Captain (retired) Hendon Brycemoor wasn't a superstitious man and he didn't believe in Destiny at all. Still it was hard not to take a cynical approach to his current predicament.
What were the odds of being hijacked by, what appeared to be thugs working for a Hutt, right on the same day he found himself the new proprietor of a lucrative gambling palace. Wasn't that what they'd called it? It was a 200 megaton remodelled personnel carrier, of sorts. No point-defense, only minimal shielding remained but much in the way of garish paint and lighting. Even on the outside of the hull itself. He ran a hand over the bald dome that used to be thick, black hair 20 something years ago. Before the war with the Sith. Proprietor was probably going a bit far anyway. It's not like he intended to run the flying cesspool. But he and his crew held the Pink Parlor, that was the name.
Bryce glanced out the tiny viewport next to him. The garishly painted carrier was dwindling fast as the fleet little transp