Guns and Freedom-Smuggler Run to Annaj

[RC 212]

Dock at Annaj

Another day another cred. Least that what they said out in the verse.

Today brought the S.S. Liberty right down into a berth on Morgans old Stomping grounds. Annaj.

Clad in a duster and with a Czerka machine pistol at his side, the man stepped down the ramp of the old beat up Washburn. The hydraulics whirred, crusty and old. Finally the ramp hit earth with a thud. Tanya, his sister was there, working the grav sled they had in the center of their cargo hold. A bothan and a Human helped unload the crates from hidey holes, and passed them on down to the sled.

He was here at the behest of the underground, delivering Disruptor Pistols to a few agents they had strategically placed here. From Demonsgate, up the Rimma to Sullust. Then a short hop west along the Sanctuary Pipeline.

Anything but really, He mused.

Risky work, but the money was good.

A custom Officer approached, in a crisp starched black Coat and Cap.

"Name?"

"Garold Tanak."

He raised an eyebrow and consulted the data pad. Two troopers beside him, opened their scanning devices.

"I have no record of you or your Ship expected to land here."

Morgan nodded, adjusted his ballcap and fished around, until he produced a singular chip.

"Here's our manifest. Ship registry is the Lone Star. We're just doing a routine drop off. Food, Medical supplies, that sort O' thing."

Tanya approached, pulling her hair back in a bun.

"Issues?"

"Dunno. Seem's like our friend here want's to starve out the poor Orphanage," Morgan replied, lighting a massive Cigar.

"That's not the case is it?"

 

[RC 212]

Dock at Annaj

The Customs Officer snorted.

Morgan released a huge cloud of sweet Endor Tabacco smoke into the air, and tucked his other hand into his belt, by the thumb.

"Relax bud. Got some extra creds if that'll suit ya."

"Most assuredly not. My troopers will be conducting a full inspection of your hold Mister Tanak. If that is your real name."

Morgan smiled.

"That really necessary haus?"

Two troopers cuffed Tanya, whom struggled and launched a kick into a troopers shin. His Bothan companion Tarval appeared with a DL-44 to the Customs Officers back. Morgan laughed.

"Sneaky like that Bothans are."

And then Evelyn emerged from a cargo hold, and got the drop on the two troopers, with twin sawed off shotguns leveled at their heads. They spun, and raised their blasters on her. The Officer drew his sidearm and plated the bore firmly into Morgans chest.

"No one moves, or we all die."

Morgan raised both hands palms facing the Officer.

"Ok ok, everyone chill. Looks like we got ourselves a good Ol' Jawa Standoff eh?"

 

[Progflaw99]

Since the return of the First Order's expeditionary fleet to controlled space, the Bureau had also changed its focus. Gone were the mandates that had retasked agents to the border worlds and beyond. Their gaze now fell to the interior. Weeks had gone by, staff shifting from one post to the next. Even the leadership seemed to be changing. Val's latest assignment had been one she'd nearly guffawed at, originally thought tasked in error. Much to her chagrin it had been confirmed correct. Tracking shipments, monitoring invoices, managing intel - it was a far cry from the field work she was accustomed to. Mundane even. Wryly, she thought, she should have seen this coming from a mile away. Accepting a promotion had sealed her fate, relegating her to more administrative duties over those she'd enjoyed so much as a field agent.

Absentmindedly she tapped the end of the cigar she held between her fingers against the tray on her desk. The red hot cherry on the end flaring as she brought it to her lips for a quick intake of the sweet tobacco. As the nicotine worked its way into her system she began to perk up, eyes questioningly searching for the clock. *It had been that long afterall* she thought. Minutes had turned into hours and hours had turned into an all night affair. It explained why she felt so tired. A subtle chirp from the screen beside her set her hand in motion, resting the cigar gently in the tray. *What's this now?* It took the seasoned agent only a millisecond to determine the source of the chirp. A shipment had just been flagged. Unusual flight activity and unverified plans had been fairly common as of late. With the First Order's Navy in full on recovery mode there just hadn't been as much effort to policing the interior, instead their focus on the existing borders of the Order's galactic footprint. *Which was exactly why they've tasked me with something like this.* thought the agent. A quick flick of her finger and the hangar came up on the screen, figures moving and talking. Then suddenly, weapons had been pointed and Val practically saw the temperature rise. *Fething hells.*

In the blink of an eye she'd risen from her seat, slipped on her gunbelt, and flattened her uniform. Though it wasn't really her style, the cover as a senior customs enforcement officer had served her well. The Customs workers hadn't questioned her presence and anyone outside of that wouldn't have questioned her authority in any case. Only a stone's throw away from the hangar in question, it took her less than a minute to arrive from behind the overzealous officer and his companions. Stepping up to intervene as the barrel of the weapon was placed center of the man's chest she made eye contact with the man at gunpoint.

"Woah there chief." she said as she applied downward pressure on the man's arms, forcing him to lower the weapon. "I'm sure there's a simple explanation for this situation, no needin' to make a mess of it. Stand down." A red flush had taken over the officer's features, no doubt equal parts frustrated and embarrassed. His troopers hesitantly obeyed the woman's order. Turning to address the man who'd had his hands in the air she apologized, flashing a genuine smile. "Sorry there friend, dangerous times, ya know?" In an instant she'd retrieved the datapad from the other Officer, eyeballing the manifest and ship name before looking back to Morgan. "Garold is it? You'll have to pardon my staff, been a bit jumpy as of late. Can we all lower our weapons here? No need for a bloodbath." Holding one hand at shoulder level and the clipboard in the other she made it clear that the weapon on her belt was an afterthought.

[member="Morgan Daniel"] | [member="The Major"]​

 

[Valessia Brentioch]

It had been, well, years since Valessia had wandered in First Order space.

She and Gunther left before their first child was born and to be back now, the woman wondered if it was all just a mistake. There was an odd feeling about being back, a rather unsettling notion to be honest. A plush life between Brentaal IV and now the Sith Empire offered little in the way of entertainment. She had returned to her roots, criminal as they were. She was en route to Dosuun the route had been cleared, twice. A small stop on Annaj for a personal matter, a special deal. With the First Order focusing on the interior there would be an increase in security. No more loop holes to exploit, at least for now, the deal had concluded and the on and off again apprentice of Darth Prazutis should have been headed back to her ship.

Should.

She paused a moment at the sound of commotion and thought nothing of it. A flickering thought of investigation soon died much like the interest in remaining in First Order space any longer than she had too. Next stop on her list would be Bavva and so as she pushed forward heading back for her relic of a ship, the Phantom. Valessia couldn't help the nagging feeling that she should stick around. Right, one quick second to listen in wouldn't hurt matters. The woman was more than confident that the First Order had it well in hand, still. Valessia pulled her gloves from her hand and made her way toward the source of the commotion, just as the sound of it died down.

[member="Val Kordova"] | [member="Morgan Daniel"] | [member="The Major"]

 

[RC 212]

[member="Val Kordova"] [member="Valessia Creed"]

Dock at Annaj

It didn't take long for the suits to show up. Just such a thing was to be expected on a First Order world. He didn't know exactly what this woman's angle was here, but damn she looked good.

He winked and motioned downwards with his palms. Towards his own crew.

"Put em up folks, no need to be uncivilized."

His own hands tucked back into his belt followed by the sound of weapons clanking as they returned to their holsters.

The cigar still hung idly from the right corner of his mouth. Then he reached up and adjusted his ball-cap, and gave his beard a little itch. Beards always itched when you were a grimy spacer. Something about the lack of decent refreshers did that to ya.

"So anyhow like I was sayin Darlin' I'm Garold Tanak. This here's my ship the S.S. Prancer and we are delivering a cargo of food stuffs and medical supplies to the Orphanage here. Medpacks, Grain from Tython, that sort of thing. Odd's and Ends."

 

[Progflaw99]

The rough looking spacer seemed to have a somewhat seasoned crew - their obedience near immediate as everyone's weapons were replaced. He commanded a presence familiar to the woman, anyone in command of anything usually did. A veteran spacer, likely. Val could practically feel the heat off the officer she'd interrupted behind her, seething. Under normal circumstances she wouldn't have even given the situation a second thought but most important under the latest of the Ministry of Security's foci was that of order. She'd be damned if it was going to be on her watch that they ended up on the holo-net. "Thank you, Mr. Tanak." Without looking she motioned to the customs officer behind her. "Give me the manifest and the logs."

Stepping forwards, then back, the datapad was handed to her. At a cursory glance she could tell that it was indeed unscheduled - but that shouldn't have mattered. It was common, especially with the space lanes in disarray as the First Order transitioned its fleets from the newly abandoned 'Mandate Territory'. As she perused the data for a silent moment the Officer behind Val's eyebrow raised as the pilot spoke. A moment later he had stepped forward, whispering into her ear. She seemed to pause, process the information, and quietly hummed. "Which Orphanage is that again?" she prodded, looking up from the datascreen in her hands. Val seemed unbothered by what the officer had whispered - her reaction little more than a quiet nod. "And you said, the S.S. Prancer? The Manifest here says the Lone Star." Expectantly she met eyes with the grizzled spacer, her toe developing a gentle tap as she waited for an explanation with a raised eyebrow.

[member="Morgan Daniel"] | [member="Valessia Creed"]​