It is a period of unrest and opportunity in the galaxy. The Galactic Empire struggles to maintain control in the midst of the civil war. Meanwhile, scoundrels and smugglers, explorers and expatriates, and fringers of all types scramble for a living on the edges of galactic civilization. It is a hard life, but these renegades have more freedom and opportunity than any citizen of the Core Worlds…
On the desert world of Tatooine, a few such renegades, led by Garen Sunspear, found themselves on the run from a local crime boss, Teemo the Hutt. With no ship, Sunspear’s crew was trapped in the tiny spaceport of Mos Shuuta. Exhausted from the beating sun, they ducked into a local cantina with the hopes of hiding from their pursuers—Teemo’s thugs.
Private booths lined the walls. The cantina floor was scattered with tables and chairs. “Hide,” Garen commanded. “And quick.” His crew dove into cover. One hopped on the stage, startling the Twi’lek dancer, and found cover through a backstage doorway. Another ran into the storage closet and slammed the door, while another squatted behind the bar. Garen found cover in a dark corner with the help of his thermal cloaking device and readied his blaster.
Before long, a group of Gamorreans carrying heavy, bone-breaking clubs stepped through the door. They scanned the cantina, but saw nothing of importance and turned to leave. Rather than continue to run, however, Garen decided to ambush his pursuers. It was short fight and the Gamorreans were unprepared. The silence that followed was broken by slow, unamused applause. The Devaronian bartender laughed. “Get out of my cantina,” he said.
Garen turned his blaster on the bartender. “We need a ship.”
“You’re in luck. Check Landing Bay Aurek. There’s a ship, a freighter in there.”
The bartender hesitated.
“Answer, Devaronian,” Garen said, waving his blaster.
“Alright, alright. It’s Captain Trex’s. He works for Teemo. There’s no way he’ll let you on and, from what I heard, his H.R.I. is broken.”
“So where could a peaceful group of spacefaring travelers find another one?”
The bartender laughed. “Vorn. Check with Vorn. Now, get out.”
The junk shop was immediately obvious by the scrapyard adjoining the low pourstone building. A hunched old human, lurking behind a low counter covered with disassembled droid and machine parts, looked up: “What do you want?”