ChessRo

Topaz let out an appreciative whistle as they approached Nebula’s Glory. There was no denying; it was a beautiful ship. As they led Mouse out of the Minx and up the boarding ramp of the SoroSuub yacht, they allowed their paw to trail the detailing found along the railing and the access panels. “Well, it looks like I was right about traveling in style. Is this real Menkooro whiskey?” They picked up the golden bottle and held it up to the light. It sparkled warmly in the Nebula’s lights. Topaz set the drink down and moved on to one of the panels indicating the status of many parts of the ship. “Modified resonator coils; you’ve really done the extra work where it matters. I must say, I’m impressed.” Mouse beeped an affirmative. Topaz eyed the bunks, trying to mentally match each bedroll to the presumed occupant. The impeccable bunk most likely belonged to the reclusive Ruby, while the disheveled pile of blankets could probably be attributed to Sapphire. A small corner with a charging port looked just about the right size for a BB unit. These women lived closely, and comfortably with each other. It was almost claustrophobic. “I see that you have very thoroughly established living arrangements,” they remarked. “I would be loathe to disturb the status quo. Perhaps there is a way we can use our ships together; I can assure you that my belongings need not impose on your well-ordered living space.”

Chess carried Mouse in a small, discreet box as they strolled through the marketplace. There were still some credits to spare, so the Cathar took the chance to purchase some Twi’lek specialities, including some fruit and the latest edition of a local subscription. The main news concerned the recent takeover of Nal Hutta. Chess read the details while munching on some pta fruit. It felt kind of eerie, knowing they had visited there not too long ago. The entertainment section mentioned a gala being hosted by some heads of state in Coruscant. Chess opened the Holonet article and read the description of the treaty. The article promised a new list of trade regulations and nothing good for the Black Sun. Perhaps it was time to cut their losses and find a new source of employment. Chess stroked their chin, revealing in the few-days stubble they’d managed to grow. It had been a while since they’d grown a beard; now was a good a time as any. Entering a new circle of people called for a change in appearance anyways. The difficulty was getting into the gala. Chess ruminated on it as they returned to their hangar bay. Greeting BB-05’s chirrups with an absent minded wave, Chess slid the data pad back into its holster and began to unpack the box. “Oz, I need you to disable the tracking systems you found back on Onderon. After that, plot a course to Coruscant; speed over subtlety.” A curious beep made the Cathar smile. “Yes, I found us a new friend. Come on out, Mouse.” MSE-608 rolled out of the box, hesitating before approaching BB-05. Its apparent anxiety betrayed a history of being thrown around from ship to ship, possibly even suffering the neglect of other Imperial droids. BB-05 whistled a few inquiries in binary, and at MSE-608’s replies, rambled off into a wickedly fast string of 0’s and 1’s. Chess let the droids’ conversation fade into background noise as they added the rest of their supplies to the inventory. The gala was still on their mind. Chess pressed a button and a hatch in the side of the Minx slid open to reveal a small closet. It was filled to the brim with a variety of clothing; a smorgasbord of textures and lengths. All of the pieces shared one common trait; every single item was a shade of black. Chess let the pads of their paw run over the leather, silk and cotton, before resting on a coat of heavy brocade. It bespoke luxury and mystery; exactly what one needed when attempting to attract lower-level dignitaries. The Cathar stroked their chin again, wondering if perhaps there might be enough fur to coax out a little goatee. When BB-05 returned, MSE-608 was beeping away in another excited flurry of binary. The little astromech had already worked wonders on their new recruit. Chess resolved to get Oz another upgrade the next time the credits flowed their way; she absolutely deserved it. After one final check to ensure that everything was stowed away properly, the Cathar closed up the entry hatch and set about bunking down for the night. First thing tomorrow, they were getting out of this transparisteel glasshouse.

Chess took a deep breath and let the scents and sounds of Ryloth wash over them. There was a brief scent of wild, before the blast doors slammed shut. They blinked twice, getting accustomed to the dimmer lights. Ryloth’s underground city was large and spacious, but the Cathar couldn’t help but shudder at the niggling feeling that they couldn’t get out. They brushed past a chatting group of Twi’leks and perused the street signs. The mechanical district was close. Chess could smell the engine grease and a waft of hot plasteel. The first two shops were too large and flashy; probably selling the latest models for binary translators and mechanical valets. Chess didn’t like those kinds of places. The shopkeepers were overly friendly, and always asked for too much. The Cathar walked past the first two shops, and the next two shops, and the next. When the streets branched off into little capillaries of alleyways, Chess started really paying attention to the signs. ' There was one shop, second-to-last down a winding alley, that didn’t look incredibly broken down and had a well-maintained sign. The Cathar gave a whiff and smelled dust and grease, but little else. Chess pushed the door open, to be met with a friendly chime and a small greeting from an old-but-gleaming secretary droid. ' “Welcome, honoured customer. The master will be with you in a minute.” The droid resumed whatever sort of record-keeping it was doing, leaving Chess free to browse the merchandise. Most of the droids appeared to be in sleep mode, and none of them wore restraining bolts. A good sign. “Can I help you?" A gentle voice stirred Chess out of their examination of a tiny probe droid. The Cathar stood up and looked to the counter, where a weathered male Twi’lek stood, looking slightly amused. “That right there is an excellent model, though I might give it a different paint job if I were you. Appearances, and all that.” “I appreciate your advice,” said Chess, flashing their canines in a wide smile. They reached out and shook the Twi’lek’s hand. “However, I’m interested in something a little less, shall we say, conspicuous.” “In that case, may I turn your attention to this little repair droid? An MSE-6, with quite a lot of tricks underneath its little hood.” The shopkeeper selected what had looked like a little black box, and set it down on the counter. Flipping a small switch, he brought the little droid to life. There were no flashing lights, but a small chittering emerged from the black box, followed by small jerky movements. The MSE-6 maneuvered until what Chess presumed was the front of it faced them, and the droid whistled a greeting. “Well, hello to you too, my little friend. And what do you call yourself?” The shopkeeper lifted an eyebrow ridge, presumably impressed at Chess’s knowledge of binary. The little droid beeped back. “MSE-6087? Well, that’s a good a number as any, but how about I call you Mouse?” The MSE tootled an affirmation, and it was only then that Chess returned their attention to the shopkeeper. “I see you take good care of your droids, sir. And as you can see, I know what my money’s worth. I think we can come to a deal.”

The Minx hurdled through hyperspace on its own. Chess spent their time wedged into a tiny space next to the motivator, fine-tuning the connections between the sub-light engines and the stabilizers. Oz tootled at them occasionally, usually to update flight progress or speculate on their destination. Binoo trundled up occasionally with small food-paks, as well as scheduled reminders to check the hyperdrive and route changes. As a wise Bothan once said, when the Force closed one hyperspace route, it opened another. Chess didn’t have a contact, but they did have some credits, and there were always improvements to be made to their standard of living. Sometimes it was parts for the Minx; other times it was an upgrade for Oz or Binoo. Sometimes, Chess wanted a new toy to play with. During one of their food breaks, they let the pads of their paws rub over the small sacks in their gloves, reminding them of one of their many tricks up their sleeve. It set their mind at ease, and let their fur once again lay flat against their neck. Chess licked the remains of their meal off the edge of their plate, and resumed their repairs on the stabilizers. When they landed again, the Minx would be in tip-top shape.

Chess stomped back to the Minx with the credit chip tucked safely away in their pouch. When they thudded aboard, they were met with an inquisitive chirrup as BB-05 pulled herself out of the propulsion switchboard. Chess picked up and threw a Harris wrench at the opposing wall. The resulting clang made Oz squeal and duck back out of sight. “Look, I’m sorry Oz, I just…” Chess pulled at their mane a little, their tail lashing back and forth. “I’m a little stressed right now. Did you get any farther on the communications breach?” When the astromech beeped out a sad little ‘no’, Chess sighed, and collapsed into worn leather seating area tucked away in the living area of the Minx. The Black Sun was being less than helpful and Chess’s only other contact was a Corellian who seemed to have a phobia of open communication. What should be done next? Chess looked at the data-stats on the Minx’s holo-display, and flipped the credit chip through their paw. “Binoo, how’s our fuel status?” The PLNK droid wobbled out from his charging bank, beeping steadily. The fuel was topped up, and most of the Minx’s systems seemed to be in good working condition. “Good. We’ll pick up some more coolant, then we’re out of here. I’m sick of this planet.” Binoo gave a stoic boop and trundled off. Chess dropped the denomination chip into their hip pouch and began running systems checks. It was time to do some spending.

Chess glanced at the blue milk, then picked it up and gave it a cautious sip. The Twi’lek’s teeth made their skin crawl, and hopefully by focusing on the drink, it would be harder to notice. As they sampled the milk, an idea began to form, and Chess found it easier to relax. “You ask as if I’ve had time to hunt at all. You do realize I’m dealing with a very elusive being?” They set down the glass, pulling out their little communicator. “Regardless, I have managed to have contact with the man. I’ve received a pre-recorded holo, sent over the Net. This Corellian is currently concerned with the expansion of his cosmetic business, specifically a slightly luminescent cream called “Gungaglow”.” Chess lowered their voice and leaned towards the Twi’lek. “Now, if you want a sample of his product, I may be able to get one for you, at a small price of course. I’m sure I’ll have an opportunity in the near future to obtain some.” Leaning back, Chess took another long draught of their blue milk before continuing. “If you want anything more from my end, I think I’m going to need some information from you. As I understand it, you’ve been interested in creating a partnership with the man. If there was anything you wished to impart to him-” Chess raised a furry eyebrow, “what would you like to communicate?”:

Chess takes the chit and nods surreptitiously. Before the Falleen leaves however, the Cathar grabs his arm and pulled him in so that they can whisper straight into his ear. “Tell your boss I don’t appreciate being left in the dark. The next time he contacts me, he should tell me how to contact him just in case a plan goes wrong. Otherwise, I can't be held responsible if a shipment goes missing. I don’t need a tracking device on my ship to tell him where I’m going, because he's not going to get the details.” Chess shoves Fuzz away, and stands their ground so that Fuzz is forced to slink off. Once the Falleen moves on, the Cathar saunters towards Chalum’s Cantina, blending in easily with the surrounding hodgepodge of species. It is going to be interesting, meeting the Black Sun on behalf of the very criminal they ordered Chess to track down. Chess can feel their tail fluffing a little in anxiety, and pauses to take a few deep breaths before entering the Cantina. Inside the Cantina it is a hot sweaty mess of bodies pressed in on one another, some dancing along to the kloo horns and others huddled over their drinks. Chess sighs and finds a place to sit in a crowded corner. When the Black Sun agent arrives, there had better not be any more trouble.

When the two ships enter the atmosphere of Tatooine, Chess signals Oz to land the Minx within walking range of the drop-off point. The co-ordinates given by Booster Rann place them almost in the centre of Mos Eisley, which means jockeying with other hopeless layabouts for a decent landing pad. Chess manages to finagle a private bay after smooth-talking through the airspace controller, while Oz lands the Minx just on the edge of the Outskirts. A tall Falleen with an imposing brow and a scraggly ponytail approaches the cargo bay, just as Chess is signing the docket. Chess eyes the being’s curly goatee, wondering if that’s the reason behind the name “Fuzz”. The Cathar tucks their datapad under one arm and hold out one hand, inviting the Falleen to shake it. “I heard you would be waiting for me. Fuzz, I presume?”

Chess doesn’t know how to reach Booster Rann, but if one of the tracking devices they found on their ship belongs to him, then he’ll know where they’re going anyway. Oz has programmed a flight to Tatooine into both of the ships’ computers; it’ll take a couple of days, but they’ll get there. They’ll need the time anyway, to prepare for the meeting with Fuzz and perhaps to also figure out what exactly should be done with the spyware and how to spend their newly-earned credits. Tatooine doesn’t have much, unless you count gambling and pit fights, but you never know what you might find in the scrap-yards, and there are plenty of things the Minx could use. Chess misses that ship with every passing moment. The Cathar feels a little more comfortable leaving the Zeta shuttle in autopilot for now; this seems like a good opportunity to open up the databanks to see what they can learn about the Black Sun, as well as Booster Rann. There is a plethora of information concerning the Black Sun, but finding facts among the fiction is more like fishing for trout in a pool of minnows. There are plenty of rumours, contributing everything from mysterious disappearances to a poor harvest to the crime syndicate, although some of its members appear to have been killed or jailed by authorities in the Corporate Sector, the Galactic Alliance, and even the Imperial Remnant. What is interesting is the reasons certain members were jailed. Those imprisoned in the Galactic Alliance were jailed under the catch-all offence of being Black Sun members, while those sentenced in by CoreSec officials and Empire high-ups seemed to be punished for specific crimes, such as theft or murder. The Empire’s punishments usually resulted in execution, specifically for members of the Black Sun, while CoreSec preferred to send wrong-doers to detention stations or labour colonies. Chess files that information into the back of their mind, with a niggling feeling that it might be useful later. As for Booster Rann, well, he seems to be a little harder to track. The Corellian has a finger in more than one proverbial pie, what with his name popping up behind several sturdy companies, most of which look completely legal. His most conspicuous product at the moment is GungaGlow, which appears to be a new item on the market. As for the man himself, well there isn’t a scrap of personal information. He appears to be Corellian, but whether or not he still lives on the planet is unknown. Many of his threads lead to Coruscant, which feels like a clue, but Chess isn’t going to bet on a feeling. After all, most businesses could find a market on Coruscant, what with it’s absurdly wealthy population and its desire for a little bit of every available culture possible. If there was one thing this Booster knows, it’s subtlety. Chess knew that they had stepped into a nest of vipers the moment they’d walked into that bar back on Onderon. Now it seems prudent to draw up some contingency plans, just in case. After unplugging from the Holonet, Chess opens up a channel with Oz and begins plotting three different courses from Tatooine; one to Scarif, one to Trulalis, and one to Ryloth. It always pays to be prepared.

Chess watches the Agent leave Mujabee’s, eyes slitted and fur standing slightly on end. The encounter with Corlai leaves a bad taste in their mouth; but still, credits are credits. The Cathar tears into their meal with relish and swipes the chip off of the counter. One thing that Chess has confidence in is their ability to glean every little scrap of information from even the smallest interaction. They have spent enough years among the copious species of the galaxy to learn about the unspoken cues behind words and small gestures unique to each race. Therefore, there are two things that they can walk away with from this conversation that they can use to their advantage. First of all, judging by the generous behaviour of their agent, the Black Sun believe that Chess is a lady. Secondly, they are watching Chess’s every move. The Cathar licks their lips, relishing every last bit of the Berbersian crab. Leaving a reasonable tip with the bartender, they tap on their commlink and click out a code for BB-05. DIRECTION: PERFORM SECURITY SWEEP OF THE MINX AND ALL COMMUNICATIONS SYSTEMS. HIGHLIGHT AND ISOLATE ANY SPYWARE, TO BE DELETED ON NOTICE.

“Think of this one as a test. See how you do.” Chess runs a paw through their mane, frowning slightly at the data card, though still attempting to appear nonchalant. The name of their current employer staring at them on the miniscreen unsettles them more than they’d like to admit, but one never shows their cards to the other players before the round is over. Booster Rann might be up to something unsavoury, but it remains to be seen whether his actions merit an actual bounty, or just a bit of competition with an angry rival. Chess decides to stall for time and gestures towards the bartender. When the Twi’lek shuffles closer Chess looks up from the data card and peers at the overhead menu. “I’ll take a plate of Berbersian crab and a glass of blue milk with a shot of rum.” The bartender nods and shuffles off, leaving the Cathar with the slightly overbearing human. “This is no small bounty, especially for a first job” Chess begins, looking straight into their contact’s eyes. “This individual seems to have quite a price on his head. I’m curious as to what he did to merit such a large grudge. May I ask what the bounty is for?” The two of them are interrupted by the milk sliding down the counter. Chess picks it up and takes a long draught, giving the blonde-haired human a chance to respond.

Onderon hits Chess like a tidal wave of heat; less humid than Nal Hutta but still irritatingly hot. They have a feeling they will be shedding quite a bit of fur on this planet, meaning the next expedition into space will be even more uncomfortable. The first thing they do coming off the ramp of the cargo shuttle is to head towards the opening of the Minx, where Oz is whizzing around, doing a fuel check and running systems diagnostics. “You beauty, you brought her in without a scratch!” Chess kneels to brush a paw over the head of their little astromech. Oz beeps cheerfully, pushing underneath the touch like one of those pet felines that humans occasionally like to own. (Chess doesn’t really get the appeal; do Cathar keep small hairless animals as pets? Of course not!) Overhead the docking bay, the rumbling, almost-screech of a Ruping reverberates through the half-enclosed building. Chess looks up just in time to see the Reptavian creature glide past, its jade green eyes looking around with a slight hint of savagery. A figure seems to be riding it; the mere thought makes Chess’s fur stand on end. Flying in a spacecraft is fine; flying on the back of a creature that might drop you as soon as eat you for lunch is something else. The crowd around the landing pad is a good mix of on-and-off worlders, often distinctive by the kind of clothing they chose to wear. The locals wear lightweight fabrics and aren’t afraid to show off a little skin, which is conducive to keeping their bodies at a manageable temperature. Many of the off-worlders are wearing flight-suits or materials that do not deal well with heat, and consequentially, any parts of their body that is visible is covered with a thin layer of sweat. Chess immediately sheds their jacket and their outer layer of clothing, revealing a black tank-top, while uncorking a small flask they keep in one of their pockets for an occasion such as this. Taking a swig, the Cathar pulls out their data pad and sends a message off to their Black Sun contact. If they can arrange to meet before night kicks in, there might be some time to enjoy oneself before Chess has to take off yet again.

If there was one thing Chess loved more than anything else it was the freedom and opportunity of open space. The Zeta-class shuttle was unfamiliar and bulky, not to mention visually unappealing, but more spacious than the Minx. Chess brushed their paw over the controls, eyeing the data panels with their slightly off-colour displays. Out of the viewport window Chess could see The Minx, cruising casually off to their starboard side. The Cathar felt a rush of gratitude towards their astromech droid - Oz was everything they could ask for and more. Once out of orbit they would open up a channel, to check up on their little droid pair. BB-05 tweeted as soon as they opened a comm, whistling so fast Chess had to ask her to calm down. “I know, I know, I haven’t given you very much information about the mission, but sweetheart, it’s because I don’t know much about it myself. I have no idea what kind of being we’re going to meet on Onderon, or what our new employer really wants. I mean, who would go through this much trouble just to sell some beauty cream?” Oz beeped thoughtfully, while apparently also adjusting the portside stabilizers. Chess saw the Minx do a little wobble.“How’s Binoo holding up?” In the background, Chess could hear the power droid plonking steadily. PLNK models had less emotion in their programs, so Chess had to rely on direct binary translation to figure out what Binoo was expressing. At this moment, the droid seemed worried about the fact that Chess was not onboard the Minx. “I know buddy, and just to ease your systems this shuttle is definitely no luxury craft. I’m pretty sure some of these parts are from last century, and the glowing from the crates I’ve got in the cargo hold is stronger than the brightest nightlight. Trust me, as soon as I can drop this shipment I’m gonna be back aboard the Minx and nagging at you to fix the energy conservation in the reserve power banks.” Binoo blooped, content, and faded into the background. Oz was happy enough to resume the conversation, and Chess decided to keep the links open as they traveled. It was nice to have company.

Chess picked up the slip of paper and peered at the directions. In one hand, they clicked their communicator, signalling BB-05. “Hey bud, can you start up the Minx? I’m gonna have to patch in some coordinates.” Oz tootled back cheerfully, accompanying her reply with the hum of warming engines.After co-ordinating the flight patterns, Chess bent down to take a good look at one of the crates. The glow wasn’t fading; it was slightly pink, like the colour of a baby human’s face or the resort sands of Naboo. The instructions hadn’t elaborated as to when Chess had to arrive on Tatooine, and Onderon was rather close by; perhaps it would be prudent to contact the Black Sun before travelling all the way to Tatooine. Besides, if one was lucky, there might be a few souls willing to take some of this… Glow off of their hands, for a few pretty pennies. The control panel was pretty standard, although some of the switches and panels looked to be second-hand and shoddy. Chess tutted to themself. There would have to be some communication with Booster Rann about company costs - one did not like to be treated like a common ferry pilot. Chess started up the engines and ran through pre-flight checks, checking sporadically with Oz so they would leave the atmosphere at the same time, yelling at the pit droids to exit the launchpad, and jettisoning into the open vacuum of space.

Chess could see their contact from the entrance to the docking area. Her voice echoed and bounced off every single surface, turning into a jumbled mix of indeterminate sounds by the time it reached the Cathar’s ears. Chess paused to let their pupils dilate a little in the dimmer light, and wrinkled their nose a little, trying to make themselves look as small and non-threatening as possible. After all, it never hurt to pour on a little charm. Chess chose a meandering route, walking silently but moving steadily closer towards Docking Bay 36. When the Zabrak looked up and stopped mid-insult, Chess smiled widely, showing off their long canine teeth, and gave a theatrical bow. “You must be my distinguished contact,” they said, waist still bent at ninety degrees. When they straightened, the Cathar chuckled inwardly at their audience’s wide eyes. “One would have to be blind to miss such an… arresting being such as yourself.” The rogue gestured at the fumbling droids, who scuttled onwards with their crates, casting an appreciative eye over the stack of crates yet to be loaded into the carrier. “I see you are also a firm overseer. My compliments on your crew. Now,” and with a feline grace that would be hard to match, Chess relaxed on the corner of a faintly-glowing crate, “how about we get down to business?"