Journal Entry: 16.03.24 – Navi Topaz
Docking at Marren’s Asteroid, a spaceport infamous for its lawlessness, the Mayhem lay exposed and vulnerable, necessitating urgent repairs. The station, a sprawling mass of intertwining metal and neon, buzzed with a cacophony of alien dialects, mechanical whirs, and the distant hum of ship engines. Desperate for a reprieve from the ship’s claustrophobic atmosphere, Luap and Tam ventured into the station’s murky depths.
Their destination, The Orion’s Belt, was a gambling den nestled in the station’s underbelly, notorious for its unsavory clientele and high-stakes games. The air inside was thick with the acrid smoke of exotic tobaccos and the electrifying buzz of tension. Tam, drawn to a Pazaak table like a moth to flame, quickly found himself in a winning streak, his hands deftly flipping the cards with practiced ease.
As Tam’s pile of credits grew, so did the attention he attracted. Among the spectators, a young Devaronian, his crimson skin and sharp, curving horns making him stand out in the dim lighting, watched with growing disdain. The son of Krell Vos, a crime lord whose name evoked fear across the galaxy, he was not accustomed to losing. His patience, worn thin by Tam’s continuous victories, finally snapped.
“You’re cheating, spacer!” the Devaronian accused, his voice dripping with venom, his hand inching towards a concealed blaster. The tension in the room was palpable, a charged atmosphere ready to ignite.
Tam, unphased by the accusation, shot back with a defiant smirk, “I play to win, kid. You just play to whine.” His words were like a spark in a powder keg.
With a roar of rage, the young Devaronian lunged across the table, his entourage quickly joining the fray. Luap, caught off-guard, struggled to intervene. The room erupted into chaos, a whirlwind of flying fists, blaster shots, and shattered glass. Tam, cornered and outnumbered, fought back with a ferocious desperation. Blows were exchanged in a frenzied blur, the sound of combat echoing through the den.
In the midst of the melee, a blaster shot rang out, stark and final. The Devaronian collapsed, a fatal wound smoldering in his chest. The room fell silent for a moment, the gravity of what had transpired dawning on everyone present.
Luap, seizing the moment of shock, grabbed Tam and bolted towards the exit. Their escape was a harrowing sprint through the station’s labyrinthine corridors, the echoing footsteps of their pursuers a constant reminder of the danger on their heels. The station’s dimly lit passageways, a maze of pipes and cables, seemed to close in on them as they navigated the tight turns and narrow alleys.
“We were running blind, Navi,” Luap later recounted to me, his voice tinged with the remnants of fear. “Every corner we turned, every door we burst through, could’ve been a dead end. But we kept moving, kept dodging. It was pure instinct.”
They emerged into the Mayhem, breathless and shaken, the door hissing shut behind them like a seal against the chaos they had left behind. The silence that followed was a stark contrast to the bedlam of The Orion’s Belt. Tam, usually the embodiment of confidence and bravado, sat in a stunned silence, the reality of his actions etching a deep furrow in his brow.
In my quarters, I documented the incident with a heavy sense of responsibility. The words on the page felt inadequate to capture the true horror of what had transpired. I knew that Krell Vos’s retribution would be swift and merciless. Urging Captain Kir to depart Marren’s Asteroid as soon as possible, I felt a palpable sense of urgency. As we pulled away from the station, leaving its tangled mass of steel and secrets behind, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we had narrowly escaped a fate far worse than engine failure.
Navi Topaz,
First Mate of the SMC Mayhem
