Kessel Run

Artoo chirped a suggestion. “Kessel’s a possibility,” Luke agreed. “I don’t know, though—last I heard Moruth Doole was still in charge there, and Han’s never really trusted him.” —The Last Command

----------------------------------------------------

Despite its pseudo-legendary status among the fringe element in the galaxy, Karrde had never actually been to Kessel. Not to the spice mines, certainly not to the Imperial prison. Never even been in the system.

Finally getting his first look at it out the Wild Karrde’s bridge viewport, Karrde didn’t think he’d been missing much. It had an off-center, almost misshapen silhouette—more like the brown, barren lump of an asteroid than an actual planet. Even without its reputation, Karrde wanted nothing to do with it.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have a choice. “Aves, signal our approach,” he instructed, scanning the bridge crew. “Has anyone here ever actually been to Kessel before?”

Lachton raised a hand. “I did a trip for Billey’s group once,” he said from where he was sitting in the copilot’s chair. “That was years ago, though.”

“What, you never did a Kessel Run in the sordid days of your youth, Karrde?” Dankin asked.

Karrde shook his head. “Kessel Runs always struck me as bad business: too much risk for too little profit. The Hutts were welcome to them.”

“Well, we’re here now, anyway,” Aves interrupted from the comm station. “Kessel Control acknowledges our approach. We’ve been cleared for one of the platforms on the south facility.”

“Wonderful,” Karrde said. When this was over, he promised himself, he was really going to give it to Torve. “Well, Dankin? What are you waiting for? Take us down.”

Dankin did just that, angling the Wild Karrde toward the main prison complex near the equatorial line. Up close Karrde noticed Kessel’s surface looked as barren as it had from orbit; with the exception of the prison itself and a couple other scattered settlements, there wasn't anything but red rocks in all directions. It was almost hard for Karrde to believe anything could survive out there, and he was partly right: Kessel’s atmosphere was usually too thin to sustain human life. But a combination of air factories and breath masks allowed the facility workers to endure at least a nominal amount of time on the planet surface. Even from up here Karrde could see a couple workers scurrying across the landing platforms along the main facility.

Dankin steered for the southern side, doing a quick loop before lowering the Wild Karrde onto an open platform. “Here we are,” he observed.

“Yes, we are,” Karrde agreed, glancing out the canopy. But the landing pad was currently empty. “Keep the engines on standby,” he suggested as Dankin started powering them down, “just in case.”

The other paused. “Are we expecting trouble?” he asked carefully.

“Not really,” Karrde said. “But I believe in being prepared.”

“Don’t listen to him, Dankin,” Aves urged. “Doole’s harmless enough. Karrde’s just feeling jittery, that’s all.”

“With Moruth Doole’s reputation, you should be feeling jittery, too,” Karrde suggested. “And for that comment, you can come with me. If you really believe Doole is harmless.”

“I said he was harmless enough,” Aves muttered back. But he got up from the comm station. “Keep an eye out, okay, Dankin?”

He followed Karrde out the bridge door and down to the Wild Karrde’s cargo bay. “We ready to go, Capt?” Chin asked from where he was waiting by the loading ramp.

“Just about,” Karrde said, checking his blaster’s power level before sliding it back in its holster. “Do you have the breath masks?”

“Right here,” Chin said, pulling out a clear-looking plastic apparatus. It was connected to a small canister by a thin tube. “And one for you,” he added, handing a second one to Aves.

“Thanks,” he said, taking it reluctantly and slipping it over his head. The mask was just large enough to cover his mouth and nose. “Let’s get this over with,” he added, attaching the canister to his belt before checking his own blaster.

Behind his mask, Karrde smiled. So much for Karrde being the only one who was feeling jittery. “Sounds like a good idea to me. Chin, if you please?”

Chin slapped the release, and the bay’s loading ramp lowered to the ground. Dimly aware of Aves trailing behind him, Karrde started down.

The landing platform was still empty, Karrde saw as they reached the bottom. “What, no one to meet us?” Aves’s voice came slightly distorted through his mask, glancing at the closed door that led into the facility.

“Apparently not,” Karrde said. Though if he knew Doole, the other was probably taking just as much time as necessary to get a proper welcoming party together. The question was, what would the proper welcoming party involve?

Even as he finished that thought, the door to the facility started sliding open. “Here he comes,” Karrde called softly to Aves. “Keep an eye out.”

Aves nodded, resting a hand casually on his blaster as he moved into position beside Karrde. The door finished opening, and out emerged the short, pudgy figure of Moruth Doole. “Well, well,” Doole said, positively grinning as he caught sight of them. “Talon Karrde. I almost didn’t believe it when they told me. Never thought I’d see your face around here.”

“I never expected to show it around here,” Karrde said, but he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. There were a couple of guards following behind Doole, doing their best to look intimidating. But only a couple. It looked like Aves had been right, after all: Doole didn’t plan on making trouble.

At least, not yet. “Hello, Moruth,” Karrde continued, studying him carefully over his mask. “How are things?”

Doole shrugged. “Can‘t complain. Things have been good for the spice business lately. But maybe you already knew that,” he added pointedly. “Maybe you’re here to do a little business yourself?”

Karrde wasn‘t amused. “Don’t play games with me, Moruth,” he interrupted. “I don’t deal in spice, and you know it. Stop messing around and go get Torve.”

Doole gave him a look of mock-surprise. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I won’t tell you again, Moruth,” Karrde warned darkly. “I know you have one of my people down in the prison blocks. Now go get him and bring him up.”

For a couple of seconds Doole said nothing, just glaring at Karrde through fat, bulbous eyes. But at last he turned to one of his men. “Soren, have them bring up prisoner one-zero-one-seven,” he instructed.

Soren hesitated. “You sure, boss?” he asked, eying Karrde doubtfully. “We can pretty easily kick this guy out of our system, I think.”

“Don‘t think, Soren,” Doole advised impatiently. “Just do it.”

With a shrug Soren pulled his comlink from his belt and started speaking into it. Karrde couldn’t hear what he said; but it was clear Doole had indeed been expecting them, because it was only a couple minutes’ wait before the door to the facility slid open again. Two more of Doole’s men stepped onto the platform, while between them… “Boy am I glad to see you,” Fynn Torve commented, his hands restrained behind him.

“You should just be glad I’m willing to spring you out of this,” Karrde said, but he gave the other a careful once-over. He needn’t have been concerned. Torve certainly looked a little ratty to Karrde‘s eye, but no worse than he normally did. “All right, Moruth,” Karrde continued, returning his attention to Doole. “You wanted to do business? Let’s do business. How much?”

Doole cleared his throat. “This is an Imperial prisoner, Karrde,” he pointed out, as if such things mattered to him. “He has been properly charged with violating no less than six Imperial ordinances: smuggling of embargoed goods, false identification. The Empire has entrusted him into my personal care. What makes you think I’m willing to do business?”

“Because you’re a businessman,” Karrde said simply. “And because the Imperials won’t care two licks about a single prisoner lost in the bureaucracies on Kessel. I, on the other hand, care a great deal. So. How much?”

Doole studied him thoughtfully with his good eye. “Thirty thousand.”

Beside Karrde, Aves snorted. “The bounty’s only twenty,” Karrde reminded him.

It was Doole’s turn to snort. “Yeah, but I have to worry what happens if the Imperials do start caring. You know how this works, Karrde.”

“I do,” Karrde agreed, “which is why I’ll pay you twenty.” He raised an eyebrow pointedly. “Unless you want to start explaining to your clients why suddenly none of their shipments are being delivered.”

“You’re bluffing,” Doole said, but he didn’t quite sound like he believed it. “Even you don’t have that much pull in the smuggling community.”

“Perhaps. Would you care to find out?”

It was entirely a rhetorical question, of course, but Doole took a couple of seconds to consider it just the same. “All right,” he conceded. “Twenty. But I want it now, upfront. We don’t do installment plans.”

“We have the money,” Karrde assured him, his eye falling on the two guards standing behind Torve. “Gentlemen, if you please?”

Reluctantly, one of them released the binders around Torve’s wrists. “See you around, fellas,” Torve said, sauntering past them towards Karrde. They stood silently, glaring at him. “All right,” Doole insisted. “Now the money, Karrde.”

“Tell you what, Moruth,” Karrde said casually, waving a hand up into the Wild Karrde; and behind him clanked the solitary figure of Chin, a gravsled being pushed in front of him. “Why don't you throw in a couple crates of that spice, and we can make it thirty, after all?”

“Yeah?” Doole challenged. “I thought you didn‘t deal in spice.”

“Normally I don’t,” Karrde admitted. He gave Doole one of his sardonic smiles. “But since we’re here anyway, I think we can make an exception just this once.”

* * *

It took Doole’s men only thirty minutes to load the ten crates into the Wild Karrde’s cargo bay. Another fifteen to lift off and clear the upper atmosphere, and they were back in space.

“Well, that was fun,” Torve commented, leaning back in his chair as Lachton started running the lightspeed calculation. “Oh, and thanks for coming after me,” he added sheepishly.

“You’re welcome,” Karrde said, glancing at the sensor scope. “What happened, anyway?”

Torve shrugged. “I got nabbed, that’s what. The Imperial garrison at Joiol is a lot better at seeing through a phony ID transponder than I gave them credit for.”

“How nice for them,” Karrde said dryly. “What about the Etherway?”

“She should still be there. Impounded, I imagine. I assume you’ve got a plan for getting her out?”

“By rights I should make you come up with one yourself,” he said, giving the sensors another glance. “This is the second time you’ve gotten her impounded.”

“You just keep giving me the tough assignments,” Torve complained. But this time he noticed Karrde’s glance. “Something on the sensors bothering you?”

“Not yet,” Karrde assured him. “But I don’t suppose it’s occurred to you how easily Doole caved?”

“Yeah, that did seem a little quick, even for him,” Aves agreed. “You think he’s got something else up his sleeve?”

“Possibly. It seems to me—”

He was interrupted by the sound of the Wild Karrde’s proximity sensors. “Unidentified ship, coming out of hyperspace,” Dankin reported quickly.

Aves swore softly. “What kind of unidentified ship?”

“Checking now. It’s…” His voice got a little hard. “It’s a Lancer-class Frigate.”

An Imperial patrol. So Doole had indeed been keeping something up his sleeve. “Shields up,” Karrde instructed, rechecking the sensor display. It was definitely a Lancer, coming in on an intercept course that would bring it perfectly alongside the Wild Karrde’s current vector. Almost as if someone on the planet had warned it beforehand.

Still, Karrde reflected, they’d been lucky. It was only a Lancer, which indicated Doole was trying to work this for himself. If he’d simply informed Thrawn, it would most likely be the Chimaera they’d be tangling with right now.

“They’re opening fire,” Aves noted.

“Yes,” Karrde nodded. He could see the flashes on his own screen. “Lachton, how soon till the lightspeed calculation is ready?”

“I still need a couple minutes,” Lachton replied. Out the starboard viewport they could see the Lancer, its turbolasers firing frantically, begin to bear down alongside them.

“You don’t happen to have a plan for this, too?” Torve asked Karrde hopefully.

As a matter of fact, he did. “Balig, Corvus,” he called into the intercom, “are you two ready?”

“We’re all set here, Karrde.”

“Me, too, Capt,” Chin added after them. “I’m at the hatch now. You want me to start dumping?”

“Dumping?” Torve interrupted, giving Karrde a funny look. “Dumping what?”

“Not yet,” Karrde told Chin, watching as the Lancer grew larger out the starboard viewport. “Let’s wait till they’re a little closer. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of the covert shroud gambit before?” he asked Torve.

“Not really,” Torve shook his head.

“Well, you’re about to see one in action.” On his sensors, Karrde could see the Wild Karrde was just coming within the Lancer’s tractor beam range. “Okay, Chin, I think we’re close enough. Go ahead and start dumping.”

There came an acknowledgment from the comm…and out the side viewport now a new cluster of shapes began appearing off the Wild Karrde’s starboard bow. “Those are shipping crates,” Torve realized after a moment. “Wait a second. Is he dumping the spice?”

“He is indeed,” Karrde confirmed.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think they‘re looking for spice-runners,” Torve said with the air of strained patience. “That’s not going to do us a whole lot of good.”

He was interrupted by a ping from the sensor display. “Tractor beam’s in range,” Dankin reported.

“Just watch,” Karrde advised Torve, looking out the canopy again and doing a quick count. “That should be enough of them, Chin,” he said into the intercom. “Go ahead and close the hatch.”

By this point the Lancer was almost on top of them, angling itself around the crates to get a better position with its tractor beam. The pinging from the sensor display started getting a little more urgent… “They’re going for a lock,” Dankin warned.

“Balig, looks like they’ve come up on your side,” Karrde said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Apparently Balig was more than ready; Karrde had barely spoken before the Wild Karrde’s starboard turbolaser started firing. But not at the Lancer. “Do you get it yet?” Karrde asked Torve.

“Not really,” Torve said, frowning. “It looks like he’s aiming for the spice crates…”

He was cut off by a flash off the starboard bow as one of the turbolaser blasts made contact. The nearest crate exploded, scattering spice and metallic debris into space in a blossoming red cloud. Karrde turned to look at Torve. “How about now?”

“I think so,” Torve said slowly, comprehension starting to appear on his face. Outside the viewport he could see the Lancer change its course as it attempted to move above the expanding cloud. “The particles from the spice should block the Lancer‘s tractor beam. With them between us and it, it won’t be able to get a lock.”

“Not in time” Karrde confirmed, smiling. “Behold: the covert shroud. Just a little something I read about recently in an obscure treatise on combat tactics.”

“Seems to me like it should be required reading,” Torve said, a smile of his own appearing on his face. Outside another of Balig’s blasts found its mark and another crate exploded, adding a second cloud to the first. “It’s a nice trick.”

“If it was required reading, the Empire would probably have come up with a counter by now,” Karrde pointed out. “Dankin, how are we doing?”

“We should be clear,” the other reported. “Assuming our lightspeed calculation’s ready.”

“It just came in,” Lachton said, wrapping a hand around the hyperspace levers. “We ready to go?”

“We are indeed,” Karrde said, taking one last look at the Lancer in the rear sensor display before coming up behind Lachton. “Chart a course for Joiol. We have a freighter to get back.”