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🕑 Added 2025-05-27 17:03:11 +0000 UTCChapter 54: The Stuff for Settling Debts
“Get ready! We’re heading out this afternoon! Take that ship, and the galaxy’s ours! Picture it—a mile-long pirate ship! Hahaha!” Kuken roared, his voice booming. “Round up every outsider! Once we seize that massive cruiser, they’ll be our slaves! To hell with the Muun! I ain’t scared!”
A swarm of heavily armed, grim-faced pirates—filthy and ragged—burst from behind him. They dragged and shoved all the outsiders, including Munt, tying them up and cramming them like sardines into a cramped cargo hold.
In the cantina, pirates swept bottles and sabacc cards off tables, replacing them with crates of blasters and ammo hauled from the armory.
The air crackled with frenzied energy.
Only Taya was left, singing alone in the corner, her voice trembling with fear. She didn’t dare stop.
Munt, stuffed in the back of the cargo hold, stayed ice-cold calm. With a quick twist, he slipped free of his bindings and palmed his comlink.
With so many people around, a loud transmission was out of the question. Instead, he started tapping rhythmically on the mic.
…
On Tatooine’s surface, in Mos Eisley, at Truda’s ship berth:
Yuri Orlov and Vitaly Orlov stumbled back to their ship, panting from their frantic escape. But the ship was a ghost town—not a soul in sight.
“Where is everybody? Where’s that kriffing Munt?” Yuri tore through the ship, checking under bunks, but found no one. “Kark! If he doesn’t show, those goons’ll track us down! We gotta jet—now!”
“Problem is, no one here can fly this thing. How do we bail? And we can’t just ditch Munt and the others, can we?” Vitaly said, shaking his head.
“Son of a—! We’re done for… done for…” Yuri slumped onto a bunk, yanking at his hair. Then a thought hit him. “Vitaly, go check what those Bothans gave us to settle their debt.”
“You’re thinking about that now?”
“What else we got? If we lose that, this whole blasted trip was for nothing!”
“Fine, I’ll check… but my Galactic Basic’s rusty. Can’t be sure what this says… T, O, R, P, E, T, O… P, O, R, T, O, N… What’s that mean?” Vitaly squinted at the lettering.
“What? Proton Torpedo!” Yuri leapt up, grabbing Vitaly’s shoulders and laughing like a madman. “Holy kriff! Vitaly, we’re rich! Hahaha!”
“Huh? What’re you on about?” Vitaly blinked, totally lost.
“Proton torpedoes! Two of ‘em! Hahaha!” Yuri was practically howling.
“How do you even know that?”
“C’mon, I gotta know the basics of this galaxy’s weapons to sell my own stuff!” Yuri said, buzzing with excitement. “Two proton torpedoes—worth a fortune in credits! We’re set! I could sell these for a million credits each. You hear me, Vitaly? This job’s our jackpot!”
“Wait, hold up! Heavy weapons like these? You’d need military connections to move ‘em. I say we ask two million per torpedo!” Yuri was lost in his own glee.
“But how do we get outta here?” Vitaly paced the cabin, anxiety gnawing at him.
“Send another kriffing comm to that deadbeat Munt!” Yuri snapped, then froze. “Wait—when did his comm connect?” He noticed Munt’s line was active, but no holo was projecting.
Yuri stomped over and hit the talk button, bellowing, “Munt, you useless pile of bantha fodder! I’m about to blast off, and you’re out there screwing around! Where the hell are you?!”
Inside the cargo hold of Iron Fang—Kuken’s Hammerhead-class cruiser—Munt quickly muffled the mic to keep Yuri’s rant from echoing. He glanced around nervously. The other captives were whispering among themselves, too distracted to notice him.
“Yuri, you karking idiot! One day I’ll show you what a bantha really is—then stuff you in its exhaust port!” Munt muttered under his breath, tapping the mic in a steady rhythm.
Yuri was about to keep cursing when he caught the tapping. His gut told him something was off.
“Vitaly, come listen to this. What’s that sound?” Yuri waved his brother over.
Vitaly listened, then shrugged. “Beats me.”
“It’s Morse code,” the T-850 guard droid cut in. “Not English letter patterns—it’s arranged in Hanyu Pinyin.”
“You know this stuff?” Yuri asked.
“My database contains all known languages and Morse code decryption tables. It’s not a sophisticated cipher,” the T-850 said. “The message says: ‘After receiving this, tap the mic five times.’”
“Not sophisticated? He’s begging to get caught!” Yuri growled.
“No, wait—this could work!” Vitaly’s eyes lit up. “This galaxy doesn’t have English, Pinyin, or Morse code. Even if they crack the code, they won’t understand it. No one here can decipher a language from another galaxy! And using Pinyin instead of English? That’s genius.”
Yuri nodded, catching on. “Yeah! English is alphabetic, straightforward. But Hanzi? Symbolic. Without a reference, this galaxy’s got no chance of cracking it. Even if they intercept, we’re safe.”
“Should I respond?” the T-850 asked.
“Do it!” Yuri said. “I don’t know Pinyin or Morse, but Munt’s got something to tell us.”
Things were shifting, and Yuri finally cooled his jets.
The T-850 grabbed a stylus and datapad, tapping the comm mic five times. More taps came back, and the droid scribbled furiously, reading aloud, “I’m trapped in Kuken’s cruiser. Kuken’s launching this afternoon to attack the mothership.”
“What? He’s been nabbed?!” Yuri shouted. “What now? Sprout wings and fly up to save him?”
“Yuri, whatever you’re scheming, we gotta move! I see people searching out there!” Vitaly said, peering through binoculars.
Chapter 55: I Have a Big Gun!
“Kriff!” Yuri swore, spinning around to the T-850 nearby. “What’s Village still yammering about?”
“He says he sabotaged some of the cruiser’s systems and got all its tech specs,” the T-850 replied in its flat, mechanical tone. “He’s sending us the key data now. Also, he says we should leave—Manager Ventus needs this ship to deal with the cruiser. Oh, and Qunto and Ferasi got nabbed, so it’s just us here.”
“Son of a bantha! The pirate cruiser’s leaving this afternoon, and every kriffing pilot we’ve got is captured? Kriff!” Yuri raised a hand to tug at his hair but stopped, remembering his receding hairline, and dropped it with a scowl.
“We should get outta here, fast,” Vitali chimed in from the side.
“No, no, no, no! We’re not leaving yet!” Yuri waved his hands frantically, then whipped out a blaster pistol, cocking it with a dramatic flourish. He stormed into the nearby workshop, grabbed old man Truda by the collar, and jammed the blaster against his forehead. “Listen up, old man! I’ve got a kriffing big gun here, and I’m in a really bad mood. One twitch, and I might just blast you into the next sector! You catching my drift?”
Truda was shaking, too scared to speak. Yuri’s mix of Galactic Basic and colorful Earth curses was barely comprehensible, but the old man nodded like his life depended on it—which it did.
Yuri pointed at two proton torpedoes nearby and bellowed, “I want you to slap these kriffing proton torpedoes onto this kriffing ship, ready to fire at a moment’s notice! How long’s that gonna take?”
“T-two… two standard hours…” Truda stammered.
“Great! You’ve got 20 minutes! And guess what? You’re coming with us. So if you pull any tricks and this ship goes down, you’re toast too. Got it? Now move!” Yuri roared, then turned to the other T-850. “You! Keep an eye on him!”
“No! No! They’re getting closer—they’re hunting us, Yuri! We gotta go!” Vitali said, panic creeping into his voice.
Yuri snatched the macrobinoculars from Vitali and peered through them. Sure enough, dozens of heavily armed mercenaries were searching room by room. He turned to the last T-850. “Grab every weapon you can carry—grenades, blasters, everything! Get to that spaceport next door and hold it as long as you can. If you’re going down, self-destruct. You hear me? Self-destruct!”
The T-850 nodded silently, grabbing two heavy blaster rifles, slinging a half-dozen ammo belts around its neck, and stuffing every pocket with grenades. Then it trudged off toward the spaceport with heavy, deliberate steps.
Yuri paced like a caged rancor while Truda and a few engineering droids started retrofitting the ship outside. It wasn’t complex—just mounting the torpedoes and wiring them to the control console—but time was not on their side.
Blaster fire erupted from the spaceport nearby, drawing the mercenaries’ attention as they rushed toward the noise.
Yuri couldn’t wait any longer. He grabbed Vitali, dragged him into the ship, and shoved a thick manual into his hands. “Listen, Vitali! You’ve got 20 minutes to figure out how to fly this bucket of bolts!”
“Are you kidding me? I don’t know how to fly a ship!” Vitali snapped. “Why don’t you tell me if this thing’s a Corellian freighter or a Mon Cal cruiser first?”
“Look, you’re the best driver I’ve ever seen. You can do this. We need to get this ship back, and those proton torpedoes might be our only shot at that cruiser!” Yuri gripped Vitali’s shoulders, his voice heavy with urgency.
“But I’m not a pilot!” Vitali protested, though he plopped into the pilot’s seat and started flipping through the manual. After a few pages, he groaned, “What is this kriffing Galactic Basic garbage?”
With everything set, Yuri was still a nervous wreck. He stood, sat, stood again, then grabbed an M-427 blaster rifle, loaded the ammo belt, and paced with it cradled in his arms. Finally, he lost it and shouted outside, “Truda! You done yet, you old nerf herder?”
“It’s been five minutes!” Truda yelled back, exasperated, as he worked frantically.
…
Over at the spaceport, the blaster fire grew louder and more intense. The T-850 was holed up in a building, unloading a barrage of shots. Its frame couldn’t fully shrug off blaster bolts, but it could take more hits than any organic could. Still, the mercenaries were too many, and their gear was top-notch—some even wielded EE-3 blaster rifles. After losing a dozen men, they breached the spaceport. A hail of bolts tore the T-850’s body to shreds.
Unable to stand, the T-850 slumped against a wall as the mercenaries poured through the shattered entrance. Its chest panel popped open, revealing the nuclear battery. The self-destruct sequence activated.
BOOM! A small mushroom cloud rose over Mos Eisley’s spaceport district. At the same moment, a rickety YT-1000 freighter wobbled into the sky, climbing toward open space.
“Vitali! What are you doing? Hit the hyperdrive, now!” Yuri shouted.
“Hold on, I’m looking!” Vitali flipped through the manual frantically. “Page 236… hyperspace… what’s this kriffing word mean? Alright, let’s try this.”
Vitali flicked a switch. Truda, still held by the T-850, screamed, “No! That’s not it!”
Too late. With a whoosh, a proton torpedo launched.
“KRIF!” Yuri roared. “You just blew a fortune in credits! Now we’re down to one torpedo!”
As luck would have it, a passing ship took the torpedo’s full blast, exploding into a cloud of debris.
“Let me fly,” Truda sighed. “I kinda know how this ship works.”
“Don’t try anything funny, old man,” Yuri growled.
But then Vitali whooped, “Aha! I got it! Hyperdrive, here we go!” He punched a sequence of buttons.
“Wait! You didn’t set the nav coordinates!” Truda yelled.
Before he could finish, the ship lurched into hyperspace and vanished.
[Easter Egg: I have a kriffing big gun!]
Chapter 56: The Enemy Looms
“Administrator! Urgent transmission from the Lancer!” On the mothership’s bridge, Qi Jian rushed to Ventus, clutching a datapad.
“Spit it out!” Ventus was overseeing the next batch of personnel awakenings, planning to bring out some elite talent to streamline HR operations.
For instance, when he awakened someone, the HR department would assign them a role and handle transitions with current staff. The colony wasn’t massive yet, so Ventus kept a tight grip on power. He broke every task into small pieces, ensuring no one person held too much control and could challenge his authority.
Qi Jian’s face was grim as he handed over the datapad. “Munt’s got intel: ‘Iron Fang’ Kuken’s Hammerhead-class cruiser is set to depart in three standard hours for the Endor system to attack us. Munt and Quinto’s team are trapped on the cruiser, but he sent us its specs and managed to sabotage it to some extent.”
“That’s a sliver of hope. Anything else?” Ventus nodded.
“Yuri Orlov secured two—no, one—proton torpedo, now mounted on the Lancer. But we’ve lost contact with them,” Qi Jian reported.
“Those karking idiots!” Ventus growled through clenched teeth. “Sound the battle stations! Prep for combat! Oh, and get Carls Walton up here.”
“Yes, sir!” Qi Jian snapped a salute and hurried off to make arrangements.
Soon, a rugged, square-jawed man in his mid-40s, with a fierce demeanor, strode up and stood at attention. “Administrator, you called for me?”
Ventus gave a nod. Carls Walton was an elite military commander he’d recently awakened. Though Qi Jian, a standard-tier talent, was doing solid work, Walton was currently assigned as his aide. Ventus had big plans to groom Walton for more.
“What’s your take on this fight?” Ventus asked.
Walton stood taller and launched in. “We’ve got 73 upgraded Blade-class fighters across six squadrons, all fitted with energy shields and infrared lasers. Twenty of ‘em carry Gemini missiles. Three Hammer-class frigates—one packing a turbolaser—and one modified YV-865 Aurore-class armed freighter.”
He pulled up data on a holoscreen, continuing, “I reviewed the Hammerhead cruiser’s specs. It’s been retrofitted. Originally had two point-defense turrets; now it’s got eight, likely for solo ops. But six of those new turrets have been tampered with, so our fighters will face less flak.”
“Also, calculations show the cruiser’s engine thrust is weak. Its cruising speed in space is sluggish, which gives us an edge.”
“So, you’ve got a plan?” Ventus prompted.
“Yes, sir. I’ve drafted a strategy and passed it to Chief of Staff Qi,” Walton said.
Ventus nodded, pleased. Walton, despite being elite-tier, didn’t sulk under Qi Jian’s command or hoard his plan to curry favor with Ventus. He’d shared it openly for the team to refine. That kind of integrity marked him as a true soldier.
Walton’s file backed it up: a grizzled commander who’d clawed his way up through battlefield grit.
Ventus smirked. “Since Munt’s taken care of some of those point-defense turrets, I’m feeling better about this.”
“Absolutely, Administrator,” Walton agreed.
“I mean, I’m more confident about jumping into the fray myself. Otherwise, I’d be sweating blaster bolts,” Ventus said with a grin.
“What?! Administrator, you can’t!” Walton’s eyes widened, stepping forward to protest.
Ventus waved him off. “I know my limits. I’ve been training on the Blade fighter sims for days, and I’m getting the hang of it. But more importantly… I’m not like the rest of you.”
He spoke softly, raising a hand. A teacup floated off the console, hovering steadily. He’d practiced enough that it didn’t shatter, instead orbiting his palm smoothly.
“If you’re still worried… Mainframe, pull up my sim scores,” Ventus said, still smiling.
[Of course, Administrator. In the 99.9% realism flight sim, you’ve outperformed most squadron pilots, with a record of 63 wins, 4 losses. Those losses were early on, when you were still learning the controls.]
…
A flash of white light, and the massive Hammerhead-class cruiser materialized in the Endor system. Its 315-meter bulk loomed, its bow swollen like a raised hammer.
Even after millennia, this classic cruiser still held its own in the galaxy, a testament to Rendili StarDrive, one of the galaxy’s top shipbuilders.
Named Iron Fang—whether after its captain, “Iron Fang” Kuken, or the other way around was anyone’s guess—this cruiser, though ancient, was no pushover. Bounty hunters and pirates knew better than to cross it.
Around the lawless chaos of Tatooine, the Iron Fang was a symbol of raw power.
“That’s the beast?” On the bridge, Kuken and his pirate lieutenants gawked at the colossal ship before them. Even with mental prep, they were floored.
A kilometer tall! On a planet like Earth, it’d pierce the troposphere, scraping the stratosphere. Most 21st-century planes could only reach its midsection; you’d need an experimental craft to glimpse its peak.
Laid flat, it’d stretch from Coruscant’s Imperial Center to the outskirts of CoCo Town.
Stand on its hull, and you’d see nothing but an endless metal plain, no hint of its shape.
This was the Kushan mothership—a titan even among the largest vessels in the Star Wars universe.
