Clone Wars Campaign Recap Extra: Last Voyage of the Sun Runner

This is probably my favorite short story I've written so far for the Clone Wars campaign. Set during the period when the PCs were in the Waiting Place for almost two years, this story explains how the original Sun Runner was destroyed, how Stefan Cassadine and Jocasta agreed to work together, and why Kylo-Vas is no long a member of the crew. It also helps flesh out the personalities of the crew of the ship, which is something that's not always easy to do in the actual sessions because there's so many PCs and NPCs all vying for attention.

The main impetus for the story is that the Oracle had shown Marpa/Daal images of himself piloting the Sun Runner as it fled the destruction of Duros and I needed to resolve that plot point (the bloody Separatist invasion of Duros was a canonical Clone Wars event from the EU and as soon as I knew there was a Duro in the party, I wanted to tie it in). As Marpa/Daal had quite conclusively rejected that destiny, this story shows the consequences and helps explain just why Jocasta takes such a dislike toward him (his constantly squirming out of deals was probably the other part!).

I only realized it just now after re-reading this story, but I see a lot of influence from Firefly in how I imagine the Sun Runners.

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LAST VOYAGE OF THE SUN RUNNER

The Sun Runner was at peace. Its burnished gold and brown hull gleamed under the reflected light of Bburru Station, the largest of Duro’s twenty orbital space cities. Through the thick transparisteel roof of the spaceport that housed the oddly-curved ship, bustling traders and down-on-their-luck spacers could sometimes see the burnt orange of Duro’s heavily polluted and uninhabitable atmosphere.

Inside the ship’s lounge, the crew were in high spirits, drinking and laughing with the mix of relaxation and anticipation that came from the end of a week’s shore leave. In a few hours, they’d be off again amongst the stars, led by a woman others despised but that they respected and trusted with their lives. Instead of joining in, however, one member of the crew sat stiffly at the conference table with a recording rod and datapad arranged neatly in front of her.

“Jocasta, my research on the economic feasibility of piracy, smuggling, and small-freighter hauling indicates our current cargo is unlikely to pay for itself; indeed, we’ll be lucky to break even.” The Cerean Kylo-Vas spoke with the confidence that came from complete certainty, even though she’d seen enough to know that Jocasta was rarely wrong.

“You don’t think the art’s valuable?” The pirate, freebooter, and sometime slaver sat on the counter next to the caf-heater, drinking a bottle of synthale.

“In twenty to forty years, perhaps, after the artists have passed from this life and their work acquires the lustre of rarity. But for now, they represent illiquid assets in a profession where liquidity is key.”

The Gamorrean Korkoth grunted and slammed his empty bottle on the table. “Those paintins ain’t liquid,” he grunted, in thickly accented Huttese, the only language the others could understand him in. “They’re solid-like—I loaded ‘em myself.”

Greesh Leedo chortled as he slowly unscrewed his leg, a small vial of oil in his other hand. “You’re a dumb lummox, Korkoth. That’s not what they’re talking about.” Greesh hadn’t been on the ship as long as the Gamorrean had, but the cyber-enhanced Rodian wasn’t the shy type. After all, Jocasta had told him he had a destiny when she busted him out of that Republic detention facility. Anyone else had said something like that, and he woulda shanked ‘em in the eye for being a prat—but when Jocasta said it . . . you believed it.

The intercom beeped and then a man’s voice filled the room. “He’s here, Captain.”

Jocasta tapped the com. “Thanks, Rycar. I’ll meet him in my quarters.” She looked around the lounge. “The rest of you lot . . . you know who we’re dealing with. Come in shooting if you don’t hear from me in ten.” For a second she considered changing the meeting to the cargo bay—having a tank droid like Korg standing behind her would intimidate anyone—but she didn’t like appearing weak in her own ship. Still, she strapped on her gun belt and injected herself with a wide-spectrum anti-toxin. Having pride didn’t mean being stupid.

A few minutes later, she was standing in front of her own quarters. A light tap on the frame slid the doors open to reveal Stefan Cassadine, looking as smartly dressed as ever in a bespoke business suit. But she could tell from his eyes that he was holding back something. He flashed a fake smile.

“Jocasta, it’s been a while.”

“So it has.” She entered the room and sat down across from him. “I’ve got a departure clearance window coming up soon, so I hope you don’t mind if we skip the pleasantries. You’ve been on my trail for months now, and you’ve finally caught up to me, so what do you want?”

“My wife. She’s gone missing, in search of that Jedi boy you’ve been obsessed with. I’m betting that if you know where he is, she’ll be there too.”

Jocasta started to smirk and then thought better of it—Stefan wasn’t someone to trifle with. “It’s true, I try to keep an eye on Tamarand from time to time. Not so much now that I’ve become involved in more . . . meaningful pursuits. Unfortunately, I lost track of him months ago.”

Stefan clutched his head in frustration. He had spent months and half his fortune hiring scouts to scour the galaxy for any trace of Arresta, and his best lead had just vanished. He stood up to leave.

“However,” Jocasta whispered.

Stefan turned around, trying not to appear too desperate. He still had his pride too.

Jocasta continued. “If Arresta is with her Duro friend—Daal, Marpa, Balan, whatever he calls himself these days—I don’t know where she is, but I know where she’ll be.” She explained a little about Kronos—not enough to reveal her crew’s best weapon, but enough to make Stefan believe her. “For the right encouragement, I’ll let you know when and where.”

“What did you have in mind?” Stefan said. Jocasta had him over a barrel, and they both knew it.

“First, I’m a full partner in Cassadine Enterprises. I have connections you lack in the Corporate Sector, the Republic military, and Nal Hutta. I’ll bring in enough to make it worth both our time.”

“And second?”

Suddenly the ship rocked, knocking them both to the ground. Jocasta ran every possibility through her mind. Cassadine? No, he wouldn’t choose such a blunt approach. And it didn’t sound like a direct hit, more of a near miss. It could be . . . but that wasn’t supposed to happen yet! She leapt to her feet and punched the intercom. “Rycar, get us fired up—I want us in the air in three minutes.” She rushed for the door but Stefan grabbed her by the arm and slammed her against the wall.

“What about my wife?” he shouted, as alarm klaxons began to wail.

“There’s one more thing I want,” Jocasta yelled back.

And frantic seconds later, the deal was reached. Stefan ran towards the landing ramp and managed to dive through inches before it closed. As he ran through the spaceport towards the Knife’s Edge, he could see a swarm of Separatist fighter-bombers streak overhead. The invasion of Duro had begun.
Jocasta made her way along the corridor, twice nearly being knocked off her feet by ground tremors. They’re not planning to invade, she thought. They’re planning to destroy. She almost collided with Kronos at a junction. Smoke and sparks filled the corridor, but she grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up. “You said we had a week!”

Kronos removed his spectacles—an affectation, but one he took pride in. “No, mistress. I said there was a 93.5% chance we’d have a week. Apparently the fates have chosen to be unkind this afternoon.”

Jocasta dropped him as another explosion rocked the ship—this time the strafing run had struck home and Jocasta could feel the air pressure change: the transparisteel hanger had been breached, and the vacuum of space was yearning to be let in. With a last stumble, she made it into the cockpit. Rycar was there, his red cloak flopped over the back of his chair. “Seal us up and pressurize,” she shouted.

He nodded and then finished punching in the final ignition cycle. Jocasta strapped herself in tight to the co-pilot’s seat and then keyed the com to order battle stations. She started to sweat, something that hadn’t happened in a long, long time. She knew Rycar was a decent pilot, but he lacked Twitch’s battle experience and Marpa’s sheer talent. His loyalty after being nearly disembowelled going after the droid’s head had earned him a place on the crew, even if he, like Daal, hadn’t succeeded in getting it back.

The Sun Runner lurched into the air as a nearby shuttle slammed into a fuel tank during the mad rush to escape through the hanger’s exit. “Take us straight up—shields double-front!” she shouted.

“But the dome’ll tear us to pieces!” Rycar shouted back, obeying nonetheless.

“Not if Greesh & Korkoth can shoot straight! ” Jocasta said, and then activated the com to the gunner bays.

The Sun Runner ascended quickly, leaving chaos in its wake. The ship’s blaster cannons came to life and rotated straight-up, pouring a stream of liquid fire into the dome. The transparisteel sheets began to glow and melted an instant before the ship smashed through and into open space. Open, if you didn’t count the main CIS battle fleet—hundreds of capital ships and their pickets, along with thousands and thousands of droid fighters. They seemed to outnumber the stars in the sky, and they had no intention of letting anything escape. A fighter group destroyed a passenger liner and then swerved to intercept the Sun Runner.

“Re-balance shields,” Jocasta said, surveying the field. There were too many variables, too many dangers with no time to think. The Oracle showed the Sun Runner escaping . . . this has to work, she thought. “Orient .37, full thrusters—I’ll key in the nav-comp for hyper-jump.” The Sun Runner shot towards the right flank of the invasion fleet, peppered by shots from the pursuing fighters and the occasional stray bolt from point-defence batteries on the picket ships.

“Shields at 37%” Rycar said. He was afraid of dying, but more afraid of disappointing Jocasta and the rest of the crew.

“There!” Jocasta pointed towards two Techno-Union frigates that had moved to engage a late-arriving Republic Cruiser. “If you can squeeze past them, we’ll be out of Duro’s gravity shadow and can make the jump.”

Korkoth’s grunting filled the com as he celebrated destroying a pursuing Tri-fighter. The chase continued, and in seconds Rycar announced “Shields to 13%” The Separatist frigates loomed closer as Jocasta redirected power, even draining the emergency life-support batteries.

“Here we go,” she said softly as Rycar poured on the speed and angled directly for the slim gap between the frigates. It has to work. It’s destiny. But without Marpa? The frigates continued focusing their heavy turbolasers on the Republic Cruiser, but their automated point-defense batteries opened up as the Sun Runner skimmed just meters over their surface. Rycar made the ship bob and weave but blaster bolts filled the sky like raindrops. Suddenly the ship lurched and then started to spin on its axis, faster and faster as the inertial dampeners strained and then blew.

Jocasta was pushed back against the seat from the incredible G forces, but she saw the emergency override and with a desperate surge of strength managed to reach an arm up to tap it. The pressure lessened and the spinning slowed. No shields, no sublight drive. The Sun Runner was dead in space, but if she could just get enough power for the jump to hyperspace . . .

And then she saw it, heading straight towards the cockpit like an arrow—a heavily damage droid starfighter, following its last resort mission protocol: to turn itself into a weapon by smashing into any non-aligned vessel. “Korkoth, Greesh! Take it out—.59!” she shouted. Blaster fire poured from the Sun Runner’s turrets, but it was too late.

There was darkness, and silence, and then Jocasta realized she was on her back, still strapped to her flight chair which had torn free from its housing. Only seconds had passed, and Rycar was trying to get her safety harness released. “Get them . . . to the pods,” she sputtered, blood filling her throat. She heard it then, the wrenching and groaning of the Sun Runner’s damage-control systems trying to heal a wound that was fatal.

Rycar gave the evac order over the com and then the two of them stumbled out into the corridor. Kylo-Vas was there on the floor, a jagged piece of shrapnel protruding from her chest. Her unmoving eyes were open and she still clutched the recording rod in her hand. Jocasta kneeled down.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered before making her way to the escape pod.

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