First Reply Spaceport Blues

[MN-9 “Matriarch”]

MN-9 "Matriarch"

Nanny Droid • Caretaker • Wanderer

MN-9 settled into the fold-down seat without a sound beyond the soft scrape of chain on steel. She drew the straps across her chest and waist, tugging them snug until they pressed firm, then gave the harness a small testing shift, the kind a caretaker might give to ensure a child was safely secured.

Her gaze fixed on the monitor, watching the storm churn outside. Dust rolled like a restless tide, swallowing the last edges of the spaceport. She leaned forward slightly, hands folded on the harness buckle, attentive to every flicker of sand in the feed.

When he spoke of diagnostics, she listened in silence first. The subtle change in his breathing — that faint edge of exasperation beneath his words — she noted it privately, not with judgment but with a kind of gentle acceptance. "It's all right," she said at last, voice calm, almost maternal. "Perhaps a diagnostics run is necessary. I do not object. But…" Her eyes lingered on the storm as though seeking meaning in the shifting haze. "It is perplexing, saying things my mouth does not remember. It feels like walking into a room where toys have already been laid out - but not by my hand.”

She let the thought fall quiet, her tone smoothing back to its usual composure. "Straps are secure. The feed is clear. I will keep watch." Her focus remained on the storm beyond the lens, steady and patient, ready to call out anything that did not belong.

Tags: Tilon Quill

 

[Tilon Quill]

MN-9 “Matriarch” 's affect and priorities reminded him a lot of various Jedi and Lightsworn he'd known, to the point where he half wondered if there was a connection. He didn't pursue that; the moment had bigger priorities. Preflight wrapped up and he eased the ship off the sand into the growing sandstorm. His comm boards reflected a hail from traffic control. He ignored it and angled up toward clear sky. It should earn him a black mark from Mos Espa traffic control, but he was anxious to get gone.

The sandstorm shoved the flat of the hull, then fell away beneath them. Clear sky went rapidly black. He angled for low orbit.

"We've got sensor signatures," he called back, "should be in visual range off starboard bow, up from our hull plane. I'm busy with lightspeed. Anything?"

 

[MN-9 “Matriarch”]

MN-9 remained seated, posture composed as the ship broke through the last wisps of sandstorm into open sky. Her optics narrowed, locking on the faint outline edging into view.

"Visual confirmed. One patrol craft, bearing steady."

Her sensors caught the change in his physiology—pulse accelerated, breath sharp against the cockpit mic. She inclined her head slightly, her voice calm and directive.

"Your heart rate has elevated, Captain. I will monitor them. Focus on preparing the jump."

Her gaze stayed fixed on the glinting hull off the starboard bow, unblinking.

---

Inside the patrol craft

The cockpit hummed with restrained power, red lights casting long shadows across the two Imperial pilots.

"Civilian freighter, Atrisian papers," the co-pilot said, squinting at the scanner. "Class is…off. Too much mass for routine cargo."

"They blew off Mos Espa control," the pilot replied, flipping the comm switch. "That earns them a question or two."

A crackle of static filled the freighter's cockpit as the Imperials' voice cut in, curt and clipped.

"Unidentified freighter, this is Imperial Patrol Theta-Nine. You failed to acknowledge traffic control. Power down and hold your vector for inspection."

The patrol craft adjusted course, edging closer, its running lights flashing white across the dark void.

Tags: Tilon Quill

 

[Tilon Quill]

A system patrol craft outgunned the Wake by a bit, but the Wake probably had the edge on defense. There was the cloaking device, but he didn't want to play that card too often or it'd cause complications down the road. The navicomputer wasn't done calculating the long jump to Wielu.

He opted to take counsel from a Jedi teaching that had been useful to him: action through inaction. In this moment, come to think of it, he didn't actually need to do or say anything.

MN-9 “Matriarch”

 

[MN-9 “Matriarch”]

The patrol craft eased in and gave the Wake a casual thud across the bow, a mocking bump that echoed through the freighter's hull plating.

Inside their cockpit, the Imperial pilot smirked. "That ought to get their attention."

The comms officer keyed the channel, his voice clipped and official:

"Wake of Balmorra, you are operating in violation of Imperial navigation law. You will alter course and prepare for inspection. Noncompliance will be met with enforcement."

Both officers sat up from their seats, unhurried but deliberate, beginning the motions that would lead to boarding.

On the Wake, MN-9's head tilted at the vibration. Her body wobbled in the chair.

"Minor hull contact detected. No damage. Their action is… a dare." Her gaze shifted briefly toward Quill before returning to the displays. “We shall be boarded, Captain Quill.”

The patrol ship lingered, pressed close, waiting to see if the freighter would flinch.

Tags: Tilon Quill

 

[Tilon Quill]

With the navicomputer still working the problem, Tilon clamped down on irritation and worked the problem too.

Hull on hull contact. Meaning no particle shields.

The Wake of Balmorra mounted very few ship-to-ship weapons, all nonlethal and this one very illegal. He tapped the appropriate controls and a coma gas boarding harpoon snapped out at point-blank range to weld itself to the patrol craft's snout. A lot of TIEs ran in space suits without life support; patrol craft, though, they ran deployments an order of magnitude longer or more. Odds were good he'd just knocked out everyone aboard. Not perfect, but good.

On the off chance he hadn't, he activated his shields and the Wake's other weapon: a big old Hushaby rotary ion cannon. He started chewing away at the patrol craft's energy shields with enthusiasm.

MN-9 “Matriarch”

 

[MN-9 “Matriarch”]

Inside the patrol craft, the two officers sat up straighter at the jolt of hull-on-hull contact.

"What in blazes—" one started, but the words cut off as the bridge filled with a faint hiss. The smell was chemical, sharp, invasive. He blinked hard, vision swimming.

The other officer fumbled for the comms, hands slipping across the board. His training cut through the fog just enough—fingers found the transmit stud.

"C-control… this is—" His voice slurred, words dissolving into mush. The signal light flickered, half-caught between broadcast and nothing, before his hand slid away and his body sagged forward.

Both men collapsed in silence as the thunder of ion fire hammered their shields, each impact rattling through the deck as though the craft itself cried out.

From her chair, MN-9 inclined her head slightly, photoreceptors narrowing at the fleeting transmission. "Residual signal detected. Their broadcast terminated mid-sequence."

Tags: Tilon Quill

 

[Tilon Quill]

"Well that's..."

The patrol boat's shields died. Tilon tilted the Wake and eased its underside against the patrol boat just so, guided by those omnidirectional cameras. Docking and tractor equipment locked in tight.

"...ideal. Our screens are clear." He came down the stairs rapidly and made for the airlock, grabbing a handily placed gas mask on the way. "Please stay right there."

With practiced haste, he got into the partially disabled boat, dumped both crewers in an escape pod, jettisoned it, and was back at the Wake's controls in under three minutes. At which point they and the attached patrol boat jumped to hyperspace.

"I swear I'm not a pirate, by the way. Piracy's unethical."

The day was looking significantly better. Free patrol boat.

MN-9 “Matriarch”

 

[MN-9 “Matriarch”]

MN-9 tilted her head, optics steady on him. She had not risen from her chair.
"Of course, Captain. Just an honest man who happens to… collect Imperial starships."

Her tone carried the faintest dry edge.
"Most pirates say the same."

She turned in her chair with mechanical precision, hands folding neatly in her lap as her optics returned to the glowing monitor, as if the matter were settled.

Tags: Tilon Quill

 

[Tilon Quill]

Landfall on Wielu was uneventful except that they needed two adjacent landing berths instead of one. Nobody batted an eye as Tilon removed the boarding harpoon from the patrol boat; this was Wielu. Network scans suggested a chance at some rare cargoes, and someone offered him a glitterstim contract right off the bat, which was not going to happen. Priority one was finding a buyer for a mint-in-box Imperial patrol boat - or a better use for it.

"I'm leaving the B-1 translators, Daella and Diana, to run the ship," he told MN-9 “Matriarch” as he geared up for a few days in the Wielu black market and, possibly, the beach. Wielu had a lot of beach. "I've got a lot of business to work through out here, may not see you before you leave. Wouldn't mind if you spend some time building up the garden's biodiversity from local plants over the next few days. Or if you feel compelled to wander on now instead of staying the week, no hard feelings. Great place, Wielu. Enjoy."

 

[MN-9 “Matriarch”]

MN-9 inclined her head.
"I wish you well in your trading, Captain. May it be smooth and without peril. I may yet find something hardy and stout here to add to your garden — and perhaps I will stroll the beaches, to see if a young family is in need of me."

She descended the ramp with her careful, deliberate stride, metal frame gleaming faintly in the sun. Out on the dunes, the tall beach grasses swayed in the wind, brushing against her hands as she passed. She paused, fingers grazing a stalk, noting how it bent but did not break, how it withstood the salt air carried inland from the sea.

"The flora here is stout indeed," she murmured, almost to herself, maternal warmth softening the observation. "Resilient, despite the wind and salt. It endures."

The ocean breeze tugged at her as she moved farther from the ship, her silhouette caught between sunlit sand and endless horizon, until machine and seascape seemed briefly in harmony.


Tags: Tilon Quill