Episode 1. The Rules of Rishi

Deviax leans on the bar with his right elbow. Bearded and shaggy, the human smuggler smiles and faces an angry Nikto mercenary. Bright green eyes glint with gentle confidence. “Easy big guy. I just asked a question.”

“What happened to my face?” The Nikto spits in Devaix’s direction. “I’ll carve you up so everyone asks you the same thing.” The Nikto moves his off-green right hand to a vibroknife clipped onto a bandoleer crossing his chest.

The aging rogue smiles bigger, the wrinkles forming at the creases of his eyes and across his forehead begin to betray his age. As the Nikto takes a step in the smuggler’s direction Dev’s left hand is at his belt, his middle finger tapping the handle of his blaster draping his left hip. “Easy there. A joke’s a joke. Let’s not ruin a day of drinking in paradise by taking ourselves too seriously.”

Yet smiles on Deviax’s face and the frown on the Nikto thug’s quickly transpose as two more Nikto push away from the bar and line behind their comrade. They posture menacingly, glaring at the admittedly shorter and wiry human. Drawing his knife from the bandoleer, the lead Nikto takes his turn at threatening.

“You were saying?”

Dev slowly puts his tumbler with brown liquid on the bar with his right hand. “We can’t just settle this between the two of us?” Dev’s tone is passive. A little hopeful with a lilt at the end.

The Nikto shakes his head.

“What if I bought you a drink?”

The Nikto again, shakes his head.

“Are you Sho?”

“I’m sure.” The Nikto takes another step.

“No no,” Deviax laughs. “I said: ‘Sho.’”

“Sho? Show you you what? The knife?”

“Sho!” Dev calls.

Beside the lead Nikto, his companions drop to the floor one by one. Their leader turns to see a bright red Zabrak standing where they once were will a hand taser extended. She’s less than half her partner’s age and half as bold. Barely managing a, “What?” before Shocasta jabs the taser forward and jolts the lead Nikto, causing him to seize and shake. The young Zabrak woman blows the strands of hair out of her face as she steps to her left and moves out of the path of her victim’s fall. Looking annoyed with her human partner, she rolls the leader onto his back with her right foot.

“What was that?” Dev asks, kneeling to go through the mercenary’s possessions. He tosses aside a comm unit, weapons, and even a few loose credit sticks.
Shocasta is indignant. “Me saving your ass as usual.” She puts the stunner on her belt and crosses her arms, watching Deviax rifle through the belongings of the Nikto he antagonized, looking for the key.

“Your timing was off. I almost had to draw on that one. I gun down a merc here on Rishi, you think we get to come and go as we please?”

“It’s a pirate bar. There’s a shooting or stabbing or brawl every night.” Shocasta’s tone is flat and dispassionate.

“Magda stocks the best whiskey on planet. The aged stuff you can’t find on the Rim. We make a mess, you think she lets me come back without charging me double?”

“Magda’s also blonde with a big chest. Let’s not pretend you’re more a drunk than you are a hound.” She nods to the bartender, a green Twi’lek leaning on the bar watching Dev rifle through the pockets of the trio of mercs. “Find it yet?”

Deviax stands, a code cylinder in his hand. “Told you Munheia never lets us down.”

“Another of your favorite blondes with a big chest,” Sho mutters just loud enough for Dev to hear.
Deviax grabs the tumbler full of brown liquid, now watered down as the ice at the center has melted. He tosses back the glass letting the brown liquid burn and slides the empty to the Twi’lek bartender who crosses his arms. “What?”

Shocasta exhales in annoyance. “You didn’t tip. If we’re going to leave three thugs drooling on the floor, you should tip.”

“Right…” Dev pats his shirt, looking for his credits. The look on his face and the twitch of his right upper lip causing his mustache to shake suggests he’s finding none. But he holds up a hand to reassure the bartender. Bending over to pick up a couple of credit sticks from the lead Nikto that he hadn’t shown interest in until now, Dev places the creds before the Twi’lek. “How’s that?”

The Twi puts his hand over the sticks before tilting his head toward the door.

“Right. Tell Magda…” But Sho looks at him sternly. “Nevermind. Tell her it was someone else. Anyone else.”

Back on the ship -the Haider- Shocasta has the engines ready to for lift-off. She calls Dev to the flight deck over the ship’s intercom. As the older and far scruffier smuggler saunters to her, she gestures out the viewport. “We got company.”

Deviax looks out the left windscreen to see four armed men and a combat droid. He stiffens. “Friends of our Nikto?”

“Don’t plan to stick around long enough to find out,” Shocasta says, skipping pre-flight and lifting off.

Deviax braces on the back of her flight seat.

Squinting to lock in on the appearances of the cadre entering the docking bay. Dust kicks up, hiding most of the identifying features. They don’t immediately open fire. Deviax finds that reassuring but doesn’t share it with Shocasta. One of the armed men is waving and signaling for the Haider to power down. Deviax pretends not to understand, in turn, smiling and waving goodbye out the viewport. It’s innocent enough until those beside the man signaling raise their weapons. Dev slides into the second seat and raises the deflectors.

The Zabrak woman pulls hard on the yoke and hits the throttle hard causing Deviax to lose his balance. Sho cracks a smile as Dev is whipped back in his seat. Below the Haider, the gust from the engines forces the party outside to brace and cover their faces, buying some time before their close-range blasters are lifted and discharged. By the time the gaggle can get their weapons to discharge, the Haider is far enough for the bolts to dissipate harmlessly across the surface of the hull.

Groaning as he massages the back of his head, Deviax inquires, “We clear?”

A targeting alarm sounds as they enter low orbit. “You had to ask?” Sho flips a few switches and brings up the source of the targeting scare. “No way. That’s one of the MOD’s ships. The Nikto weren’t working for him. Think he wants the code cylinder?”

“You sure that’s a MOD ship?” Dev looks to the scanners to verify.

“No one but the MOD’s people or Skaver’s fly anything that big out here.”
Dev stares at the screen showing the syndicate carrier targeting them. Scenarios running through his mind. They have lock but haven’t fired yet. The Haider is still outside the range of their tractor pull. “They clearly want something.”

Sho looks to Dev. “Not the cylinder?” But he doesn’t answer, clearly deep in thought. “Honor among thieves’ rules say there’s no combat allowed in orbit. They can’t attack or board until we’re out of the system.”

“The Merchant of Death doesn’t play by our code of conduct, Sho.” He moves to the holocomm. “Let’s see what he wants.” Deviax hails the targeting ship.

An armored figure, possibly Mandalorian pops into frame on the center console. The blue scale detailing shows little more than the more prominent definitions in his helm. Without a beat, the guttural vocalizer shifted voice makes a demand. “Craft: standby to be boarded.”

Dev goes to work. “I’m honored to be speaking with a representative of the distinguished merchant of merchants. His reputation precedes him, and I extend to his agents the same respect and deference I would offer to the Merchant directly. I am Cal Hortath of the cargo freighter Phobos. How can I assist you.”

“Follow instructions. Slow. Prepare to be boarded.” The helmet in the holo is showing a definitive lack of tolerance and joviality. Hard to play pazaak with a man if you can’t read his face.

“Oh, that we could, Sir. Unfortunately, we’re carrying two tons of Bloomscred silkworms that we need to get to Hutta before they turn into moths. Tight window. You understand. Perhaps, there is something you’re searching for I could assure you we’re lacking?”

There’s a pause. Dev knows that the carrier captain also knows they can’t fire without risking destroying whatever it is they’re trying to retrieve. He may not have the better hand, but Dev knows how to play the cards he’s dealt. “You may have in your possession something that belongs to the Merchant of Death. We will inspect your ship to ensure it is still on Rishi. Only then will we allow you on your way.”

“I can assure you, we’ve no one’s property but our client’s. You can understand the nature of anonymity and privacy when it comes to cargo; so let me offer an avenue toward cooperation. Please allow me a few minutes to check my cargohold for accidental additions we didn’t sign for. I’ll report back imminently.” Before the carrier captain can respond, Deviax closes the comm. “Keep our distance,” he tells Sho, “and don’t answer their hails.”

“And if they start shooting?” Sho asks, showing a bit more inflection than usual as the comm begins to ring once more.

“Just get a jump plotted in case they do.”

Deviax searches his cargohold, going over each container. Alcohol. Portable shield units. A case of bottled Rishi salt water. No silkworms, that was an obvious lie. But nothing added they didn’t procure through various relatively dubious means. “We should be good,” Dev talks to himself as he ascends the stairs. Sho isn’t the only crew, he thinks, and maybe he should check with their engineer.

“Patches!” Dev calls as he jogs to the engine room. “Patches. Did you leave the ship or bring anything on board while on Rishi?” He rounds the corner to see the Bothan feeding his fish. With soft passive eyes, the Bothan looks to Dev with a smile slowly curving on his face. Patches scratches one of the balding areas of fur, the engineer simply shakes his head. Not needing more than that as confirmation, the Captain hustles back through the mess toward the flight deck. Patches rarely leaves his fish in their gravity couched aquarium for long and isn’t one for excursions from the ship. Unless the MOD’s missing possession is an exotic fish, Patches wouldn’t pilfer it or even care about it.

A rattle in one of the overhead kitchen cabinets stops Dev in his stride. Shaggy eyebrow cocked, turns to face the hanging cupboard. Slowly, Dev inches toward the noise. Quietly. Subtly. His left hand reaches to open it. As he does, the small door pops out and the heel of someone’s foot connects with his face. The smuggler stumbles backward. In a flash, a figure tumbles out onto the deck of the kitchen area and begins to move about. “Who the-?”

He sees the form a smaller person. Child or teenager. “Why the kriff are you on my ship?” Deviax’s tone is stern and exasperated. Almost paternal. It doesn’t last as the kid brandishes a weapon. They extend sharp pointy bits from a collapsible duel-bladed vibrosword. “Easy there. Don’t make me shoot you.” Dev backs away, tapping his blaster with his right hand.

The agile little gizka seems to see this as a life and death moment. He screams loudly at Dev like a young nexu attempting to sound formidable. Thrusting the vibroblade towards the aging smuggler bolsters the threat of the pre-pubescent roar, forcing the man with the guns backward over his own kitchen table in retreat. He tumbles onto the floor as the child assailant hops onto the table to take the high ground. “Son of a Hutt…” Dev groans. “I’ve never shot a kid before, but I’m willing to make an exception…”

Patches walks up behind the shaggy smuggler, holding a bag of crisps. He stands in the archway to the mess looking toward the kid on the table posturing with a weapon. It draws the attacker’s attention so Deviax can stand. “P-p-problem Captain?” Patches studders.

Waving a hand and rolling his shoulders as he rises, Dev speaks casually to Patches. “No problem, bud. Engines ready for a jump?” The armed child looks between the two. A yell of annoyance as they thrust the point of the vibroblade towards the smuggler. Dev, now safely out of range, takes a further step back towards the doorway. Patches munches on a crisp noisily.

“Y-yep!” Patches says in response, turning and leaving for the engine room and his fish.
Dev moves to the ship intercom. “Let’s try this again. Who are you aned why are you on my ship, kid?”
The young attacker waves the vibroblade violently, wide slashing arc that remain out of reach, but clearly dangerous in intent.

Dev depresses a button ship intercom, shaking his head at the kid’s aggressive unresponsive posturing. “Sho, make the jump, now.” Releasing the button, he holds onto a handbar bolted to wall. The ship jolts as Sho makes the jump, as Dev knew it would. The kid goes tumbling off the table onto the ground, hitting hard. The intricate vibro-weapon clatters across the floor. Without any rush, Dev saunters to pick up the weapon calmly.

“Bet even credits to bottles of whiskey you’re what that carrier is after…”