EPISODE I: OUTBOUND CARGO

“STAR WARS: HEROES OF DESTINY

EPISODE i: OUTBOUND cARGO”

by

JIM COOK

BASED ON A STORY BY MICHAEL ROMANOWSKI & CO.

JAMESJCOOK3RD@GMAIL.COM

HTTP://STAR-WARS-HEROES-OF-DESTINY.BLOGSPOT.COM

TWITTER: @JIMCOOKJIMCOOK

^{a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…}

^{FADE IN:}

^{ext. SPACE}

Stars are sprinkled across the blackness.

Words crawl across the blackness of space.

^crawl

It is a time of darkness in the Galaxy. The Republic has fallen, leaving the evil Galactic Empire to rule with an iron fist. Few dare to oppose Emperor Palpatine openly.

There are those, however, who date to stand against the Emperor and his vile minions. A budding Rebellion has begon to spread across the Galaxy. They are brave freedom fighters opposed to dark tyranny.

None of this is of any interest to our heroes, however. Or so they believe…

^{EXT. docking bay 327, mos eisley}

The ship is old, battered, and has obviously seen better days. BIB FORTUNA stands at the entrance of the rented docking bay, surrounded to either side by piggish GAMORREAN GUARDS. Their force pikes HUM ominously in the hot, dry desert air.

A column of perhaps one dozen SERVICE AND REPAIR DROIDS marches, strolls, rolls, or floats out of the ship’s yawning cargo hold. A hired SERVICE TECH guides them into formation just outside the ship, checks a setting on his control pad, and then marches the lot of the onward and out of the bay. Fortuna stands and watches them depart without word.

The ship, Fortuna knows, is THE DANCING STAR. She is a barge more than 50 years old, refitted many times, most often after her then-owners came to rather unpleasant ends. It was an old story that Fortuna and his master, JABBA THE HUTT, were only too eager to take advantage of.

An old R4 UNIT, battered and stained with filth and lubricant approaches.

^{R4 UNIT}

Tweet! Bree! Woop!

^{bib fortuna}

You, droid! Tell your master I am here. I speak with him… now.

^{R4 UNIT}

Fweep, woooo!

The R4 unit speeds away

^{EXT. DOCKING BAY 327, MOS EISLY - A FEW MINUTES LATER}

Four figures walk down the access ramp of the Dancing Star, approaching Fortuna. One, a hulking battle droid MSBD 14-ALPHA, hangs back at the end of the ramp, its crimson eyes dully gazing at Fortuna. It is an older model, left over from the Clone Wars, scratched and dented, still displaying scraps of blue enamel from its service with the long-defunct Separatist Army.

The other three are a Khil male clad in stained shipboard fatigues, his face dominated by dangling tentacles called "hullepi". This is RENEE MARKOV,part-owner of the Dancing Star.

Beside Markov stands a young male Human, about 25 years of age, with pale features, sandy brown hair, and vivid blue eyes. He too wears grimy shipboard fatigues, and has a blaster slung low on his hip. MYKAR ROSHENK, the Dancing Star's engineer/mechanic.

The third is a Togruta, TOVI ZAHN. Young, with little experience, he wears a blaster at his hip too, and also carries another, more elegant weapon...

^{renee markov}

Hello, Fortuna. What is it you want now?

The Twi'lek gangster gives a wide smile.

^{BIB FORTUNA}

You owe Jabba money. Lots of money. Your ship is fixed now, yes? Ready to fly? Time for you to carry cargo for me, I think.

Markov's hullepi twitch in irritation.

^{renee markov}

I said we'd fly when the work was done, Fortuna, and not a second sooner... But we're not quite finished yet.

Fortuna's eyes narrow dangerously

^{Bib fortuna}

Oh? And what work is this?

^{MYKar roshenk}

The port stabilizer needs a lot of work. So does the aft reverse power coupling. Most of the parts you got us are second-hand, you know. Shoddy junk at best. We'll be lucky to get off this rock in one piece.

^{bib fortuna}

You lie, Human! Your ship is fixed, the yard boss told me so.

The Gamorrean guards tense visibly at Fortuna's outburst.

^{gamorrean guards}

Snort! Snuffle!

^{RENEE MARkov}

The yard boss is full of bantha Poodoo!

Markov hands Fortuna a data reader. Fortuna watches a series of numbers and technical readouts scroll down the screen. He watches the figures intently, but doesn't understand them. He rides in ships, and doesn't know the first thing about maintaining them. He hands the data reader back.

^{bib fortuna}

How much more time you take?

Markov's hullepi twitch once more.

^{renee markov}

Five days. Maybe six.

^{bib fortuna}

Bah!

Fortuna turns, and gestures for his Gamorrean lackeys to follow him.

^{bib fortuna}

You have four days. No longer! And remember this: Jabba is not as forgiving as I am.

Fortuna and his guards storm from the docking bay.

Mykar turns to Markov, regarding him with a quizzical air.

^{mykar roshenk}

Why did you lie to him?

^{renEe markov}

I don't like being told what to do. Especially by a sleemo like Fortuna. Besides, the Sarools are still out on that job call. If they find something, I figure we can use the extra credits.

^{tovi zahn}

It is still dangerous, playing games like that. Few men cross Bib Fortuna once, and live to tell the tale.

^{renee markov}

I see your point.

Markov turns to the battle droid.

^{renee markov}

Stay out here, Fourteen Alpha. Make sure no one gets past you.

^{msbd 14-alpha}

Roger, roger.

Markov, Roshenk, and Zahn go back up the ramp into the ship. 14-Alpha's bright red photo-receptors are unreadable as they turn to scan the gathering darkness.

^{ext. docking bay 327, mos eisley - far end of the bay}

There is furtive movement at the far end of the bay.

14-Alpha stirs himself to full alert. His head turns back and forth for a few seconds, then finds the source of the noise: a pair of humanoid figures, lucking at the entrance to the docking bay.

Both figures are dressed in ragged attire, camouflage pants, boots, and light armor. Blaster rifles are cradled in their gloved hands. One is Human, the other Nautolan.

14-Alpha commands his hidden blaster pistol to snap into place at his right wrist with a slight CLICK, and prepares himself for trouble.

The two figures seem to realize that they have been spotted.

^{human figure}

(semi-inaudible, hissing whisper)

Both figures withdraw quickly.

14-Alpha gives chase!

^{ext. docking bay 327 entrance – continuous}

14-Alpha arrives at the entrance to the docking bay just in time to see both figures mounting lean, powerful swoops.

^{ext. docking bay 327 entrance – 14-alpha’s pov}

14-Alpha’s photoreceptors zoom in on a stenciled design on the the body of each swoop: a stylized dragon.

^{ext. docking bay 327 entrance - continuous}

There is a sudden ROAR of powerful engines, and both swoops steak off down the street, scattering various PASSERSBY.

^{passerby #1}

Slow down, you crazy kids!

The streets of Mos Eisley are like a Krendori bee hive. DROIDS and ALIENS of every imaginable make, model, and species crowd around 14-Alpha, pushing and jostling him. To his left, a cluster of JAWAS huddle before the entrance of a cluttered salvage yard. To his right, a RODIAN and a young ZABRAK argue bitterly over a sickly looking ronto.

The street scene comes to a sudden, silent halt. All occupants staring at 14-Alpha. As a former Separatist battle droid, his appearance causes trouble (something his new master has yet to fully appreciate).

A silent command sends 14-Alpha’s blaster back into the hidden recess in his right arm, and he turns, stalking quickly into the shadowed confines of the docking bay.

^{wipe cut to:}

^{ext. dune sea – night}

Night falls quickly across the Dune Sea, leaving the land cloaked in blackness. DELOR SEROOL, however, has sharp eyes, and can still see clearly.

The elderly speeder bike RUMBLES as it jets over the rocky, undulating dunes, raising a broad plume of dust in its wake.

Delor peers backwards for a moment, and sees that his sister, KOYI’UNA, was having no difficulty keeping pace with him.

There is a glimmer of lights in the dusk ahead.

Delor signals to Koyi’una, and accelerates, approaching the distant settlement at the speeder bikes’ maximum speed.

^{ext. tattooine desert settlement – night}

This is a cluster of dome-type structures, half-sunk into the desert soil to protect their occupants form the heat of the planet’s twin suns. ARMED MEN in garb appropriate to the locale appear from the shadows as Delor and Koyi’una enter the settlement and power down their bikes.

An OLDER MAN, near 50, with graying hair and an old blaster carbine cradled in his arms looks them up and down.

^{older man}

You were sent by Traxis?

^{delor serool}

That’s right

Delor pulls down his dust mask and officers the old moisture farmer his hand.

The older man’s grip is strong, and his bright hazel eyes twinkle.

^{delor serool}

Looks like you boys had quite a fight on your hands.

^{older man}

You could say that, yeah.

The older man silently turns his gaze to regard the smouldering remains of one of the half-buried domes. The blast marks of heavy weapons fire are easy to pick out.

^{older man}

Come inside. We can talk there.

^{int. settlement common area}

Koyi’una lounges on a divan in the cozy common area after a plain but filling meal. She is the sole female in the room, and watches as the men settle in to discuss business.

The leader of the group, the same man Delor spoke to outside, now known to them as HIRAM, sits at the same table as the siblings. The other MEMBERS OF THE SETTLEMENT COUNCIL lurk about the edge of the chamber, eyeing the newcomers with a mix of distrust and hopeful indifference. They eyed Koyi’una in particular, but that was something she became used to long ago.

^{delor serool}

(Clears throat) So, you’ve been having trouble with the Tusken Raiders recently?

^hiram

Actually, things have been quiet for some time now.

^{members of settlement council}

(Murmur agreement)

^Hiram

That is, until Old Fang showed up. Now he’s got the natives riled up, and spoiling for a fight.

^koyi’una

‘Old Fang’?

^hiram

We don’t know his real name. He’s Tusken, though. Rules a small clan that livbes just out beyond the Dune Sea. We’ve had peace with them for years. If you don’t trespass on their lands, they leave you well enough alone.

^koyi’una

But…?

^hiram

But recently there have been raids, and people have been killed. Jax here lost his daughter, Kaylee. They came in the night and carried her off. Sure as I’m sitting here, she’s dead. Tuskens don’t keep prisoners for long…

^{delor serool}

So what do you want us to do?

^Hiram

We sent raiders to clear out their main encampment last week, but it didn’t go well. We lost six men. Killed a great many more of them, but enough remain to threaten all of the homesteads along this portion of the frontier. I figure we have one advantage, though: Old Fang. If you take him down, the Sand People will fall back into line, and things will quiet down again.

^koyi'una

And we get what out of this?

^hiram

One thousand credits. It's the best we can do. Times are hard, what with the new Imperial taxes. We just don't have as much as we used to.

^{delor serool}

We'll have to discuss this with our friends, first. I'll let you know our answer tomorrow.

^{int. dancing star - bridge}

Mykar enters the bridge, and sees Tovi, the young Togruta, sitting at the main communications console, chewing thoughtfully on a stimstick scanning thought the planet's data net, seeking news of the day.

^{mykar roshenk}

Anything interesting?

^{tovi zahn}

Not much. A Star Destroyer entered the system about three hours ago, though. There was a lot of chatter about it on the grid. From the sound of things, they're in-system on a routine patrol.

^{mykar roshenk}

I doubt that...

Mykar keys up the holo report that Tovi had been looking at, and takes a moment to examine the ship's ID.

^{mykar roshenk}

That's one of the newer Imperial-class ships. No way the Empire would send one of those babies this far out on the Rim for anything less than a full-scale invasion.

^{tovi zahn}

If you say so. I-

A light glimmers on Tovi's screen. He punches a few keys, then sighs.

^{tovi zahn}

There's a power surge in engineering. Looks like the aft power coupling is acting up again.

^{mykar roshenk}

Ugh. I'll take care of it. Just have K-17 come down to help, would you? It's late and I was looking forward to getting some sleep.

^{int. dancing star - continuous - following mykar}

Mykar heads aft, clambering down the bridge access ladder, then cutting through the ship's lounge. There he finds Renee Markov, blearily peering at credit couchers on a data reader. He continues on through the starboard reactor trunk, and enters the ship's repair bay, just in time to see R4-K17 enter from the port side.

^{int. dancing star - repair bay}

^r4-k17

Blurble! Broo! Tweeep!

^{mykar roshenk}

None of that, Bone Dome!

Mykar settles into a chair near the main reactor control station, and puts his booted feet up on a console.

^{mykar roshenk}

I want that access panel removed, and those circuit guide paths rechecked. I'll be damned if I ever trust those yard dogs again-

A SHADOWY FIGURE suddenly moves in the corner behind Mykar.

Mykar, without thinking, is already moving to the deck, flowing smoothly.

The first blaster bolt SIZZLES at him from out of the dim corner.

There is a flash, a CRACKLE, and another blaster bolt passes mere centimeters from Mykar's face.

Mykar;s blaster snakes out of its holster, as if it has a mind of its own.

More blaster bolts SIZZLE and SNAP as the shadowed figure continues to fire.

Mykar raises his weapon to fire, standing tall amid the incoming bolts of deadly plasma.

The heavy pistol kicks once in his hand, a single bolt. It strikes the darkly garbed figure in the chest. The body falls to the deck, a smoking hole where it's heart should be.

^r4-k17

Screech! Boop! Weeeee! Blurp!

The astromech droid's dome spins in excitement as it burbles and tweets.

Mykar moves forward with his blaster held ready.

He takes a look at the body, and lowers his no-longer-needed weapon.

Hurried footsteps and frantic calls from Mykar's shipmates are heard.

^{FADE TO BLACK}