Freelance Transport Vagrant's Hope, Hyperspace | 18 BBY
A year changes everything and nothing simultaneously.
I'd learned that truth in the twelve months since leaving Ryloth, watching seasons pass through viewport glass while the galaxy continued its indifferent rotation. The Empire consolidated its grip sector by sector. The resistance cells I'd helped on Ryloth were scattered or absorbed into larger networks. And I'd become exactly what survival demanded: a ghost moving through the underworld, trading skills for credits and information.
The transport shuddered slightly as it adjusted course through hyperspace, that subtle vibration that meant automated systems were compensating for stellar drift. I sat in the passenger hold with seventeen other beings who'd paid for discrete passage to Ord Mantell, none of whom looked like they wanted their travel documented by Imperial customs. Smart. The Empire tracked everything these days, building databases of movement and association that would make hunting dissidents easier down the line.
My own credentials identified me as Jace Reth, freelance security consultant. The cover had held up for eight months now, long enough that I'd started thinking of the name as real rather than fiction. Jace didn't carry the weight of Order 66. Didn't wake up remembering the Temple burning or Master Drallig's absence in the Force like a missing limb.
Jace just took contracts and survived.
The system pulsed in my peripheral vision, gentle enough that I could ignore it if I chose but persistent enough to remind me of its presence.
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SYSTEM NOTIFICATION
Welcome back, Player Zett Jukassa
Current Status:
Level: 15
Location: Hyperspace (En route to Ord Mantell)
Time Since Last Major Quest: 347 days
Optional Missions Available → [View Quest Log]
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Three hundred forty-seven days. The system tracked time with the same clinical precision it applied to everything else, reducing the year I'd spent rebuilding myself into a number on a display. I'd avoided major quests during that time deliberately, focusing instead on the optional missions that appeared and disappeared based on circumstances. Small contracts. Information gathering. The kind of work that paid enough to keep moving without attracting the attention that came with larger operations.
The datapad from Ryloth had provided leads on potential Jedi survivors, but following them had been like chasing smoke. Raada had turned out to be an Imperial listening post with no Force-sensitives within a hundred parsecs. The Anoat sector had been a dead end. Thabeska had nearly gotten me killed by bounty hunters who'd recognized something Jedi-adjacent in my movements.
Ahsoka remained unfound. Probably dead, the rational part of my mind insisted. The purge had been thorough and the Inquisitors were hunting survivors with resources I couldn't match. Clinging to hope that she'd survived when thousands of better Jedi hadn't was just setting myself up for disappointment.
But I kept looking anyway. Because the alternative was accepting that I was truly alone.
I pulled up the quest log, more out of habit than genuine interest. The system had learned my patterns over the past year, started tailoring mission offerings to match the kind of work I actually took rather than presenting random opportunities.
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AVAILABLE QUESTS
[SPICE RUN CONTRACT]
Difficulty: Easy
Location: Ord Mantell
Description: Provide security for spice shipment through contested territory. Client: Vakarian Syndicate. Payment: 800 credits + reputation gain.
Reward: +50 XP, +100 Credits (bonus), +1 CHA
New Feature Unlocked: Reputation System
Accept? Y/N
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[INFORMATION BROKER]
Difficulty: Moderate
Location: Ord Mantell
Description: Establish contact with local information networks. Gather intelligence on Imperial movements and potential Jedi sightings.
Reward: +75 XP, New contacts, Intelligence updates
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[BOUNTY HUNTER ELIMINATION]
Difficulty: Hard
Location: Ord Mantell
Description: Remove bounty hunter targeting rebel sympathizers. High risk of exposure.
Reward: +200 XP, Rebel reputation increase, Rare equipment
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The spice run was exactly the kind of morally ambiguous work that would have horrified the Padawan I'd been. Protecting narcotics distribution for criminal syndicates. Master Drallig would have called it a corruption of Jedi principles, a betrayal of everything the Order stood for.
But Master Drallig was dead and the Order was ashes and I needed credits to keep functioning.
I thought accept on the spice run contract.
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QUEST ACCEPTED: Spice Run Contract
Meeting Coordinates Transmitted
Time Until Arrival: 2.4 hours
NEW SYSTEM FEATURE ACTIVATED: REPUTATION
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REPUTATION SYSTEM
Track your standing with various factions across the galaxy. Reputation affects quest availability, pricing, and NPC interactions.
Current Factions:
Outer Rim Underworld: 0 (Neutral)
Rebel Alliance: +15 (Recognized)
Galactic Empire: -25 (Wanted)
Black Sun Syndicate: 0 (Unknown)
Hutt Cartel: +5 (Minor Standing)
Note: Reputation can increase or decrease based on actions. Choose carefully.
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The new system feature didn't surprise me. Over the past year I'd noticed the interface adapting, becoming more sophisticated as if learning from my behavior. Early on it had been simple stat tracking and quest notifications. Now it quantified social standing and factional relationships, turned the complex web of galactic politics into numbers and progress bars.
Part of me hated the reduction of morality to reputation scores. But another part, the part that had been forged in the year since Ryloth, recognized the utility. Knowing where I stood with various factions meant making informed decisions about which contracts to take and which to avoid.
The Empire's negative reputation made sense. I'd killed stormtroopers, fought Inquisitors, helped rebels. I was exactly the kind of problem the new regime existed to eliminate. The positive rebel standing came from Ryloth and a few other operations where I'd helped resistance cells without asking for payment.
The underworld neutrality was what I'd been building toward. Neutral meant I could work for anyone, take contracts from competing syndicates without burning bridges. It was the position of someone who valued credits over ideology, which was exactly the reputation I needed to maintain.
Even if it felt like another piece of who I'd been dying quietly.
Across the hold, a Rodian was arguing with a human about something in hushed tones. Credits probably, or the specifics of whatever illegal cargo they were smuggling. I tuned them out and focused on the tactical considerations of the spice run.
Vakarian Syndicate was mid-tier criminal organization, not powerful enough to challenge the Hutts but established enough to have regular shipping routes. Spice was their primary revenue stream, which meant the Empire would be interested in disrupting operations both to cut funding for potential rebel sympathizers and to establish their own control over narcotics trade.
The run would likely face either Imperial interdiction or rival syndicate interference. Possibly both if I was unlucky. My job was to keep the cargo secure and the crew alive, which meant being prepared for space combat, boarding actions, and ground-level ambushes.
I pulled up my character sheet, something I'd been doing more frequently as the system's features expanded. The numbers had become a kind of meditation, a way of quantifying growth that was more concrete than vague feelings of improvement.
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CHARACTER STATUS
Name: Zett Jukassa (Operating as: Jace Reth)
Level: 15
Class: Jedi Padawan(Evolution Available)
Age: 17 standard years
Titles:
- Survivor of the Purge
- Shadow Operative
- Inquisitor Slayer
- Grey Blade(Provisional)
HP: 1,200/1,200
FP: 700/700
Stamina: 100%
Attributes:
STR: 18 | VIT: 22 | AGI: 26
INT: 16 | WIS: 19 | CHA: 13
LUK: 11
Unallocated Points: 0
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ACTIVE SKILLS:
Combat:
- Lightsaber Combat: Lv. 18
- Form IV (Ataru): Lv. 20(Mastery Approaching)
- Form I (Shii-Cho): Lv. 13
- Form III (Soresu): Lv. 10
- Unarmed Combat: Lv. 12
Force Abilities:
- Force Sense: Lv. 13
- Force Push/Pull: Lv. 10
- Force Barrier: Lv. 8
- Force Cushion: Lv. 3
- Force Stealth: Lv. 7
- Force Jump: Lv. 9
Practical Skills:
- Meditation: Lv. 12
- Persuasion: Lv. 8
- Deception: Lv. 6(New)
- Tactics: Lv. 9
- Piloting (Space): Lv. 10
- Piloting (Atmospheric): Lv. 8
- Stealth: Lv. 8
- Survival: Lv. 7
- Slicing: Lv. 4(New)
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The progression told a story about who I'd become. Form IV had increased dramatically through constant practice and real combat applications. Deception and Slicing were new additions, skills I'd developed out of necessity when operating in the underworld. My Force abilities had grown steadily but not spectacularly, limited by the fact that I couldn't risk drawing attention through obvious displays of power.
My Ataru was approaching mastery. I could feel it during practice sessions, the way the forms flowed together with increasing naturalness. Master Drallig had told me once that true mastery came when technique transcended conscious thought, when your body executed sequences before your mind could articulate them.
I was close. Maybe another few months of dedicated training. Maybe less if I faced the right opponents in the right circumstances.
The thought carried bitter satisfaction. I was becoming exactly what the galaxy required: a weapon refined by necessity, stripped of idealistic constraints, efficient.
The transport lurched as it dropped out of hyperspace. Through the viewport, Ord Mantell appeared, a world of browns and greens marked by urban sprawl that had metastasized beyond any pretense of planning. The planet had always been a haven for mercenaries and smugglers, a place where Imperial authority existed in name only and actual power belonged to whoever had the most credits or firepower.
Perfect for someone who needed to disappear into crowds while maintaining access to underworld networks.
The descent through atmosphere was rougher than it needed to be, the pilot either incompetent or unconcerned with passenger comfort. We landed at a secondary spaceport in the industrial district, far from the legitimate businesses that operated in the planet's more civilized sectors.
I disembarked with my pack slung over one shoulder, lightsaber hidden in a concealed compartment in my boot. The weapon had become a liability in the past year, too recognizable for someone trying to avoid Imperial attention. I'd learned to rely on blasters and improvised weapons when possible, saving the lightsaber for situations where subtlety had already failed.
The air outside tasted like metal and chemical runoff, the particular flavor of industrial worlds where environmental regulations were suggestions at best. The spaceport crawled with activity. Cargo haulers moving containers of questionable legality, dockworkers who looked more like enforcers, ships with registry numbers that probably changed weekly.
My kind of place.
The meeting coordinates led me to a warehouse three blocks from the spaceport, one of dozens of identical structures that lined the industrial district. I approached carefully, extending my senses through the Force to map the interior before committing.
Six presences inside. Four humans, one Weequay, one presence that felt artificial. Probably a droid. None of them registered as Force-sensitive or particularly dangerous, though one of the humans carried themselves with the confidence of someone who knew how to use the blaster at their hip.
I knocked on the personnel door rather than the main cargo entrance. Professional courtesy. The door opened to reveal a human female, maybe thirty standard years, with the kind of scars that spoke of experience earned the hard way.
"Jace Reth?" Her Basic carried a Corellian accent. "You're the security consultant?"
"That's me. You're Vakarian?"
"Mara Vakarian. Come in. We don't have much time before the shipment arrives."
The building interior was cleaner than I'd expected, organized and well put together. Cargo containers stacked according to some system I didn't immediately recognize, equipment maintained and ready for deployment. These people were professionals, which meant the job might actually go smoothly.
Or it meant they'd be competent enough to notice if I screwed up.
Mara led me to a makeshift office area where a holographic display showed a route through Ord Mantell's contested territories. "Simple job," she said without preamble. "Spice shipment coming from Kessel. Needs to reach our distribution center in the southern sector. Three potential ambush points along the route where either Imperials or Black Sun might try to intercept."
I studied the route, let my tactical training parse the terrain and identify the most likely attack vectors. "You're expecting trouble."
"Always expect trouble. That's why we hire security." She fixed me with an assessing look. "Your reputation says you're good. Says you've worked protection details in the Outer Rim and haven't lost a shipment yet."
The reputation she referenced was manufactured, carefully built through the information networks that connected underworld operators. False credentials backed by real results from jobs where I'd used different names. It was surprisingly easy to build a legend when you had actual skills to back it up.
"I deliver what I promise," I said. Which was true enough. "What's the opposition likely to be?"
"Black Sun's been aggressive lately. They want to squeeze us out of the mid-level narcotics trade. Probably six to eight enforcers if they hit us, maybe more if they're feeling ambitious." She pulled up tactical data on known Black Sun operatives. "Imperials are less predictable. Could be a patrol that decides to shake us down. Could be ISB if someone sold us out."
Imperial Security Bureau. The thought made my hand want to drift toward where my lightsaber was hidden. ISB meant Force-sensitive interrogators and enhanced security measures. Meant the kind of scrutiny that could see through false credentials and recognize Jedi training in combat movements.
"If it's ISB, the price goes up," I said.
Mara's expression suggested she'd expected that response. "Double rate if you're fighting Imperials. Triple if it's ISB. But you keep the cargo secure or you get nothing."
Fair terms by underworld standards. I nodded acceptance and she transferred the route data to my datapad.
The system pulsed.
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QUEST UPDATE: Spice Run Contract
Mission Parameters Received
Route: Industrial District → Southern Sector Distribution Center
Distance: 47 kilometers
Estimated Duration: 2.3 hours
Known Threats:
- Black Sun Syndicate (High Probability)
- Imperial Patrol (Medium Probability)
- ISB Investigation (Low Probability)
Recommended Loadout: Blaster rifle, backup weapons, avoid Force usage unless critical
Current Success Probability: 73.2%
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Seventy-three percent. Better odds than most contracts I'd taken in the past year. The system's tactical analysis had become remarkably accurate, learning from past missions to predict outcomes with uncomfortable precision.
The shipment arrived an hour later, a nondescript cargo hauler that looked like ten thousand other transports operating in this sector. The pilot was a taciturn Duros who didn't waste time on pleasantries, just transferred the cargo containers to our ground transport and departed before anyone could ask uncomfortable questions.
I climbed into the transport's gun turret position while Mara took the driver's seat. The rest of her crew distributed themselves between the cargo bay and outrider speeders, creating a defensive formation that suggested they'd done this before.
We rolled out as the sun touched the horizon, timing chosen to make us harder to track visually while still maintaining enough light to spot ambushes. The route took us through industrial zones that had seen better days, past warehouses that stood empty or housed operations too illegal even for Ord Mantell's flexible standards.
The Force whispered warnings about thirty minutes into the journey. Nothing specific, just the general sense of wrongness that preceded violence. I'd learned to trust those warnings over the past year, refined my sensitivity until I could distinguish between ambient danger and immediate threats.
"Contact ahead," I said over the commlink. "Northern approach, maybe four hundred meters."
Mara didn't question how I knew. She'd hired me for exactly this kind of advance warning. "Black Sun?"
"Probably. Six presences, moving to intercept." I checked the turret's targeting systems, made sure the power cells were fully charged. "They'll hit us at the intersection where the main thoroughfare narrows."
"Standard ambush." Mara accelerated slightly, trying to reach the intersection before the attackers could establish optimal positions. "Outriders, fan out. Force them to split their attention."
The speeders peeled off left and right while I tracked the approaching threats through the Force. They were moving into position exactly as predicted, professional enough to maintain formation but not experienced enough to account for a guard with preternatural awareness.
The system overlaid data across my vision without prompting.
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COMBAT ENCOUNTER INITIATED
Hostiles: 6 Black Sun Enforcers
Threat Level: MODERATE
Recommended Strategy: Suppress fire, avoid prolonged engagement
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We hit the intersection and the ambush sprang exactly where I'd predicted. Blaster fire erupted from rooftop positions, bolts screaming toward our transport in coordinated volleys. I returned fire with the turret, walked heavy blaster bolts across the nearest position until the enforcer dove for cover.
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Skill Usage: Turret Gunnery
Chance: 68.4%
~~~
Success! Enemy suppressed, +12 XP
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The outriders engaged from the flanks, their lighter weapons less accurate but forcing the Black Sun enforcers to split their attention. Good tactics. This crew knew what they were doing.
One of the enforcers broke cover and sprinted toward our transport with something that looked disturbingly like a thermal detonator. I tracked him with the turret, led the target slightly to account for his sprint, and squeezed the trigger.
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Skill Usage: Turret Gunnery
Chance: 61.2%
~~~
Success! Target eliminated, +18 XP
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The enforcer went down and the detonator tumbled from his grip, rolled harmlessly into a drainage grate. The remaining attackers realized their ambush had failed and began a fighting retreat, trading shots while pulling back toward secondary positions.
"Keep moving," I told Mara. "Don't give them time to regroup."
She gunned the engine and we blasted through the intersection, leaving the ambush behind while the outriders covered our withdrawal. Professional execution. Clean. Nobody on our side injured and the cargo secure.
Exactly the kind of success that would build my reputation in the underworld.
The rest of the journey proceeded without incident. We delivered the shipment to the distribution center in the southern sector, waited while Mara confirmed the cargo was intact, and collected payment. Eight hundred credits transferred to my account with the kind of anonymous efficiency that characterized underworld transactions.
The system registered the completion with its usual clinical precision.
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QUEST COMPLETE: Spice Run Contract
+50 XP
+100 Credits (Performance Bonus)
+1 CHA
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REPUTATION UPDATED:
Outer Rim Underworld: 0 → +5 (Known)
Vakarian Syndicate: 0 → +10 (Trusted Associate)
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Mara paid me in physical credits, old-fashioned currency that couldn't be traced through banking networks. "You're good," she said without elaboration. "We'll have more work if you're interested."
"I'll be around."
I left the distribution center and made my way deeper into Ord Mantell's underworld districts, where the streets narrowed and the lighting came from neon rather than municipal infrastructure. This was where people came when they needed to disappear, when their names or faces had become liabilities.
This was where I lived now.
My safehouse was a one-room apartment three levels below street grade, accessed through a maintenance corridor that deterred casual visitors. Sparse furnishings, weapons cached in hidden compartments, false credentials stored in encrypted datapads. Everything I owned could fit in a single pack if I needed to run.
I'd learned to travel light.
I sat on the room's single chair and pulled up the system interface, studied the reputation changes and skill progressions like reading tea leaves for signs of future possibilities. The work was steady. The credits were adequate. My skills were improving through constant application.
The system pulsed one final time before I shut it down for the night.
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SYSTEM ANALYSIS: Player Development
Days Active: 382
Total XP Gained: 4,847
Quests Completed: 47
Reputation Established: 5 Factions
Assessment: Survival protocols effective. Skill development optimal. Moral compass... fluctuating.
Recommendation: Continue current trajectory. Opportunities for advancement approaching.
Note: You are becoming who you need to be. The question is whether you can live with that person.
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I dismissed the notification and lay down on the apartment's narrow bed, stared at the ceiling while my mind refused to quiet.