Character
HAMRA
WILD SPACE
Lancer "Deadlock" Inek
The clammy air clung to Hester’s face, a wall of close moisture that would threaten to drench her, were it not for the lacklustre yet just-about-efficient conditioning unit that attempted to bring a coolness to the room’s temperature and humidity.
She had gotten used to Hamra’s raging swelter, the arid dust a part of the everyday norm that was sitting as Chief in this brave new world. A lifetime of living on the tropical shores of her beloved Scarif, including her tenure as Viceroy, had trained her to adapt somewhat to the various climates found in this part of the galaxy.
She wasn’t too mindful today. She was staring down the barrel of a gun.
“You walk into my court, Petroff Herst, and demand double the pay? Did you do double the work?”
The well-armed and well-positioned human male shifted his weight, the blaster in his right hand never leaving his mark; the former Confederate Minister of Influence and now de factor governor of the planet Hamra, Hester Shedo. His helmet straps sat loose, his face fully revealed to the assembled throng dotted about the large chamber, housing a dais on which Hester had placed a large high-backed chair for her comfort. The other members of the assemblage cowered behind their stalls, Hester’s own soldiers aiming their pistols towards the interloper.
Hester had called for them to hold their fire until she could discern what Petroff’s intentions were.
The mercenary spoke.
“I did what was asked of me, no more, no less. But you lied to me.”
Hester smirked.
“Facts and details are to be shared as liberally or as scantily as the situations warrants.”
The mercenary strengthened his repose, letting out an exasperated cry.
“I lost my entire crew, you banshee!”
“A fault that cannot be placed at my feet. Herst. You accepted the risks and you accepted my cash! You failed the job and I want my money back.”
Herst stood with his back to the main chamber door, hoping that he was to be undisturbed as he held the once-powerful politician hostage.
WILD SPACE

The clammy air clung to Hester’s face, a wall of close moisture that would threaten to drench her, were it not for the lacklustre yet just-about-efficient conditioning unit that attempted to bring a coolness to the room’s temperature and humidity.
She had gotten used to Hamra’s raging swelter, the arid dust a part of the everyday norm that was sitting as Chief in this brave new world. A lifetime of living on the tropical shores of her beloved Scarif, including her tenure as Viceroy, had trained her to adapt somewhat to the various climates found in this part of the galaxy.
She wasn’t too mindful today. She was staring down the barrel of a gun.
“You walk into my court, Petroff Herst, and demand double the pay? Did you do double the work?”
The well-armed and well-positioned human male shifted his weight, the blaster in his right hand never leaving his mark; the former Confederate Minister of Influence and now de factor governor of the planet Hamra, Hester Shedo. His helmet straps sat loose, his face fully revealed to the assembled throng dotted about the large chamber, housing a dais on which Hester had placed a large high-backed chair for her comfort. The other members of the assemblage cowered behind their stalls, Hester’s own soldiers aiming their pistols towards the interloper.
Hester had called for them to hold their fire until she could discern what Petroff’s intentions were.
The mercenary spoke.
“I did what was asked of me, no more, no less. But you lied to me.”
Hester smirked.
“Facts and details are to be shared as liberally or as scantily as the situations warrants.”
The mercenary strengthened his repose, letting out an exasperated cry.
“I lost my entire crew, you banshee!”
“A fault that cannot be placed at my feet. Herst. You accepted the risks and you accepted my cash! You failed the job and I want my money back.”
Herst stood with his back to the main chamber door, hoping that he was to be undisturbed as he held the once-powerful politician hostage.