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Silas Mui sat rather uncomfortably on one of the several seats aboard the Star Tours flight 1846, his tall Kaminoan form towering above most of the passengers, especially the Captain, bound for Morellia. He's had a full schedule lately, and this was only the middle of it. No sooner had he finished his last job, when an old underworld contact messaged him about a steep profit to be made working for some unknown employer. He wasn't given much in the way of details, but was soon able to get in touch with the droid of one of the scheme's operatives, a 'XOM', as it referred to itself. From the state of the trip so far, he wasn't too sure about his present company. The other passengers seemed to be very keen on discussing the possible reasons and consequences of this chartered flights payload, which, from what he heard, was a sizeable amount of Damotite.
The few details that he did receive concerned the need to covert, reliable transportation of the said Damotite from the station to an undisclosed location, which was to be provided by the operative on an as-needed basis. The captain of the ship, a Jawa, seemed to enjoy running a tight ship, constantly going back and forth from one area to another. He sighed, then remembered he had to send out a ping to let the operative know he had a capable Slicer as backup for his mission. Perhaps, if things ran smoothly, he might live long enough to see the piles of credits his contact had promised him.
Bringing up the holodisplay from his wrist-mounted computer, his long, white fingers danced across the keyboard, sending the necessary commands to send a discreet status update to the operative in question. Hopefully he'll get to meet the faceless figure, though, hopefully under amiable circumstances. While he was at it, he decided he'd slice into the security feeds for the ship. As the feeds flickered to life on his display, a small grin appeared on his smooth, jaunt face. He felt more in control now. 'Time to work' He thought to himself.
She had finally reached the main city, Agorum and even that looked like your typical big 'city' when everything around you was agricultural. Somewhere in Agorum she was to meet someone with name of M. Araano, and she was apprehensive about that. How do you finally meet someone who says they know you? Her life has been nothing short of 'crazy' in the last few months, between being found on Tatooine by Dark Jedi. To fighting Sith while using the dark side of the force, to dealing with crazy rabid cultists and now here she was getting ready to deal with this.
She stood there at the speeder pad and looked ahead, pulling her hood down she spotted the place she was to meet her 'associate.' "The Tavern," which was about as original as it sounded. As she walked, she didn't think it looked that far, but looks were deceiving and even if it was longer than she had intended. She needed to clear her head, it had just been a week or two, maybe three since that day on the beach. You are not alone. She thought to herself, the words uttered to her by her masters Siobhan and Tempest, they too had walked the same journey she was on now.
They were only one call away if she needed to leave if she needed to bail out. They'd come and get her, they would save her. Her hands found themselves within her robes' sleeves. The wind blew by her and kicked up the dirt along the path as she walked. Brushing through her robes, her robes... She looked down at their color, they were a dark crimson and she thought for a moment on her life as her feet kept walking. Charlyra became lost in her own thoughts, she saw a bench that was between where she was and the Tavern. She took a seat there and as she did so, she found an elderly man had come to sit beside her.
He was waiting for transport, and she just wanted to sit for a moment.
"Jedi?" He asked pointing to the robes.
Charlyra gave him a weak smile, "you could say that."
He nodded, "my brother was a Jedi."
"Brother?" She asked with a quirk of her brow.
He nodded again, "yes ma'am my brother Garrien, oh he was such a character. He was eleven when they took him to train, but he'd write me all the time." The old man scoffed, "he'd tell me about all those tricks you Jedi do."
Her weak smile stayed and she was a little amused by this old man, so she let him continue.
"Do you, do you have a brother or a sister?" The old man asked her.
"No." She answered him honestly,"no I was three years old when I was taken to train. If my parents had other children, I know not of them, nor do I have a desire to."
A sad look came to his face, "well that's sad." He admitted, "siblings, siblings can be amazing. I mean, boy, lemme tell you they can be a pain in your tush but, bless'um they're, they're great. They're your best friends, the person you can share everything with, the person who will be there for you."
"I suppose so." She agreed, having no first-hand knowledge herself, "but the Jedi were like my family when I was there."
"And now?"
"Now I like to think that those who I train with now, are like my family," Charlyra answered honestly.
The old man nodded in agreement, "yeah? Well, that's good, that's good. Family's important, oop, here comes my transport. Well, you take care of yourself, girlie Jedi."
Charlyra snorted, "thank you, and you as well eldery citizen man."
She watched him board his transport and then watched it drive down the road, and so she thought honestly for a moment. What would it have been like to have grown up with a sibling? What would it have been like if she were to have had that life, the moments that so many non-force users take for granted. Charlyra rose from the bench and continued her walk toward the Tavern. Wrapping her arms around herself, she looked up and watched the sun for a moment as it hung in the sky and then she moved her gaze to the path ahead.
It was here that she wondered where her life would be now, had she stayed on Tatooine. Would she still be doubting herself? Would she still have the urge to see herself purged from this universe? How fortunate she had been to find two women who understood her struggle. How fortunate she was that they not only offered their shoulders, but they offered a home. Charlyra was honestly a little emotional, and she had to take a moment to wipe tears from her eyes.
She had been lost out in the cold of her own mind, lost in the darkness that is exile the feeling of being ostracized from all that she knew. Charlyra didn't think that she'd worthy of anything, much less the robes that she now wore on her shoulders. There had been a hole in her soul, and slowly, tenderly it was being filled. What a difference it made to know that there would be those that cared for her well-being. She had been so confused, drowning in the darkness and then there they were hands through the shadows.
Family.
As Charlyra looked up she regretted that she had not taken the transport, it would've dropped her off at the Tavern a lot sooner. Alas, perhaps it was for the best as she put a hand over her chest. She was lost with nothing left to lose, allowing herself to rot on Tatooine and there she happened upon two dark Jedi masters, and now here she was on Morellia, here to see to this M. Araano and whatever information they had for her. Taking a deep breath, she looked up to the sign that read, Tavern.
You can do this, you can do this. You are not alone, you are not alone anymore, and even if this person wants to say otherwise. You are not alone, Charlyra.Have courage, have heart, and have faith. You are stronger than you know.
Shaking herself of her emotions, she got a grip on her senses, and then Charlyra continued her walk toward the building. She headed up the stairs and came to the door of the Tavern.M. Araano might share your name, but they do not share your heart and they don't have to. It is your choice, blood does not make a family - biology does not entitle them to anything.Charlyra swore she could hear her masters' voice. Taking one last deep breath she exhaled, and then put her hand to the door's handle and pushed it in...
The two Sanctum Jedi and the Morellian Master traveled in a speeder to the capital which deposited them outside of City Hall. Setzi lead the way inside, and in the lobby, asked for the City Water Department. A protocol droid took them to the fifteenth floor where they were to meet a female Morellian named Tinashe Moran.
After an exchange of pleasantries, the Padawan got down to business:
“After the inspection of farmland on the outskirts of the capital city, I was hoping, Ms. Moran, that we’d be able to do a test of the water supply.”
“Why would you need to do that?” the bureaucrat asked. “Our water is the cleanest in the Tingel Arm.”
“Because I noticed some corrosion in the pipes that supply the water to the farm. A sample would put to rest that your water is polluted, or worse, contaminated.”
“Well, I don’t really know, what if-"
Setzi lifted her hand, and Nina would be able to tell that a mind trick was underway. “It’s for the good of that farmer,” the padawan explained with a lopsided smile. Here she was being a terrible influence on the young Sanctum member, but they didn’t have time to argue with Ms. Moran over water samples. Still, Nina reminded her of her own daughters. Would she set the same type of bad examples for them?
“Here you go,” said Tinashe, handing Setzi a plastic jar for the sample. “Follow me.”
The group made their way to the underground of the building where Ms. Moran allowed them access to a cistern where they could draw out a sample.
"Morellia's starport equipment can have the ship unloaded in one hour. On Lanteeb loading the entire thing takes four hours but the First Order has promised expansion of the Bant'ena Fhernan Starport: my boss attended the summit on Bespin" Vak said.
"Nice... the starport of origin can process about 100,000 tons of cargo a day but that's between six Tofolks or ships of equivalent size and a multitude of light freighters used for commuter passenger services"
"Because my responsibility for the cargo ends once the cargo is unloaded, I have to stay inside the ship so that it can depart as quickly as possible when its new cargo is loaded, primarily slugthrowers of all sizes but also projectiles for said slugthrowers"
To Dunames it would be hypocritical to encourage trade and industry across First Order space without making sure that proper throughput exist so that the resulting economic activity can be sustained: she knew that the Primeval's economic failures were a result of improper throughput. But she set the mark for any future FO Transportation Minister to reach as far as transportation expertise is concerned. Nevertheless, transportation is one of the key things dark-sided factions often overlook when it comes to the economic. The peacetime economies of Sith-based factions are but a shadow of their wartime economies: Sith Lords are just thinking of the next power grab or their next move in their endless game of thrones. But whew, this is the calm before the storm for those onboard whose roles in this mission happen, or continue, planetside.
"Sentients, we're approaching Morellia, please prepare for landing. Fasten your seatbelts and make sure the holotrays are folded properly and that your carry-on baggage is properly stowed beneath your seats"
"Sentients, we're approaching Morellia, please prepare for landing. Fasten your seatbelts and make sure the holotrays are folded properly and that your carry-on baggage is properly stowed beneath your seats"
With that said, the dynamic pair made their way from their secluded hidings, back into the shared cabin; one littered with all sorts of aliens, towering, bending, twisting - Jansal felt entirely out of place, among these foreign colors and smells. One would think he would be used to this by now, the strangeness of galactic travel - rather, he has only become more aware of the diversity; he wasn't disgusted, however, only intrigued: he looked about in awe, not fear or hatred. No, but now was not the time to gawk - XOM was tugging on his sleeve, blabbering something; Jansal's thought processes tended to be deep enough as to warrant all sound null and void in context. It was like he was- "Sir," interrupted C4-XOM again; "I have someone for you to meet, a contact!" The Mandalorian blinked. "XOM," he growled, "You told me you couldn't find anyone." This was never answered, however; the droid continued to tug and prod, shepherding Jansal into a cramped seat beside a wayward-appearing kaminoan, whose gaunt, pale form towered above his own height - eventually, an explanation came in its own due time, right when the mercenary began to put the pieces together himself.
"Sir, ah, this here is Silas Miu."
"Would you answer the question, ah-" He glanced to Silas. "A moment, please. Apologies." His glare swivelled about like it was fixed to an axle. "XOM! You told me we didn't have anyone."
If robots could blush, the protocol unit sure might have: "Sir," he stuttered, "You were flustered! I thought it best-"
"To make me think I was going to die?" he whispered.
"To keep your mind focused on the big numbers I had to share!"
Jansal sighed, slouching back in his seat; he shuffled his pack over his shoulder - still filled to the brim with clothes, for the sake of cover, and concealed ammunition rounds. He tossed it to the ground, which clanked oddly, then shoved it under his seat with his heel. There it was, the swivel, his gaze shifting back over to the white, slender fellow: Silas, as he was called. "So, Silas," he began. Yeah, this sounded like it was going to be an inquiry. Other passengers began to pick up on the unconscious pressure put into his grave voice as he spoke, cringing or looking elsewhere with a forceful, pained expression. "What-"
XOM interrupted again: "Silas Miu, kaminoan; eight feet and eight inches, two-hundred and eighty pounds - extremely skilled slicer. Estimated crucial for the mission at hand, sir. He'll be both integral for the post-land phase, as well as access. Without him, we would certainly be caught red-handed; I'm sorry, sir, but while you may be able to break things, you aren't quite as adept at using them."
"That's funny," replied Jansal, "Because I'm pretty sure I could use these hands to strangle you right now."
"Sir, I do not breath."
Jansal stifled a scream of repressed rage and, instead, swiveled his head back over to make eye contact with Silas. "So you've apparently met my droid, XOM; he tells me you're good at what you do. That true?"
Internally, his mind must've looked like gasoline-laden fireworks, exploding simultaneously to herald the onset of a nuclear apocalypse. He was infuriated at this point, like all control had just been swiped away; he was being toyed with, he knew that - for all of his programming, XOM had something similar to a sense of humor. The only problem was that it wasn't funny, it was unfathomably frustrating. This showed itself through clenched fists, but beneath the layers of armor and a helmet to boot, he would've looked perfectly serene - so still, it seemed like not the breeze could stir him; the impending rumble as they began to leave hyperspace, on the other hand, most definitely did. He clenched his teeth, to keep them from chattering - but that familiar jolt ran through him all the same, almost electric. He wasn't so much sure that this was physical as psychological, as he looked around, no one else seemed to be experiencing anything similar - strange, but he supposed he was just different from the rest of these slugs. Hell, how many would have signed on for a job like this, right?
Silas had almost thought he'd have to wait until the reached the station to meet the operative he was commissioned to help. However, only moments after the landing message was broadcasted to the passengers, two figures moved, hardly noticeable, from within the cargo area of the ship. He quickly turned his holodisplay off, checking under his seat to make sure his own cargo was secure.
The two forms he'd seen on camera moments ago brought themselves, and their argument, with them up to Silas. The droid, XOM, made introductions and the tall (well, tall for a mandalorian) man struggled to keep up with the pace at which his droid was speaking. "So you've apparently met my droid; He tells me you're good at what you do. That true?" The man was able to ask after many attempts to speak over the over-excited droid.
Silas always felt that the best way to answer a question of skill was through actions, not words. However, sometimes, exceptions had to be made, as they weren't in a position from which he could display his impressive abilities. "I've worked as a Slicer for several jobs, all of which I've been integral to controlling the battlefield. I've sliced into this ships security feeds, spotted you in the cargo area earlier, so I can assume the job includes the cargo. I can also slice into the cargo bays loading assembly." Silas listed both past and present achievements, "So, in other words, everything you heard: Completely true."
Myrrashai Araano was the second of three girls, born to the poor farmers of Edwarles and Helieen Araano of Chandrila. Each one uniquely gifted in their own way, there had been Yunalora, Myrrashai, and Charlyra who had been born last to the farmers. Lori and Myrra were very close to each other and had seen a lot of wars, strife, and famine in their days as Jedi. They had even watched their youngest sister, Charlyra join the Order, but they could never reveal themselves.
For they were not just Jedi, but Jedi Shadows.
They could watch, they could observe but they could not interfere. And then. Yunalora had died, she died at the hands of a Sith, she died and Myrra had felt it. She felt the stab of the lightsaber as if it was going through her own heart.She knew, she could no longer sit in the shadows. And so, here she was sitting at the Tavern of Agorum City on Morellia. She sat and waited, waiting to see if Charlyra would bite.
Charlyra had been through her own troubles, fighting Sith Lords, and losing herself to the dark side. So much, that she now followed a pair of Dark Jedi Masters. This concerned Myrrashai greatly, and she wanted to show that her sister could go back into the light and could be this great Jedi, but only if she chose it. She had no desire to watch Charlyra descend into darkness, to fall from such greatness.
The door to the Tavern would open and close, with the local populace going in and out. The Tavern wasn't too far from the Capital's main buildings, but it was just one of many drinking places along the 'big stretch,' of the road down south of the municipal hub. And then, as Myrra looked up, in walked a young woman no more than twenty-eight she'd say wearing a very, dark crimson red robe. It had to be her sister, she rose from her seat in the back of this establishment and waved her over.
"Charlyra?" Myrra asked.
------
Charlyra had walked into this tavern with nothing more than a hunch that whoever this was, was either 'trolling' her as her Firemane family would put it, or that maybe. Just maybe they were serious. She walked in dressed in her robes, and as such she stood out. When she got further in, she saw a woman who looked about ten or so years older than her who waved her over. She was dressed neatly, cleanly even. "Charlyra?" The woman asked.
"Yes, I am Charlyra Araano and you are?"
"My name is Myrrashai, I'm your sister."
------
Sister? "I'm sorry, did you, did you say sister?" Charlyra asked as she stood looking dumbfounded at this other woman. "You, you must be sorely mistaken, I don't have a-"
Myrra gestures toward a chair opposite of her. The two sat at this table, with Myrra's chair facing the open bar room, and Charlyra's facing a wall. Having taken off the heavier vestments, her orange and light crimson robes, tunics now certainly echoed the color of fire, but Charlyra? She was barely a smoldering ember. "Charlyra." Myrra began, "I understand this is rather difficult to understand or even accept, but please, please hear me out."
"Think I'm gonna need a drink, or three, first," Charlyra says as she flags down a barmaid.
"Morellia Approach, this is Star Tours 1846 requesting permission to land"
"Star Tours 1846, cleared to land landing bay 43"
"Roger, Morellia Approach"
Vak initiates the landing sequence but until the ship was reloading for its trip back to Ringo Vinda, Vak had to stay not only in this form but also locked in the cockpit, with the cockpit shield raised so that no one could see what transpired in the cockpit from the outside. Then and only then Vak could be its true self again, namely, Dunames. At the same time, all four cargo hatches opened, and the Bluth stair trucks began docking to the ship's forward doors. The stevedoring droids began unloading the damotite containers, while the passengers are getting ready to deboard the ship using the forward doors. By now Vak ignores what is going to happen with the damotite once the damotite leaves the ship; he was cautious enough to shut down the cockpit cameras after the ship has come to a complete stop on the docking bay.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have arrived on Morellia. On behalf of the crew we would like to thank you for flying Star Tours and we hope to see you again soon" Vak said on the PA system.
"Good," Jansal replied. Simply, respectful, ultimately professional; this was how he liked things to work out.
The ship had hopped out of hyperspace and was making its way to the port and he found that there was little time to dispense his length of the planning; regardless, it had to be done, until the full shipment of cargo was expelled. The rest of the passengers were chatting jovially and, noting the opportunity, the mercenary used the commotion as cover to speak plainly about his intentions; "We're beginning now," he stated, "Once sixty-or-so percent of the cargo has been unloaded, I need you to splice into loading assembly. I want it interrupted, I don't care how; drop it on the droids, overload something, blow something up, compromise the shipment - move quickly, make sure it's effective." He glanced back to XOM, haplessly strapped into the chair with legs extended outwards, unable to comfortably situate himself in the cabin seat. "See-four," the name he referred to him by when and only when he meant business, "Handle forging the appropriate documents and information then wirelessly transmit them to my datapad, so we can get past customs without a hitch. I'll see you two when the job's done, I have to pick up the rest of our equipment."
Before the official dispersal of the cabin's great variety of passengers, Jansal was already on his way off the ship; the loading ramps were already descended and it was a simple matter of stepping out, flashing false identification to any intrusive security personnel or docking droid (who would have plainly accepted a blank scrap of paper for all he knew), and worming his way around the more intricate, time-consuming checkpoints, in order to make his way to where he needed to go. More simple than it sounded, truly a point-by-point system, like a checklist; then he was done, free from the obligations of bureaucratic systems and, eventually, the confines of the spaceport as a whole. The Fence was only a few blocks away, a ten minute walk through the bustling clouds - this place was nothing like Coruscant, with the layers upon layers of cities situated one over the other; here, he could see the ground and the sky: quite a feat in a Galaxy where technology was fetishized almost with the ferocity of twi'lek lekkus. Nonetheless, five minutes earlier than scheduled, there he was, along with his go-to man; they didn't know each other's names, only that one of them knew how to kill and that the other knew how to get goods, smuggle, and barter like a toydarian on spice. The perfect friendship.
The guy, thankfully, was not a Watto rip-off; rather, he was a dark-skinned weequay with bad eyesight - near-blind, in fact. It didn't help the apartment he had rented out, under the guise of a steady merchant persona simply called 'Shappa,' was near pitch-black due to a defunct power line that ran through the lower floors. As Jansal slipped into the room, the Fence nearly shot off into a firefighting rampage; "'Ey!" he shouted. He had quite the accent, stereotypically 'pirate-y;' something Jansal always love about him. "Getta' da' hell outta' here!" Before he knew it, however, Jansal had already reached for the barrel of his blaster; he twisted, hit the poor fellow's elbow then swung his fist to cup him in the stomach - within seconds, he was disarmed. "Cut the crap, it's me," said the Mandalorian. "Do you have the stuff I ordered?" The weequay blushed - darkness hardly effected Jansal's vision, so long as his helmet was in reach; "Ah, man, knew it twas' ya; I was only playin'!" he explained, in between the heaves for breath. The poor haggler was getting old, guilt flushed to Jansal's cheeks. "Sorry, Fence, I shouldn't have hit you so hard."
"Heh, I shoulda remembered how jump you can be. Nah, man, the goods be here; next room over - this place, I have a good thing goin' with the owner. The closet actually don' leads into a ole' storage unit next door - good thing goin' between them, too! This place used to be used fo' spice runs."
"Used to be?"
"Yeah, y'know, man. People tend ta' go clean when the Jedi get involved in politics. Bah."
Thankfully, the adjacent room turned out to be far better lit; in fact, it exploded with light once Jansal had entered, exposing a wide variety of crates circling the room. Well, a variety of crates and two behemoth machinations that towered far overhead, laden with thick hides of bulky armor and flanked by heavy armaments. It was all here, the gear; in addition to the welcome surprise of seeing the assault droids in person - though the addition of the aesthetical skull paint, courtesy of XOM, could've been excluded from the final product. The mercenary hardly turned to acknowledge the fence, simply slipping a hand into his luggage and depositing a large, hefty bag of credits onto the ground beside him, much to the haggler's delight. "Ha ha! Ya' always gon' and known how ta' make me feel loved!" he roared. "If ya' gon' need anytin' else, just go an' holler my way." Jansal was too busy eyeing the prizes up to acknowledge - the fear of failure, well, that dissipated instantly; the taste of success grew stronger. "How many power cells they come with?" he asked. They were indeed monstrous - in hand-to-hand combat, the Jedi would struggle to cut through this amount of bulk; but the firepower was certainly an expense to consider.
"Ah, none, man; but, I don' figured, we be doin' business for so long - I gon' and threw in a crate of rounds for ya. I know ya gon' be very busy tonight with this amount of firepower."
The siblings Araano introduce themselves, and their lives. Myrra revealed herself to be a former Jedi Shadow of at least a knight ranking. She left the organization and the order soon after Yuna's death and had been working on her own side project. Enough that she couldn't stay within the Silver's territory for long. Charlyra disclosed that she was now with the Fire Order, something Myrra already knew but afforded her sibling the luxury of 'surprising,' her. The talked for what seemed like hours but in reality had only been a few minutes. Myrra insisted that she had to go and couldn't stay any longer, and so they departed the Tavern and headed back for the Spaceport. "So then there's only two of us?" Charlyra asked as they stopped for transport. "No other surprises siblings?"
"As far as I'm aware you're the only surprise," Myrra remarks nudging her sister with her elbow."Where are you heading to now?"She asks and motions that they'll need to cross the street to catch a transport back to the speeder pad. It was still bright outside, and Agorum was still busy with food stuffs, agricultural production from said stuffs and your typical busy metropolitan life.
"Dahomey, I think. My Mistress is there doing something for the Alliance, I didn't exactly read her entire letter." Charlyra admits as she uses her hand to shield the sun from her eyes. "You?" She asks her sister, wondering just where it was that former Jedi Shadows go when they've 'resigned,' as Myrra so delicately put it earlier.
Myrra winks. "Can't tell you that."
"Right, Jedi Shadow thing." Charlyra gives her sister a thumbs up, "so did our parents plan this, like have three force using girls and give them all away?"
There's a deep sigh from Myrra. "I don't know, I don't think so. I don't really see them as much as I should, but." She looks at Charlyra and puts her arm around her little sister. "You should visit them." Their parents were older and Myrra had been the good daughter who kept tabs on her sisters for them. They buried Yunalora there at the farm beside their grandparents, and Myrra knew that her parents longed to see Charlyra again. "They miss you, you know."
"Maybe." Charlyra points to the transport. "Looks like our ride is here."
------
Spaceport Derretowa was where Charlyra had come into Morellia from, and it was where Myrrashai had booked her passage out of Morellia. "My room for the Tavern's good for another day or two, you're welcomed to it. Although from what you told me, and who's sponsoring you these days."Myrra grinned, "you might think it lowly."
"Stop that, I've been a Jedi for most of my life, I'm still getting use to the idea that I actually have to have a credit chip and clothing that aren't just robes." She half way joked, but was also half serious. Master Kerrigan and Tempest both had been working on introducing Charlyra to life outside of the order. Your typical or rather stereotypical Jedi was a monk who held little in the way of possession and in exchange for their 'service,' they were given food, shelter, clothing and anything else they might need.
Myrrashai had also been part of this life once, "don't worry little sister, you'll be used to it all soon enough."
"Sooner than later I think," She agrees as they talk at the spaceport's entrance. "Thank you for not..."
"You know, one of these days you'll have to learn how to use a speeder properly." Myrra wagged her finger.
Charlyra shrugged her shoulders somewhat defiantly, "as you said with who sponsors me these days, perhaps I would think it lowly. I shall endeavor to hire someone to drive it for me, perhaps a lovely young twi'lek."
"Oh at least have something out of the ordinary, like a Miralukan." Myrra suggested, "wouldn't that be lovely? I think it would be splendid."
Charlyra sighed, "you know, I understand that they use the force to see, but you know..."
"You know, you could always learn how to drive a speeder. I'm sure your mistresses, as you call them, would be more than happy to show you." Her sister remarked as they walked the spaceport chatting idly.
Silas nodded to Jansal as he quickly left the ship, turning to XOM briefly before he slunk into a hiding spot and opened up his holocomputer. Luckily, he still had a backdoor into the ships systems open, so getting in again wasn't an issue. He made sure to disguise his signal, bouncing off of every server, both physical and proxy, within several thousand kilometers, and brought up the controls for the ships loading assembly. His security feeds of the cargo area showed that roughly sixty-seven percent of the cargo was unloaded. 'Wow, those droids sure work fast,' he thought to himself as he hurriedly input the necessary commands to overload the servomotors for the loading assembly.
As soon as he input the commands, a load whirring noise sounded from the rear of the ship, accompanied by a loud bang and a small explosion. The security feed showed the loading assembly suddenly shot up at three times its normal safe speed, flipping one of the containers on the two droids that were standing just to the side of the loading assembly, causing the loud bang, and, due to being crushed, one of the droids power cells exploded, causing the container of Damotite to lose its integrity on that side. "Well, its definitely interrupted, Jansal." Silas began, and then in a tone that said that he was completely to blame, "The loading assembly somehow shot up, causing one of the containers to land on the two droids handling the unloading procedure. One of the droids power cells exploded, causing the side of the container facing the droids to lose integrity. I have no idea what happened. Some kind of freak accident."
Silas grinned to himself as he slipped back out of his hiding spot, joining the now smaller crowd on its way off the ship. After flashing his forged credentials, he was allowed through customs and he made his way to a local food stall, where he bought a light snack and some water. Eating his snack, he waited for Jansal to return with the equipment.
Some time before Charlyra Araano had made her way back to the port, Jansal returned to the sound of scurrying footsteps and shouts - it seems there had been an accident involving the damotite, much to his unapparent joy; he kept a straight face, not that it mattered with the helmet and all, but he remained cautiously fixated on the matter at hand. A hand on his gun, he approached the entrance; people were already being evacuated - not because there was any threat, just a particular precaution; and the young guards sent on the scene seemed equally panicked as the rest of the people. They didn't know any better. Jansal weaved his way through the departing traffic, flashing an I.D. to a guard who stepped thoughtlessly into his way, then entered; tons of liquefied damotite had spilled onto the loading dock, flooding some depressed portions. It seemed that Silas had done his job. An overseer was stepping about, through the mess, barking orders; sweat dripped from a thin brow, pointed nose and high cheeks beat-red - he seemed stress, perhaps Jansal could alleviate that.
The merc made the approach, hold up his wrist in a formal matter, and addressed the man with that particular sellsword bluntness: "One who container, what the hell are you guys doing? You're security, secure the damn thing already; those Thakwaash have been hounding us since Ringo Vinda and now look what happens! You let your guard down and they sabotaged the shipment; look at that, you know they get high off the stuff? You know how much this is worth to them? They'll probably go and scoop this crap up off the floor then come back for more - what kind of security detail is this, huh?" The overseer stuttered, clearly trying to discern his own position in this argument, and Jansal was more than happy to oblige: "You're the boss, right? Molak Delraggo, Morellian Commonwealth security detail; this shipment is supposed to make it halfway through the sector by tomorrow - now its contaminated! How are they supposed to sell contaminated products-"
"S-sir, just hold on a moment. We'll lock down the port and-"
"Lock down the port? Are you deaf, I'm on a schedule; besides, what, am I supposed to leave this shipment here in your very, observably capable hands? Like HELL! Public spaceport my mother's lover, we're going to truck off this shipment to a private, third-party port, and you're going to help; that or I'll raise all sorts of divine orbital bombardment over your career like your ass was named Taris. I swear by the might of all that is holy and divine that I will pull the credits from your throat like no space wizard ever will." That's the thing about these kinds of people, in these kinds of jobs, who live on these kinds of worlds; war might rage all around, but money was all they cared about. The way he shook, glancing around; the way he sweats, realizing his career is on the line - it's all a political game, these kinds of careers; one where you see how far you can climb up the ladder, how many others you can kick off, how much you can horde. They say neimoidians are greedy - we humans are no different, except we lie about it.
"Y-yes, Mr. Delraggo - we'll help-"
"You'll help? Didn't you just hear me? You couldn't hit the broadside of a Sandcrawler at point-blank. Stand here, don't break anything, keep people out of the way - you keep quiet, I'll make sure to return the favor; neither of us want this getting out, trust me."
And with that, Jansal vanished back out of the port; while everyone had safely left before the more heavy-duty lining of the cargo gave way to a tide of future poison, the security detail had certainly seen too much. However, by appealing to his greed, the mercenary had hoped to tie up that loose end relatively quickly - long enough to make sure he succeeded; once he did that, they never would speak of it again. He passed a pair of sisters, unbeknownst to him Charlyra and her sister, idly chatting as they made their way to the port. Jedi? He stopped and eyed them up, assessing his assumption; perhaps they were, regardless, they had to move fast. He met Silas at the given food stand - did this guy really know what they intended? The way he treated the matter, Jansal thought not; then again, maybe he had a harder heart than he did. Jansal nodded and joined him, though resolved to remain standing; his hand, familiarly, planted on his gun as he eyed about - glancing along the crowd, looking for potential trouble. "Alright, I saw the port; nice job. I've held up my end - too much of it to carry with me though and, trust me, we'd draw to much attention with what I brought. "
He began to pace. XOM had yet to join them, but he worried little; he would approach the supervisor, or other given avenues, and provide evidence to Jansal's bluff, to reinforce their cause. They were isolated enough from the rest of the patrons for a detailed recap and explanation of what was to transpire: "From now one, we're on a schedule; the clock's ticking and, with every second, the Jedi come closer to catching us. The cargo you dumped, buying us time, was refined damotite in liquidated form; our job is to use it to spike Morellia's water supply. No questions why or who's paying, we just do our job and we won't have to worry about credits ever again." They were, thankfully, in view of the spaceport - which had largely begun to clear out; it looked like nothing happened, save for the extra security detail. However, those two women approached - the back of Jansal's neck tingled; like a Jedi, he mused - perhaps it was only instinct or irrational behavior, but he was sensing they needed to hurry.
"We'll have someone truck a shipment of the damotite to the water supply plant," he said. Though he faced his companion, his gaze followed the girls; were they Jedi? What would they do when they discovered the mess within? Would the Silver Sanctum start sounding off air raid sirens, would capital ships jump into orbit and soldiers flood the street? Would they pick up on what was transpiring? "We'll rent a speeder and pursue alongside it, you drive, I'll keep my rifle handy; XOM will stay here, communicate any findings over an encrypted com frequency - I'll give that to you, once we're ready. The Fence will also join us mid-journey, he'll be transporting the cargo himself; two-thousand rounds of explosive slugs, two assault droids, four probe droids, and some personal goodies for me. Also, this." Jansal shoved a hand behind his back, lurking around in that small leather satchel that hung from the small of his spine. He fished out a small blaster pistol, tiny enough to fit well within the palm of his own hand, and offered it to the splicer; "Worst case scenario, you don't know me; however, get an opportunity, shoot to kill."
"We move fast, hit hard; hack the water supply's security, you'll be our eyes and ears. Once we're in, keep everyone out - we'll lock up the employees, you'll help guide me into the water system so we can dump this crap, then we bail. By the time the Jedi know where we are, it'll be in the system and we'll transfer direction into a hostage situation to buy us time." Again, those girls - Jansal was on edge now. "We need to go now, with the mess you made attention's starting to gather; we'll need to take over the water reservoir in that time or it's a bust. For now, take head and go - I'll cover the rear in case there's trouble."
Silas noticed that Jansal kept glancing at these two women, who -did- seem to be passing by far too often for it to be a coincidence. He had a feeling they were trouble, but he didn't know why. He took the proferred blaster, keeping it as a backup to his holstered DL-44. "Got it. Truck ships cargo to Target location. We provide security escort, dump the cargo, then engage in hostile negotiations." Silas said, careful with his wording now that he noticed that the two women kept walking by.
Silas took the lead, making his way through the crowd to a speeder rental station. A shady looking Weequay stood behind the counter, soliciting it's merchandise to anybody who passed by. "You, you there. Tall guy. You need a speeder, am I right?" He asked, talking quickly so that he could get as much of his sales pitch said before a would-be customer could say no,"Well, you've come to the right place, I got all the best ones here, even a classic VXL Speeder!"
Silas hated sales people, but, they needed a speeder. "Actually I am in the market for a speeder. What models do you have available, besides the VXL. Not too keen on several centuries old tech." He said.
"Well, beyond that 'old tech'" The Weequay began, saying that last part with a semi-mocking tone, "We have a somewhat newer model, though still old. It's a DC0052 speeder, used before the Empire was around. It's a fine craft, if I do say so myself."
Silas was about to argue, but could feel Jansals eyes digging into the back of his head, and he remembered that the clock was ticking. "Sure, that'd be great. How much is it to rent it for a day or two?" Silas said, in a semi-resigned tone.
The Weequay clasped his hands together in excitement at the prospect of a sale, "Its a bargain at merely 100 credits per day."
Silas was about to argue, but decided against it. Grumbling to himself, he paid for the speeder, 200 credits to cover the extra day, just in case. Bringing up his holocomputer, he brought up the route to the Water Supply Plant, plotting the path in the Speeders navsystem, and they were off. "We don't need to worry about the security feeds, do we? Give me ten to fifteen minutes and I could get a loop going and anyone tracking us wouldn't be able to do it that way." Silas asked his passenger as they took off, thinking back to the women that'd given him that odd feeling before.
With the damotite spill, all that the starport would have to say, other than responding to the spill caused by those containers that were compromised, was that All flights are grounded until the remaining damotite has been evacuated. And that, unfortunately, meant emergency repairs needed to be done on the ship, the Tofolk of Kamino. But where one would find a cargo door for a Tofolk-class ship on Morellia? Returning to Ringo Vinda with 166 passengers could be done but at a greatly reduced cargo load. Vak could but scream Utinni upon seeing the systems display indicating that the aft cargo doors have taken damage. But what cargo could Morellia possibly ship through Ringo Vinda other than, well, slugthrowers? He promptly contacts Star Tours' maintenance center on Ringo Vinda, after what transpired at Spaceport Derretowa on Morellia:
"Utinni! This is the Tofolk of Kamino; would it be possible to reserve an aft cargo door for a Tofolk-class ship? We had a damotite spill on Morellia, and a contaminated damotite container exploded: we need an aft cargo door replaced" Vak said on comm.
"A damotite spill? Tomorrow's flight to Morellia will be canceled or, at best, delayed... it will probably take an entire day to clean up the mess" the chief of the maintenance service on Ringo Vinda told Vak.
Vak's role is almost over. From this point onward, Vak had nothing more to do, and once the flight back to Ringo Vinda was ready to board, with several hours delay, perhaps, he could awake from his slumber, as he fell asleep in the closed-off cockpit, and then return to Vak's normal self.
