The spaceport district buzzed with its usual chaos as freighters landed and departed overhead, their engines shaking dust from the aging buildings below. Merchants shouted over one another, crews unloaded cargo, and somewhere in the distance a security patrol's siren briefly echoed through the streets.
Inside one of the district's busiest cantinas, the noise was no different.
Conversations filled every corner of the room. Sabacc games were underway at several tables, a group of spacers argued loudly over fuel prices, and a few suspicious figures conducted quiet business in shadowed booths away from curious eyes.
Near the back of the cantina sat Talo Vex.
The young Rodian appeared relaxed in his chair, his brown leather duster hanging open over a dark utility shirt. A heavy glass rested in one hand, filled with a strong Corellian spirit that burned all the way down. His DL-18 blaster remained secured in its thigh holster, visible enough to discourage trouble but not openly threatening.
His deep-purple eyes calmly moved across the room, studying faces, body language, and conversations without drawing attention to himself.
He wasn't here for the drink.
He was here for work.
Smuggling.
Transport.
Courier runs.
Illegal cargo.
Anything that paid enough credits to keep his freighter fueled and flying.
The weathered Ghtroc 580 sat outside on a nearby landing pad, looking like a harmless junk-hauler to anyone passing by. Exactly the kind of ship people overlooked when they needed something moved quietly.
Talo took another slow drink and set the glass down.
No impatience.
No frustration.
Jobs always found their way into places like this.
All he had to do was wait.
A few moments later, the cantina doors slid open once again, admitting another visitor from the crowded spaceport outside.
Talo glanced toward the entrance before returning his attention to the room, silently wondering whether the newcomer was just another customer…
…or the next source of credits.
Inside one of the district's busiest cantinas, the noise was no different.
Conversations filled every corner of the room. Sabacc games were underway at several tables, a group of spacers argued loudly over fuel prices, and a few suspicious figures conducted quiet business in shadowed booths away from curious eyes.
Near the back of the cantina sat Talo Vex.
The young Rodian appeared relaxed in his chair, his brown leather duster hanging open over a dark utility shirt. A heavy glass rested in one hand, filled with a strong Corellian spirit that burned all the way down. His DL-18 blaster remained secured in its thigh holster, visible enough to discourage trouble but not openly threatening.
His deep-purple eyes calmly moved across the room, studying faces, body language, and conversations without drawing attention to himself.
He wasn't here for the drink.
He was here for work.
Smuggling.
Transport.
Courier runs.
Illegal cargo.
Anything that paid enough credits to keep his freighter fueled and flying.
The weathered Ghtroc 580 sat outside on a nearby landing pad, looking like a harmless junk-hauler to anyone passing by. Exactly the kind of ship people overlooked when they needed something moved quietly.
Talo took another slow drink and set the glass down.
No impatience.
No frustration.
Jobs always found their way into places like this.
All he had to do was wait.
A few moments later, the cantina doors slid open once again, admitting another visitor from the crowded spaceport outside.
Talo glanced toward the entrance before returning his attention to the room, silently wondering whether the newcomer was just another customer…
…or the next source of credits.