RC 212
HUNGRY HUNGRY HIPPO!
Hydian Way
The Bonanza's comms chirped again. Krath Sanders was there at the stick of their lumbering box of a vessel. He flipped a switch, and readout appeared in holographic form. Terrik was behind him, chewing a cigar as he was often want to do in these situations.
They were closing in on a distress signal, one that had been broadcasting for some time.
"What do we have on scopes?" He asked, glancing through the view port from his seat and then back to the engine readouts. The Engines were on the fritz, and the crew had burned most of their fuel dropping from hyperspace to check this out.
"Youssa Walkin' into a trap big boss." His Gungan Medic replied, taking another sip from his bottle of disgusting scotch. Terrik furrowed his brows and wrinkled his nose in disgust. The gungans habit was annoying, and smelly. But it was hard to find loyal crew.
"I know that. But we can't ignore a distress signal boys. Could be us out there some day."
They burned closer, big ol box lumbering in.
Until Worlick spotted it. A small translator box on the Ewok spat out his message.
"Wub oh! Big big trap boss!"
Terrik whirled in his seat leaning over Sanders shoulder, shreds of the cigar falling from his lips into his beard.
"What in the hell?"
"Disruptor net! Full burn reverse!"
"Too late, they got us locked in. There's no way they didn't tractor us by now."
"What do you suggest master? Shall we prepare to terminate?" HK 134 asked, cocking his abnormally large disruptor.
"No HK. We can't just shoot first and ask later." Terrik relied, pulling up his data pad and glancing at the ships manifest. They had three fugitives on board, and fifty gallons of Booster Blue going to the Coruscant under city. Not a job he was proud of, but they were desperate for refit.
"We can afford to lose a few gallons of Booster Blue. Hail them."
BEEP BEEP
"They already hailed us."
"Open it."
A figure in black armor with a skull mask flickered onto their screen.
"Huh."
"Greeting travellers. As you no doubt know your ship is about to be torn apart with you in it. I apologize for the inconvenience, but not really. That much scrap will sell for a fortune. Plus Reavers pay well for flesh."
"Hold on a second, hold on...." Terrik said, raising both hands palms out.
"Maybe I have something that can net you more."
"This is doubtless. But since we have time, I'll hear your petty proposal...."
"Stop pulling us in. We get scrapped, our cargo goes with us. It's worth more than the cost of this ship, I assure you."
"This is interesting, Continue."
"Stop pulling us."
"Ha ha ha, do you really think we are so stupid? Pitch your idea, you have two minutes."
"Feth this. I'm sending SOS."
Sanders slammed the distress beacon.
"Wesa in big trouble!"
The Bonanza's comms chirped again. Krath Sanders was there at the stick of their lumbering box of a vessel. He flipped a switch, and readout appeared in holographic form. Terrik was behind him, chewing a cigar as he was often want to do in these situations.
They were closing in on a distress signal, one that had been broadcasting for some time.
"What do we have on scopes?" He asked, glancing through the view port from his seat and then back to the engine readouts. The Engines were on the fritz, and the crew had burned most of their fuel dropping from hyperspace to check this out.
"Youssa Walkin' into a trap big boss." His Gungan Medic replied, taking another sip from his bottle of disgusting scotch. Terrik furrowed his brows and wrinkled his nose in disgust. The gungans habit was annoying, and smelly. But it was hard to find loyal crew.
"I know that. But we can't ignore a distress signal boys. Could be us out there some day."
They burned closer, big ol box lumbering in.
Until Worlick spotted it. A small translator box on the Ewok spat out his message.
"Wub oh! Big big trap boss!"
Terrik whirled in his seat leaning over Sanders shoulder, shreds of the cigar falling from his lips into his beard.
"What in the hell?"
"Disruptor net! Full burn reverse!"
"Too late, they got us locked in. There's no way they didn't tractor us by now."
"What do you suggest master? Shall we prepare to terminate?" HK 134 asked, cocking his abnormally large disruptor.
"No HK. We can't just shoot first and ask later." Terrik relied, pulling up his data pad and glancing at the ships manifest. They had three fugitives on board, and fifty gallons of Booster Blue going to the Coruscant under city. Not a job he was proud of, but they were desperate for refit.
"We can afford to lose a few gallons of Booster Blue. Hail them."
BEEP BEEP
"They already hailed us."
"Open it."
A figure in black armor with a skull mask flickered onto their screen.
"Huh."
"Greeting travellers. As you no doubt know your ship is about to be torn apart with you in it. I apologize for the inconvenience, but not really. That much scrap will sell for a fortune. Plus Reavers pay well for flesh."
"Hold on a second, hold on...." Terrik said, raising both hands palms out.
"Maybe I have something that can net you more."
"This is doubtless. But since we have time, I'll hear your petty proposal...."
"Stop pulling us in. We get scrapped, our cargo goes with us. It's worth more than the cost of this ship, I assure you."
"This is interesting, Continue."
"Stop pulling us."
"Ha ha ha, do you really think we are so stupid? Pitch your idea, you have two minutes."
"Feth this. I'm sending SOS."
Sanders slammed the distress beacon.
"Wesa in big trouble!"