The Mole: The Nicest Pirate This Side of Anywhere

Written by CaccabisRufa1109 for @MTrac1000 – September 10, 2020

Note: @CaccabisRufa1109 is a fanfiction writer who started writing at a young age, originally trying to balance publishing fan works and school to varying degrees of success. They like to experiment, will come up with OC designs and story ideas on the fly, and have somehow managed to get well over three thousand views on their first Wattpad fanfiction book, which they are thankful for.

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Space Route to Kessel, 5 BBY

Well.

This day was going decently, all things considered, Paroke Dunchit mused, relaxing in his chair. They’d successfully caught up with and discreetly followed an Imperial convoy. His first mate, a young, tech-savvy, female Nautolan by the name of Chaka, had also, as per his instructions, subtly hacked the comms channel and ship databases of the convoy as they approached, and was downloading information. They were after intel, not a fight.

Some folks were shocked when they saw that Paroke’s flagship, the Reformed, was nothing more than a repurposed modified YV-865 Aurore-class freighter, while others mocked the size of the craft, but whenever they did, Paroke just would shake his head and chuckle.

The Reformed was a fast ship, armed to the teeth, and advantageous for stealth missions such as this. Some of Paroke’s colleagues laughed at his choice of ship, but couldn’t deny that it brought results.

“Download 25% complete, chief,” Chaka chirped. Paroke smiled. His young second-in-command’s enthusiasm was infectious. “We’ve got to stick to ’em like a brain worm to a nostril, sir.”

Paroke hummed a tune, then decided to amuse himself by listening in to the Imperial comms system while they waited, gazing out at the four Imperial ships some distance off. The planet Kessel could be seen off to the right.

“Usurper to Colossus, is your cargo secure?” a clipped-sounding voice echoed over the comms.

“Colossus here. 30 slaves, scared, but all alive and well. For now at least,” a wheezing voice cackled.

Well. That changes things, Paroke thought.

“Usurper to Obliterator, is your cargo secure?” the clipped voice echoed again. Paroke cursed under his breath.

“Obliterator here. Tell the Commander we’ve still got all our new slaves.”

“Chief, they’ve got us listening in on a-” Qiv, the Mole’s Trandoshan pilot began, but Chaka interrupted.

“A SLAVE convoy chief!? Can’t we do something?” she wailed. Paroke stroked his rounded Talpini chin thoughtfully. His crew was made entirely of former slaves that had either been liberated in raids, escaped during revolts, or bought by Paroke, who had purchased them their freedom.

He’d taken them in, given them job opportunities, and they all looked up to him as a sort of father figure. He hated letting them down, and besides, Paroke despised the Galactic Empire. The kind-hearted Talpini hated to think of the poor innocents packed into those ships, being taken away to do back-breaking work for the galactic regime, only surviving a year if they were lucky.

“What’s our download status?” he asked, beginning to formulate a plan.

“49% boss,” Chaka lightly thumped her holopad, which was conducting the download, and swore loudly. “Can’t this stupid thing go any faster?”

“You know the chief likes to avoid combat,” Qiv sighed and drummed the ship’s console with his fingers. “The Reformed could take ’em though. Can’t we comm the gunners, sir?”

“Get me thermal scans of the convoy first. I need to know which ships the innocents are on,” Paroke ordered. The communications officer, a male Togruta who went by the name of Kurdar, nodded, before tapping away at his holopad. Chaka whooped excitedly.

“The two ships in the middle, sir,” Kurdar reported. “Shall I comm Haku?”

Haku was the Mole’s trigger-happy, explosive-loving, Weequay gunner.

“Yes, get her to take out their weapons, and Chaka, can you hack and disable their distress beacons?”

“Sure thing, we don’t want anyone interrupting our fun,” Chaka hopped over to her seat, flung herself into it, and started typing on the console in front of her. Paroke sighed and looked out at the Imperial ships. Two homing missiles dropped from a hatch on the Reformed, and silently snaked towards the Imperial ships that they could confirm didn’t have any slaves aboard. The Shipmaster watched as the missiles split up and shot towards their separate targets. The Imperial comm channel crackled.

“THIS IS THE DECIMATOR, WE HAVE A MISSILE INBOUND, WE REQUIRE BACKUP,” a voice all but screamed. Too late for that, Paroke thought, as both the targeted ships exploded into crimson balls of flame. Chaka whooped gleefully.

“Beacons are down, boss!” she called. The Mole nodded to Kurdar and Qiv.

The Reformed moved gracefully forwards, and Kurdar leaned back in his seat.

“Patching you through now, sir,” he reported, cracking his knuckles. Through the window of the cockpit, red turbolasers shot towards the Imperial freighters’ weapons with deadly accuracy, rendering the ships defenseless.

“Attention Imperial freighters Colossus and Obliterator, this is Shipmaster Paroke Dunchit of the Red Fleet. I request you surrender your cargo unless you want to go out the same way as your colleagues,” the Talpini stated calmly. There was static on the other end for a while, but then finally a reply.

“This is the Colossus. We will surrender our cargo,” the wheezing voice sounded defeated, and the freighter on the left swung towards them.

“Obliterator here. We too will surrender our cargo,” a second voice added, and the ship on the right followed its compatriot.

“Kurdar, tell the others to prepare for docking and to take weapons just in case. They’re to escort the slaves onboard,” Paroke instructed. The Togruta nodded, pushed a button, then repeated the Mole’s instructions into a microphone. The Imperial freighters flew around either side of the Reformed. “Open airlocks,” Paroke ordered. Qiv nodded and leaned forward, tapping at the console. Paroke stretched back in his seat and put his arms behind his head. After a while, the door to the cockpit slid open and a Twi’lek child shuffled inside. Paroke stood up, and the Twi’lek glanced at him fearfully.

“P-please sir, someone named Jut sent me to tell you that everything’s on board an’ we’re undocking. Y-you’re not gonna hurt us, right mister?” the Twi’lek whimpered. Paroke chuckled and watched the two Imperial freighters drift past.

“No. We’re going to see if any of you want to join up with the Red Fleet, and then we’ll arrange transports back home or to better homes for those who don’t,” Paroke smiled reassuringly, and the child smiled back shyly.

“Boss, our download’s complete. We don’t want them tellin’ anyone they saw us, right?” Kurdar called. Paroke nodded. “Haku got in some new seismic charges, she’s been raring to try ’em out.”

“Hey kiddo, do you like watching things go BOOM?” Chaka called to the little Twi’lek, who nodded eagerly. “D’ya wanna watch those two ships explode?”

“YES please!” the child squealed. Chaka scooped her up and sat the Twi’lek on the Nautolan’s knees.

“Qiv, ready the hyperdrive and get us a good view of the ships. The second the charge detonates, get us out of here. Kurdar, comm Haku and tell her she can try out her new toys at last,” Paroke laughed, sitting back down and gazing out at the ships. Kurdar chuckled and repeated the order into the comms system.

“Watch this!” Chaka told the little Twi’lek, and they both leaned forward eagerly. A red canister shot out of the ship and hurtled towards the Imperials.

“Hyperdrive ready. Standing by,” Qiv hollered. There was a moment of silence, then the canister detonated, obliterating the Imperials in a brilliant blue shockwave. Qiv yanked a lever and the Reformed shot into hyperspace.

“WOW!” the Twi’lek bounced up and down on Chaka’s knees. “THAT WAS AWESOME!”
“You’d best go back to your parents now, little one,” Kurdar smiled. The young Twi’lek looked confused.

“I don’t have parents… or a home. I don’t even have a name. The nasty white helmets snatched me offa the streets and took me away,” she explained. Chaka hugged her close and had a silent argument with Paroke over the child’s shoulder. Paroke shook his head, and the rest of the crewmembers joined in, silently mouthing and gesticulating their protests. Eventually, Paroke threw his hands in the air in surrender and gave them a look of mock outrage.

“Would you like to stay with us, little Titch?” Qiv asked kindly.

“OOH YES PLEASE! YOU GUYS ARE THE NICEST PIRATES EVER! And I like the name Titch. Can… can you call me that now?” Titch asked, hopping off Chaka and turning to face Paroke.

The Talpini briefly looked out the viewport with wary apprehension, then smiled at the child.

“Alright, Titch. Welcome to the Reformed.”