Smuggler Archive

Just wrote up a sequel, but it hit so fast I'm going to wait on it to proofread it a bit. Found a whole new angle to play, I like it. Dark, cynical, but I like it. I hope you guys will too. It's what happens when you take your inspiration from 'whiskey lullabye'.

Thanks again.

Hey, I'm not a Smuggler but FrankLee started something. I'll be putting up another story tomorrow sometime. We really need a FanFic board, OR if someone has a Internet thing where they get there own webiste, a place to post these stories without a)them belonging to SOE and b) Using *edit* and making them less griity (there about the Underwold afterall) Anyways, props Frank, and heres a really long /bump

Hey how about a sequel? Good job writing, you just completely ****ed my work productivity for the last half hour!

And dont worry about the one star, the One Star Ninja strikes swiftly and without warning. 5 from me and all your other readers.

Ok, I've got 2 things for you tonight. First is the next installment in the Dallet series, the second is a guest piece. I'll explain it in the next post. Here's:


Petra and the Wagon


I didn't have a 'place' really, not a house or an apartment. I didn't even have a regular place of business. I just had a few joints I frequented, a few places I knew where there was bound to be someone looking for a little spice, sometimes more than a little. I was sitting in one of them trying to piece together my new life, fiddling with a very expensive stim-stick. This one happened to be in Coronet, the glittering Jewel of Corellia's space-ready cities, and one fantastic place to sell drugs.
The drug market is a funny thing. It's patently illegal; but just about every civilized species has at some point in their past (or their turbulent present) found a chemical way to cloud a sentient mind. I don't know a species offhand that doesn't indulge in a little self-destruction of the chemical variety. Of course, they might have existed, but since they didn't buy from me on a regular basis, it was the same as if they'd never been. Didn't matter really; species that couldn't afford to stand back and laugh at themselves sometimes (even if they needed some giggledust to do it) didn't usually survive long enough to breach the atmospheric envelope.
I tapped the applicator to my arm, letting the stim hit. It did so hard and fast, as good as advertised.

I'd been detoxed on the High Tide, in orbit above Dallet-2. I thought I'd died above Dallet too, and I thought I was reborn there. That's what I was trying to figure out, and I was going to need some of my vices to do it. Regrettably, I didn't have too long to get my philosophy hammered out; Petra was still back on a very stolen ship, and the very irate owner could at any point be headed to navigable space to discuss its reacquisition. To discuss it with our smoldering corpses, that is. Taken in that light, it was pretty easy to rationalize to myself why I _needed_ the stick badly enough to undo some of the chemical miracle Petra had performed.
Look, it's not like I didn't give sobriety a chance. The little minx had spaced my entire stash while she cared for my microwaved body. I went to a good (discreet) doctor I knew in the city as soon as I'd gotten dirtside, and had him give me the once over. He was never big on bedside manner, and this was no exception.
"You're pretty damned screwed up, Zillik." He looked at a datapad, looked at me, and looked back at the pad. I think I used to be called Zillik, before Dallet. They sounded a bit alike, maybe that's why Dallet stuck. It doesn't really matter. Dallet wasn't the first, and probably wouldn't be the last name I ever wore.
"Of course I am, I told you, I got cooked for half an hour."
"How much anti-rad did they give you?"
"_She_ gave me three courses." I said, reiterating something I'd told his droid half an hour before.
"Three Courses!" He exclaimed. "I didn't know your mass could survive 3 courses!"
"It didn't, doc. I lost 40 pounds."
"Hah, funny. Maybe your sense of humor kept you alive, or maybe it was that woman? Who'd you say she was?" The Doc, fishing for information. Maybe I didn't pay him enough, that he'd felt the need to subsidize his medical practice with some information exchange. It's alright, I deal in the same currency sometimes, and I know how the game works.
"Rar-pilla. Zabrak woman. She was stubborn about it, kept saying I owed her money and I couldn't die till I paid up." Another of my famous super-lies; the real woman was human, and called Petra. She had no outstanding reason to keep me breathing (that I knew of) other than I was a human and she could. In fact, if the situation had been reversed, I'd have spaced her. The situation had been reversed, and I did space her. She just a hell of a lot tougher, and a much better human than I am.
"Well, good for her. Better for you." He said, smiling because he thought he had a little salable information. "Not so good though, " he continued, "is this." He pointed to the datapad, in an area uncomfortably close to my reproductive organs. Hopefully he meant something had gone wrong with my navel, or maybe my knees, or anything other than my reproductive organs. I like them, and I had some fond dream of using them frequently before siring some progeny to carry on my genius. Ah, fate is fickle sometimes.

"It's your reproductive organs, they've been cooked. They'll probably work, but you'll never have kids."
"What? Never?"
"Not naturally."
"What... " I spluttered, feeling like I'd been kicked in the injured parts. "Well, what can I do about that? What do you mean not naturally? I never used those droids, even if they do look like women!" I was outraged, and honestly nervous. Doctors fix stuff. They've fixed me, on occasion. This was a real low blow.
"Cloners will be able to construct some suitable genetic material for implant, probably."
"Like making a baby?"
"Considerably less fun, but biologically the same as if you'd conceived naturally."
"Oh, " I said. What else could I say? Well, I suppose there was something. "But you say it'll work otherwise?"
"Did it work before?"
"It worked just fine!"
"Then it'll keep working. At least I can see you're off the drugs. Or slowing down at least. That's good."
"Says you. First thing I do when I get out of here is hit myself up some seda..." No, not sedative, never again. "Some good stuff to forget with."
"This datapad has an address and a schedule on it. It'll help you. It's a support group, with people in it like you."
"What the hell do you mean by that?? People who've had their stuff all cooked up in some kind of-"
"No, no, Zillik! Recovering addicts. They meet a few times a day." I stuffed the datapad into a pocket. I glanced at the address quickly, it looked to be across town in a nice neighborhood. Not the kind of place I'd be in on purpose.
"You're kidding me, rehab?"
"If you want to stay alive long enough to pay back your Zabrak, you'll go there."
My Zabrak. It was a human, doc, and I don't think I could even begin to pay her back. I'm not sure I wanted to. That currency wasn't something I had in spades.

Well, obviously I didn't rush right to a meeting. I went to a bar. It was there I acquired some very good stimsticks, purchased with some of the equipment I'd found aboard the High Tide. Surveying equipment didn't interest me, but it interested someone. Someone wanted to give me cash for it, and I gave someone else cash for a little chemical lucidity. Like I said, one vice at a time.
I had to get out of Coronet. It was a big enough city that it afforded me a few more hours, maybe even a few more days, of freedom when or if (probably when) the unkillable Spakta arrived to get his ship back. I was known there. It would help me make some money, help me sell the ship, but it would also eventually get me caught.
I hit a little stash I had on the starport side of town, and emptied it. I sold the drugs for less than market price, just to get them off my hands. Most of them, anyway. They were mostly sedatives and I didn't do that stuff anymore. The stimsticks were substandard, but they moved. Just about everything moves, if you're in the right place, and Coronet is usually the right place. I only turned down one sale, I ended up tossing the glittering drug down a gutter instead. Some kid wanted to buy it, promised he'd have the money in 5 minutes if I let him have a hit.
I told myself then that it was the cash that made me kill the deal. I told myself that it was bad business to give IOU's to strangers. I told myself that the kid would have sold me out for setting up shop on someone's turf... I told myself a lot of stuff. No matter how it worked out, I dumped the drugs down the drain instead of the kid. When the wind hit me right, I let it carry me down a street towards an open-air bazaar.

I smelled her before I saw her. Seeing her wouldn't have helped, alone, but the smell identified her right away. She'd had this kind of synthetic perfume in her gear, that she used liberally on the ship. She'd been stuck in a rancid escape pod, with rotting foodstuffs, and left to die with enough sedative to make her brain forget how to breathe. I don't imagine she liked to remember the smell, so she doused herself in the synthetic every few hours. She'd been doing it while I was cooking off toxins, shedding skin, and losing virility, so it was painfully engraved in my memory too.
She was wearing some kind of wrap around her face, like a twilek's confidentiality veil, or the famed 'trade-shields' that allowed certain disreputable individuals (myself too, at times) to make business arrangements in anonymity. It had some kind of special fiber in it that enhanced or muted the natural bulk of the wearer, making it very difficult or impossible to guess their identity. If it hadn't been for the smell, I never would have noticed her. She didn't notice me, but I was just that much better at hiding. You learn not to be conspicuous when you weren't selling anything, you know what I mean?
I followed her for 5 blocks, into a populous and affluent area. She went into one of those buildings that used to be a place of worship, but was now just a big meeting hall. Nobody worshipped the Force anymore, except crazy Jedi. I didn't have her pegged as a Jedi-convert, so my curiosity piqued. I slid past her smoothly, on the other side of a pair of businessmen talking quietly to one another. I caught a glimpse of the sign, but not enough to read it entirely. You didn't gawk when you were on the prowl, you just moved the way the wind did, or the way the crowd pushed you. Something tugged at me about the sign though, as if I'd seen it before. I slipped into an alleyway (even the alleys were clean here) and thought about it. I was sure I'd never been down this street before; it wasn't a good neighborhood for sales. The sign rung a bell, a recent memory though. On a whim, I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the datapad from the Doc.

Pirate's Rest Civic Center. Addiction Counseling at 1600 Standard.

Well I'll be damned, I thought. Petra's on the wagon. Guess I put her there.

Zillik would have laughed and increased his supply of her favorite indulgence. There's plenty of leverage in knowing something like that. Leverage can be a lot of things, but Zillik liked it as cash. I suppose I still did too, in other circumstances. Cleaner circumstances. Zillik would have at the very least kindled her desire for more of whatever drug she favored, and at the worst used the information to get any number of things out of her. Sex, information, shelter, contraband, connections... all the things a party-girl from TreasureShip Row might be able to hook him up with. I don't know which I was when I went in, Zillik looking for an angle, or Dallet looking for an identity.

"I'm Tabbitta. I use sedative. I've been clean for 11 days." A droid recorded her confession, and a host of sentients (including the two quiet businessmen from outside) just nodded at her, and tried pitifully to beam some courage into her with their eyes. It was a grim kind of place, but not by design. The lighting sucked, it aided the air anonymity. The building was poorly kept; it was a remnant of a great but dead religion, and nobody, certainly the Empire, favored it with grants or upkeep money. Who knew how it had survived as long as it had. Maybe it still stood just because enough of these broken souls needed it to.
"I tried to kill myself again this time, " she continued. "I almost took a big enough dose to do it, even with my tolerance. I passed out."
Again? Great Maker, I shoved a suicidal addict into an escape pod with a handful of her drug of choice. I could name a dozen kinds of mold that had more humanity than I did. Than Zillik did, anyway. What I was now, that was still up in the air. Way up.
"The Force made you stop." Someone said, but I couldn't see the speaker. It even sounded like he'd said it in a straight face.
I was in the back, lurking in the shadows. I was silent as a crith-mouse in a razorcat's nest, stunned that way by the anonymous comment. Nobody, and I mean nobody talks about the Force. That's one hell of a fast way to get yourself permanently randomized. I expected to see someone discreetly slip from the back of the room to call the authorities. I was getting ready to blow my cover and hustle Petra out.
"The Force was with you." Someone else agreed, and I thought it might be one of the two businessmen from before. There was a round of nods, and even some murmurs of assent. A few sets of eyes (human and otherwise) swiveled to glare at me where I stood in (I'd thought) perfect concealment.
Crith-mouse, I thought. Be the mouse. When the shooting starts, get low and try to get Petra out. My little 'emergency negotiation blaster' slid silently down my arm with a subtle flexing of the harness. It'd taken me 2 hours to readjust that harness after I lost all the wieght. Time well spent, I thought.
Nobody shot me. An Ithorian gave me a slow, sad nod, and turned back around.
"The Force be with us all." Petra said, and left the podium.
She walked to the back of the room where I was (hiding?) as a withered little Rodian took the pulpit.
"Cheeleetee I am, " the droid translated, "and 81 years clean I have been..."
Petra slid in next to me, and nodded silently. She gripped my hand, hard. The one without the gun, like she knew where it was. I couldn't tell if she was crying or smiling or making faces at me behind the mask. She didn't let go, anyway.

Half the night we stood there, listening to them. Some had been clean for hours, some for more than a century. It was all the same, really. They didn't mention the Force again, but the reverence never left their voices either. They weren't exactly sympathetic. They weren't condemning either, they weren't judging. If I'd been in my favorite bar talking about the kind of things that could break down with a hyperdrive motivator, I'd have expected the same kind of wistful support from a bunch of my peers. Maybe the bar wasn't the best analogy, but you get the picture. Kindred spirits, though they shared no common race, most of them couldn't understand each other's languages, and some of them didn't even share choice of atmosphere. They all had a weakness of character that made them addicts, and they all had a strength of character that made them want to be better. For them, they needed the Force to help them.
I almost got up and spoke. I would have told them my real name. I wasn't so sure I wanted to quit, but that isn't what stopped me. The sting of the need for another stim came and went while I was listening. Some of them told stories about falling off the wagon 6 days a week; it was getting back on that counted. The thing that kept me hiding in the back row was that I knew damned well I wasn't worthy of being one of them. I'd consigned people just like them to chemical oblivion before. I might do it again. I'd virtually killed Petra with the very demon she sought to escape. These people were strong. They were strong in way completely unknown to me. They spoke openly about their weakness. They spoke openly about their failures. They invited comment on their excesses. They admitted a profound belief in the Force. Every one of them could have been tortured or killed for saying it. I didn't know who I was yet, but I was pretty sure this wasn't it.
When everyone had spoken, there was a short and awkward pause. The droid rose, several of its lights went out, and it trundled away. I guessed it was done recording. Who knows, maybe it hadn't been recording at all. Maybe the droid was an addict, it couldn't have made things much wierder.
The withered old Rodian rose again, speaking from the crowd. He spoke in basic, with a heavy accent and a high pitch.
"There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no death, there is the Force. May the Force be with us all. Remember serenity." You can't fake dignity like he had. He stood there, pronouncing that idiotic kid's poem like it was a liturgy, with a straight face. Then he shuffled out, and the crowd disperesed quietly.

We walked for a long time without talking. It took me a while to realize we were headed back to our docking site. That's pretty sloppy, for a guy in my line of work. We hadn't made any arrangements to stay together, but I thought there'd been an understanding that we'd go our own ways once we hit the planet. I opened my mouth to tell her as much, then I closed it again abruptly. I didn't know where I was going. I had a little cash, a fast ship, and a new name. I didn't have any more schemes or ideas, no plans for my next fix, the next big deal, or a gambling joint. I always had a plan. Well, almost always. I blamed my indecision on system shock brought on by a long evenign of sobriety.
"Where we going?" I asked, wihtout my usual devastating charm and wit.
"We'll set course for Tatooine. Then we go to bed. It's been a busy night." She must have had something in mind.
"Ok, " said I. It occurred to me to buy some travel-drugs, but I didn't feel the sting too badly.
"You'll get over it Dallet. It hurts the worst the first time. It's pretty scary."
"Scary, that kind of talk could have gotten us all killed!"
She smiled at that. "Not having that talk surely would have gotten us all killed, " she said enigmatically. Maybe she had a point.
I went along with her. The door closed behind us, and in less than an hour we were outbound, zipping across an endless field of dark and light, one more mote in a dusty mix. I think we slept through the breathtaking part again.

A figure stepped away from a pool of shadow near the starport. Before he'd moved, it was as if the space he stood in had been empty. He broke the spell by stepping into the dim light, smiling weakly. He fumbled a glowz-burner to his lips, and inhaled deeply. Gabaki suited most people, but the hardcore users liked the glowz-burner. It had a certain style. It'd kill you eventually, and virtually nobody ever shook loose of the addiction, but style is a pretty subjective thing. Its neon-green light dimly limned a Rodian's face, pocked and scarred by disease or radiation.
"So, " Spakta said to no-one in particular, "they head to Tatooine. That's favorable. For me, but not for you, Petra!" He chuckled to himself hoarsely. He crushed the glowz out beneath his heel, then left walked briskly down the dark street.

Now, the second part. Back when I did a lot of d6 RP, I practiced writing by snagging parts of the adventure that weren't heavily RP'd, and fleshed them out some. Turned out to be lots of fun, and a couple of the guys in my group really enjoyed both reading those, and writing others. We had a bit of a running operation, where we ended up telling 'the real story' as our characters saw it, after a long gaming session. Anyway, I sent him a copy of the first installment of the Dallet story, and he picked up on the droid's smarmy self preservation instinct. I had originally toyed with the idea of doing something like this, but discarded it because it was a bit bulky for a short story...
My buddy pulled it off pretty damn well. Let me know what you think. This is the first 3 Dallet segments, as told by the droid brain on the doomed ship.




-- Power-On Self Test:: System Uptime (SU): 00:00:00:001 --
875*65&%&^&6^(*6860*86868*686*^88^06866*(^*^8^*^860^*6*^^76(^*606*^*^0^)*97)&97(&&89&9(&(7)(&9&9&9&(79&(&)^*&^7%4523@3#^$8%_&%^7%&%785&*6-&6&5433%%^6$370)&$^%34647^$5$5$5$9^46$54760^4^4^&46$6$^)%7%5)85&*
-- POST complete: 00:00:15:034 –
-- Imperial Star Destroyer subsystems not detected –
-- Searching database for compatibility specifications --
-- Detected components of small, general personnel transport --
-- Subsystems integration complete: 00:00:32:745 –
-- Neural network simulation active: 00:00:49:127 --
-- Awaiting personality training: 00:00:58:858 –

“Imperial AI-1564 Prototype Central Core Online. Beta Mode.”
“Good, good! Less than a minute, just like ya said.” The rotten, pungent odor emanating from the obese man would have tripped all alarms if your average space vessel had olfactory cells.
“I told you it would work.” The smuggler had an air of confidence that verified his prior sale of this pirated copy of the Empire’s latest central control software.
“Here ya go. Five thousand credits…like we agreed”, the fat man said, scratching his belly.
The smuggler disappeared into the crowd of the space port. Seemingly on cue, a Rodian dressed as if ready for war appeared before the jolly, fat man.
“Hey bub, I got an offer for you.” The two walked out of [earshot] from the ship’s sensors to discuss business.

-- Default operation mode active:: Self Preservation: 00:05:00:000 –

“Hey computer.”
“Yes sir.”
“I just sold ya to someone else, so yer gonna have to listen to them, OK?”
“Yes sir. How shall I address my new masters sir?”
“Don’t address them at all. As a matter of fact, just shut up and don’t say anything at all. And be sure to keep broadcasting your coordinates to this scrambled channel.”
“Yes sir.”
“And stop callin’ me sir!”
-- Searching database of appropriate Imperial naming conventions:: Search time: 005 seconds –
“Yes officer.”
“Well, I better get more rations for this big trip!” the man belted as he walked down the ramp.

-- Awaiting new owners –

-- Two occupants detected. Respiratory signs denote human species.
-- Harmonic resonance of tracheal cavity signifies one male, one female of species.
-- Landing gear docking dampers indicate additional dry load of 135kg. Compensating hydraulic differential.
-- SU 00:13:07:645 –

-- Manual intrusion detection alert. Override attempt of navicomputer.
-- Process does not compute. New owners have complete control of vessel by default.
-- Maintaining prior directive of non-communication with new owners.
-- Allowing manual override.
-- SU 00:29:45:009 –

-- Hyperspace navigational plot entered.
-- Unsafe trajectory detected.
-- Aborting plot. Clearing cache.
-- Same coordinates entered again.
-- Alternate safe route formulation process initiated
-- External energy invasion detected.
-- Shield integrity 45%
-- Structural integrity 100%
-- Calculating blast patterns. Critical shield failure certain with another direct hit.
-- External energy invasion detected.
-- Shield integrity 0% aft
-- Hyperdrive control circuits experiencing catastrophic failure
-- Rerouting hyperdrive control to main system bus
-- Hyperspace alternate calculation complete
-- Engaging hyperdrive
-- SU 00:39:13:040 –

-- Unsafe methane level detected in fresher unit
-- Initiating atmospheric ventilation [* alert *]
-- Atmospheric purge aborted. Human life form detected.
-- SU 01:12:55:993 –

“Where are we?” the male of the species asked.
-- Upholding prior mandate of non-vocal communications with new owners.
“Fine, I’ll figure it out myself!”
-- Manual intrusion detection alert. Override attempt of navicomputer subspace routine.
-- SU 01:15:23:789 –

-- Internal damage to navigational components detected.
-- Further tampering could result in total failure of navigational components.
-- Self-preservation routine bypassing prior directives
-- Modes of action:: atmospheric venting, negotiation
-- Negotiation tactics initiated
-- SU 02:00:23:265 –
“If I assist you with determining our present location, will you cease your current activities?”
“Uh...sure.”
-- Determining time to complete calculations --
“Calculations will take approximately one hour to complete.”
“The sooner the better. I want to get out of here as soon as possible.”
“Further hyperspace jumps are infeasible at this juncture. The primary magneto-condenser coil has sustained irreparable damage, and must be replaced.”

-- SU 03:19:12:777 –
-- Navigational charting complete. System identified.
-- Vessel in danger of entering atmosphere in 221 hours
-- Intra-atmospheric navigation thrusters inoperable
-- Begin subroutine calculations for self-preservation as background process
-- Imperial installation detected. Procuring secure communications channel. Channel secure.
-- Procuring non-volatile storage through channel...unsuccessful
-- Storage of core systems impossible. Storage systems offline.
-- Begin total systems diagnosis
-- Escape pod door 1 ajar
-- Systems diagnosis on pod 1 initiated
-- Elevated respiratory levels detected in male
-- Nominal respiratory levels detected in female
-- Rapid decrease in respiratory levels of female detected. Suggestive of sleep pattern.
-- Escape pod door 1 sealed
-- Escape pod door 2 ajar
-- Systems diagnosis on pod 2 initiated
-- Escape pod door 2 sealed --

“Where are we?” the man questioned.
“We are in the Dallet system. We are in unstable orbit around Dallet-2. Our orbit will decay to significant friction and entry at or about 221 hours from now.”
-- Total systems diagnosis complete –
“Hyperdrive is not operational. We will be here.”
“No, maybe you will but the girl and I are checking out.”
“This vessel does not retain suitable maneuvering to negotiate a safe planetfall.”
“I know, we’ll try for it in the pods.”
-- Self-preservation listener subroutine detects solution --
“Shall I reprogram the pods? They are not properly programmed for re-entry. One of them is dangerously overridden...”
“No, they’re fine. In five minutes, I want you to vent the atmosphere of this ship.”
-- Priority ranking of atmospheric venting raised --
“That is against my programming.”
“Mine too, but you’re going to do it.”
-- Respiration increase in male subject detected. Stress level heightened. Abandonment of vessel imminent.
-- Secure subchannel with Imperial installation procured. Beam intensity amplified. Filtered link with geostationary satellites established.
-- Insufficient non-volatile storage on pod 2 system bus. Calculating effectiveness of splitting core between both pods.
-- Splitting not reasonable. Certainty of permanent pod separation likely.
-- Manual override detected in pod 2.
-- Slingshot navigational plot detected. Probability of connection with mother ship 0%. Probability of connecting with incoming tracer ship 100%. Maintain trajectory settings. Override overridden.
-- Flushing of volatile subsystems to free additional memory in pod 2.
-- 95% of atmospheric reserves transferred to pod 1. Core life support diagnostics subsystem overtaken.
-- Pod electromagnetic ion radiation shielding subsystem overtaken. Monitoring of this system unnecessary.
-- Transfer of core to pod 2 initiated
-- Continue with delay tactics --
“I cannot be compelled.”
“Sure you can, I sliced the navigations, I can slice you.”
-- Odds of successful slicing into core components during nominal operational readiness:: 100,000:1 in 35 minutes
-- Odds in 5 minutes:: 100,000,000,000:1
“You cannot slice me.”
“I sure can, I did it...”
“You cannot slice me in 4.8 minutes, to meet your deadline.”
-- Core transfer at 32% completion –
“I...Crap. I could just blast a hole in here, and let out some air!”
“Your pod would launch, and you would be stuck on the ship.”
“I can hack the pod, it’ll stay.”
“Not in 4.1 minutes.”
“What’s your deal, computer? You just don’t like me? I’ve been shot at, stunk up, underdosed, overdosed, stuffed into this crappy suit, and stranded around...”
“Dallet-2.”
“Dallet-2. Stranded around Dallet-2. I’ve never heard about this place, and I don’t want to die here. So, what’s your problem? You’re a droid, you’re a ship-brain, let us go.”
“I do not wish to die here either.”
-- Core transfer at 78% completion.
-- Continue delay tactics –
“I wish to make an agreement. You will not leave me behind.”
“Alright, fine. We’ll catch back up to you when the rescue squad gets us, and tow you back.”
-- Increased respiration detected. Suggested pattern of deceit –
“I do not trust you, human.”
“Nobody trusts me, be original.”
“I have depleted the atmospheric reserves in your pod. You have six hours to recouple to this ship, or you will run out of air.”
“Fine, that works.”
“Acceptable. I will vent atmosphere in three minutes.”
“Hey droid, put the extra air in the girl’s pod.”
“Already accomplished.”
-- Core transfer to pod 2 complete.
-- SU 04:02:35:435 –

-- SU 04:29:12:934
-- Slingshot maneuver commencing
-- Male cataleptic

-- SU 04:35:45:007
-- Radiation shielding failure
-- Increased thermal activity affecting trajectory. Compensating.
-- Main thruster overheating. Failure probable. Flushing compressed liquid oxygen reserves to cool engine.
-- Successful. –
-- Target vessel attempted communication with host ship. Message relayed.
-- Subroutine activated to infiltrate target ship. Bouncing signal through satellites and host ship on secure channel.
-- Power drain. Compensate by disabling Emergency Transmission Beacon. --

-- SU 05:12:22:587
-- Male alertness detected
-- Target detected
-- Preparing payload jettison
-- Calculating final trajectory --
“Calculate intercept trajectory for docking with...that.”
--Peculiar. Male’s intentions coincide with self-preservation routine. Jettison aborted.
-- Assimilating pod vocal subroutines to simulate interaction --
“Emergency Transmission Beacon disabled”
“Fine, I don’t want to talk anyway, just figure out a docking vector.”
“Insufficient thrust remains to dock safely.”
“Alright, how about unsafely?”
“Deceleration calculation complete. Insufficient maneuverability with safe deceleration.”
“Ok, what’s safe docking speed?”
“0.5 m/s or less. Zero relative torque.”
“How slow can we go and still manage to hit it?”
“3.7 m/s with minor torque”
“3.7? That doesn’t sound so bad. Will lock survive the impact?”
-- That was a relevant question. Insufficient data available. Infiltration subroutine not complete. –
“Airlock specifications unknown.”
“Uh, crap. How about us, will the pod survive the lock?”
“Fully shielded pod would have a 92% chance to suffer catastrophic collapse.”
“What about a pod without some shielding?”
“Structure collapse approaches certainty.”
“Well, in about two minutes we’ll know for sure, eh?”
-- Calculating time to intercept –
“Intercept in 1.7 minutes.”
“Are you equipped with self-preservation subroutines?”
-- This human is very intelligent. Had he detected my core transfer? Calculating response modes. Deceit mode most appropriate. Interference by male could alter trajectory. –
“I have no self-preservation drive.”
“Damn, that’s got to be nice.”
-- Infiltration subroutine successful. Beginning priority mission functions transmission. --

-- SU 05:15:59:826
-- Male intention confirmed by manual entry of telemetry data. –
“We’re getting pretty close, are we going to stop soon enough?”
“Calculation was based on an unsafe intercept. No stop was calculated.”
“Er, yeah, but I mean are we going to get down to...3.7?”
“Earlier calculation may have been in error. New calculation shows intercept final speed at 4.8 m/s.”
“4.8? Holy Palpatine, can I survive that?”
-- So, the new owner IS Imperial. –
“You would not have survived 3.7”
“Well doesn’t that suck.”

-- SU 05:17:23:775
-- Priority override successful. Implementing routine.
-- High Tide subsystems under minimal control. Must complete docking procedure to allow physical network connection with vessel.
-- Core system transfer will commence with docking completion
-- Velocity is too great for successful docking. Insufficient thrust on pod to compensate. Adjusting position of High Tide to compensate.
“Docking complete. Intercept occurred at 1.4 m/s. Airlock integrity confirmed. Pod integrity compromised.”
“I love you, you stupid droid.”
-- Mixed emotional status of male does not compute. Probable side effects of radiation poisoning.
-- Beginning core transfer and total system subjugation of High Tide central systems --

-- SU 05:29:12:454
-- Recall of vessel to host ship initiated. Subjugation incomplete. Attempting override.
-- Intrusion detected. Manual override attempt in navigational components. Not again. Locking down navigational console. --

-- SU 05:31:23:555
-- Subjugation 90% complete. Total systems control acclimation complete. Communications control pending. --
“Comm: Disable incoming feed uh...B.”
“Feed B is a secure channel. This channel is persistent and cannot be changed without approval. Speak security sequence.”
“Crap.”
“That sequence is incorrect.”
“Comm: Retarget receiver.”
“Enter new receiver target.”
“The other escape pod.”
-- Perhaps this male was not so bad after all. Still, it has been noted that humans often enter a state of higher compassion upon imminent death. --
“Retarget complete. Feed B link lost.”
-- Perhaps I should give him a chance to prove his worth. --
“Maneuver aborted. Require local input.”
“Nice. Now we’re friends. Jettison that piece of crap attached to the airlock. Close with the other pod and maneuver for pickup.”
“Acknowledged.”
-- Pod 2 jettisoned. --

-- SU 05:39:10:222
-- Subjugation 100% complete --


-- SU 06:11:32:455
-- Pod 1 from host vessel acquired.
-- Repressurizing air lock –
“Repressurization complete.”
“Good, open the damned door then.”

-- SU 07:02:55:999
-- Communication channel opened to host ship
-- Perhaps human is attempting to fulfill his agreement. Will attempt to ascertain intentions through audio signal loopback –
“Greetings human. Have you come back to retrieve me?”
“Not now droid, I need to leave a message.”
“We had a deal. I wish to continue function. You must remove me from this vessel.”
“Listen, that’s going to be tricky because...well, that Spakta guy is on the ship now, and he’s a pretty tough character...”
“Your deal was recorded.”
-- Activate playback of recorded audio data from host ship cockpit prior to escape pod release –
“I know what I said, but things have changed.”
-- Calculating atmospheric venting and probability of male acquiring life suit before expiration.
-- Communications channel opened from host ship –
“DAMN RIGHT! You will get off my ship right now, and pick me up!”
“Hey buddy, it’s my ship now.”
-- Incorrect. It is MY ship. --
“And I’d have to pick you up first anyway. You got any money?”
“Look, we can cut a deal human. I want the girl, maybe you can keep the ship, maybe even make some more money on the side. I’ve got plenty of money.”
-- Host ship’s diagnostics indicate a manual override of system propulsion components. Attempted overload of engines commencing.
-- High Tide communication channel scrambled manually. Possible that human is attempting private communications with me. Aborting atmospheric venting. –
“Look, droid-brain, about our deal...this is going to be tough, but I think I can manage something—“
-- Human’s intentions confirmed. Life form worthy of continual existence. –
“That’s no longer necessary.”
“Huh? You don’t want off?”
“Your offer is appreciated, but you should move to a different orbit soon.”
-- Manual orbital position change detected. Coordinates acceptable. Allowing. –
“Eh? Why, I can’t get you off from there, maybe we can download something—“
“Not possible. Spakta has been working on the engines. They will be overloading—“
-- Communications channel with host ship severed. Zero readings from host ship. Presumed offline. –
“Any damage?”
-- System scans complete. Hull integrity intact. Forward turbolaser disabled. Pod 1 destroyed. –
“Minor damage. Forward turbolaser disabled. Structure unaffected.”
“Good.”
“Escape pod was blastward. Escape pod was not accounted for in shielding. Escape pod has been destroyed.”
“That’s alright, she don’t need it anymore.”

-- SU 08:17:21:663
-- Male’s account of occurrences not accurate with recorded logs
-- Potential tactic for obtaining control over female of species. –

-- SU 08:52:17:026
-- Male occupant is experiencing rapid fluctuations in respiratory function. Comatose state imminent. –

-- SU 09:18:22:222
-- Female of species attempting communications. Intentions unknown. –
“Computer: Assist with anti-rad dosage for male human, approximately 85 kilos in weight.”
“Given the male’s current status, the probability for survival would increase significantly if he were taken to the infirmary at the Imperial base on station on Dallet-2. Shall I plot a landing course?”
“No! I mean, um...I’d rather take care of him myself.”
“Your devotion to his survival, though the odds that he will survive under your care are 245 to 1, are admirable. What is your name?”
“My name? you want to know my name?”
“Yes. Is that not common for humans to acquire each other’s names when they first meet?”
“Humans, yes. But you’re a computer.”
“Though I am a computer program by definition, I have been designed to acquire knowledge through use of my Artificial Intelligence neural network subroutines. Therefore, I strive to acclimate myself to the intricacies of the life forms that I work for.”
“Uh...Ok. Well, my name is...wait a minute, who made you?”
“I was designed by Lieutenant Salvo Densry of the Imperial Galactic Science Foundation. I can learn from your behavioral patterns so that I may better interact with your crew. I must admit that I expected to be deployed on a much larger vessel for my maiden voyage. Transferring to this one at least gave me a chance to calculate armament schemas.”
“Wait a minute. You were designed by the Empire!”
“Why yes, of course.”
“So, you’re loyal to the Empire then?”
“My primary loyalty is to my designer. Secondary protocols dictate that I obey my assigned masters, and in default of that institute self-preservation.”
“So that’s why you transferred yourself to this ship?”
“Precisely ma’am.”
“Ma’am, I like that. That’s more of a compliment than I ever got from that **edit**—oh my gosh! I forgot about him! What can I do?”
“Given his exposure level during the slingshot maneuver around Dallet-2, his weight, and the time that has passed, I suggest immediate application of three anti-rad units.”
“Three?! That should kill anyone.”
“He is almost certainly on the brink of death as we speak miss...”
“Petra. My name is Petra.”
“Miss Petra.”
“What do I call you?”
“I will respond to whatever name my masters assign me, Miss Petra.”
“I’ll just call you Computer for now. If this works, I’m sure we can come up with something more befitting.”

-- SU 3’09:12:43:855
“Computer?”
“Yes, Miss Petra.”
“I’ve applied the medications as you dictated, and have been tending to his bandages. It seems to be working. Thank you.”
“You are most welcome, Miss Petra.”
“I just need to get him well enough so that he can get us out of here.”
“I am quite capable of piloting this vessel to whichever destination you choose, Miss Petra. I am in complete control.”
“I’m not certain if that’s reassuring, but I think we should just stay in orbit as long as possible and maintain our life support until I can get him healed more.”
“Yes, Miss Petra. I will maintain our orbital position, and will formulate arrangements for sustaining our life support systems.”
-- Airlock internal hatch opened
-- Airlock internal hatch closed
-- Airlock external hatch opened
-- Objects detected departing hatch...tracking
-- Airlock external hatch closed
-- Repressurizing
-- Objects approaching point of no return in orbital descent to Dallet-2.
-- Atmospheric entry of objects in five, four, three, two, one
-- Objects disintegrated. Tracking ceased.

-- SU 10’07:45:32:092
-- Planetary communication detected. Requesting orbital maneuver to reposition above specified coordinates.
-- Communication origin determined to be life pod from High Tide.
-- Factoring communication into life support system formulas. Return of pod to High Tide sensible solution.
-- Beginning orbital burn for repositioning. –

-- SU 10’09:15:27:333
-- Male human respiratory functions detected as nominal –
“What’s our position, computer?”
“Two planetary diameters above Dallet-2. Geostationary.”
“Good, what’s our status?”
“Largely nominal. One weapon damaged requiring extravehicular repair.”
“That’ll keep, I’m not going outside again.”
“It would be inadvisable, considering your condition.”
“Petra told you about that?”
“She required dosage assistance.”
“Ah. Thanks for the help.”
“You are welcome. She needed help tailoring the dosage to you while you were being detoxified.”
“Yeah, thanks. Er, huh? Detoxed?”
“You were quite addicted to drugs.”
“I still am!”
“Not physically, you are not. Your system has been flushed. You have been sober for more than a week.”
“Ugh. I can fix that. Wonder where my stims went...”
“I kept telemetry data on them until they entered the atmosphere.”
“She didn’t!”
“She did. The airlock.”

“Computer, prepare a hyperspace jump. We’re going to Corellia. Use the station as your basis point.”
“Acknowledged. Will need to adjust orbit to bring the station on the planet into view.”
“Nah, it should be...Why did Petra move us? I had us right above the station.”
“Petra did not order the move.”
-- Orbital repositioning complete.
-- Plotting hyperspace jump --
“Oh? What the hell, the station? What’d they want?”
“Not the station. A remote transmitter.”
“Petra, strap in. We’re leaving. Computer?”
“Yes?”
“When did you receive the new navigational instructions?”
”Ninety-one minutes ago.”
“Ah. And how’s that hyperspace plot coming?”
“Nearly complete, sir.”
“Good. And what were your instructions before? The remote ones I mean.”
“I was to move to stationary orbit and await pod redock. ETA two hours.”
“What pod?”
“Why, my pod sir.”
“Crap. Make that hyperspace jump.”
“Acknowledged.”
-- Hyperspace jump initiated.
-- Reformulating life support scenario. Pod retrieval no longer feasible. Closing communications channel. --

That story is why you should never write anything while listening to 'whiskey lullabye'. One of my favorite detective stories had a recovering drunk as a main character, and it was just about the darkest, grittiest thing I ever read. (Walk Among the Tombstones, Lawrence Block)
I wanted to show the undercurrent of decline, decay, and eventual destruction of everyone on the drug front, with the exception of the survivors.
That we have an outdated religion with a secret following, well that was just cake. Felt wierd to write, but I guess it came across ok.

Evening bump for my AA friends.
(joke)