Private Red Dagger Down

[Vashra Foss]

The hyperspace tunnel collapsed into starlines, then snapped into the ugly orange haze of Mek-Sha's system.

From the cockpit viewport the asteroid looked exactly like what it was: a half-dead mining rock wrapped in scrap metal and bad decisions, its surface pocked with glowing refinery vents and the flickering scars of old explosions.

The intercom crackled. A familiar reedy voice slithered over the channel as slimy as the Rodians gums.

"Chut chut, Red Dagger! Mek-Sha Traffic Control – eh, rodo!" (Hello Red Dagger, this is Mek-Sha traffic control. Respond) Even if that rock would see enough traffic to warrant a control center nobody would care.

Iftak was forever cracking jokes.

Maybe before long his neck bones would crack too.

"Hello traffic control." Vashra relied, her sarcasm probably lost on the frog, "I have your package."


"Vashra, N'ee chuba da Wermo! Hoo jew BYOO? Da slicer gree untouched, Hassk?" (Vashra, my favorite human! You have BYOO? The slicer is unharmed, yesss?)She leaned against the ladder to the cockpit, voice cool, almost bored.
"BYOO's in the brig, zip-tied and gagged like you asked. Five- thousand credits wired to my account the second I touch down, Iftak. And this time the exchange happens inside my ship. I don't step onto your filthy rock until I see the money hit. Clear?"A pause. Too long.Then nervous laughter.

"Nyasoo wupi jee, jee tah. Docking Bay Nine. Meega no bata!" (Always so careful, little dancer. Of course, of course. Docking Bay Nine. I come alone.)

Vashra killed the channel without answering.

Little dancer? Yes, his neck bones would snap. Vashra made a mental note that if she ever got a chance to kill Iftak she would do it with her bare hands.

She didn't trust alone. She didn't trust Iftak breathing. The Red Dagger banked hard, thrusters flaring as it lined up on the scarred landing scar of Bay Nine, a crater gouged into Mek-Sha's crust centuries ago and never bothered to repair. Rust-red floodlights painted the crater walls the color of dried blood. A single figure waited on the deck: Iftak, lime-green skin glistening under the lamps, flanked by two loader droids that definitely weren't there for cargo. Alone was different. Vashra let the freighter hover above the ground, engines whining softly in standby mode.

She she keyed the external speakers. "Money first, frog. Send the confirmation code.And send away the droids. Then, and only then, your slicer walks out."Iftak spread his hands in mock innocence. His snout twitched.

"Oota goota, nabo biznesz Vashra? Chuba." (Always business with you, Vashra. One moment…)

He tapped something on his wrist comm.Thirty meters away, half-buried under slag and forgotten gantries, a concealed turret whined to life.
Twin barrels, old Clone Wars surplus, rose from the crater rim like a waking predator. Vashra saw the targeting laser kiss her cockpit viewport and her reflexes beat technology a quarter-second before the first bolt hit. The Red Dagger rolled and took the hit with its hull plating instead of the plasteel window.

It was bad enough though.
The world exploded. The anti-starship round punched through shields like they were tissue, slammed into the Red Dagger's belly, and detonated.

Alarms screamed. The deck bucked beneath her boots.
Second bolt, third, fourth, the turret walking fire across her hull with mechanical patience. Vashra was already moving, sprinting forward as the freighter lurched sideways, engines dying in showers of sparks.
She slammed the emergency harness in the cockpit just as gravity flipped. The Red Dagger rolled, screaming metal, trailing fire and debris, and fell.It hit the crater floor nose-first at a forty-degree angle.Impact was a white hammer.

The cockpit crumpled. Viewport shattered into a spiderweb.
Vashra's harness snapped taut, ribs creaking, teeth clacking together hard enough to taste blood. Then silence, broken only by the hiss of escaping air and the distant, triumphant chittering of a Rodian laughing over open comms. Dust and smoke billowed through the shattered hull.

Somewhere aft, BYOO was screaming behind his gag.
Vashra spat blood, unclipped the harness with shaking fingers, and drew her BE-09.She smiled, thin and sharp."Alright, Iftak," she whispered to the burning cockpit. "You want to play for keeps?"

"Let's play."

Plover

 

[Plover]

The dagger flipped over in the air once, then again, and now a third time. Each time it came down, slender pale fingers would grasp the hilt and toss it back up once more, its razor sharp blade reflecting the little available light there was in the dimly lit room.

It had been three days since the "Ghost" had arrived on this rock floating in space. There was nothing glamorous about it, but she had seen worse places and being here gave he time to think about her next destination.

Her last job, a "reduction of the Hutt influence in Teth" as her benefactor had labeled the task to her, left her coffers filled to the brim and more credits were added when she landed on this desolate rock and presented an old relic left behind at an abandoned monastery by monks of the B'omarr Order. A trinket that the Hutts had come in ownership of during their explorations of the ruins that apparently held some sort of mystical charm and thus held value that Venya made hers and then used as payment to "disappear for a few days" to a Rodian named Iftak that seemed to be in charge of this place, whatever it was.

Venya would lie low here for a few more days. The search for whoever or whatever took down some of the elite of the Hutt operation on Teth would likely by then pass by and she would be in the clear to move on to her next stop. Where that was, well, she had no idea as of yet. She would keep a close watch on news coming across on her data pad. Perhaps a clue there would lead her to her next job.

The roar of engines now echoed through the corridor outside of the room she was in. This was nothing new or unexpected as the little rock did seem to get some traffic from time to time. It was not that which caught the attention of the Rattataki, it was what happened next.

"Money first, frog. Send the confirmation code. And send away the droids. Then, and only then, your slicer walks out," said a voice coming through an intercom, no doubt of the ship that just arrived. She would hear a reply made by the Rodian, but what was said was not distinguishable over the roar of the engines. However, there was little doubt as what the next sound was as the sound of turrets firing echoed through the corridor now and brought Venya to her feet.

Sheathing the dagger she had been tossing in boredom, the "Ghost of Rattatak" made her way to where the corridor led into the docking bay that the ship was precariously hovering in. The work of the turrets evident on the ship's hull and across the way stood Iftak, a smug look on his less than comely reptilian face.

Keeping to the shadows, the Rattataki would watch to see what would happen next.

Vashra Foss

 

[Vashra Foss]

The crater floor of Docking Bay Nine was a jagged graveyard of twisted metal and smoldering debris, the air thick with the acrid bite of burnt wiring and scorched durasteel. The*Red Dagger* lay broken, its nose buried in the ground, hull groaning under its own weight like a wounded beast. Smoke curled from shattered panels, and sparks hissed sporadically in the dim glow of Mek-Sha's rust-red floodlights.
Above, the turret's barrels whined as they swiveled, searching for a target, but their angle was too steep now—Vashra's crashed ship sat in a blind spot, untouchable for the moment.

Vashra crouched near a fractured viewport in the cockpit, her breath shallow but steady, gray-green eyes sharp despite the blood trickling from a cut on her forehead. Her BE-09 blaster was warm in her grip, finger hovering over the trigger. The harness had bruised her ribs, every inhale a dull ache, but pain was an old friend—she'd grown up with worse on Nar Shaddaa. She wiped blood from her lip with the back of her hand, her smirk cold and dangerous.

Outside, Iftak's loader droids clanked closer, their servos whining over the uneven terrain. Their optics glowed a sickly yellow, scanning for movement, heavy manipulator arms raised like crude weapons. Beyond them, Iftak's lime-green snout peeked from behind a half-dismantled speeder bike, its frame stripped to skeletal bars and dangling wires. His bulbous eyes darted nervously, his earlier cackling replaced by tense silence. Caution had finally kicked in.

Good.

Vashra liked her prey rattled.She steadied her aim through the jagged hole in the viewport, shards of plasteel digging into her leather-clad elbow. The first droid's optic cluster came into view—perfect target. A single crimson bolt snapped out, punching through the lens with a shower of sparks. The machine staggered, circuits frying with a pitiful screech, before collapsing into a heap of twitching metal.

The second droid pivoted toward the shot's origin, too slow. Vashra's next bolt caught it square in the power core; it shuddered violently, then exploded in a small fireball, scattering shrapnel across the crater floor. Now Iftak was alone.

"Nice try, frog," Vashra called out, her voice cutting through the smoky haze, laced with venom and mock amusement. She shifted position slightly, keeping low but ensuring Iftak could hear her loud and clear.

"Seems we've got a Corellian standoff here. You downed my ship, sure, but I've still got your slicer. Somehow, I don't think your client will be thrilled if you sacrifice their precious cargo just to settle a personal grudge."

From behind the speeder bike, Iftak let out a nervous chitter, his voice trembling over the open comm still crackling in Vashra's earpiece. "Chuba na boola, Vashra! Mee no wamma slicer koochu! Jee-jee tinka deal, yesss? Noddo mo shoota!" (You're crazy, Vashra! I don't want the slicer dead! We can rethink this deal, yes? No more shooting!)

Vashra's lips curled into a predatory grin, though her eyes never left the speeder bike, scanning for any sign of movement or backup. She could hear BYOO still whimpering in the brig below, tied up and useless—a bargaining chip worth more alive than dead, at least for now. Her mind raced, calculating odds. Iftak was a coward when cornered, but he wasn't stupid. He'd try something—another trap, maybe, or hired muscle creeping in from the shadows of Mek-Sha's labyrinthine slums.

"Deal?" she spat back, letting her tone drip with disdain as she checked her blaster's charge—still plenty of juice for a few more lessons in manners.

"Here's my deal, slimeball. You wire me five-thousand credits—plus twenty-thousand for my ship—and you get your slicer in one piece. Otherwise, I drag him out here myself and we see how much of him is left after I'm done venting my frustrations. Your call."

A long pause followed, filled only by the distant hiss of leaking pipelines and the faint hum of Mek-Sha's failing infrastructure echoing through the bay. Iftak's snout twitched visibly behind his cover, his suction-cupped fingers drumming on the speeder frame. Finally, his voice slithered back over the comm, quieter now, almost pleading. "Tee-toka… Chuba steela mee armpit! Bu… meega thinka.( You're robbing me blind! But… I'll consider it. Give me time, yes?)

"Time's not on your side, Iftak," Vashra shot back, her voice hard as durasteel. She glanced around, reflexes buzzing, ears straining for any sound of approaching trouble—boots on gravel, droid servos, anything. "You've got five minutes to send that confirmation code before I start carving up your investment down there. And trust me, frog, I'm real good with a blade."

She settled back against the cockpit wall, blaster still trained on the speeder bike's silhouette through the viewport. Five minutes was generous—too generous—but it gave her a window to plan her next move. Mek-Sha was a cesspool of opportunity if you knew where to strike, and Vashra always struck first. Iftak was surely up to something..

Plover

 

[Plover]

Vashra Foss

The Rattataki observed from her place in the shadows. A business deal gone bad? An opportunity for herself perhaps? Some more silent observations might shed more light on what was transpiring here.

"Seems we've got a Corellian standoff here. You downed my ship, sure, but I've still got your slicer. Somehow, I don't think your client will be thrilled if you sacrifice their precious cargo just to settle a personal grudge."

The voice from inside the cripple ship would say. A slicer? Hmm, must be a person of value. But how much and to whom? Venya was not a bounty hunter. Her work usually left someone or someones dead. Was there a price on the head of this slicer? Was there a price even if they were dead? The Ghost would think some more. Usually a slicer was needed for a particular need that someone had, so bringing them in dead would likely not merit her credits. She would listen further.

"Chuba na boola, Vashra! Mee no wamma slicer koochu! Jee-jee tinka deal, yesss? Noddo mo shoota!" (You're crazy, Vashra! I don't want the slicer dead! We can rethink this deal, yes? No more shooting!)

Ahh, so the Rodian did need the slicer alive, that's where their value lay. Interesting. Venya wondered who he was working for? Who needed this slicer onboard the crippled vessel? No doubt a sizeable price was being paid if he all of the sudden wanted to stop the shooting.

"Here's my deal, slimeball. You wire me five-thousand credits—plus twenty-thousand for my ship—and you get your slicer in one piece. Otherwise, I drag him out here myself and we see how much of him is left after I'm done venting my frustrations. Your call."

Five thousand credits? Hmm, Venya was used to higher sums for the work she did, but to the Rodian the slicer likely had a higher value. Were they worth the price for exchanging hands and fixing the ship though?

"Tee-toka… Chuba steela mee armpit! Bu… meega thinka.( You're robbing me blind! But… I'll consider it. Give me time, yes?)

Give him time? Hmm, that sounds like they are stalling for option two, their option where they get the slicer alive and don't pay a damned credit for anything. Venya grinned as her pale grey eyes went back to the ship to await what the response of the pilot might be.

"You've got five minutes to send that confirmation code before I start carving up your investment down there. And trust me, frog, I'm real good with a blade."

Five minutes? Generous...or foolish. The assassin held her spot. She had five minutes to spare and this little drama had brighten up her otherwise ho-hum day.

 

[Vashra Foss]

The tension in the air thickened as Iftak's nervous chittering was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps echoing across the docking bay. Vashra's instincts kicked in, and she tightened her grip on the BE-09, heart racing in anticipation.

Emerging from the shadows were four armed thugs, each a different species, their weapons drawn and ready. A hulking Wookiee, a lean Twi'lek with ornate tattoos, a grizzled Devaronian reminiscent of a devil in flesh, and a stocky Rodian, each exuding a palpable aura of menace. They moved with practiced precision, flanking Iftak and closing the gap between him and Vashra."Looks like your friends have come to join the party," Vashra called out, her voice laced with mockery as she shifted her aim to the group. "Tell them to back off, Iftak. I'm not interested in a dance.""

"Nu shushon ko sli. Nu shushon ko dye yousa!" (I want no slicer. I want you dead!) Iftak screamed, his voice high-pitched and frantic, as he pointed a trembling finger toward her.

Now the Loth cat was out of he bag. Pleasure before business. Alright Iftak. Now it´s you or me. Kid gloves are off.

The Wookiee let out a guttural growl and charged forward, blaster rifle raised to unleash hell. Vashra's reflexes kicked in, and she fired without hesitation. The crimson bolt caught the Wookiee in the chest, staggering him back, but not before he unleashed a volley of blaster fire. The shots whizzed past Vashra's head, singeing her hair as she ducked behind the wreckage of the Red Dagger."Nice try!" she shouted, pivoting to get a better angle.




Plover

 

[Plover]

Venya watched with interest as the four entered this poor excuse of a docking bay. A slight grin broke across her face as she spoke softly to herself, "Well now, this is becoming more and more interesting."
The verbal exchange now over and the exchange of blaster fire taking its place, Venya felt the itch to get involved. Why should they all be having fun while she was on the path to a slow death by the hands of boredom.
Looking to her left wrist, the Rattataki would press a few buttons on the screen of a wrist worn data pad. After pressing the last button, she would disappear from sight, the effect of a personal cloaking shield she had come by after a lucrative job on Nar Shaada. Stepping unseen from the shadows, her right hand would now reach down to her right thigh and take hold of the DL-44 Heavy Blaster that had been strapped there for an occasion such as this.
Blaster in hand and at the ready, the Ghost made her way into the landing area and circled behind Iftak and his group of four thugs. Venya had no skin in this game, no dog in this fight, so her mind worked through her options, calculating whose side would garner her the best reward.
Having been on this floating piece of space waste for the past several days to let the world around her cool off, she had come to know a little about Iftak and his gruesome foursome. Other than smelling too ripe for anyone to get close to and adding to her boredom with their hardly true stories of heroic deeds, she had no quarrel with them. She would wait here a few more days and then, with a feeling that the trail of any bounty hunters or lawmen were no longer to hot to handle, she would make her way to another distant sector of the galaxy to seek another promising job.
Now, the voice on the ship lying crippled on the docking bay floor she knew nothing about. Well, almost nothing. She knew this person held a slicer that seemed to have some value. Was that enough though to offer her aid?
The Ghost would continue circling.
When Venya reached the controls that operated the gun turrets, she switched them off. The odds were already stacked heavily against the pilot of the downed ship, it seemed only fair to even things out a bit.
And then, with a careful aim that showed years of practice, the Rattataki made her choice. A bolt form her blaster slammed into the back of the head of the Twi'lek. Lurching forward, the Twi'lek would faceplant into the hard stone of the docking bay floor and lie motionless. Venya would grin and like a ghost, moved silently to a new position under the cover of her cloaking device. Her choice made, she would aid the voice in the ship and even if it didn't turn out to be profitable, at least it would be a cure for her boredom.
Vashra Foss

 

[Vashra Foss]

Vashra's eyes narrowed as a bolt of crimson light streaked across the docking bay, striking the Twi'lek squarely in the back of the head. The alien crumpled to the ground without a sound, the thud echoing ominously in the chaos of the docking bay.

What the …?

Sniper or what?

Despite her fabled reflexes Vashra barely had time to register the sudden turn of events before the stout Rodian, began to shoot at random in all directions, some bolts directed towards Vashra while the others surged through the docking bay tryig to hit something invisible. The Rodians bulbous eyes bulbous eyes flickered between Vashra´s hiding place in the Red Dagger and the downed Twi'lek, confusion etching his features as he laid aste to the already run-.down docking bay, hoping to take out whatever had hit the Twi´lek.

"Chuk—?" he stammered, just as another blaster bolt, seemingly from nowhere, struck him in the chest. He staggered back, his weapon slipping from his grasp before he collapsed, limbs twitching.

Having family issues now, Iftak? Definitely not a sniper. The shot otiginated from around here. Apparently out of thin air.

Vashra's heart raced, and her instincts screamed at her. She had been trained to trust no one, yet this unexpected assistance had shifted the odds in her favor. She scanned the area, searching for the source of the mystery aid but came up as empty as the now deceased goons.

Trust aside, Vashra was not someone to waste a chance when it presented itself. Wherever the help came from it. The Devaronian dove for cover behind the speeder bike wreckage where Iftak was already hiding. Too bad he was much taller than the slimy frog. A trio of crimson blaster bolts blew off his horns purely for style and then his head for substance before he could crouch down.

Now it was only Vashra, Iftak and the invisible blaster hand…

"Hey frog," Vashra called out, hardly able to hide the triumph in her voice , "Looks like I´m coming for you…"

Well, she would, while watching out for invisible shootists.

Plover

 

[Plover]

Venya could hardly contain herself as she started to chuckle. She hadn't had this much fun for...well, a few days at least. Nothing like killing boredom with killing some thugs.
The chuckle of the Rattataki would be heard on Iftak's right side. He would spin to where the sound was, but see only air.
"Keen-ow uhn chuba, nadda!" (Show yourself, coward!) he would shout out to the empty space before jumping and spinning around as his shoulder was tapped.
At first he saw nothing, but then, a shimmer in the air turned into the Rattataki that had been hiding herself in the safety of his facility.
"Hee! Rattataki! Neee wanna wanga duupi tee?" (You! Rattataki! What do you think you are doing?)
Venya would continue to chuckle, pale blue eyes dancing with glee as her DL-44 Heavy Blaster was held steady at the Rodian's forehead.
"Ahh, you know Iftak, a girl needs to have some fun from time to time and you and the boys were just not showing me a good time, well, until now."
Circling around the Rodian so he was once more between her and the Red Dagger's pilot, she would continue to speak in a voice as smooth as silk.
"And it seemed to me that you had whoever is in the ship there at a disadvantage with your turrets and thugs. Shame on you."
Iftak would have his hands up, a noticeable trembling could be seen in them as his head swiveled back and forth between the ship and the Rattataki.
"Ji raktee chu, Rattataki? Yo ji raktee, odee yeekee!" (What is your price, Rattataki? Name your price and you will have it!) the Rodian would plead.
"Price? Oh, there is no price, Iftak. The fun of getting to shoot a little was compensation enough. I think I may have been getting a bit rusty sitting here these past few days. I was trying to shoot your Twi'lek friend in the knee. Perhaps one more shot to get back into form? Hmm, and since I can only see you..."
Iftak would let out a screech and hunch down as he prepared for the blaster bolt to come. All he would hear though was Venya's chuckle echoing around the landing pad.
"Ahh, well, since your quarrel is with the pilot in the ship you put down, I will let them decide your fate. No hard feelings, I hope."
Once more the chuckle of the Rattataki would fill the air.
Vashra Foss

 

[Vashra Foss]

From her vantage point behind the fractured viewport of the Red Dagger, Vashra Foss watched the scene unfold with a predator's focus. Her gray-green eyes narrowed as a shimmer in the air near Iftak solidified into a figure—a pale, wiry Rattataki woman, her blaster aimed squarely at the trembling Rodian's forehead.

Vashra's lips curled into a faint, dangerous smirk. So, this was the ghost who'd tipped the scales in her favor. The docking bay, still thick with the stench of burnt wiring and scorched flesh, seemed to hold its breath as the two figures faced off.Vashra couldn't catch every word over the faint crackle of her earpiece and the hiss of leaking conduits, but she heard enough. Snippets of the Rattataki's smooth, taunting voice drifted across the crater floor -something about "fun" and "disadvantage." Iftak's panicked chittering was louder, his bulbous eyes darting between the cloaked stranger and the wreckage of Vashra's ship. It didn't take a genius to piece it together: this newcomer wasn't Iftak's ally.

She was a wildcard, and for now, she was playing on Vashra's side. Leaning slightly out of the shattered viewport, Vashra kept her blaster trained on Iftak, just in case the frog got any bright ideas. Her voice cut through the smoky air, sharp and commanding, but with a hint of calculated charm. "Hey, ghost! Nice shooting. Seems we've got a mutual interest in making this slimeball squirm."She paused, letting her words sink in as she sized up the Rattataki from afar. Pale blue eyes gleamed with mischief, and that steady grip on the blaster spoke of experience. Vashra liked what she saw -a potential asset, not just a momentary savior.

Her mind raced with possibilities, always three steps ahead. Mek-Sha was a pit of vipers, and having someone like this on her payroll could be the edge she needed. "How about a deal?" Vashra called out, her tone businesslike but edged with a wry grin. "You've got a taste for sport, and I've got no love for this frog. Hunt Iftak down for kicks - take your time, enjoy the chase. Meanwhile, I'll auction off the slicer in my brig to the highest bidder. Going forward, you get ten percent of my profits on every job, after I deduct repair costs for my ship."

She tilted her head, her voice dropping to a pointed jab as she glared at Iftak. "Unless, of course, our friend here can be*persuaded* to cover the damages to the Red Dagger. "What do you say, stranger? Partners?"

Vashra shifted her weight, her heavy boots crunching against broken plasteel as she kept her blaster's sights locked on Iftak. Her ribs ached from the crash, and blood still trickled from the cut on her forehead, but she didn't flinch. Pain was temporary; profit wasn't. She watched the Rattataki closely, waiting for a response, her instincts buzzing. Trust wasn't in her vocabulary, but a mutually beneficial arrangement? That was a language she spoke fluently. Perhaps the ghost-like woman did as well.

Plover

 

[Plover]

Venya smirked as she listened to the voice coming from the downed ship. Her smirk grew wider as she watched the Rodian squirm.

"Gookie! No hokay see that filth! Hee hee hee, she no trusty!" (Don't listen to that filth. She can't be trusted.) he would say as he started to plead with the pale assassin. "Chuba! Ieieie! More better deal, eh? You get 25% bounty, no docking fee charge from Greedo!"

The Rattataki's eyes could not hide the glee she was feeling at the moment, whether from a better deal or perhaps just the sight of the groveling Rodian cowering before her.

Venya would play along, "Ahh, how sweet. You know the way to my heart. I do like the sound of more credits to line my pockets. My tastes are for the finer things in life and those things don't come cheap."

Those pale blue pools would look over to the ship now. "You heard him, Sweetie. Any counter offer?" she would ask as she made sure to place herself in a position where a blaster bolt could not serve as an answer.
Vashra Foss

 

[Vashra Foss]

Despite being caught between a rock and a hard place Vashra almost smiled. The Rattataki was a kindred soul which made her even more dangerous but also more fun. She was someone you could do business with.

"Credits talk to both of us," she called down from her ship, "So I know where you are coming from. My counter offer? First, off there is no bounty on my head that I know of so Iftak can share 25% of nothing with you if you kill me. The only marketable item would be the slicer and he would be dead before you get aboard. I´m not even sure what he is worth to whom or if Iftak just has a personal grudge against him like he has against me. Whatever he is worth you have half of it just for the pleasure to see Iftak die but if you disappointed in the end it´s not my problem. Third, he has already lied twice to me today and I didn´t even have breakfast yet. How honest would he be to you? Fourth I´m much more fun to be around than the frog."

Either this would work out of Vashra would have to deal with the ghost woman. Iftak minus his artillery was less of a problem.

Plover

 

[Plover]

Venya's pale blue eyes twinkled with delight as she listened. She had no idea who this pilot was or what they were all about, but they sure did a fine job of breaking up the boredom laced day and the certainly had some grit about them, more than this Rodian did.
Iftak would look at the Rattataki and start his protest.

"Neee, gonko yousa no gonna listen to dis, kee..." (Certainly you are not going to listen to this...). His protest was cut short by a blaster bolt to the forehead. His lifeless body dropped into a heap before the Ghost who looked at him for a moment with a slight grin on her pale face. Holstering her blaster, she would look up to the ship once more and shout out,

"Very well, Captain. I accept your offer. Requesting permission to come aboard."

Her movements were silent and effortless as she took her first steps towards the ship, hands raised to show she was holding no other weapon.
Vashra Foss

 

[Vashra Foss]

Watching Iftak die was a pleasure for Vashra, happened a bit too fast for her taste but if you are gifted a rancor you don´t check its teeth.

Looked like she had a new partner who could turn invisible. For sure she wasn´t as urarmed as she seemed to be but the Sabacc dice had been cast.

Trust? That was a luxury she couldn't afford, not even with this newfound ally who'd just tipped the scales in her favor."Permission granted," Vashra called out, her voice steady but laced with a wary edge. She shifted her grip on the blaster, keeping it low but ready, her finger hovering near the trigger. "Move slow, ghost. I'm not in the mood for surprises." She edged toward the control panel near the cockpit, her heavy boots crunching on shards of shattered plasteel and scattered debris from the crash. The Red Dagger groaned underfoot and so did she.

Her ribs throbbed with every step, a dull reminder of the impact, and a trickle of blood dried crusty on her forehead. She ignored it. With a flick of her gloved hand, Vashra punched the override code into the panel. A low, grinding whine echoed through the ship as the landing ramp began to descend, metal screeching against metal in protest. Sparks spat from a damaged servo as the ramp shuddered halfway down, then jammed with a loud clunk. Vashra cursed under her breath, slamming her fist against the panel.

Iftak, I wish I could kill you again, over and over.

The ramp lurched and finally dropped the rest of the way, hitting the crater floor with a hollow thud, kicking up a cloud of dust and ash. She positioned herself at the top of the ramp, one hand on her blaster, the other braced against the warped frame of the entryway for balance as she watched Venya step unto the ramp.

This woman was dangerous, no question. But dangerous could be useful. "Welcome aboard," Vashra said, her tone dry as she gestured with her free hand for Venya to enter her turf, "Seems you already wiped your boots clean on the frog. Many thanks for that.".

Plover

 

[Plover]

The Rattataki took in the "wounded" ship. No doubt some heavy duty repairs needed to be be made, but now they would likely come at the expense of the deceased docking bay manager. As she stepped onto the ramp, she took note of the captain, seeing her for the first time. Those pale blue eyes made quick note of the hand hovering on her blaster. And why not? The captain had no idea who she was and she just watched as she took out some of the docking bay greeting crew. Venya would take things easy and not give the captain a reason to feel she needed to use the blaster.

Even on the less than stable ramp that reluctantly came out, her steps were nearly silent. A grin crossed her face as she made her ascent slowly up the ramp.

"Your ship has seen better days, Captain. From what I have seen during my short time here, I think Iftak has enough on hand to replace those things that need replacing and the bots to do the work for you." She would allow a quick look over the hull as if inspecting what there was to see all the while keeping an eye on the hand and blaster of the captain. "Although it will likely take a few days from what I can see."

Now standing just s few feet from where Vashra stood she would give her a once over with her eyes too. "And you, Captain seem to be in some need of repair too. There is a med droid on site too."

Holding out what appeared to be a delicate hand with long fingers wearing several rings of gold and silver, the Rattataki would introduce herself. "My name is Venya. I been here a few days trying to get off the radar of some "friends". I was about to leave in a day or two. Life here is so boring. But you, my dear captain, brought some excitement to my day. And Iftak and his thugs were getting irritating. Not to mention, he is sitting on a little gold mine here, and now we can make our own. Call it repayment for damages done to your ship."

The Ghost now was in an arm's reach of the ship's captain. "If it will help put your mind at ease, I can surrender my weapons to you, although, I have no ill intentions. Now, who might you be and what of this slicer you are holding?"

 

[Vashra Foss]

Vashra thought about disarming Venya but she had a feeling she´ll miss half the weapons anyway so she let it pass and shook the offered hand.

"My name is Vashra Foss, captain of the Red Dagger. I owe you Venya and I intend to repay. Let´s check on our investment and find out what the dear departed Iftak wanted with him."

They reached the cargo hold, lit by a single flickering light panel that buzzed like an angry insect after the crash. The air here was colder, damp with the faint metallic tang of rust. Crates and containers lined the walls, most dented or patched with cheap duratape, but one stood out—a reinforced durasteel crate, roughly the size of a coffin, secured to the floor with industrial mag-locks. Muffled whimpers leaked from within, barely audible over the ship's ambient groans. Vashra stopped a few paces from the crate.,

"Meet BYOO, our little bargaining chip," she said, her voice low and edged with dark humor. "Kid's a slicer, supposedly worth something to someone. Iftak wanted him bad enough to send me to Tatooine and back, so I figure he's got value. Question is, to who?" She stepped closer to the crate, crouching slightly to rap her knuckles against the lid. The whimpering inside spiked into a muffled yelp, and Vashra's smirk twitched wider. "Young human male, barely out of his teens. Mouthy, till I gagged him. Tied up tighter than a Hutt's credit vault in there. Could be his coffin if the price isn't right - or if he annoys me one more time. I suggest we auction him off, split the take fifty-fifty like I said. Or, if you've got a better play, I'm all ears."

Plover

 

[Plover]

Venya's pale eyes would seem to smile as her hand was taken in greeting. After introductions were complete, she would follow Vashra through the cabin of the Red Dagger, sidestepping those things that had come lose during its rough "landing" and ducking to avoid hitting her head on things dangling precariously from the ceiling.

As they came to the hold where the slicer was being stored, she would arch a brow at his confinement. Kneeling down as Vashra spoke about him, her long, slender fingers would run over the crate as if caressing it. Once Vashra had said her piece, Venya would look up to her.

"Iftak will likely have a data pad on him or in his quarters for sure. I should think the information about your cargo here can be found there."

Her fingers still moving back and forth across the lid of the container, she would then say,

"Perhaps we should let your cargo out of his container. It might be good for him to stretch some and perhaps we can get a better idea from him as to what his true value is."

Standing and then looking around the cargo hold once more, the Ghost let out a soft sigh,

"And I will start to look into what the repair droids around here can do to get you ship back in order. As for now, if we need transport, my ship is docked in the adjacent bay. It is a bit more...functional than yours is at this time."

Venya would smile a smile that would send chills down the spine of ordinary people, a smile that made them feel like in some way they were prey being appraised by a predator. It was not meant to be a threat of any sort to the captain of the Red Dagger, it was simply who Venya was...who she had become. As she surmised Vashra for a moment, she noted that the captain was a fighter and one she would need to study some before she could feel at ease with.

As Venya walked back to the door of the cargo hold, she would pause by Vashra and let her hand drift over the captain's arm,

"And as I mentioned, Captain, there are med droids on site that can patch you up too. I can direct you to them if you should desire that. I will go back to Iftak now and see what secrets I can divulge from his data pad."

The assassin would grin once more before offering the captain's arm a light squeeze and then made her way back to where Iftak lie waiting for her.

 

[Vashra Foss]

Vashra watched Venya's retreating figure, her pale form disappearing down the damaged corridor of the Red Dagger with that unsettling, predatory grin still lingering in her mind. The Ghost's light touch on her arm had been brief, almost too casual, but Vashra's instincts prickled. She didn't trust easy smiles or soft words - not in a place like Mek-Sha, and certainly not from someone who could vanish into thin air and reappear with a blaster bolt. Still, for now, things were going better than expected. Vasha had been close to another predator and they were both still alive.

Vashra turned her attention back to the reinforced durasteel crate in the cargo hold. The flickering light panel above cast jagged shadows across its dented surface, and the muffled whimpers from inside had grown fainter, almost resigned. Vashra's lips twitched into a cold smirk as she crouched beside it, her heavy boots scraping against the grimy floor. The air in the hold was frigid, biting at her exposed skin, and carried the sharp tang of rust and stale oil. Her ribs ached from the crash, a dull throb with every breath, but she pushed it aside. Pain was just noise - background static to the business at hand.

"Alright, BYOO," she muttered, her voice low and edged with a dangerous sweetness as she tapped the mag-lock controls with a gloved finger. "Time to have a little chat."

The locks disengaged with a heavy clunk, the sound echoing through the hold like a hammer on anvil. She gripped the lid and hauled it open, the hinges groaning under the weight. A rush of stale, sweaty air hit her, mingled with the sour stench of fear. Inside, curled into a tight ball, was a young human male - barely older than a kid, even younger than her, maybe seventeen or eighteen. His wiry frame trembled under a tattered gray tunic, his wrists and ankles bound with industrial zip-ties that had bitten red welts into his pale skin. A crude gag of fabric was stuffed into his mouth, damp with saliva, muffling his shallow, panicked breaths. His dark, messy hair clung to a sweat-slicked forehead, and his wide, hazel eyes darted up to meet Vashra's, brimming with raw terror.

Bruises mottled his cheek, from rough handling before she'd locked him in here. Alive didn´t mean undamaged. He flinched as the dim light hit his face, shrinking back against the crate's wall as if he could melt into the metal. Vashra tilted her head, studying him like a butcher appraising a cut of meat. "Hey there, slicer," she cooed, her tone dripping with mock tenderness as she reached down with one hand to yank the gag from his mouth. He gasped, choking on a ragged inhale, his lips cracked and trembling as he struggled to form words.

She didn't give him time. Her other hand slipped to her heavy boot, fingers brushing the hidden compartment where her regular knife rested. With a practiced flick, she drew the blade - a wicked, serrated thing, its edge glinting faintly in the flickering light. She leaned in closer, her eyes locking onto his, unblinking, predatory. The kid froze, his breath hitching as she brought the knife up slowly, deliberately, until the cold, sharp tip rested against his cheek, just below his left eye.

The metal kissed his skin, not cutting - not yet - but the promise was there, heavy and unspoken. His face paled further, if that was even possible, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple to quiver at the knife's edge.

"Listen up, sweetheart," Vashra purred, her voice soft as silk but laced with venom, her smirk never wavering. "I've had a real rough day. Ship's trashed, ribs are screaming, and I just had to watch a slimy frog get blasted before I could do it myself. So, my patience? Nonexistent."

She tilted the blade slightly, letting it catch the light, watching his eyes widen as the reflection danced across his pupils.

"You're gonna tell me what makes you so damn valuable - and to who. Every detail, no stutters, no lies. Or I start carving the information out of you, piece by pretty piece. Trust me, I've got a steady hand."

BYOO swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as a faint, pathetic whimper escaped his lips. His voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper, trembling with every syllable and still trying to sound defiant. "If you kill me… I´m not worth anything… " He stopped, eyes flicking to the knife, then back to her face, searching for any hint of mercy. He wouldn't find it. Vashra pressed the blade just a fraction harder, enough to dimple the skin without breaking it, a silent warning.

"Yes, I know and I´m not going to kill you. I just make you beg for death. Tick-tock, kid. Spill it. Who's paying for your sorry hide, and why?" She held his gaze, unyielding, the knife a cold weight against his cheek as the cargo hold's flickering light buzzed overhead, casting her shadow across his terrified face. Mek-Sha didn't reward hesitation, and neither did Vashra

Plover