Interlude - Shadows of the Black Sun

[GM Fang]

The coolant vent’s rhythmic wheezing dissolves into the stale air of a different cantina where the team was keeping as low of a profile as possible, dragging Cohr’s mind three days backward. He’d been perched on a rough stool opposite Xander, the slicer’s pale fingers dancing nervously over a datapad. Roona slouched in the booth nearby, polishing her blaster’s barrel with grim intensity. Cohr hadn’t bothered with pleasantries.

"That little Pyke job?" He’d tapped his temple, horns catching the scrolling neon lighting. "Definitely left crumbs. Black Sun’s slicers ain’t sleeping beauties. They found the access point." He watched Xander’s knuckles whiten around the datapad. The slicer had used the Pykes’ request—tracking a bounty hunter who’d vanished with their credits—as cover. While pulling the hunter’s data, Xander had dumped terabytes of incriminating holofeeds onto the Black Sun net. Feeds showing Seedoneo, his bloated Rodian former boss, brokering deals with slavers right under Black Sun’s nose.

Xander responded defensively, "Time wasn't a luxury we had. If we were caught it'd be just as bad." Unfortunately they were not prepared with all the gear they needed for an operation like that one. The Black Sun's systems were far too complicated and protected.

"Word's out that Seedoneo’s squealing like a gutted gorg," Cohr added flatly. "He knows it was you. And he’s pointing fingers upwards." The implication hung thick: Black Sun leadership wouldn’t overlook the embarrassment.

"Anything to save his own skin."

Roona hissed, her Rodian snout wrinkling. "We knew risks. Pykes paid well." She jabbed her polishing cloth toward Xander.

The memory sharpened in Xander's mind: Roona's large black eyes gleaming with cold fury in the freighter's gloom. *She'd* been the one to slide the Pyke contract across the console previously—not only for the credits, but for the target's connection to Seedoneo. "That bloated *k'lor'slug*," she'd spat, her voice tight with ancestral disgust. "Parades in stolen finery while Rodian hunters bleed in spice mines. Uses fingers to sign death warrants, not hunt." Her narrow green face showed her contempt.

Cohr had studied her carefully. Roona's motivations were personal—a knife twist buried deep. He'd nodded slowly. "The Pykes paid well," he conceded. "But Seedoneo's panic is a beacon now. Black Sun slicers are tracing crumbs back to *this* leak." He tapped the datapad. "We need to vanish deeper. You need to vanish deeper."

"And get off this planet," Xander muttered. They weren't going to get away easily now that the Black Sun were obviously monitoring all channels. The team couldn't risk that they knew the Archelon was theirs. They had yet to return to their ship. Hopefully R5-D12 was keeping it bottled up and secure.

The infiltration of the Black Sun medical supply depot on Level 3127 had started cleanly enough. Disguised as a biohazard containment crew responding to a fabricated plague alert, Cohr, Roona, and Xander had breezed past distracted guards. Zavi, the Squib gunner and mechanic, had bypassed the inner security grid with unsettling ease, his small form vanishing into ventilation shafts like smoke. Irdis, the Chiss medic, maintained their cover with icy professionalism, directing Ymira, the sharp-eyed Mirialan pilot, who expertly piloted the repulsorlift gurney concealing their slicing gear. They reached the target server room, a sterile cube humming with cold air and the scent of ozone. Xander jacked in, fingers flying. The rogue bounty hunter’s encrypted identity file – their objective – began decrypting on his screen. Success tasted metallic and sharp.

But he had left a trace. Several in fact. Thinking back to their departure, Xander knew that he was not as thorough as he had hoped to be. It was a learning experience to be sure. But potentially a deadly one.

Cohr leaned forward, his silver chin tuft catching the cantina’s flickering neon sign. The low thrum of repulsorlifts outside vibrated "They are coming for you, Xander," he said, his voice a gravel scrape barely audible over the thumping bass from the dance pit. He didn’t need to specify who "they" were. The air itself tasted like hunted prey. "Black Sun's got people in high places, and low ones too. Places with teeth." He gestured vaguely towards the crowded entrance, where a pair of Gamorrean bruisers scanned the room with dull eyes. "This place? Smells like desperation and cheap synthale. Too many eyes, too many ears itching for a credit." He drained his murky drink, the resilient Devaronian metabolism shrugging off the toxins instantly. "You," his gaze pinned Xander, then flicked to Roona polishing her blaster with unnerving focus, "and you. Need to vanish deeper. Somewhere less... public."

Roona’s large black eyes snapped up, her snout wrinkling. "Deeper? Where? Sewers crawl with Sun informants. Safe houses burn faster than Tibanna gas." Her voice was a low hiss, tight with the memory of the scent of ozone in that sterile server room where Xander’s trace lingered.

"Maybe the ship could be sold to help with our exit or settle a debt," Xander offered.

"It may be too late for that." Cohr leaned back, the neon lights playing across the wall. A slow, predatory grin spread across his reddish face. "Public’s poison now. Sun’s got feelers in every cantina, every flophouse from here to the Senate spire." He gestured toward the Gamorreans by the door, their dull eyes scanning the crowd like malfunctioning droids. "This place reeks of loose tongues and looser credits. You need somewhere quiet. Forgotten." His grin sharpened. "I know a guy."