Inside the immense hangar hall, the atmosphere was a heavy blend of roasted meats, spilled drinks, and raw, unbridled ambition
.
As the Cerberus Fleet delegation made its grand, fashionably late entrance across the docking bridge, Roqar Zatt and his Cerberus compatriates sat alongside the eight-foot Epicanthix leviathan at the high tables.
This was Roqar's first true exposure to the broader galactic underworld—a room packed with Vahlan corsairs, Hapan exiles, and Karkarodon captains. Tonight, the objective was pure, high-stakes networking, and he was not going to let the opportunity go to waste.
Roqar hovered with a rhythmic, measured stillness at precise eye-level with the seated captains, his wings beating in a safe, near-silent purr. His spine was locked perfectly straight, his posture still carrying the unblemished dignity and poise of a seasoned military officer though his commission had long since been revoked by the xenophobic imperials. In stark contrast with the expectations most people had of Toydarians, Roqar was dressed impeccably. He wore his tailored, high-collar vest of aubergine-toned Corellian silk and his chest was draped in the golden chains he once wore on his dress uniform, the very picture of sophisticated, sharp-edged opulence. He was here to sell himself as the premier, elite fixer these free nomads desperately needed to back up their muscle, all while making his captain look like a visionary kingmaker.
As
Makar Clyne
raised his large stein and bellowed his honorific toast, Roqar offered a subtle, knowing smirk, effortlessly mirroring his captain's dominant charisma. The heavy gemstone rings on Roqar's webbed fingers let out a sharp, rhythmic
'clink' against his glassware as he set down his goblet of Tarisian Brandy. He was entirely oblivious to the fact that the deep violet gemstone ring on his right hand was emitting a faint, near-silent Force hum directly into the crowded room, but he was acutely aware of every eye on him.
Just a step behind him, S'tosh surveyed the room with practiced military vigilance, his brow furrowed as his dark eyes tracked the exit paths and the positions of the heavily armed planetary guards. The hulking bodyguard Dowutin leaned down slightly toward his former commander, his voice a low, gravelly rumble meant only for the Toydarian's ears.
"We've got clear lines of sight to both hangar exits from here, Boss. If things get loud, stick close behind me—I'll clear the lane."
Roqar gave a microscopic nod, silently validating his confidant's tactical assessment before turning back to the table.
To Roqar's left, the mirror-sheen chromium surface of SE-4 "Lux" gleamed in the firelight. Lux moved with elegant precision, Roqar's custom, armored lockbox binder-cuffed to his left arm as it always was. The droid's advanced ocular arrays were already scanning the room, running real-time biometric and micro-expression algorithms on Hasuras Na-Gerra, Captain Isur, and Jolly Walker, instantly filing their profiles for future exploitation and sending a silent message through to Roqar's cybernetic eye:
[REGISTRY ACTIVE: COURT OF CORSAIRS DIRECTORY]
[TARGET ANALYSIS: HASURAS NA-GERRA / JOLLY WALKER / ISUR]
[LOGISTICAL PROFILE: ROUGHNECK ARMAMENTS / HIGH-VOLUME REVENUE CHANNELS]
Seizing the moment in between Makar's toast and that of whichever Pirate Lord next spoke up, Roqar raised his goblet and announced, affecting his most debonair, swaggerly tone,
"To freedom, and to the infrastructure that sustains it." His braggadocious cadence carried cleanly across his section of the table. He didn't holler like a common brigand; he spoke with the pompous authority of a pirate Lieutenant. He leaned slightly forward in mid-air, his tailored vest parting just enough to hint at the polished chromium barrels of
Debit and
Credit resting securely in their shoulder holsters tucked just out of full view. He cast a sharp, calculating gaze across the table toward the other pirate lords, as he offered his inspiring toast.
"The great Captain Clyne speaks of an ambition that cannot be contained, gentlemen, and Cerberus Fleet has the steel to prove it!." Roqar continued, an ambitious warmth curling his snout as he inclined his head first to his own captain, and then to Na-Gerra, Isur, and Jolly Walker.
"Tonight, we drink to a historic pact, and to the boundless fortunes it will bring. May the Profit Favor You, Lords of the Court., and us all!"
The crisp echo of his glass meeting the table had barely faded before Roqar offered a smooth, calculated gesture toward his left. On cue, Lux stepped forward with clockwork grace, the droid's mirror-sheen chromium fingers snapping open the primary compression seals of the armored lockbox with a pneumatic hiss. From the velvet-lined interior, the droid lifted an ornate humidor, its polished surfaces glimmering in the dim light of the room, and placed it gently onto the marble before the Hapan Warlord.
"And for you yourself Lord Gerra, to show our deep appreciation for this lavish reception, a modest tribute on behalf of my liege Captain Clyne" Roqar murmured, as he drifted respectfully closer in mid-air.
"Leading an armada of this scale through active war zones is a heavy mathematical burden. I trust these will help alleviate some of that burden for you." Lux slid the dark colored box in front of Gerra and fully opened the lid before stepping back with a practiced etiquette. Inside sat a dozen hand-rolled premium cigarras packed with imported Jovian clove and high-grade Outer Rim spice leaves, their sweet aroma wafting out silkily. A keen eye would also notice the humidor was plated in pure shimmering Cortosis laminate, which would serve to scramble any contraband scanner that might try to uncover its contents, allowing the luxuries inside to remain entirely private.
The Toydarian offered a slick nod toward Makar, leaning back slightly to let the his lord admire the unique metadata of the ostentatious tribute, hoping Clyne did not feel upstaged. The grand gesture was, after all, made in his name.
"Think of it as a small sample of what Cerberus's procurement lines can secure when the local regimes are looking the other way."
With a polite, disciplined incline of his head, Roqar reversed course and returned to his seat, leaving the high-end icebreaker on the table as a flawless corporate calling card.
Hasuras Na-Gerra
Isur
Jolly Walker
Makar Clyne
Zev Corrin
