Flew in from the Unknown Regions and are my arms tired

[Codename Turbogeek]

"Are we there yet?"

​In the corner of the freighter's hold, a bunch of what appeared to be rags moved.

​"No Her'ja, now sit down with your sister!"

​"But mooooom..."

​"SIT. DOWN"

​Other talk could be heard around the confines of the ship's hold. Grunts, squeals, trills of many species all competing with each other as beings all over the galaxy gambled, ate, talked or argued. The hold itself was dimly lit and smoked drifted lazily up. The two green humanoid children continued to jostile on their makeshift seats, while their mother fussed over them. The pile of rags moved again, an opening appeared with the glint of steel as a metallic hand came out. It grasped another part of the rag pile, lifting it up to reveal part of a humanoid face, a dark eye blinking, then focusing on it's surrounds. The ship's hull hummed and vibrated with the hyperspace engines, the low rumbling of drives being felt rather than heard.

​The freighter itself was nothing special, just another large bulk cruiser plying it ways from close to the Unknown Territories to the galaxy Core Worlds. Cargo was interspliced with beings, more cargo would be on different levels, better paying passengers closer to the bridge. Down here the flesh cargo was clearly an afterthought, cheap transport for those who either didn't have many credits or wanted to slip in and out of planets unnoticed for their own reasons. Down here, nobody looked or cared as long as you put your weapons to one side. Bloodshed (or what passed for blood) would see you blacklisted or maybe worse. Usually worse - the form under the pile of rags a few days before had seen a Twil'lek spaced after sticking a shiv into a human. Out here on these transports, the law was whatever the ship's Captain said was the law and if you didn't obey it, the consequences were usually permanent. Don't bother the figure under the rags much, all he wanted to do was to make his way with as little official notice as he could possibly do. Which when you considered just how big the Galaxy truly was and how unable most governments of any scope were of policing it, that wasn't too hard at all - altho this time it was hardly necessary, he wasn't going Coreward. His destination was lawless, a small unremarkable planet that had it's moment of note many many years ago named Arcan IV.

​Which when the message got to him nearly a 28 cycles ago, was probably the only thing that could have drawn him back into the Known Regions. Arcan IV, as unremarkable and lawless as it was...... he had history there.

​Master Hunter, greetings,

​
​I have word of that whom you seek. I will meet you at the usual place. I will have a Duck waiting.

No signature, no other markings. Delivered on flimsy. Someone making sure if the message was intercepted, it couldn't be traced back unless you knew the handwriting and the unusual spelling used.... even then it had taken him a while to recall whose scrawl it was as it had been.... how many years? And the usual place was..... so many years ago as well. So it really had remained after all of these years.

​The rags shifted and the humanoid pushed the old threadbare blankets off him. An older humanoid, unkept hair fringed by a hood, unshaven and unkept short beard, dark eyes and a nose that had seen a lot of fights. The other hand was revealed from under his cloak, this one real. Pushing himself to a seating position, he continued to observe the ship's hold, the beings and let the noise wash over him, along with the smells.

​Come ot think of it, maybe I should get a refresher at some point he thought, getting a whiff of four weeks of travel.

​

 

[Codename Turbogeek]

Time didn't mean much in hyperspace, but he knew that 12.15 percent of a Corucant day had past. Not much of course had changed - not much had changed in the three standard days that had passed except for the gambling and imbibing volume ebbing back and forth as beings either passed out or lucked out - but he still watched from his corner, leaning on his pack and the folded blankets. A couple of snitches of conversation, some signs of sleep, but mostly that unchanging dull roar and slight vibration of the freighter powering through the void of hyperspace. Not far from where he sat, another being, likewise watchful, back against the wall. It noticed the humanoid's casual glance, peered itself at the well worn cloak and boots that the humanoid was wearing.

"Your no drifter" it grunted. "Someone on Arcan gonna have a bad day?"

​Three days was enough for boredom to overcome his natural attitude of 'Don't bother me or I'll cut you'. Besides, he had seen this being keep to itself and never go out of it's way to interact with it's fellow passengers and this wasn't a random hello

​"Not this time"

​It stared at him under silicone eyebrows, eyes dark in colour but also seemingly backlit. "Other business that don't concern the bosses?"

​"Yes. Checking in with an old friend"

​"Ah" It didn't seem satisfied with that. "I not see you before. Bosses will be interested in what human like you is doing there"

​Now it twigged what the being was. Silicone based muscle but with a perfect memory if he recalled the species correct. Impervious to all except heavy blaster fire, generally used as criminal enforcers off their homeworld. "Not interested in anyone's business but mine on Arcan. I'd suggest they aren't interested in mine either"

"They still will ask. Don want anyone who makes a mess that draws attention"

​"No mess. If the last time I was at Arcan anything to go on, it stinks too much for me to want to stay"

​"Ha!. Still stinks. Not as bad as you, but smells bad still"

​"Does Jaquer Si'rat still live?"

​That shifted the attitude of the being. It gave him a quizzical look. "No. Died 70 Arcan years ago. A friend?"

​"He and I helped each other out occasionally. Had three sons. The youngest I knew well - I'm guessing he took over?"

​"Ay" Normally it would be hard to read but the being was definantly less on it's guard. "He would want you to drop in if you say what you mean - if he can raise himself off his deathbed. His son runs much now"

​"I can do that and introduce myself to his son. Who controls south of Arcan Spacesport these days, I seem to remember it was a Hutt last time?"

​"Still is. Problem?"

​"No. Just been a while". Too long and not long enough - for many, many years it had been his second home. Arcan IV was an ugly place filled with the scum of the galaxy but to him that's where he felt comfortable. And he had been away too long this time around on his search in the Unknown Regions. Even then, the last visits had been short interspliced with journeys far into the wild space over...... how many years now? "83 standard I believe"

​"Long time. Yes. How long you been coming to Arcan?"

​"Since...... just before Yogurt's Bar and Grill. That place still exists?"

​A low sound, of amazement from the pile of silicone "Yes. Long time".

He shifted and farted - a mind deafening noise that rumbled and echoed. Heads close to him turned, a few curious, a few with looks of utter disgust. That, he thought would have to be the ships rations. The being next to him seemed to shrug, not really caring at the smell that was now wafting around.

 

[Ferian Adair]

While it was true that his proclivities were well-suited to the aura of the place, Arcan IV was not somewhere the anachronistic man frequented: his thus far fruitless search for that girl lead him here, and had continued to be fruitless after a few hours on-world, which only served to intensify the underlying current of frustration and more present livid state he felt at her escape. What had happened exceeded his expectations for the experiments he had been conducting, but was also an unpredictable yet not entirely unexpected result. The Force, as a dyed-in-the-wool Jedi would no doubt put it, worked in mysterious ways. To him, however, this was a mere failure - learned from, and additional considerations adapted to - and he wanted to know more; for that, he'd need the girl and she wasn't here. Regardless, he had to bide his time until meeting a contact about a drug purported to do what a combination of two other substances did in his work, and was possibly more stable than that melange.

Still, there was more he could do planetside that would be a boon to his efforts. More subjects were always a good thing to have, but an apprentice would be innumerable times more desired, more useful, if he could find one that suited... one with brimming with nascent power, one that could be broken and remoulded seemed to be a tall order when coupled with the need for a strong constitution and mental fortitude. Perhaps, then, not here, was the summation of his thoughts on the matter, to which he uttered a curse and began to stalk back to his ship, feeling by and large that his time was being wasted, bowling over a distracted Jawa in the process.

The Jawa didn't take well to being near-trampled on, and started to give the much taller K'paur what for... until, that is, Ferian turned, casting upon the diminutive form an unsettling, pale gaze, and impressing upon it a small parcel of the full, rotten weight of his power, which seemed to make the Jawa forget all about its diatribe in favour of putting the most space possible between himself and the ancient.

His upper lip curled.

"Filthy creature."

But they all were. He turned heel, and continued on to the spaceport, and his ship.

 

[Codename Turbogeek]

Still the freighter rumbled it's slow way through Hyperspace, still his corner of the load space was his - but with a few more drifters of the variety that tended like being left alone by the wider population or had business that the wider population would be well advised to steer clear of we about, not just the silicone mobile rock form who was quietly doing business with a scarred mercenary. On a long boring run like this, it tended to happen as groups tended to form and move about. Let alone it was always a good idea to have someone watch your back due to theft.

Which he could see was about to happen.

A group of smaller humanoid furballs were close to where a few belongings had been placed, their owners watching over them. He could see the furballs were starting an argument - loudly.... and almost right on queue a bit of push and shove. He knew exactly what was coming next and the furballs didn't disappoint - they directed their pushing so that two of them "tripped" into the belongings, a couple of others "accidentally" bowling into the unwitting targets as a distraction. And if things went to plan the furballs would sort themselves out, apologise profusely but pocket a couple of valuables as they tumbled into the assorted belongings. Two of them that tumbled did get back up. The third grunted and tried to move, but it was like it had been hit with a tractor beam with it's paw locked holding a wallet. A few yells of surprise, cries of "THIEF!" more scuffles and cries of protest as the furballs were bought under control by some rather angry passengers.

​"Amateurs" grunted a humniod, attention going back to his deck of sabacc. Most of ones around him watched without a lot of interest as ship security arrived.

​"Looked like that idiot put it's mitt on a stun trap". Another human gave the now settling commotion another glance, then also went back to his cards

​"Didn't hear one go off but yeah. Your call"

Silcone rock pile shrugged. "Thieves on a freighter. They really don't have much imagination anyway. Wont have any after the captain is done with them"

​"Oh? Do they space thieves on this bucket?"

​"Nah. Not worth the effort. They'll just brig em and make sure they get dumped in shit after we make port"

​"HA!" Going to the right planet if they wanna drop em into shit. They got that open cesspit not far - last time I saw it the smell coud strip paint and I bet what was int he pit would eat transparisteel"

​The human took another glance away from his cards and at the now beign marched off furballs "That might be hard to get out of their hair"

​"Probably make it fall out"

​The group laughed and went back to what they were doing

​He just shifted about in his pile of rags, a bit of a grim smile creasing his hairsuit face. That furball probably got such a surprise when it found it couldn't move - it would have felt nothing, no stuntrap, no muscle locker gas... it wouldn't normally be his business but he would rather sleep than have something try to steal from him. Plus there might be the chance they put their hand on the wrong piece of steel and find out for a second the ball of rags was rather heavily armed. Freight captains after all hated cleaning up after a thief had their innards blown out with a slug thrower... and he knew that even if that was an excuse, some captains might well take the effort to throw you out an airlock as well.