Just running an errand (Arya, Jaas, and Ben)

"Ben!" Shuvin sang, her voice carrying up from her bunk into the cockpit where Ben Merasska, pilot and captain of the Ghtroc-720 freighter Alderaan, was presently working the next set of coordinates into the nav-computer. They were in hyperspace, the long unending tunnel of unreality swirling around them with an awful chaotic serenity.

"What?" he called back.

"Do you think that blue dress is too slutty?"

"What?"

"Do you think -"

"No no no, I heard you. Just... what? Why are you asking me?"

"Is there anyone else to ask?"

Ben stopped, and in frustration had to grant her that victory. But that didn't mean he had to play fair.

"Yes." He had no clue what blue dress she was talking about.

"Aw, but I like it though!"

"Then wear it."

"But you said it was too slutty!"

"So? If you like it, wear it. And don't ask my opinion."

Her response was cut off as the ship dropped from hyperspace, and Ben shrieked.

"This is the Imperial Customs Cruiser Far Reach. Your ship is being detained for inspection. Your hyperdrives will not function and we are armed. Power down your sublight engines and prepare to be boarded. Do not resist or we shall open fire. This is your only warning."

"Why why why why why why," Ben chanted under his breath as he made to turn, only to look at the scopes. Shuvin climbed up into the cockpit, and stopped.

"Well, how am I supposed to go out tonight when we're being held in another Customs frigate?" Shuvin asked petulantly. Ben turned and coughed, eyes wide. The blue dress was in fact far too slutty.

"It's not my fault," Ben said automatically. "Go put some clothes on."

"I am wearing clothes," the Togrutan sixteen year old crossed her arms and shifted her hips, giving him a very unimpressed look, which made Ben feel like he was her father, which made him uncomfortable because he was in no way suitable to be raising anyone.

"Go put some actual clothes on, and not something that claims to be clothing but is in fact not clothing at all."

"Fine, dad," she huffed, turning to slide down the ladder.

"I can see up your dress," Ben said triumphantly, his point about her clothing choice vindicated. "Is that the whole point of it? Not me looking up it, but to give someone other than me a full view of your goodies?"

Shuvin glared at him, and simply continued on.

Alderaan shook again. Ben turned back to the console before him, and he frowned, glancing up at the customs starship now right next to his little freighter.

"Oh yeah," he said. "Forgot about that."

"Odd," mused Hardige watching the sensor readouts.

Normally a freighter did one of two things when it was pulled from hyperspace to undergo an unexpected customs inspection post. Either it came to a dead halt and submitted to boarding or it immediately engaged in evasive action. This freighter, however, had emerged from hyperspace and carried on at sub-light without giving any sign of having noticed Far Reach or her transmission.

"We are transmitting aren't we?" the inspector called to his comm operator. A nod in reply.

"We'll try a visual signal then," he said turning towards the gunnery officer, "Fire when ready."

A few moments later one of the bow guns opened up with a burst of bright but thoroughly harmless starshell.

Ben pulled the freighter to a full stop, and sighed as the tractor beam none too gently took hold and dragged them closer.

"Ben," Shuvin's voice once more filtered up to him, "what about those blaster casings?"

Ben stiffened as he remembered the cargo.

"Shuvin!" he shouted as he ran to the ladder and slid down it. "Get them into the hidey holes!"

"But I haven't changed yet!"

"What's worse, getting caught in that mockery of clothing, or getting charged with smuggling? By Imperials?"

Shuvin's answer was her bursting out of her bunk, still in her blue dress, and following him into the cargo bay.

It was not unknown for rebels to sabotage ships seized and taken aboard by the customs cutters in a deliberate effort to disrupt operations. Hardige was a cautious man, wary of such trickery, so he had Far Reach's tractor beams bring the freighter to a safe distance and hold her there while a boarding craft zipped across the intervening space. It was a slower but altogether safer approach.

The party that came aboard was kitted out for a fight. They wore blast vests, armoured gauntlets and visored helmets and carried truncheons or blasters. They fanned out through the freighter shouting as they went.

"On your knees, hands and any other manipulators behind your head!"

"Hey now," Ben answered, kneeling with his hands up as he was told. "No need to shout. We heard you the first time."

Shuvin said nothing, but followed Ben's example: kneeling down and allowing the strike team to enter the freighter with nary a word against them.

The inspection team assured themselves (within reason) that there were only two beings aboard and that there were no (obvious) traps or other hazards. It was a small vessel so this process did not take long. When he was satisfied on all scorres, the team leader made the standard declaration in a precise but slightly bored tone while standing over Ben and Shuvin.

"This is an inspection by Imperial Customs. We are authorised to conduct such inspections in order to enforce trade tariffs and levies and ensure adherence to all restrictions and regulations pertaining to the movement of passengers, animate and inanimate cargo, and any and all goods, materials, and substances as fall within the notice of the law.

"You are hereby required to declare anything that might be of relevance to our inspection especially the presence aboard this vessel of any items or goods subject to transit restriction and/or prohibition and any and all persons aboard subject to travel restrictions or previously convicted of offences relating to the same or anything whatsoever that might prove to be relevant.

"Failure to make any such declaration now will be regarded as a criminal offence, punishable under the Imperial Legal Code, should our inspection reveal the presence aboard of any such cargo or persons or any violations of regulations relating to their movement"

The team leader paused, raising his visor to get a clearer view of the kneeling duo.

"Do you have any thing to declare?"

"Uh," Ben dragged out the word, as if thinking deeply on the question. Then he looked up. "Nope."

He'd dealt with Customs before, of both the Alliance and the Empire. Most of the time it was a rote and routine stop and search. But he'd also learned that showing fear to such officers heightened their already high suspicion against any and all freighter pilots. Nervousness was all right, if only barely.

"I've got nice Tarisian silks and a lot of synthleather. Lots. Maybe you could use some? I'm sure the missus would love some. Beautiful stuff. It's got the cutest little flower designs on it."

Assistant Inspector Kadrak was generally a stoney leader of inspections but he could not stop himself from smiling at Ben's attempt at an icebreaker.

"Thanks," he said, "but my husband isn't a great fan of florals. Even if he was, it'd be an ethics violation to buy from the subject of an inspection."

He held up a hand to head off the inevitable offer of be-flowered fabric as a 'gift'.

"And taking it for free would look like taking a bribe or stealing. Also ethics violations."

He motioned to two of his team.

"Frisk 'em."

"Husband!" Ben grunted in dismay. He might have been able to keep talking if he'd been able to pick up on that. But Imperials were hard to read, usually.

Shuvin and he were pulled up, and were pushed, none too gently, against the wall.

"Watch the hands!" Shuvin growled. Ben rolled his eyes, though since his face was smooshed facing away from Shuvin, she wasn't able to see it.

"Maybe if you'd worn actual clothing this wouldn't be so bad now, would it?" he asked, while the Imperial checked his coat for hidden weapons.

"You told me to wear it if I liked it!" she shot back.

"I wouldn't have said that if I could have seen it! I was flying the damn ship! Why were you wearing it anyway? We still had three hours of flight time left."

"You never go out when we make port, and haven't had a girlfriend in how many years, dad, so you wouldn't know how important it is to be prepared for a good club scene!"

Ben was pulled back to face the Imperial leader, and gave him an imploring look.

"Can you tell her she looks ridiculous? Please? Maybe she'll listen to you."

Shuvin only huffed in irritation and looked away quickly enough that her lekku flared out violently with the motion.

Kadrak had not expected hidden weapons or violent resistance: these two did not seem the type.

He had produced a datapad and was making notes of the inspection's progress so far. He glanced up and gave Shuvin the once over.

"Perfectly acceptable in the right circumstances, I'm sure." His tone was mild and remained so as he began the process of questioning with the usual innocuous, "What are your names?"

The answers to this and several other questions would be checked against the identity documents (if produced) and then against the database aboard Far Reach.

"Captain Ben Merasska and mechanic Shuvin Undhi, of Alderaan," Ben answered, suddenly remembering that he was face to face with representatives of an organization that had blown up a planet. It was scary to think that he'd forgotten that fact; but routine did that to you sometimes. "Ghtroc-720 light freighter. Private ship; berths are Antar 4, Contruum, and Phindar. Been working with Von Metzger Munitions and Armaments—"

"If it don't work, you did something to it," Shuvin said, somewhat triumphantly, still riding a shaky victory with the Imperial's lack of out and out agreement with Ben.

"Phinonia Textiles—"

"Luxury looks for economy prices!"

"Haadegaard Medical Supply—"

"From fatal wounds to little ouches, don't trust anything without HMS on the pouches!"

"And some private interests. Got a cargo from Phinonia right now. Was on my way to Thisspias before you guys stopped us."

Ben knew that he'd show up in the Imperial database. He'd done nothing overtly illegal that the Empire had fast and hard evidence against, though that wouldn't stop them from throwing him in a cell if they felt like it. He'd listed off the companies that regularly sent him over the border to do business — despite it being tacitly admitting to a form of smuggling, as using him bypassed a lot of the high tariffs and levies placed on shipping between the Empire and the Alliance, there was a loophole that gave him some wiggle room in just these circumstances — as those would show up and make a nice contrast to the list of suspected crimes. Von Metzger especially, as there had been a little scandal recently as it had been learned that VM Arms had struck a deal with a couple Imperially aligned worlds in the neutral sectors, supplying them with much needed cheap weaponry without needing the Empire to go between, saving them the trouble of actively supporting and propping them up against the various independence movements that had sprung up.

Ben hoped that it would be enough. Every moment with these Imperials on board was a moment that they might be able to find his little hidey holes with the blaster casings (used to disguise a military grade blaster as a sporting grade blaster among other things) and the cases with splicing tabs in them; used for smuggling slaves off worlds without setting off their slave-collars, or for a quick take down of a security network, favored by thieves and terrorists, making them highly regulated and only shipped through certain carriers in certain lanes.

If those were found, he might have some explaining to do, which he knew wouldn't end well.

Kadrak noted all of this in his datapad.

It seemed perfectly satisfactory if a little over-detailed. Nervous people talk too much he knew. There were all sorts of reasons to be nervous during a customs inspection. Some were benign and some were not.

"Alright," he said keying up the next section of the digital form, "I'll need your flight plan and manifest. While you're about it, fetch out the registration and licences for yourself and this vessel."

He turned towards the team members standing along the bulkhead.

"We might as well start on checking the cargo and ship structures," he pointed out four of the six, "You four: start running the scanners. The usual places."

Usual places were (usually): bunks, galley storage, escape pods, and obviously, the cargo bay. It was a constant game of chance, dependent on number and morale of freighters and the customs agents opposite them, where they were coming from and going to, where they were boarded, and often the race of the freighter captain. Smugglers would stack the deck with hidey holes and secret compartments, and would do more and more things to them to keep them safe in case they were scanned. Feedback scanners, which would send a preprogrammed response to any scanner, overriding its base scans quickly enough that most beings wouldn't notice it; muffled deckplating, for underfoot secret compartments, which would mute any scans done on them, to good old half stack cargo crates, which had a top compartment that hid a lower compartment.

Ben had muffled deckplating, but not for smuggling. He didn't have much else, as he didn't have either the time, the money, or the inclination to go in and add other ways of foiling a scan.

All he could really do was hope.

While Kadrak went over the documentation, his subordinates poked and pried and peered around the ship. They were well-trained so they did it well as a matter of course. This time the team were aware of the special visitors aboard Far Reach so they were extra attentive going over things twice.

Still, they did not find anything as a result of this effort. As was sometimes the case in investigative work it was a matter of luck that led to a breakthrough.

Officer Palda stood up from a randomly selected crate that had turned out to be half-filled with pieces of packing foam. How disappointing. He had worked innumerable inspections and this was how it always went. He poked into crates and storerooms and never found anything worthwhile. It was always someone else who got to shout excitedly, "Sir!" and present something of note.

He stretched his aching back and sighed. Well, it wasn't like there was any difference in the monthly payslip if you did find something.

"Nothing here," he said to his companions picking up his blaster rifle, "I'll try the other side."

He turned towards the hatch not noticing the block of foam he had not put back. His boot slipped on it and he slid towards the bulkhead, rifle muzzle first. With a hollow thunk, the muzzle connected with the metal.

A hollow thunk...

Palda cocked his head.

A HOLLOW thunk in a supposedly solid bulkhead.

Palda reached out his gloved fist and tapped it against the bulkhead where his rifle had connected. The same sound. He tapped it against a place somewhat lower. A solid clunk. He tapped somewhere to the right. Again a clunk. He went back to the first spot. A thunk

He put his rifle down and yanked of his gloves the better to feel the bulkhead. His fingers ran across the metal and there, right there, was a definite edge where there should not be an edge. He got his nail under that edge and pulled.

"Sir!" he called excitedly, "Sir!"

Ben grimaced and frowned as a voice called out from inside the ship, and shot Shuvin a warning look. She looked frightened now a bit, but did her best seem more at ease.

"Everything'll be all right," Shuvin whispered to him. "Right, Cap'n?"

Ben wanted to tell her that they'd be let go in just a few seconds, but all he could get out was:

"Everything will be fine, Shuvin. Keep a calm head on your shoulders and things will work themselves out." His expression however belied the words, and while she nodded, he could tell she wasn't very happy with the answer.

At the call, Kadrak stepped out of the compartment. He was gone for a several minutes during which the remaining officers kept an eye upon the two spacers. When the assistant inspector returned there was a plastic bag, neatly labelled, in his left hand.

"Perhaps," he held the bag out towards Ben so that the erstwhile captain could clearly see the contents, "you can explain this?"

"Well," Ben started. "It's not ours. We were just holding it for a friend."

"I see," Kadrak said crisply, "and who is this friend?"

It seemed for a fraction of a moment that he expected an answer to be forthcoming but then he continued asking questions.

"Where is this friend? What does he do?"

Again a fractional pause and then more questions.

"Why? Why you? Why this? Why here?"

This time he came to stop and looked expectantly at Ben.

"Well?"

Ben had nothing really to say; they had been caught out, and he couldn't talk his way out of this.

"Nothing personal," Ben said finally.

Kadrak handed the evidence bag to one of his men in exchange for his datapad.

"Of course not," the customs agent sighed, "it never is."

He ticked a few boxes and entered a couple of lines of text on the digital form.

"Take them away."

***

Back on Corellia, Brask was weaving his way through the crowds of the docking area. Alongside him, one of his hotel's porter droids was carrying a large trunk. Brask himself carried only a small, rather old fashioned leather bag.

He looked about him for the docking bay entrance.