Galactic Outlaws

Mian

The flashing neon sign of "Sid's Scrap Shack" cast an sleek luster on Zia's grease-stained overalls. Starvation chewed at her stomach, a steady companion these days. She held the datapad clutched in her hand, its split screen showing a hazy picture of a man with a pitiless grin and a computerized eye. Common Vox, the man who'd organized her father's vanishing.

Vindicate stewed in Zia's heart, a powerful fuel that moved her through the filthy rear ways of Neo-Varso. Her as it were lead was a rumor whispered on the wind - whispers of a bootlegger known as "Fortunate" Lucan, a man with a skill for finding anything for the proper cost.

Lucan's shelter was tucked absent at the distant conclusion of the spaceport, a shaky building smelling of stale fuel and franticness. Interior, a massive Togruta technician tinkered with a battered tanker whereas a gruff-looking Devaronian contended with a skittish Rodian over a case of questionable-looking stock. None of them paid Zia any intellect.

"Fortunate Lucan?" she called out, her voice scarcely a squeak against the cacophony.

A figure risen from the shadows - a incline human with a tricky smile and eyes that sparkled with insidiousness. He wore a worn calfskin coat and a captain's cap roosted at a buoyant point.

"Trying to find somebody extraordinary, kid?His tone was blunt, with a tinge of humor in his voice.

Zia gulped her fear and showed him the datapad. "If you offer assistance, you will be found by this man."

Lucan examined the picture, his smile blurring. "Common Vox. Not precisely somebody you make companions with."

"He murdered my father," Zia's voice trembled but held relentlessly. "I got to discover him."

Lucan arched an eyebrow. "Kid, vindicate may be a dish best served cold, but it's also expensive."

Zia gritted her teeth. "I have all I possess." She tapped the worn handbag strapped to her bear. "And I can learn quickly. I'm a great technician."

Lucan gave her a long see. He saw the edginess in her eyes, the start of assurance. With a moan, he at long last yielded.

"Okay, stowaway. But do not anticipate a joyride."

The another few days were obscure. Lucan's tanker, the suitably named "Rotten Thousand years," was a chaotic mess of wires, cartons, and flawed life shapes. Zia went through most of her time tinkering with the motors, learning the ship's frameworks beneath the rough tutelage of the Togruta technician, Jax. Lucan, on the other hand, remained an riddle. He was a skilled pilot, exploring misleading hyperspace paths with a casualness that gave a false representation of the threat. He was tight-lipped approximately his past, but intermittent flashes of negativity indicated at a turbulent history.

One evening, as Zia sat slouched over the motor comfort, Lucan joined her. "You know, child, some of the time the proper reply isn't exact retribution," he commented in a rough voice.

Zia looked up, her eyes blasting. "He took everything from me!"

"At that point make him lament it by living your life," Lucan countered. "A cycle of pain is made by vindicate ."

Zia fell quiet, his words striking a chord inside her. Had she been so expended by despise, she hadn't considered anything else?

Their travel driven them to a uncivilized space rock belt, a safe house for privateers and bootleggers. They were looking for a contact who as far as anyone knows knew Vox's whereabouts. The bar was a cave of evildoing, filled with the leftovers of the system. Zia stuck near to Lucan, her faculties on tall caution.

A brawl emitted at the counter. Three bulky figures, faces darkened by computerized inserts, begun a battle with a grizzled ancient Bespinian. Some time recently Zia might respond, Lucan was as of now swimming into the fray. He moved with astounding speed, his punches exact and brutal. The battle was over as rapidly because it started, the three figures moaning on the floor.

"That was superfluous," Zia said, her voice tight.

Lucan turned to her, a fatigued grin on his face. "He was a companion. Do not continuously get to choose your fights in this galaxy, kid."

They at last found their contact, a jittery Gungan informant tucked absent in a back rear way. The data came with a strong cost, a stolen information chip coveted by a merciless wrongdoing syndicate. Lucan concurred, a flash of stress crossing his confront.

The trade was tense. They exchanged the chip for the data in a faintly lit distribution center, encompassed by cases and shadowy figures. But somebody had tipped the syndicate off. A blaster battle ejected, the distribution center detonating into chaos.

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