Not a Hero

Unlikely Enemies
The freighter drifted gently in space- not much apparent for signs of life, at least on the outside of the ship. There wasn’t much that could be said for a description of the transport: grey, dull, boring. It lacked any symbols or labels, no colors either to help see if the cargo hauler hailed from a certain faction or location.
If there was a better description of a ‘ghost ship,’ Valkren wanted to know- because he thought they outdid themselves with this one.
Already clad in his Katarn combat plating aside from his helmet, the commander rested his hands on his hips while admiring the inner workings of the gutted cargo-hauler. Behind him a mix of rangers and few Silver Navy crewmen, hard at work to maneuver equipment and crates marked ‘rations’ around the wide corridors of the ship. Valkren glanced about at the soldiers milling about. They were hard at work to put on the best show they could.
Their audience? Pirates.
As of recent, a newly arising trend had been making itself known in the trade routes between the planets Togoria and Sarka. Pirate attacks- stealing and pillaging through all the cargo haulers that are brave enough to show their hulls in the specific sectors. The catch though; all the ships that had been attacked had just finished making pickups on Kashyyyk. Most of which had been heading directly to the front between Silver and Sith space- more than likely reinforcing allied planets and friendly positions with all sorts of supplies.
And all the crews ended up missing..
The ships had always been left empty- stripped of their cargo and crew, but nothing else.
“Commander!” A somewhat shrill and urgent voice called out, getting closer into earshot as he heard the word again- “Commander!”
He’d shift his gaze over his left shoulder plate, curious as to the source of the voice as he wasn’t entirely sure if he knew the face that went with the tone. To his surprise, it was a smaller set mirialan, intricate black tattoos or ‘markings’ across the bridge of her nose and all underneath her eyes.
With firm posture and a crisp salute, she greeted the much larger Ranger with respect. Valkren switched his positioning to face her and returned the greeting with a salute of his own.
“Sir,” It sounded as if the ranger was out of breath, more than likely from having to cross the sheer size of the ship from whatever position she was originally located at to his current location. Valkren was curious as to why she couldn't just contact him via comms.
“Still no signs of any ships in the immediate area- but the crew has just started the dummy call. They’re waiting on a response now.”
Valkren nodded, even if they were in the supposid ‘hunting grounds’ of space for the ruffians they were searching for, the added bait of a distress call from a cargo-hauler full of supplies would hopefully make the score look juicier.
His only hope is that whomever took the bait would be the group that happened to be taking all the crew members of these ships.
"Also: Our communications are getting shotty' within the ship. We think it's just some of the old tech messing with our signals. Just giving you a heads up sir but not all communications will go through first time around."
Great..
“Appreciate the report- Head back to the control room. We’ll need complete control of the doors if we want to trap these bastards.” Of course, Valkren spoke of the cargo hauler's bridge, but as derelict as the ship was- he knew there wasn’t much chance of the bridge doing much else aside from door controls. In truth they ferried the hauler here with several other smaller ships, which had now retreated as quick as possible as to not spook any potential ambushes.
"Yes sir." She snapped out another clean salute before spinning around and heading off, leading Valkren to glance over to the nearest view port. He'd sidestep a pair of rangers as they carried a heavy repeater emplacement between the two. The commander would glance out the glass-like pane to admire the peacefulness outside for a moment. There was something about space to him that always put him at ease- thinking about it atleast..Being in a tin can in the middle of deep space wasn't exactly his ideal area of expertise.
It certainly wasn't where he wished to die at.
"Sergeant Heavenshield, report." Valkren reached up to the communicator around his neck and activated it as he spoke, "How's our cargo looking?"
Valkren pictured the image while he waited to see if his transmission had reached the soldier: a dozen large crates marked in different languages.
Weapons..Ammunition..Ordinance.
All were items that he hoped these supposed pirates would go right for- and directly into their trap. With the combination of door controls from the bridge and small clusters of rangers positioned in certain positions: he hoped to direct the pirates into killing zones wherever they went to loot.

