Davlin pushed open the door to The Crow Bar, acutely feeling the absence of the blaster he’d decided not to bring. Looking around, he could see a few patrons nursing drinks and eating snacks. One table appeared to be playing a game of cards. He felt slightly nervous but couldn’t quite pin it down until he realized that there was a weapon sitting on the table next to each of the customers, in plain sight.

“Hey.” The Bothan bartender was looking at him, “What’re you drinking?”

“Uh, I … a Twilek Twist.” He said, wincing inwardly at his choice.

“Sure.” She said with a smirk, pouring ingredients into a pair of shakers. “Haven’t made one of these since I worked in a club.”

He tried to be nonchalant as he looked around the room. This place was built in an old world style, lots of wood, and polished brass. The wall behind the bar was all bottles, some of them obviously new, but many seemed to be very old. There was a shelf on the far left that had bottles with tags hanging around the necks, each one had a name written on it.

“That’s for regulars.” The bartender said, noticing his interest, “They buy their own bottle. It’s a little cheaper.”

With a flourish, the bartender poured the yellow and blue liquids from the two shakers into a glass where they swirled around one another in a swirling pattern to create a perfect fizzing jade green drink. Davlin was impressed.

“Anything else I can get you?” She asked, carefully replacing the bottles and setting the shakers in the cleanser.

“I heard people sometimes can get information here.” He said, lowering his voice and leaning in. “You know anything about that?”

“Could be.” She said, “What’s your name friend?”

“Darion.” He lied, taking a sip of his drink. “Darion Valle.”

“OK Darion, what’re you looking for and what’s it worth to ya?”

“I want to sell.” He said, “I need thirty thousand. It’s worth more, but I have bills to pay.”

“That ain’t how it works in my place kiddo.” She said, “I don’t like trouble in my place.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, unaware that he was raising his voice.

“You telling me you got something worth more than a bloody used freighter and don’t think you’re bringing trouble to my door?” She shook her head, “It’s best you shove off. Drink is on the house.”

‘Drink is on the house’ seemed to be a code word, as a massive Wookie seemed to appear from a corner with a huge steel hammer.

“Hey boss, I got that condenser fixed.” A human came from under the bar with a multiwrench. She frowned at something under the bar and whacked it with the wrench and a low hum began. “Now I fixed it.”

The Wookie chuckled, setting the hammer down with a thump. The vibration of the hammer landing caused an Ewok down the bar to slowly slide off his bar stool to the floor. He began snoring like a power saw cutting naga wood.

“Look, this is big. Real big. You don’t want to miss out on it.” Davlin reached into his pocket. In a flash, the Wookie had grabbed his wrist hard enough he could feel the bones grinding together. The small device he was holding fell from his hand onto the bar. The front door to the bar slammed open, and a Zabrak with an outsized backpack ran in.

“Davlin! We gotta go!” He yelled, skidding to a stop and taking in the scene. “Oh shit.”

“Friend of yours Darion?” The bartender glared at Davlin, putting extra emphasis on the fake name he gave. The Wookie growled and tightened her grip on his wrist.

“Bad timing Zera!” Davlin said through clenched teeth.

All the people in the room picked up the various weapons that had been sitting on the tables in front of them. The bartender was holding a slug thrower. The mechanic no longer had a wrench in her hand, it was now a blaster pistol. The tiny power supply Davlin had dropped rolled off the bar and fell to the floor with a clinking sound. Nobody noticed a slender robotic arm slipping out from a cabinet and snatching it. The only sound was the snoring of the Ewok.

The Zabrak had taken a metal tube from where it had been attached to the side of the backpack and it began to make a sinister rising whining sound. Smoke and sparks started leaking from it at random intervals. They slowly began to back toward the door.

“Damnit, I said I DON’T WANT TROUBLE IN MY PLACE!” The bartender growled, her ears quivering in anger.

The door slammed open again, admitting a phalanx of Corpcorps troops with blasters drawn. “Game is up Trox! Surrender the power cell!”

The room erupted into violence. Patrons closer to the doors flipped their tables over, diving behind them and laying down a scorching barrage of slug and blaster fire. The Zabrak dove sideways, and a lance of plasma exploded from the end of the metal tube, cutting through two of the Corpcorps troops as they began to return fire. With a roar of rage, the Wookie charged forward, hammer slamming troopers through the door like croquet balls.

Davlin caught a blaster round to the chest and slumped against the bar, sliding down and hoping the Corpcorps guys didn’t notice that his armor had taken most of the hit.

The firefight was over in a few minutes, and the Wookie was tossing bodies out of the door. The Corpcorps alarm klaxon was blaring outside. It was only a matter of time before more of them showed up.
“EVERYONE OUT!” The bartender yelled, brandishing their pistol.

“Pardon me, but I would like to leave. The Corp has been after me for years and now that they’ve found me I believe it’s time to evacuate.” A cool robotically modulated voice said. “If you do not wish to leave the planet, I suggest you exit. Immediately. It is a good thing I was able to attain this additional power core.”

The whine of terrestrial ship engines powering on filled the room, and blast doors began closing over the exit. Everyone in the room looked at each other in confusion, not knowing what to do. With a series of crashing sounds from outside and more than a few blasts from laser cannons, the building broke free from the structures surrounding it and lurched into the sky. Bottles rattled on the shelves, many falling to shatter on the floor.

“Apologies, I never was very good at this. Is anyone in here a pilot perchance?” The voice asked, and a ship door slid open behind the bar, revealing a hallway with a plush carpet, dark wood paneling and brass light fixtures. “If not, I’m sure I can manage. Oh dear, they seem to be very angry about this. If anyone happens to be a gunner, there are port and starboard laser autocannons, but fire sparingly, we are low on reactor fuel.”

“What the hell did you do to my bar?” The bartender demanded.

“Welcome to my ship. Welcome to The Gambler’s Requiem.” The voice said.

“I am not calling it that.” The bartender growled, “And as for YOU! Give me one good reason I shouldn’t toss you out an airlock!”

Davlin swallowed hard and raised his hands slowly, “Because I know where there is an abandoned stash of Corp power units and you’re low on fuel.”