Aboard the Nebula Raptor, Xander and Roona had met most of the crew. Bep Borum was the Ortolan who was part of the on planet scheme with their friend Cohr Zerk to get them "captured" by Imperials so they could get smuggled off Coruscant. Dorn was obviously the muscle of the group and the droid GI-61? They called her Gigi but she seemed way too dangerous. Something to stay plenty clear of. Venlana seemed the most normal of them all, sophisticated and professional, but definitely with a measure of aloofness. That seemed to mask her true intentions, like she was sizing up prey.
Finally there was the captain. Vanda was a Zeltron. They typically dressed in wildly colorful and revealing attire and Vanda was no different. Xander wondered to himself why she seemed so familiar to him. Had they met in some dimly lit cantina before? Xander couldn't trust his own thoughts when he was in her presence.
Venlana headed off down the hallway--leaving the pair alone--and then hesitated and turned back toward Xander. "Oh... don't get too comfortable tonight..." she added with a sly smirk. "Vanda has plans for you."
"Plans?" Xander asked, but Venlana only laughed before disappearing around the corner.
"Plans?" Xander asked, but Venlana only laughed before disappearing around the corner.
"What do you think she means?" Xander asked his Rodian companion.
Roona immediately scanned the room—small, but tidy, with two narrow bunks recessed into the walls. The faint scent of ionized metal and that damn floral perfume lingered. She holstered her blaster, antennae twitching. "This whole crew smells like trouble," she muttered in Rodian, then switched to Basic as she jabbed a finger at Xander. "And you—stop acting like a nerf in mating season just because she kissed you."
Xander rubbed the back of his neck, still grinning. "Hey, I’m just appreciating the hospitality." But his smile faded when he noticed the flickering light above the door—too rhythmic to be a malfunction. A surveillance cam, barely concealed. He exchanged a glance with Roona, whose black eyes narrowed in understanding.
The engines roared to life beneath them, a deep-throated vibration that rattled the bolt-sealed panels of their converted cargo hold. The deckplates thrummed like the skin of a drum, and Xander braced himself against the bulkhead as artificial gravity fought against Coruscant’s pull.
Roona didn’t bother with niceties—she folded herself into the lower bunk with practiced efficiency, her blaster still within easy reach. The Rodian’s antennae twitched at the whine of repulsors straining under the ship’s weight. "Feels like Bep’s flying this thing drunk," she muttered.
Xander barely heard her. The mattress groaned as he flopped onto the upper bunk, still tasting Zeltron lip gloss—something with a hint of spice and mischief. The ship lurched violently, slamming his shoulder into the bulkhead. "Ow! Kriffing hell—" The overhead light flickered again, casting jagged shadows. Outside the viewport, Coruscant’s skyline tilted at a nauseating angle as the Nebula Raptor clawed its way free of gravity.
The engines shuddered—not the clean hum of hyperspace prep, but the gut-deep growl of a ship straining against inertia. Roona’s antennae flattened against her skull. "We’re not jumping," Xander questioned . The silence between engine pulses was worse than the noise. No telltale whine of hyperdrives charging. Just the oppressive quiet of a ship hovering at the edge of the atmosphere, waiting.
Roona rolled onto her side, her blaster now a cold weight against her ribs. "Customs scan," she muttered. "Or Imperial hold. Either way, we’re sitting ducks." Her fingers drummed against the bunk’s padding, each tap synced to the sporadic flicker of the overhead light. The floral scent had turned cloying—like something meant to mask fear-sweat.
Xander pressed his palm to the bulkhead, feeling the ship’s pulse through durasteel. "Could be worse," he offered. "At least we’re not—" The comlink crackled to life above them, Venlana’s whispering voice dripping like honey laced with neurotoxin. *"Darling passengers, do keep quiet. Imperial inspection droids have such *sensitive* audio receptors."* The transmission cut with a hiss.
Roona’s fingers curled around her blaster grip. She exhaled through her tapered snout—slow, silent—counting the seconds between the ship’s vibrations. No boarding clamps. No tractor beams. Yet.
Then it came—the deep, resonant hum of sublight engines throttling up, followed by the unmistakable gut-punch of acceleration. The deckplates groaned as inertia pressed them into their bunks. Through the pitted transparisteel viewport, streaks of starlight smeared into oblivion. Hyperspace.
Roona exhaled, her blaster grip loosening just enough for circulation to return to her fingers. The overhead light stabilized, casting the room in a sterile glow. Xander rolled onto his side, listening to the ship’s new rhythm—the steady thrum of hyperdrive coils, the distant hiss of coolant cycling through ancient pipes. Safe. For now.
Interlude - Destination: Tatooine
Moderator: GM Fang
Re: Interlude - Destination: Tatooine
Venlana’s voice slithered through the comm speakers again, this time laced with amusement. "Darling stowaways, you may now roam freely." A pause, then the sound of nails tapping against the mic. "Try not to trip over Dorn. Or Gigi. Or—stars forbid—Vanda’s ego." The channel clicked off before they could respond.
Roona was already on her feet, her boots silent against the deckplates as she slid toward the door. The panel hissed open, revealing the corridor’s dim glow. The overhead lights flickered as they passed, casting jagged shadows that moved just a fraction too late, like something tracking their progress.
They emerged into the common area—an odd collision of luxury and practicality. Low, circular gaming tables of polished obsidian gleamed under ambient lighting, their surfaces etched with holographic Sabacc grids. Plush couches, their upholstery a deep crimson, curved around them like the jaws of some indulgent beast. Vid screens lined the far bulkhead, cycling through silent feeds of racing pod chases and Twi’lek dance performances.
Venlana lounged across one such couch, her cerulean legs draped over the armrest. She nursed a tumbler of something amber, as she swirled it with deliberate disinterest. The Pantoran’s asymmetrical bob swayed when she turned her head, her gold eyes narrowing like a nexu spotting prey. "Ah," she murmured, "You survived the turbulence."
Xander rubbed his shoulder—still sore from the bulkhead collision—and glanced around. Every detail in the common area felt curated, from the soft jatz humming in the background to the faint scent of Corellian brandy lingering in the air.
Venlana took a slow sip from her tumbler, then lowered it, watching the amber liquid swirl. "I suppose you have some questions," she said, her voice smooth as polished obsidian.
Roona crossed her arms, her blaster still holstered but her fingers twitching near the grip. "Just one," she hissed. "How much longer until we find out if this is a rescue or a kidnapping?"
Venlana's gold eyes sparkled as she set down her tumbler with deliberate care. The glass made no sound against the obsidian table—too practiced, too controlled. Venlana let out a long slow sigh. "I suppose you have every reason to be wary. Not to worry. We're on our way to Tatooine."
(To be continued)
Roona was already on her feet, her boots silent against the deckplates as she slid toward the door. The panel hissed open, revealing the corridor’s dim glow. The overhead lights flickered as they passed, casting jagged shadows that moved just a fraction too late, like something tracking their progress.
They emerged into the common area—an odd collision of luxury and practicality. Low, circular gaming tables of polished obsidian gleamed under ambient lighting, their surfaces etched with holographic Sabacc grids. Plush couches, their upholstery a deep crimson, curved around them like the jaws of some indulgent beast. Vid screens lined the far bulkhead, cycling through silent feeds of racing pod chases and Twi’lek dance performances.
Venlana lounged across one such couch, her cerulean legs draped over the armrest. She nursed a tumbler of something amber, as she swirled it with deliberate disinterest. The Pantoran’s asymmetrical bob swayed when she turned her head, her gold eyes narrowing like a nexu spotting prey. "Ah," she murmured, "You survived the turbulence."
Xander rubbed his shoulder—still sore from the bulkhead collision—and glanced around. Every detail in the common area felt curated, from the soft jatz humming in the background to the faint scent of Corellian brandy lingering in the air.
Venlana took a slow sip from her tumbler, then lowered it, watching the amber liquid swirl. "I suppose you have some questions," she said, her voice smooth as polished obsidian.
Roona crossed her arms, her blaster still holstered but her fingers twitching near the grip. "Just one," she hissed. "How much longer until we find out if this is a rescue or a kidnapping?"
Venlana's gold eyes sparkled as she set down her tumbler with deliberate care. The glass made no sound against the obsidian table—too practiced, too controlled. Venlana let out a long slow sigh. "I suppose you have every reason to be wary. Not to worry. We're on our way to Tatooine."
(To be continued)