Harsh metal clanging thundered and echoed off of the packed stone walls of the small six foot by eight foot prison cell, as a gruff looking blue skinned rodian slammed the heavy barrel of his weapon against the cells bars.  Inside of this cell, a muffled gasp could be heard, followed by a deep, low growl of aggravation.<br/><br/>A dirty, muscular arm shot through the rusted metal bars, and came within an inch of the rodian's throat.  The guard laughed, and shoved a crackling tase-rod into its elbow, sending a powerful jolt of electricity through its owner.   A scream then followed, a perfect mix of pain and rage reverberation off of the prison walls.<br/><br/>A few minutes of sleep each time.  That was all that they were allowing him.  Just one of many of the petty torments visited upon him in the past 48 hours.<br/><br/><i>"Put him in a four by eight, until the boss decides what to do with him...."</i><br/><br/>Those words repeated themselves over and over in the Back of Kalain Redharn's mind, never stopping.<br/><br/>He knew damn well it was a bad idea to fly his ship out here.  But he didn't listen to his instinct.  No, he listened to Bogard Kossack's tempting offer to do one more smuggling run.  What he didn't understand, was that he did the job.  To the letter.<br/><br/>Two days ago he had agreed to bring in a shipment of "crates"  from Tattoine,  all the way to Couriscant, flying low under the radar.   He had not been detected, not once.  He went to great pains to not be.<br/><br/>His ship had been an older YT-1250, heavily modified for smuggling duty.   Kalain had it maybe a fifth year, a fresh win from a game of cards.  The owner was even happy to see it go, being tired of keeping it up as his tertiary vessel.  The ship was notoriously unreliable, ugly, and under-powered.<br/><br/><script class="js-extraPhrases" type="application/json">
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</div><br/>But Kalain didn't care.  He had grow attached to the "Ebony Rust", and was free to fly the stars as he pleased...	It was ever so much better than trying to scavenge and sell parts from imperial wreckage, as he had been doing for the first thirty five years of his life.<br/><br/>Every so often he would find a valuable part that he could use to upgrade his ship, and make it just a little bit tougher, fly just a little faster, or shoot just a little quicker.  It was no Millennium Falcon, but she had been a good ship, and he had many an adventure at her helm.<br/><br/>And now she was gone, cut for scrap right before his eyes by the one who employed him for this one last run, which he did, and was successful.  And now he was a prisoner for reasons he didn't know, headed to an uncertain fate.<br/><br/>He had to get out of here...  One of these times that damned rodian would get just a little too close...  Close enough for Kalain to get his powerful hands around the guards' scrawny little blue neck.<br/><br/>Kalain slumped against the wall, rubbing at his elbow, and brushing his matted, grizzled hair from his eyes.  The rodian guard chuckled, and went back to his patrol...<br/>An opportunity would present itself, he just had to be patient...