Adjusting his aim, Blackwood squeezed off another burst of shots. A halo of micro-explosions detonated about Vigo as he darted aside again, disappearing behind the angular opening of a thruster array. Blackwood waited a second, fighting the natural urge to pursue and end this before it became a drawn out fight. When there was no thrown grenade or sudden explosion of gunfire, he eased back, trying to take advantage of what limited cover the ship could offer.
Not taking his eyes from the machinery his opponent had disappeared behind, Blackwood reached into his coat pocket and raised his comlink to his mouth.
“Orion, how far out are you?”
“I have just returned to the spaceport and the Hyperion is landing now,” the KX series droid responded, his artificial voice carrying an unpleasant buzz through the communication link. “We should be there in one standard hour unless the cutting equipment-”
“Double time it,” Blackwood said, keeping his voice low.
There was a momentary pause.
“Oh. Trouble, I assume. Raiders?”
“Not sure,” Blackwood admitted. “One person. Lithe, armoured, and a lot of guns. Most raiders don’t usually have the credits for cloaking gear or high grade bionics.”
“Then I will return as swiftly as I can,” Orion answered, a quiet deactivation blip signifying the link had been closed.
Blackwood stuffed the device back into his pocket, already feeling the thunder of adrenaline in his system. They were too damn close for this to go wrong now. After weeks spent hunting down Sith for interrogation, salvaging Inquisitorious decoders, and locating the right data crystals across a dozen systems, the last thing they needed was a firefight right atop of their prize. He was already quietly cursing himself for allowing Orion to take their rented speeder back to the spaceport after they called in backup. One warning volley from its cannons could have convinced the newcomer to back off before this turned into a brawl. Still, every complication could be an opportunity.
“That was a warning shot in case you were wondering," Blackwood called out as he slowly eased off, stepping back toward where he had been working a short time ago. “If you turn around now, this doesn’t have to get ugly. If you want a bribe to just kark off and leave me alone, speak up and we can talk this out.”
Silence answered Blackwood, filled only by the quiet hiss of sand grains shifting in the wind and the creak of the hull baking under the sun. He’d not expected an answer, but anything to keep his foe off-balance was essential now. It was the old trick which usually worked in any stand-off. Keep them distracted, keep them thinking, keep them second guessing. Anything to buy a bit more time for you to prepare or come up with a better plan. As of right now, that was how he was going to convince the new arrival to potentially electrocute himself in order to open a door.
One careful step at a time, to limit the sound of sand crunching beneath his footfalls, Blackwood moved back to where he had been when his scan pulse had suddenly lit up with activity. Little more than a dented outcropping on the ship’s exterior, he and Orion had spent much of the earlier day trying to force their way inside with little success. Their efforts had only been marked by the jagged fragments of scrap carved out of the hull, and the blackened scarring of repeated bombardments by high power vehicle mounted cannons. All save for one section – a covering that sheer bloody minded persistence and carefully applied brute force had managed to prize free and open up a wire filled hole within. Orion had dubbed it a “keyhole” and it was as good a term as any for the task it fulfilled.
“This doesn’t have to end badly,” Blackwood called out again, raising his voice and holstering the boltgun. “I don’t think either of us want to be out in this sun all day exchanging gunfire.”
Blackwood had barely finished speaking when he heard it. There was no warning whisper of the Force or moment of instinct which made him look up; just an abrupt sound of metal creaking slightly too loudly for it to be the effect of the sun. He managed to turn, facing just the right angle when Vigo materialised in the air, seemingly fading back into reality like a broken holoprojector reasserting its image. He was in the middle of launching an attack, leaping from atop the ship’s hull above the airlock, a humming vibrosword held high in one hand and slashing down.
Blackwood charged into the ambush. He lashed out with one arm, the hum of the blade changing pitch as it struck beskar of his vambrace and was then knocked from its wielder’s hand. His other hand shot up, gripping Vigo about the throat and holding him aloft in the air. The Umbaran’s eyes bulged, snarling as he struggled in Blackwood’s grip and kicked out several times at the Barabel. Seeing the glint of a hidden blade on one arm, Blackwood’s free hand snatched Vigo’s organic hand by its wrist.
“I was being quite sincere, you know,” Blackwood said conversationally, carrying the struggling Umbaran toward the ship. “Really, this didn’t have to end in a fight. But since you’re here, I’ll need your help with this part.”
Blackwood lowered Vigo to the ground, loosening the grip about his neck. Vigo gasped for air, greedily taking in gulps before shooting Blackwood a venomous look. He looked like he was about to say something, before the Barabel grabbed his cybernetic arm and thrust it forward.
“The ship’s security protocols are like a stronghold but the ID checks are practically antideluvian. Sorry about this, but you’ll have to fill in for the key. It could be painful.”
Vigo’s metallic hand disappeared into the open locking mechanism and into the tangled jungle of wires. The moment it was inserted, something gripped hold and then twisted Vigo’s arm to one side. Claws of electricity jabbed out repeatedly, threading up the steel plating of the cybernetic limb. Vigo cried out, pain coursing through his system and his muscles spasming as the ship yanked his arm to one side then the other. The Umbaran fell to his knees, agony threatening to overtake him in the space of seconds, before it mercifully ended. Whatever held him released its hold and he yanked back his hand, frantically scrabbling back from the vessel.
The ship wasn’t done. There was a growing hum, like the morning call of an awakening giant. All fifty metres of the vessel seemed to vibrate as if a heartbeat was hammering back into life from within, the sands about it jumping and shivering outward in waves as it awoke from its slumber. A booming synthetic voice spoke out from somewhere above the lock, speaking in a language older than most suns, before the metal besides it seemed to ripple. An entire section of the hull seemed to slosh away, the liquid metal solidifying again after a half-second. Where once there had been the smooth surface of hull plating, an angular walkway was visible with stairs leading downward. The only light offered was what little swept in from the sun behind them, giving only a few metres of visibility before giving way to pitch blackness.
“It said, if you’re curious, that we’re free to enter,” Blackwood translated, looking at Vigo. “But I’m going to ask that you please don’t. Just walk away from this one and pretend you never saw this. Please.”
He stopped for a moment, hoping Vigo would stand up, turn about and disappear elsewhere. When the Umbaran made no move, Blackwood simply inclined his head in thanks before striding inside and disappearing inside the derelict.
