FORSAKEN - Target: Zero

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

A few days later, the Thorn entered Corellia's atmosphere to the sight of verdant forests, great lakes, and wide rivers. Soon, Coronet City came to view. Known as "The Jewel of Corellia," the bustling capital impressed visitors with its modern, angular architecture of high-rises, interspaced with ample parks and elegant plazas. An impressive network of mag-lev trams—the Coronet Junction—connected the city.

"We're a long way from Jedha," said Gorin from the cockpit, marveling at the sights. Growing up being part of a clovoc meant living in a series of backwater outlawed planets.

Rather than heading to Coronet Spaceport, the Thorn flew to the edge of the city to the shipyards, where Star Destroyers were being built at the deepdocks, among kilometric pipes and gargantuan cranes.

"So, this is the home of the famous Corellian starships," Gorin said.

Theleema landed in a hangar of a delipidated dockyard located in an industrial area, comprised of several disparate buildings, annexed into a single structure often making use of discarded starship parts; even an AT-AT. She explained the place was called The Factory, an underground starship mod shop catering to criminals, mercenaries, and bounty hunters. It was owned by Chopjob, a junker from Lotho Minor, who had something of an artist's reputation, due to the unique customizations those with deep pockets hired him to do. Chopjob never repeated himself, a quirk nobody questioned due to the unparallel performance of his creations.

Jarriss communicated with his contact to arrange a meeting, and then the team deboarded. Theleema wore her Wookiee pauldrons. With Ilum tucked in his leather carry-pouch, Gorin donned the ammo halter with ammunition and tools. Syrran covered his eyes with his data googles.

Chopjob came into the docking bay to greet them. He was a stooped and stocky cyborg with an arm and a leg made out of scrapped parts; a grease-stained robe cloaked his figure, while tools protruded from his utility belt and vest. Under a hood, he stared with glowing eyes from behind his metallic mask, complete with 2-1B droid vocabulator.

"Welcome to the Factory," he said in a digitized voice. "My name is Cho-Cho-Cho-Chopjob," the voice skipped, urging him to hit the side of his head to fix it. "Good to see you again, Theleema."

"What do you have for me?" Thelema said.

"This way, please." Chopjob led the group through half of a hollowed out Multi-Troop Transport, serving as a connecting hallway to another building. "What are you looking for?"

"Something fast, stealthy, well-armed, that can accommodate a crew of five."

"And thick walls," quipped Elynn.

"Hmm, I do ha-ha-ha-have a few choices you might find suitable." Chopjob entered a larger hangar housing various starships. "My personal recommendation, the Radiant VII Consular-class space cruiser, assault configuration. It has an ex-ex-excellent sensor array, military-grade shielding, four turbo-lasers, and tw-tw-two concussion missile launchers. It seats a total crew of nine and can carry up to sixteen passengers, depending on the mo-mo-mo-modular configuration."

"It's nice, but we're a little shorthanded," Jarriss said.

"I can modify it to be crewed by five."

"How long it would take?" Thelema said.

"A week? Fou-fou-four days, if you're willing to pa-pa-pay extra."

"We don't have time," Syrran said. "What else you got?"

"What about a T-2c shuttle?" Chopjob grabbed a tool from his belt and adjusted his vocabulator while he spoke, distorting his tone. "They were never made public—special order by the Empire. It's crewed by a maximum of five people, has a Class-1 hyperdrive. Maximum atmospheric speed, two-thousand kilometers per hour. One laser cannon and two quad lasers. I can add more firepower, if you give me a day."