cloaking shield she had come by after a lucrative job on Nar Shaada. Stepping unseen from the shadows, her right hand would now reach down to her right thigh and take hold of the DL-44 Heavy Blaster that had been strapped there for an occasion such as this.
Blaster in hand and at the ready, the Ghost made her way into the landing area and circled behind Iftak and his group of four thugs. Venya had no skin in this game, no dog in this fight, so her mind worked through her options, calculating whose side would garner her the best reward.
Having been on this floating piece of space waste for the past several days to let the world around her cool off, she had come to know a little about Iftak and his gruesome foursome. Other than smelling too ripe for anyone to get close to and adding to her boredom with their hardly true stories of heroic deeds, she had no quarrel with them. She would wait here a few more days and then, with a feeling that the trail of any bounty hunters or lawmen were no longer to hot to handle, she would make her way to another distant sector of the galaxy to seek another promising job.
Now, the voice on the ship lying crippled on the docking bay floor she knew nothing about. Well, almost nothing. She knew this person held a slicer that seemed to have some value. Was that enough though to offer her aid?
The Ghost would continue circling.
When Venya reached the controls that operated the gun turrets, she switched them off. The odds were already stacked heavily against the pilot of the downed ship, it seemed only fair to even things out a bit.
And then, with a careful aim that showed years of practice, the Rattataki made her choice. A bolt form her blaster slammed into the back of the head of the Twi'lek. Lurching forward, the Twi'lek would faceplant into the hard stone of the docking bay floor and lie motionless. Venya would grin and like a ghost, moved silently to a new position under the cover of her cloaking device. Her choice made, she would aid the voice in the ship and even if it didn't turn out to be profitable, at least it would be a cure for her boredom.
Vashra Foss

 

[Vashra Foss]

Vashra's eyes narrowed as a bolt of crimson light streaked across the docking bay, striking the Twi'lek squarely in the back of the head. The alien crumpled to the ground without a sound, the thud echoing ominously in the chaos of the docking bay.

What the …?

Sniper or what?

Despite her fabled reflexes Vashra barely had time to register the sudden turn of events before the stout Rodian, began to shoot at random in all directions, some bolts directed towards Vashra while the others surged through the docking bay tryig to hit something invisible. The Rodians bulbous eyes bulbous eyes flickered between Vashra´s hiding place in the Red Dagger and the downed Twi'lek, confusion etching his features as he laid aste to the already run-.down docking bay, hoping to take out whatever had hit the Twi´lek.

"Chuk—?" he stammered, just as another blaster bolt, seemingly from nowhere, struck him in the chest. He staggered back, his weapon slipping from his grasp before he collapsed, limbs twitching.

Having family issues now, Iftak? Definitely not a sniper. The shot otiginated from around here. Apparently out of thin air.

Vashra's heart raced, and her instincts screamed at her. She had been trained to trust no one, yet this unexpected assistance had shifted the odds in her favor. She scanned the area, searching for the source of the mystery aid but came up as empty as the now deceased goons.

Trust aside, Vashra was not someone to waste a chance when it presented itself. Wherever the help came from it. The Devaronian dove for cover behind the speeder bike wreckage where Iftak was already hiding. Too bad he was much taller than the slimy frog. A trio of crimson blaster bolts blew off his horns purely for style and then his head for substance before he could crouch down.

Now it was only Vashra, Iftak and the invisible blaster hand…

"Hey frog," Vashra called out, hardly able to hide the triumph in her voice , "Looks like I´m coming for you…"

Well, she would, while watching out for invisible shootists.

Plover