Redworld

[Jsc]

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Redworld​

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Captain's Log. 621-849.

Atlas. That's what we've taken to calling to her. Atlas Nine. This sustainable little red moon we now call home. A symphony of red sand and endless blank skies. Well. One day maybe. We hope that one day we can build a real home out of her. Far far away from all the fighting and disaster that marks our galaxy with it's endless waves of destruction. These endless, ceaseless Faction Wars. Mm. We're, just simple farmers really. Trying to live a new dream. A peaceful dream. A far away dream.

Yes. Atlas is what we've taken to calling to her. Our own little redworld. Far far from home.


* * * * *

Josh's Cantina sat right next to the port and all it's incoming vessels. No concrete bays or helipads used for a landing. Just endless red dirt and smooth curly sand. Flat and bustling. A sharp contrast in colors to the whole colony of white, domed prefabricated cities just above the ridgeline. A colonial home. A frontier place. A little lost society of dreamers. Right along the Rimma's Way.

Indeed. The Rimma Trade Route brought all sorts of goods and customs past this small tucked-away system of theirs. A pit stop on the way to places greater and grand. The woman known as Saint Monica didn't mind though. She liked little places. Hidden spaces. Homely homes untouched by war. Places like Atlas Nine.

"Yo Karen! Ship incoming for ya. Out on field number one. Uhh, Rick says it's that supply run of parts he's been waiting for. Anyway. Might want to go welcome our newest guest. Jeff's busy with that whole parameter thing. Ya know."

Karen Roberts spun in her chair and nodded to the barman. Taking the last frosty sip of her milkshake before she smiled,

"Yep. On it. ...Ahh. Man. Woo. Now that's good a milkshake. Mmm."

Dressed in her black HD coat, the blue-haired woman hoped down from the bar and took a nice long stretch. Ahh. Well. Time to go meet the delivery man.


___

[member="Kurt Meyer"]

 

[Kurt Meyer]

[member="Saint Monica"]

The Messa had never really been that great of a cargo-ship. The Hot tub, couch, and knick knacks that Kaile kept all around didn’t really leave much space for boxes of supplies. That was part of why he was a Courier, usually only ferrying small packages or a single box across the galaxy for someone rich enough to pay for the service. There were occasions however, when things fell into place for him to do a regular ol’ cargo run.

They were usually simple jobs, pick something up here, bring it there, get paid. Done. Easy and no questions asked. Kurt preferred them for when he just wanted downtime. He could spend most of the Hyperspace time asleep, and the actual flying? Well that generally went about as easy as a Twi’leks clothes.

He landed on one of the open platforms, The Messa’s sleek red hull letting some of the light bounce off it as it came to a rest.

Before jumping down the ladder Kurt made sure that he had all the delivery information on the datapad besides him, not wanting to accidentally drop off the supplies to someone that they weren’t intended for. He shifted slightly and gave everything a once over, then nodded to himself as he climbed down the ladder into the cargo-hold.

It seemed that everything had stayed in place properly, and quickly he wandered to the end of the hold to pull the release for the cargo door.

A loud hiss sounded out, and then the bay door slowly fell open.

 

[Jsc]

She stood at the edge of the dry field that the Messa used as a landing pad. Wondering. The blue-haired woman pulled back her hood to look more closely at the strange starship. Interesting. She'd never heard of a VT-Varactyl Class Fast Freighter before. Wouldn't have even recognized the name if it had been printed on big bold letters on the side of the craft. But after having spent some time in Cater's old labs on Corellia, well. She did know fast when she saw it. And this vessel seemed to fit that bill nicely. Fast.

As the bay door dropped down to the ground, life continued on the small settlement. Colonists going this way and that nearer the buildings, desert speeder bikes shredding across the bluffs, and the faint, soft echo of tinkering garage work down the street. Leaving only one tall, blue-haired woman waiting at the edge of the dry red sand. Approaching the ship with a wink to the sun and a slow, meandering pace. All swaddled in black.

"Good morning." The woman smiled, "You're early. Well. Fascinating that. Our compliments to the pilot. Hehe. Welcome to Atlas. How was your trip?"

[member="Kurt Meyer"]

 

[Kurt Meyer]

[member="Saint Monica"]

”You should complement the ship, not the pilot.” Kurt said as he jerked his thumb towards The Messa itself.

What he said was true in a way, the Pilot could be the best in the galaxy, but if his ship was slow then there was no getting there any faster. The Ship that Kurt flew however was a different story. Fastest both in and out of hyperspace it could give even purpose built speed vessels a run for their money. He could brag about his ship for hours and hours on end, but he understood that wasn’t really a tactful thing to do.

”Trip was good.” He answered with a smile. ”I have all the things you asked for.”

Cargo runs were so easy. ”Kurt Meyer.”

He introduced himself, sticking out his hand for the woman to shake.

She had an odd sort of look about her, one that Kurt couldn’t quite place. He wanted to say that she looked military, but...well not really. Perhaps he should have listened more to Kaile when she talked about identifying people by their body language, but the lesson had seemed so boring...and kind of irrelevant at the time.

 

[Jsc]

"Monica. A pleasure Mister Meyer."

Karen shook his hand and gave him her business name. The name that you give people who you are quite sure you'll never meet again in a Command Center or a Temple Commune. A name reserved for waiters, hostesses, delivery boys, and anything Solan Charr related. Hehe. Well, mostly.

"And yes. You have quite the fascinating ship here. I'm sure the Corellian traders further north show you nothing but jealousy. Hehe. Quite."

Roberts stood straight and tall. Prim and proper. Speaking with fluent basic that would have been right at home amongst the Coruscanti and her traditional Senate Districts. A sign of Core World education and a touch of luxury. Her skin showed no blemish, her hair carefully tended in Zeltron blue, and her eyes sparkled with an otherworldly light and intelligence. Kurt was right to notice her ram-rod straight posture and her black trenchcoat, and guess at a military upbringing. But most of the devilish and minute-details probably eluded him. Which was fine. The last thing Karen needed right now was an audience with a mind-reader. Ugh. No. Perish the thought.

"Now. Apologies about the custom, but If you'll grab the box of components and follow me please. Director Rick Thomson, your recipient, is just up the street in the Hydroponics Lab. He'll take possession of the order personally."

Monica took a step back and placed her hands behind her back. Smiling and once again admiring his ship's construction.

"And once again Mister Meyer. Welcome to Atlas. We do hope you'll enjoy your stay."

[member="Kurt Meyer"]