Star Wars - A Bitter Winter - Adventure Journal #5 Read online

  The Glory's hull was pink, stained by her two-year retirement on the surface of the planet, hidden away in the basin where no sector authority or rival could find her. And here she had remained, while her captain traveled the galaxy in the company of friends. Still spaceworthy, the matriarchal freighter seemed to cast an aura that Drake could only define as a smuggling ship's inner pride. Every crack in her armor, every discolored shield plate, every recognizable breech to her frame held a wealth of history, symbolic medallions of her exceptional career.

  Exhausted and demoralized, Drake leaned against the Glory, pressing his feverish forehead against the ship's cool hull. With childlike naiveté, he threw his will and all his conviction against the light freighter, in an effort to imbue her with the life of her captain. Any minute, if he concentrated hard enough, Toob would come strolling down the ramp and greet him with a hardy slap on the back or perhaps a bawdy chorus from a smugglers' ballad.

  Beside him, Fahs lovingly caressed the freighter, realigning one her of docking boots with a swift kick. "She served him well, from the day he got her...to the day he retired her here in the valley." Pursing his lips, he ran his fingers along the ragged edges of the freighter. "You know, she once ran the Kessel in 20.5 parsecs."

  Narrowing his eyes with suspicion, Drake stared at the Issori, wondering at the cruelty of this joke.

  Fahs laughed with light-hearted spirit. "That's a bantha's pace today, I suppose. But back then," he shook his head as the memories flashed through his cluttered mind, "back then...she was something. The Dame of Nar Shaddaa, they used to call her. That was before the days of Tait Ransom or Elias Halbert, even that young fellow, Solo. Them boys weren't even born when this very same ship," he slapped the freighter proudly, "was entertaining underground royalty and thumbing her nose at sector authorities across the galaxy." Scratching the back of his neck, Fahs nervously hummed a somber tune. "I don't suppose you want to fly her back to Socorro. I don't have much need for a ship nowadays and...I know it would tickle Ancher to see her again."

  "I'm not ready to go home, Fahs," Drake whispered, avoiding the Issori's eyes. "Not yet." He felt Nikaede's shadow fall over him and listened to her mournful wail. Leaning into the Wookiee's supportive warmth, the young Socorran ran his fingers over the Glory’s hull one final time.

  "I understand, Drake. Old men dream dreams and young men live them." Standing on the ramp, Fahs posed as if on stage. "Youth makes every heart a king and every adventure a crown to be captured." Distracted, he laughed at himself, sighing, as if a great weight had been lifted from him. "Never been to Socorro. Heard Toob talk about it. Guess I could go there, stopping by way of Nar Shaddaa. Wouldn't mind sharing a moment with some old friends." Squinting, he stared into the morning sky. "There was this pretty little gal who used fancy me. She tended bar at this corner tavern called the Orange Lady…" he flashed a roguish smile. "Well," the lssori chuckled, blushing profusely, "that was another time...another adventure...long time ago." Winking, he keyed the ramp closing sequence, "Clear skies, little prince – wear your crowns proudly."

  Sheltered beneath the Steadfast, Drake and Nikaede watched as the antiquated freighter teetered precariously over the makeshift landing field, hovering unsteadily beneath Fahs's control. Relearning the subtle shifts of the flight module, the Issori settled the freighter, banking sharply over the canyon ridges and up into the clouded atmosphere above the planet.

  Drake sighed, finding an inner peace imparted to him by the Issori's wit. "How fast do you think she is?" he asked, fondly glancing over the Steadfast. Nikaede shrugged, grumbling multiple quantum equations and theories. "Only one way to find out," the Socorran mused. Whistling a jovial tune from a smugglers' ballad, he met the pragmatic Wookiee's challenging snarl with a warm smile. "Set a course for the Kessel system."