Miun the Mighty Rides Again!
Posted on Sun Jul 13th, 2025 @ 1:15pm by Thane & Bomoor Thort
2,648 words; about a 13 minute read
Chapter:
Chapter VII: Uprooted
Location: Pearl of Apalis, Alderaan Astoid Field Heritage Site
Timeline: Around the same time as the conflict on Öetrago
Miun the Mighty, a Sullustan so tiny he could fit into a smuggler's pocket and so fierce he could take down a Wookiee with his bare hands, sat in the cockpit of his beat-up starship, the Mighty Miun. His single, large eye scanned the asteroid field ahead, a graveyard of the once-beautiful planet Alderaan. The asteroids, like ancient tombstones, whispered silent tales of a lost civilisation. His furry companion, some peculiar felinoid he stole on Nar Shaddaa, known only as 'Pet', perched on the back of his chair, tail swishing in anticipation. The little creature was the only one the grumbling Sullustan really appreciated and truly spoke to, since the death of his most recent translator on Jericho, that damnable Mandalorian cesspit.
The Pearl of Apalis gleamed in the distant starlight, a beacon of wealth and power amidst the dust of destruction. It was a floating museum, a testament to the resilience of the Alderaanian people who had rebuilt their lives on New Alderaan. Miun had no interest in their history or heritage, though; he was here for the crown jewels - and recovering the pride and reputation he lost at Jericho. His mission was clear: infiltrate, steal, and escape without a trace. The Hutt who had hired him had made it clear this was a last chance for the Sullustan - his credit and name were worthless, since he crawled back into Hutt space, alone and without his intended quarry all of those months ago.
With a flick of his wrist, Miun activated the ship's comms. He barked in Sullustese to his cell of mercenaries to prepare themselves. They responded with a series of affirmatives in their own diverse tongues. The ship's computer, programmed to recognise their languages, began to guide them through the asteroid field. Pet's ears perked up, sensing the tension in the cabin.
As they approached the Pearl of Apalis, the grandeur of the cruise liner grew, dwarfing the Mighty Miun. It was a monolith of luxury, its hull adorned with intricate designs that gleamed with an eerie light, reflecting off the asteroids. The ship's defences scanned them, and Miun held his breath. He knew that if they were detected, the entire operation would be compromised. But the Hutt's intel had been spot-on: the liner's security had a blind spot, and they slipped through unnoticed.
Miun's crew was a motley assortment that he had been lumbered with by his benefactor. There was a silent, deadly Twi'lek with a penchant for poisons, a burly, four-armed Besalisk who could dismantle security systems with his bare hands, and a young, ambitious Human slicer whose skills with technology were unmatched. There were others, but Miun had not bothered committing them to memory. Most would probably die. But, they all knew their job and had been briefed on the layout of the ship. The gala was in full swing, the perfect distraction for their heist.
The docking sequence complete, Miun led the group into the shadowy corridors of the Pearl of Apalis. The opulent hallways, even here, were lined with rare art from across the galaxy, each piece worth more than the combined worth of their ship and all their futures. But they were not here for the art. They moved swiftly, sticking to the shadows, their footsteps muffled by the plush carpets. The ship's soft hum filled the air, punctuated by the occasional laughter or clink of glassware from the distant partygoers.
In the grand ballroom, Lord Lendus Antilles-Ulgo stood before an audience of the galaxy's elite, his oily smile never faltering. His well-tailored suit clung to his form, a stark contrast to the bulky armour of the guards that flanked him. He raised a crystal flute filled with a sparkling Alderaanian wine, the same vintage that had once graced the tables of royals before the planet's destruction. His smooth voice echoed through the chamber.
"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed members of the Alderaan Heritage League, welcome to this historic evening!" His words flowed like the wine in their glasses, each syllable calculated to charm and deceive. "Tonight, we gather not only to celebrate the resilience of our great people, but to honour those who have contributed so much to preserving our legacy. Your generosity has allowed us to maintain this stellar heritage site, ensuring that the spirit of Alderaan lives on, even amidst the cold embrace of space."
Lord Lendus Antilles-Ulgo paused, his eyes scanning the room. He took in the glittering jewels adorning the necks and ears of the high-society guests, the smug smiles of the politicians, and the awe-stricken gazes of the lesser beings who had paid handsomely to rub elbows with the elite. He knew that beneath the veneer of philanthropy and commemoration, there was a current of greed and power. It was a dance he had long ago mastered, and the crown jewels were the ultimate prize.
With a flick of his hand, he signalled for the lights to dim, and a spotlight illuminated the central dais. A hush fell over the crowd as an elegant droid glided forth, a velvet cushion held aloft. Upon it rested the Crown of Alderaan, an ancient heirloom studded with the most precious gems from the planet's royal vaults. The room gasped collectively, and even the most jaded of the attendees couldn't help but feel a twinge of awe.
"But enough of my words," Lord Lendus continued, his smile never reaching his eyes. "Let us proceed to the moment you've all been waiting for. The unveiling of our top sponsor for this year's heritage initiatives!" He glanced at a nearby console, where a holographic projection of his sister, Lady Yuliana Paralles, the Supreme Chancellor's wife, appeared. She beamed at the assembly, her image broadcast from the safety of her husband's chambers in the Republic's capital.
"Lendus, darling," she cooed, her voice as smooth as the silk that adorned her neck. "I wish I could be there to share in this glorious evening. But as you know, the burdens of the Republic weigh heavy on our dear husband." The room tittered politely at the implied jest. "Please, carry on with the announcement. I know everyone is eager to hear who has won the honor of holding the Crown of Alderaan for the coming year."
Her image vanished, and the spotlight shifted to the crown. The room fell into a solemn silence, a moment of respect for the planet they had lost so long ago. It was a silence that hung heavy with the weight of history and loss. But in that quiet, a faint sound could be heard, a ghostly echo of the past. The holographic projection on the dais flickered, and in the corner of the room, an ancient symbol appeared - the supposed insignia of the ancient Alliance to Restore the Republic. It was a simple, yet powerful reminder of the rebellion that had been born from the ashes of Alderaan, a symbol that had once united the galaxy against the Palpatinian Old Empire.
The recording played, a poignant melody that seemed to resonate within the very core of the asteroid field. It was a tune that had not been heard in public for centuries, a piece that had been passed down through the whispers of the survivors. The notes danced through the air, weaving a tapestry of sorrow and hope. The guests looked on, many with misty eyes, as the melody grew stronger, filling the room with a sense of longing and defiance that was as palpable as the air itself.
The recording was an ancient hologram, pieced together from fragments found scattered across the galaxy. It showed a time before the destruction, a time when Alderaan was a bastion of peace and beauty. The images of lush forests and gleaming spires brought a sharp contrast to the bleak reality outside the ship's windows. As the music swelled, the crowd was transported to a place that no longer existed, a world that had been erased by Emperor Palpatine's wrath. The recording was a testament to the enduring spirit of the Alderaanian people, a reminder of what they had lost and what they had built anew.
But the serenity was shattered as the image of a colossal, spherical battle station filled the space above the dais. The Death Star, a weapon of mass destruction, loomed over the planet's surface, casting a long, dark shadow that stretched across the continents. The room grew cold, as if the very essence of the weapon had reached through time to touch the hearts of those who watched. The video was grainy, the colours muted, but the horror was unmistakable as the planet was torn apart by the superlaser's fiery embrace. The sound of the explosion, muffled by the years, still echoed in the room, a silent scream of a world's agony.
The holographic projection flickered back to life, and Lord Lendus' smile had returned, though it seemed forced. "As you can see," he said, his voice tight, "our history is one of survival. Whether it was the Old Empire's supposed tyranny or the 'freedom fighters' who claimed to be our allies, we, the Alderaanian people, have endured. We have rebuilt, we have thrived, and we stand as a beacon of hope in the galaxy!"
Miun and his mercenaries watched from their hiding spot, the gravity of the moment not lost on them despite their less-than-noble intentions. The one-eyed Sullustan gestured for his team to get back on task. They had to move quickly before the gala's emotional peak turned the crowd into an unpredictable force. They had studied the ship's layout, knew the pathways to the secure chamber where the crown jewels were stored - but there had been renewed discussions on what tactic to employ. The Hutts did not care if there was collateral, for instance. They would never tolerate blame for the actions of rogue prospectors chancing upon a noble ship amidst an ancient asteroid field, after all.
A gentle pip on Miun's earpiece indicated an incoming communication and with a tap, the voice of their slicer came through in a hushed tone, "I've got backdoor access to the ship's systems," the young Human confirmed matter-of-factly, having found his target data port a little way back, where he used a modified astromech droid's scomp link wired into a datapad to begin hacking the system, "The security programs have an additional encryption layer, which will take me another moment to crack, so wait until I give the signal before you head out of this section."
Just then, the quiet hum of anticipation was broken by the unmistakable sound of a lighter flicking to life. A catering steward, still half in uniform with his collar unfastened, had wandered into the corridor beneath, clearly sneaking away for a quick deathstick break. He took one long drag before pausing mid-exhale, his eyes adjusting to the shadows—just in time to spot Miun’s crew huddled comically near the wall, looking a ludicrous motley crew.
The man blinked. “Oh, kriff me—” he managed, before the silent Twi’lek stepped from the gloom, hand already moving. There was a faint hiss and a sharp whisper of motion as a needle-thin dart embedded itself neatly in the man’s neck. He blinked again, staggered sideways, and then collapsed with the grace of a falling dish rack. Miun let out a low, garbled growl—whether in annoyance or approval was anyone’s guess. The Twi’lek merely nodded, already retrieving the dart from the fallen man as if nothing had happened.
Miun’s single eye narrowed as he turned a sharp look on the rest of the team, his stubby hands curling into fists at his sides. His heavy brow furrowed in a way that promised violence. He barked something guttural and clipped in Sullustese, gesturing sharply at the unconscious steward, then at the corridor's only entrance. His gaze settled on the Besalisk, who had the decency to look sheepish despite his four bulked arms. Miun jabbed a finger at the man’s dropped deathsticks, snatched them up with a scoff, and stuffed them into his belt pouch. He gave the steward one last disdainful grunt, then froze as his earpiece gave a gentle pip—the slicer was ready.
"Pure Sabaac!" the young man's smug tone thrummed in Miun's ear, "I hope you are all feeling fancy, because you've all been granted exclusive VIP access to the event of the season. A pity I'll have to stay out here but perhaps grab me a glass of something nice. Or better yet, a whole bottle."
The door to their left clicked and slid open, warm bright light flooding into the dim maintenance passage. As their eyes adjusted, they spied a rich crimson and gold patterned carpeted corridor on the other side.
"Don't worry if you see any camera's looking at you, continued the slicer, "I've already cloned a little loop of the empty corridor so you can just stroll through like you own the place. Just try to stick to the route and let me know if you take any detours so I can adjust the feed."
Miun hissed a confirmation through clenched teeth, then waved his team forward. The corridor ahead was absurdly lavish—gilded panels, recessed lighting, even delicate art deco wall sconces that made the whole place feel more like a royal palace than a starship. His boots thudded dully against the carpet, far too plush for someone as crusted and low-born as him to be walking on.
But walk he did.
His eye never stopped scanning, shifting from door panels to ceiling vents to the polished lenses of surveillance units he now knew were blind to him. The scent of rare perfume clung to the air, sickly sweet. Every inch of this hallway felt designed to humiliate the likes of him—until he took it all.
The Besalisk lumbered behind him, almost clipping a decorative column as he turned. The Twi’lek was a shadow beside the wall, already palming another dart, just in case. They were almost elegant now, this scum-cast ensemble—almost worthy of the target they pursued.
They passed a broad mirror, and Miun caught his reflection. Short. Ugly. Alone. And about to become famous again.
Suddenly, the corridor lights flickered gently as the ship’s internal comms crackled to life. A polished female voice - Alderaanian accent, aristocratic and pleasant - filled the space with regal poise.
"Attention honoured guests, this is your final call to gather in the central ballroom. The time has come to announce the recipient of this year's Crown Custodianship. Our most generous sponsor will bear the honour of safeguarding the Alderaanian Crown Jewels until the next standard cycle! Please make your way to the gallery floor for the official handover and celebratory address."
The message repeated twice more before fading, leaving behind a heavy silence.
Miun didn’t move for a moment. The job was aligning perfectly. The vault would be minimally staffed. The guards were gathering for the ceremony. His crew was in position, and they would utilise utmost poise and efficiency to heft away the genuine articles with none the wiser - aside from a few embarrassed and confused characters.
And yet, something gnawed at the base of his well-muscled neck.
He gave a grunted order and began to move, just as the corridor lights dimmed slightly - and the first distant echo of blaster fire rang out from somewhere aft.
As though on cue, the voice in the headset cut in once more.
"Uh, boss man, we might have a problem," his young voice cracked slightly, "Someone just tripped a silent alarm... and it wasn't us."
RSS Feed