Sarge Potteiger
Emotional Damage
Maramere Lunar Orbit
Dark Side of the Moon
Onboard the Melancholy Hill
Gloved fingers drummed out a staccato rhythm on the command chair that sat alone, brooding in the center of the cockpit which was running off emergency power. Droids sat and monitored stations around the man seated in the dead center of the quiet activity. Through his T-visor and out the cockpit viewport he stared at the dull grey of the resort planets moon.
He'd been on his way back towards Corellia, having received a message from an old friend, but he'd gotten held up by the fact that Maramere was having a little bit of a pirate problem.
Maramere had been famous during the Clone Wars for its resistance of the Trade Federation - a resistance bolstered by the Feeorin pilot Nym and his band of pirates off Lok. But that was centuries ago, and now the pirates sought to prey on the wealthy customers seeking rest and relaxation among the many islands of the Mere.
And so it was they'd sent out a call for help - one that Sarge, now Preacher, had been all too happy to answer. Once this mess was cleared up, he could take a short jump to Naboo and check on his home in Lake Country - or, rather, scan it from orbit and just make sure no one had tried breaking in.
Showing up there would only make people suspicious of who he really was.
A noise from the droid manning the sensor station snapped him from his thought. The newest luxury transport was here, ferrying the rich from nearby Naboo to their vacation homes here on Maramere, and that meant the pirates wouldn't be far off. Hopefully they'd hired security for the shuttle, in case he didn't make it there in time.
But the CR-90e he'd recently purchased would be more than enough to scare off the pirates... he hoped. "Feather the engines.", he ordered. "Bring us up towards the horizon then cut power again." A low rumble from far aft followed by the blurring of the moons surface told him they were moving.
And then the rumbling ceased and the ship began to slow again. Still the same drab lunar surface.
"No signs of hostiles, master."
"Keep me informed."
It was time to play his least favorite game - the waiting game.
Dark Side of the Moon
Onboard the Melancholy Hill
Gloved fingers drummed out a staccato rhythm on the command chair that sat alone, brooding in the center of the cockpit which was running off emergency power. Droids sat and monitored stations around the man seated in the dead center of the quiet activity. Through his T-visor and out the cockpit viewport he stared at the dull grey of the resort planets moon.
He'd been on his way back towards Corellia, having received a message from an old friend, but he'd gotten held up by the fact that Maramere was having a little bit of a pirate problem.
Maramere had been famous during the Clone Wars for its resistance of the Trade Federation - a resistance bolstered by the Feeorin pilot Nym and his band of pirates off Lok. But that was centuries ago, and now the pirates sought to prey on the wealthy customers seeking rest and relaxation among the many islands of the Mere.
And so it was they'd sent out a call for help - one that Sarge, now Preacher, had been all too happy to answer. Once this mess was cleared up, he could take a short jump to Naboo and check on his home in Lake Country - or, rather, scan it from orbit and just make sure no one had tried breaking in.
Showing up there would only make people suspicious of who he really was.
A noise from the droid manning the sensor station snapped him from his thought. The newest luxury transport was here, ferrying the rich from nearby Naboo to their vacation homes here on Maramere, and that meant the pirates wouldn't be far off. Hopefully they'd hired security for the shuttle, in case he didn't make it there in time.
But the CR-90e he'd recently purchased would be more than enough to scare off the pirates... he hoped. "Feather the engines.", he ordered. "Bring us up towards the horizon then cut power again." A low rumble from far aft followed by the blurring of the moons surface told him they were moving.
And then the rumbling ceased and the ship began to slow again. Still the same drab lunar surface.
"No signs of hostiles, master."
"Keep me informed."
It was time to play his least favorite game - the waiting game.