Flyboy
OUTLAWS
DEAD MAN WALKING• ARKANIA SPACEPORT, SHADOWPORT KNIFE'S EDGE• WATCH OUT, SOMETHINGS OFF
Wedge fluttered his eyes open. The journey here, had been very taxing. Flying without a Droid had it's advantages, but too many. But he was now more than ever, right to avoid using one. Sith patrols here were often and plentiful, and Arkania was probably high up on their shitlist of places to hit next.
Rightfully, too.
Wedge was supposed to be guarding a new route from the Shadowport here, from Arkania along the back of a hyperlane to reach Coruscant. He'd nearly gotten killed on Nal Hutta getting away with the mapping plan. The plans were probably only good for a few weeks at most, the Sith were constantly, constantly shifting patrol patterns, Star Destroyer routes, the works. Smuggling was bad for them, and Wedge had caused a lot of damage inside the deep core.
But this mission felt different. Eight ships, three places to go inside. He'd guide them far enough in, and duck out and return back to safety at the shadowport once they were decently undetected. Smuggling in Sith space was even riskier, this time they were taking in weapons to dissenters. Wedge had a meeting in thirty minutes with the other Captains and Crew Members, final vetting and final planning. The weapons they were carrying were small arms and ammunition, enough to start at least, a minor rebellion and cause a good amount of damage to an Imperial garrison and keep the Sith that much more occupied.
Something, however, felt off. The weather was decently warm and the lights were good- the temperature controlled area meant that he wouldn't be facing Arkania's brutal cold. He pushed off of the metal container he was leaning on, and began to walk. However, all that training, all that pesky experience, kicked in. Some of the Shadowport denizens and ne'er-do-wells he passed looked... off.
Some were too clean. Some were too well groomed. Showered, even. He was clean as a whistle himself, but his hair and outfit gave it away. He carried a pistol, communicators, a wristwatch, not a lot of comms gear... but these new guys. Seemed too sharp. Faded haircuts. Muscles at the back and at the shoulders.
Who the hell were these guys...?
Wedge kept walking, and drew another cigarette from his pocket. A particular silver casing- stolen, engraved. Galidraani. He tapped the cigarette on the tin after removing it, and popped it in. He had a brief thought, of wondering where, what the owner of his stolen cigarette case would be doing. But he had a task to focus on, task to keep him... occupied. But the Shadowport felt off. And he wasn't the only one feeling it. So as he walked to the hangar to meet with the other Captains a single thought crossed into his mind-
Who the hell were those guys?