Mr. Nuthis Goes to Spira
by John Allison

     If nothing else, the vacation had been informative.  People had always looked askance on Croad Nuthis.  He was 
naturally good at math, especially with money, and, while fresh out of adolescence, he already held a high position in the 
treasury of his homeworld's native government.  Consequently he was "just a kid" to his colleagues and considered "old" 
by those his age.  On Spira, however, he found people snubbed him because he was an alien.
     Even getting to the exclusive Core World resort had taken every bit of his diplomacy skills, which had fortunately 
been exercised in his work in the government.  His position alone was not enough to get him to a nice vacation spot 
(since it was illegal for his species to leave their home planet), and when he finally arrived on Spira due to a technicality, 
he was treated worse than a second-class citizen.  Apparently this deep in Palpatine's Empire, Ortolans were not 
plentiful, especially not ones that liked to dye their fuzz green.
     What got Croad angry more than anything else, though, was that he had been properly warned.  Although Orto 
officially supported the Empire, stories occasionally filtered in concerning atrocities the Empire had committed especially 
against non-Humans.  Croad used to think they were laughably outlandish.  Now they all seemed very plausible.
     After being insulted to his face for the twenty-seventh time in three days, the Ortolan finally gave up.  He would be 
leaving for Orto by way of Commenor that afternoon anyway.  Why not try to finagle his way onto a passenger liner to 
Nar Shaddaa instead?  The Empire had problems controlling the Smuggler's Moon; therefore it might be easier to find 
Rebel contacts there.  Croad wanted to join the Alliance.
     The terminal of Spira's spaceport was completely full of Humans that looked at anyone of any other species with 
great contempt.  Croad knew finding a flight to Nar Shaddaa would not be easy, not on a Core World anyway.  His best 
chance was to charter a flight.  Unfortunately most ships for hire seemed to be run by thoroughly unfriendly people.  
Definitely not the types to take an alien where he might have more freedoms.
     Hours later, it seemed, Croad ran across a short, pudgy Human with dark hair.  This was the first one that both sat 
behind a desk and looked even partway friendly.  "What can I do ya for?" he smiled, revealing that he had fewer teeth 
than normal.
     Croad blinked.  No speciesist slurs?  "Do you take passengers?"
     The man laughed a course, hacking laugh, obviously induced by too much t'bacc.  "' Course I do!  I can take you 
anywhere you need to go, Mister, for the absolute cheapest price in the sector."
     Nuthis rolled his eyes.  Anything would have to be cheaper than the price he had to pay to get here.  "How much for 
one-way to Nar Shaddaa?"
     "The man let out a low whistle.  "Nar Shaddaa, eh?  Why in the Empire would you want to go there?  That'll run ya 
up to 1,500 creds.  Hutts ain't pleasant to deal with.  You takin' anything with you, boy?"
     "Just me, and yes, the Empire has a lot to do with it."
     A sad expression momentarily passed over the man's face.  "I got ya, friend.  Meet me at Landing Pad Twenty-Two 
in half an hour.  Name's Maro Othensid."

     Croad ate about seven bantha ribs while waiting for his departure.  When he finally made his way out to the landing 
pads, he found that they were nicer than he had remembered.  The pads themselves were covered in deep red marble 
and surrounded by exotic plants from all over the galaxy.  Even more remarkable was the fact that the ships' repulsorlifts 
didn't even stir up the leaves.  The pads must have had some kind of low powered magnetic shielding.  It proved enough 
of a distraction that Croad didn't notice the two uniformed security guards until he ran into them.
     "You got a reason to be out here, Lardball?" one asked after affirming that Croad was not the janitor.
     "Yes, sir," Croad squeaked.  His mind was racing, and hopefully his diplomatic skills could keep up.  "Just on my way 
to my flight home."
     The guard sneered.  "Let me see your passport."  Croad handed it over, silently hoping the guard wouldn't look too 
closely.  "Hey, you're supposed to be going to Commenor.  The flight's on the other side of the starport."
     Stang!  Croad knew he was on a quickly sinking repulsorcraft.  "Really?  I thought they switched landing pads!"
     Both guards laughed out loud.  "Oh really?"  I guess we'll just have to escort you over to your flight ourselves."
     Suddenly Croad remembered hearing all those stories of the Jedi when he was younger.  This was the moment to 
discover if he was Jedi material.  He stared at the guards, concentrated, and said in a calm, forceful voice, "I'm not the 
alien you're looking for.  I can go about my business.  Move along."
     Croad's attempt did make a difference.  Now the guards looked just plain angry.  One pulled out his blaster and 
pointed it at Croad's head.  "You try something funny again and I'll give you another orifice.  Come along now!"
     Sensing impending doom, Croad pointed in the sky and screamed, "Look out!  Out-of-control bulk freighter!"  The 
guard reflexively turned just long enough to realize he had fallen for an obvious trick.  By the time he whirled back 
around, his partner was shouting into a comlink and Croad was waddling away.  The guard took a pot shot at the Ortolan, 
the bolt barely missing Croad's head.
     Croad screamed and hopped into the nearest landing bay.  Another blaster bolt sliced through the magnetic shielding, 
making a slight spark, and hit the red marble floor next to him.  Croad whipped out his own hold-out blaster, lined it up, 
and fired, hitting the guard in the neck before he could make a third shot.
     Croad laughed a weak, nervous laugh before he realized the growing shadow he was sitting in belonged to a massive 
incoming Lady-class luxury cruiser.  He screamed an Ortolan curse roughly translated as "hunger," and scampered out 
as quickly as he could, only to run into the other guard and his reinforcements.
     The guard pulled his blaster out halfway before Croad shot his firing hand.  All that target practice was finally paying 
off.  The Ortolan ran toward Landing Pad Twenty-Two, jumping, ducking, and dodging blaster fire all the way.

     Maro Othensid calmly polished the hull of his ZH-25 Questor light freighter while his droid copilot ran through the last 
of the pre-flight checklist.  It sounded like there was something going on a few landing pads away.  A few seconds later 
the green Ortolan came running, his panting breath preceding him.  "Let me on board!  I have the money!  Let's go now!" 
he screamed as he bowled over the pilot and ran inside.
     The pilot jumped in, closed the hatch, and ordered the droid in the cockpit to begin takeoff, without clearance if 
necessary.  "Welcome aboard the Flamewind," he greeted.
     Croad tossed the credits at him.  "Yeah, great.  I'm in trouble.  We need to leave." The sound of blaster fire 
resounded from the outside of the hull.  The guards continued shooting in vain as the freighter took off, deflecting their 
shots with its shields.
     The Flamewind headed at full speed to the outside of Spira's gravity well, its navicomputer running full-tilt to come up 
with calculations to Nar Shaddaa.  It swerved, barely missing two passenger liners, a bulk freighter, and a yacht.  Maro 
had just enough time to steer to avoid colliding with a system patrol craft.

     Lieutenant Vincent Gatharard knew he was only monitoring Spira's space traffic temporarily, but he still hated such 
an ignoble assignment.  Fortunately, people like the Ortolan aboard the escaping freighter made life more fun.  "Get me in 
contact with that freighter," he told his first mate.  "I want to demand their surrender personally.  If there is no response 
in, oh, 1.5 seconds you may fire.  Try and disable it though.  I want that alien alive.  You may dispose of the Human and 
the droid any way you like."

     "This is Lieutenant Vincent Gatharard, interim captain of the Star Destroyer Merciless.  Surrender now or be 
destroyed," the voice announced over the Flamewind's comm.  Before anyone could respond, a turbolaser blast 
hammered the ship's shields, shaking it enough to almost dislodge Croad from his seat.  
     "I have a very bad feeling about this," Croad muttered.
     "Don't worry," Maro reassured.  "Flamewind can outrun a Victory-class Star Destroyer."  The ship shook with a loud 
thud, indicating another turbolaser hit.
     "Shields down, Maro!" the spindly droid screeched.

     Lieutenant Gatharard stared out the viewport with evil satisfaction.  "Prepare the ion cannon," he ordered.

     "Are you strapped in?" Maro asked, not bothering to look for an answer.  The Ortolan hastily confirmed he was.  
"Hold on tight!"  He pulled back the lever, and the stars elongated as the freighter jumped to hyperspace.

Copyright John Allison 1998