Without taking his eyes off the crew, the bearded man addresses his chatty Duro partner. "Blast you, Wollong, and yur'n loose lips."
Then he speaks towards Captain Mayvar. "It's like this, stranger. Some of you all might see us as miners, but the company put an end to that. The pay weren't worth the risk, not for what we were haulin' out of the ground."
"We tried to organize, they brought in scabs. We upped the ante, bombed the worst mines. Took a few scabs with 'em. That got more mines to shut down, then things got mighty hot up north. We only had a few blasters amongst us. Of course, those of us with blasters, and the know-how... well, we made it down to these parts to lick our wounds."
The man pauses for a moment, satisfied that he has told enough of his story to make his past understood.
"So the Doc did treat some of our pard'ners, and maybe he took pity on Wollong bellyachin' for honest work. Mentioned this shipment of supplies, and a sack of metal to exchange."
The man pauses again, ending his talk about the Doctor.
"Thing is this, friend. Them supplies are worth more than any metal, 'specially on Phloeron. All them supplies, it's enough to keep a little rebellion on its feet, maybe enough to bring some real Rebs to the fight, at least until the job is through."
"So what's the discomfort of a few wildcats and their country doc? You've got your pay for them supplies, spacer. Phloeron'll be better off when miners like us call the shots."
The man appears to be done with talking, his hands resting on his hips, near enough to reach his blaster but giving no indication he'll do so.
¤¤¤¤¤
¤¤¤¤¤
The chatty one stares at the crew, sizing everyone one up.
The other Duro nods to no one in particular. None of the crew who notices the head nod thinks anything of it, except that two dust-covered men (one Human, one Zabrak) in the crowd outside begin walking towards the docking bay, their hands hidden beneath dusty & bulky overclothes.
Without taking his eyes off the crew, the bearded man addresses his chatty Duro partner. "Blast you, Wollong, and yur'n loose lips."
Then he speaks towards Captain Mayvar. "It's like this, stranger. Some of you all might see us as miners, but the company put an end to that. The pay weren't worth the risk, not for what we were haulin' out of the ground."
"We tried to organize, they brought in scabs. We upped the ante, bombed the worst mines. Took a few scabs with 'em. That got more mines to shut down, then things got mighty hot up north. We only had a few blasters amongst us. Of course, those of us with blasters, and the know-how... well, we made it down to these parts to lick our wounds."
The man pauses for a moment, satisfied that he has told enough of his story to make his past understood.
"So the Doc did treat some of our pard'ners, and maybe he took pity on Wollong bellyachin' for honest work. Mentioned this shipment of supplies, and a sack of metal to exchange."
The man pauses again, ending his talk about the Doctor.
"Thing is this, friend. Them supplies are worth more than any metal, 'specially on Phloeron. All them supplies, it's enough to keep a little rebellion on its feet, maybe enough to bring some real Rebs to the fight, at least until the job is through."
"So what's the discomfort of a few wildcats and their country doc? You've got your pay for them supplies, spacer. Phloeron'll be better off when miners like us call the shots."
The man appears to be done with talking, his hands resting on his hips, near enough to reach his blaster but giving no indication he'll do so.
"Well, friend. It looks like we have us a problem. I ain't tradin' with nobody but the doc. So here."
With a quick motion, Mayvar throws the bag of credits back at the miner and returns his hand to his pistol immediately.
"The deal's off, so I'm suggestin' that you and your men back off before there has to be trouble in this here fine docking station."
I fiddle around with the ship diagnostics on my data pad,
giving off the vibe that I'm just here to do my job and don't have much else of a say.
Darth:
Wade tapped a few controls on his comlink, sending a signal to the Longshot to initiate a low-level power-up, eliminating that step from the startup sequence.
He then moved to stand by one of the landing struts, with a grip on his slugthrower and his other hand resting on his belt. If it came down to a fight, he could use the strut for cover before making his way to his fighter.
The bearded man takes a step back, catching the satchel awkwardly in his non-shooting hand. He looks momentarily unsure if this present course might not be a mistake. "Mister, a lot of somebodies got their designs on them supplies. We're just the ones doin' the askin'. No need to start bein' cross, 'specially with a lady present."
Dropping the satchel at his feet, the man scratches his beard with his off-hand and says, "We seem to have a reg'lar Huttese Stand-off here, right boys? What would you say if we gave you another sack, with metal just the same as that one? And, on top of that..."
Two more men step into the docking bay, out of the crowd, one Human and the other Zabrak. They wear bulky beige overclothes, and steely expressions on their faces.
Once they step into formation to either side of the bearded man, the two newcomers halt and throw their dusty overclothes to the ground, revealing mercenary-style armored vests and blasters slung at their sides.
Then the bearded man continues, with a smile. "On top of the metal, my pard'ners and I will leave y'all alone. What d'ya say to that offer?"
»»»»»
I grimace at the deteriorating situation, and clearing my throat add:
"I don't knows much about this situation besides that I was hoping to get paid for helping this ship make it to Phloeron in one piece... Hm, what do you'all kind folks suppose this Doctor would say if Captain Wade here gave him a buzz on his comm to hear what he thought of this change of plans?"
It's rather the Doctor's own fault if he can't keep the time & place of his deliveries secret on a planet like this, much less arrange for some gun slingers of his own to be securing the cargo. I don't see why these guys would even mind if you give the Doc a buzz, he'll know his cargo is missing soon anyhow, it's not OUR fault if we got held up at the arranged landing point. If they already killed/captured him, what exactly would we we be planning to do if they DO just holster their blasters and skee-daddle?
Oh, I also try to nudge Cinder back up into the ship, or if she's uncooperative, at least get her into better cover behind me.
"Ahem... Scumbucket Wade. 'Scuse me, Maeris."
:-)
Soz smiles excitedly as he sees more men step up. He steps forward rifle in one hand and draws a grenade with the other. He stares at the duro who spoke earlier while addressing the Captain and Maeris.
"Just give the word Captain and I'll show these people how serious we are."
With a flick of his finger he arms the grenade ready to throw it at the mercenaries.
"Now gentlemen, thers no need to resort to violence" Laris takes on soothing tones and starts to slowly and calmy move towards the men.
"Now, normally I'd love to take the money and run, but the doctors a friend, and in this line of work that counts for a lot."
She leaves the last open, almost a question and see if the men provide any alternative options for them.
Obligatory Just in Case Dice Rolls (Use as Desired)
For a moment Cinder had hoped the whole situation was going to work itself out - then the Captain revealed his ruse and the tension in the port dialed up about ten notches. Cinder gulped as everyone's hand inched toward their holsters and the Captain threw the proffered payment back to the gunmen. She didn't resist when Ulula shoved her back, falling back another couple of feet into the corridor and kneeling as she pulled her small holdout blaster from its hiding spot. She tried to calm her shaking hands as she pressed herself against the reassuring solidity of the ship's bulkhead. She wasn't exactly eager at the prospect of a firefight, unlike Soz evidently was, but this was her ship, and they weren't going to hurt the people on it without her fighting back.
She strained her ears, trying to hear if Maeris would succeed in calming the situation.
"Just give the word Captain and I'll show these people how serious we are."
With a flick of his finger he arms the grenade ready to throw it at the mercenaries.
Mayvar whispers back: "Be ready, Soz, I got one o' those bad feelins.
"Now gentlemen, thers no need to resort to violence" Laris takes on soothing tones and starts to slowly and calmy move towards the men.
"Now, normally I'd love to take the money and run, but the doctors a friend, and in this line of work that counts for a lot."
She leaves the last open, almost a question and see if the men provide any alternative options for them.
"Listen to the pretty lady, gentlemen. She's right. You know as well as us that in this business, your rep is all what keeps you separate from cutthroat scum. We'd be fools to trade with you and blow our rep, and you know it too. Now, you got your creds, and like my friend here says, there ain't no reason for there to be any shootin'."
Of course, Mayvar keeps his hand close to his blaster.
Aid Another (Persuasion): (1d20+6=26)
The miners are experienced with their weapons, and their bearded Human leader is something of a wildcard in the equation. In any case, these miner/gunfighters represent the lowest level of threat.
The two thugs/toughs with the vests are bigger men, hired as much for their intimidation factor as their grit. They would be tougher to put down, and least likely to run from a fight. Fighting appears to be their primary vocation.
If the ship's crew were split up or unwilling to fight as a group, the gunslingers would have the edge. Given numbers and the advantage of the ship, the tactical odds are firmly in the crew's favor. Crew members may be seriously injured in such an action, however.
At that moment, the motivators in the ship's turret-mounted weapon systems kick in. Large motor-driven servos wheel the ship's cannons around with an audible whirr, with the cannons' barrels pointed in the direction of the thugs. While the guns' targeting systems are calibrated for larger prey, they'll do in a pinch against outlaws bunched together as they are.
Without waiting to look at their supposed leader, the two Duro gunslingers slowly back away. Between the persuasive efforts of the crew & the threat of cannon fire, the Duro shamelessly edge backwards towards safety. This being a Human world, where Duro don't seem to count for much, the Duro seem to have little reason to keep their noses stuck in to this business.
The bearded man takes a long look at the ship's cannons and sighs. He doesn't need to turn and look to know his Duro partners are halfway out of the docking bay. His two new friends behind him, the Human and the Zabrak, might be willing to get blasted to bits over the supplies. However, the odds of his own hide getting through this unblasted just got a lot less favorable.
"Seems like we done wore out our welcome, boys. There ain't much sense flapping our jaws much longer."
The bearded man stoops down to pick up the satchel at his feet with his off hand. His brutish bodyguards behind him adopt a more relaxed posture, no longer having the long look of death in their eyes..
They all immediately begin backing away, towards the entrance of the docking bay.
"If you change your minds, or find another load of medical supplies in need of a buyer, go to Gulemah's eatery, here in the Port Noctis Durotown. Ask for Castaign, and they will know how to find me. "
The piping noise of Duro music outside begins to fade as the crowd noise starts growing again in the background.
"Thank You Ulula, I presume." Laris speaks into her comlink.
"Now I suggest we contact this doctor and get everything done, before our new friends decide to have another attempt on us." This is Mayvar's job, so Laris will follow his direction.
Sighing with relief, the doctor wipes his hands to clear them of sweat. "I'm glad that was resolved more or less peacefully. Shall we be about our business, then?"
As the men and Duro leave, the tension in Mayvar visibly lessens, and he clasps his hands around his gunbelt.
"Well, this is a mighty weclomin' planet, it seems. Good work, everyone! We're gonna move quick with the Doc, I don't want those townies to start thinkin' twice about their decision to walk away."
He pulls out his comlink and signals the Doc.
"Hey, Doc... It's me, Mayvar, this time in an entirely un-shot condition..."
Mayvar proceeds to ask him to come pick up his shipment, with a repulsorlift cart or something, preferably.
"Captain, I think it might be wise if one of us went along with this doctor friend of yours? I might even be able to ferry him and his supplies in my fighter."
With a flick of his finger, Soz deactivates the grenade and replaces it back on his bandoleer. There is a look of disappointment in his face as the mercenaries/toughs walk away. With the threat of violence gone the concern over the synthene delivery returns. With no other ideas, he walks up to Laris and speaks quietly to her.
"I don't suppose that now that we've hit dirtside you could tell me who the synthene is going to?"
The static-riven holo-image of the Doc appears over the hand-held comlink. At this close of a range from Port Noctis, it is possible to transmit images as well as voice.
The image of his care-lined face appears worse for wear, however. The thugs who attempted to get away with his medical supplies obviously left their mark on the Doctor as well.
"Mayvar! You old scoundrel! For a minute there, I wondered if you had gone back to your old gang of ruffians & double-crossed me! Give me a minute. I'll initiate a credit transfer."
At the front of the docking bay, the labor droids begin to chirp and click in Binary. Their once lifeless forms lurch and sway, as if unaccustomed to the rhythm of movement.
"As for the rest of your payment, I had planned to take the next rail car to Port Noctis, and ride back with my supplies. You know my wife, though. She insists I stay here and rest after what those nerf kissers did to me."
"My dear wife will come herself. Don't you mind for her safety. Two of our neighbors' boys, strong moisture farming lads, will ride with her. And she'll have a bag of metals for you, even if those rascals took the one intended for you folk. Credits may be scarce in these parts, so I most often am paid with what valuables these poor folk can give."
"Now, I'd take it kindly if you'd keep an eye on the droids as they bring those supplies up to the maglev rail. The lift to the loading platform isn't far from those docking bays, but I wouldn't want those droids to get lost along the way."
The labor droids march unsteadily towards the cargo ramp of the cruiser, pausing for permission to enter and directions to what they are to unload.
Wade stops as he overhears the message on the captain's comlink.
"Huh, I guess that all that's left for me is to find the nearest bar."
Looking out into the street beyond the docking bay, Wade mostly sees what one might expect in a Durotown quarter of a Human spaceport - crowded boarding houses, Squib-staffed Duro laundromats, the occasional eatery.
The most likely place to score a mood-altering compound would be the red-doored tea house, the primary source of the piping Duro music heard before. Wine or whiskey, probably served in ubiquitous green Duro porcelain... and in the right (or wrong) type of tea house, various plant-derived compounds to be burned and inhaled for those who do not favor their remaining brain matter.
Cinder hurriedly replaced her hidden hold out blaster as the men in the port backed away, cowed for the moment. She stood up as Doctor Elliot breathed a sign of relief. As the adrenaline rush began to wear off and her heartbeat slowed to a normal volume, Cinder walked back out to stand by Ulula...and was overcome by another wave of panic at the prospect that nothing was between her and the dreaded mission of buying parts planetside. Cinder thrust her shaking hands into her pocket and stared at her scuffed and worn boot tips as she counted slowly to one hundred and waited for Ulula to begin preparing for the shopping trip outside.
"Alright everyone, you heard the man. The job's done, we just gotta take care of the details. I'm gonna stay here and finish up the deal, y'all can feel free to wander about and take care of any business that needs care."
"Go on, enjoy yourselves! Once we take off, it'll be a long time before we get another chance like this."
Wade drifted into a building with red doors pumping out Duro styled music like most life support systems generated atmosphere. He could get by, the noise was of no concern. He ordered some lum and took it with him to a seat. He chose a place that gave him the most advantageous view of the room while remaining seated alone.
He sipped the lum but he drank in the surroundings. As he gazed about, he checked for exits, obvious or otherwise, aside from the entrance he'd used*. Next, he looked to see if any of the crew's recent guests were inside*. Best to be aware of a possible threat than not to bother even looking.
It is almost time. Wade thought. He'd stayed away from Imperial data to keep his enemies from back-tracing his location. Several months time had passed and he should be suitably "lost" to keep suspicion to a minimum. He needed to prepare to make his move.
He'd need to gain contacts, turn some assets to himself, and acquire the necessary equipment. But first, he needed to get the lay of the land, feel out around himself. No good would come of plodding through like an undomesticated bantha. It would require care, precision, subtlety, and tact. That began with him using his locale and current resources to their utmost. It began here, in this region of space, and in that ship with that crew.
Mayvar watches the laboring droids lurch and sway, two droids hefting each white plasteel crate down the ship's cargo ramp. Their unpleasing steps and motions drive themselves and their cargo without a fault, however.
The droids plod steadily out of the docking bay, threading directly into the flow of traffic outside. After a short walk that goes past the red-doored tea house, the droids shuffle around a corner to another gateway. Past two burly Gamorreans (one slumped over a chair, asleep), the droids move the crates of medical supplies into the cargo loading area of the maglev spur line headed for Connmohr.
Blue painted loading droids within the shaded cargo area stand silently, awaiting the arrival of the train. The lone sentient within the cargo bay (a decrepit old Neimoidian) takes note of the number of white plasteel crates being placed within his care. As each of the pairs of loading droids deposits a white plasteel crate within the cargo bay, the old Neimoidian scans and logs the container to ensure that its passage has already been paid for.
As the last of the crates is hauled into the cargo area, a grunt of warning from the non-sleeping Gamorrean informs Mayvar that his business watching over the supplies has ended.
The old overseer steps slowly outside, and rudely hands Mayvar an archaic-style paper bill of goods, the claim ticket for the consignment of medical supplies.
The Neimoidian points down the street towards a large metal archway, with curling Duro letters molded into the ironwork. Speaking in rudely toned Basic, the old cargo overseer says, "Passenger area is that way, pinkskin."
He then wanders back towards the cargo bay, muttering about the good ol' days when armies of battle droids marched at his command.
A sense of normalcy returns to the crew's surroundings, if anything in the life of an independent freighter crew's life might be deemed "normal".
The bustle of dockside life fills the air with a sense of vitality that is absent in a freighter's closed quarters. The terrestrial air itself carries alien scents and sounds, quite unlike those remembered from the ship's last port of call. Every next journey through hyperspace has brought each of the crew one step further from the sense of "home" as some static point in the universe.
As the droids carry off the last of the crates of medical supplies, a new set of dockyard droids wheel their way into the docking bay. A trio of astromech droids, each bearing the logos and badges of various corporate advertising efforts - no doubt the original investors in the spaceport.
The lead droid, a cone-headed R3 unit bearing the purple crescent of the Flumahdi fuel processing conglomerate, begins displaying a holo-advertisement.
The cheerful and comely image of the famous faux-Human holo-construct, Trenn Liada, stands in front of the crew, dressed in her usual modernist Corporate Sector wear.
"On behalf of our chief executive and merciless taskmaster, I bid you welcome to Port Noctis. Flumahdi Unlimited offers a host of refueling options, repair services, starship parts, and more. Just indicate your needs to our concierge droids, and they will be happy to accomodate you... for a nominal fee. Remember Flumahdi fuels - the stuff that puts the drive in hyperdrive!"
In the street beyond the docking bay, junk shops, souvenir stands, eateries, and other typical dockside establishments await. Although the pedestrians streaming past the entrance to the docking bay do their best to avoid eye contact with strangers, it might be possible to enquire about directions to any facilities that the crew requires.
Wade hears the clackety-clack sound of Duro gambling blocks from behind a door to the rear of the tea house. If there's a back room for gambling, there must be a way into the back alley from there.
Out in the main room of the two-storied tea room, a steep flight of stairs leads to a narrow balcony that overlooks the front of the house. Most botanical-smoking patrons gather on that second-floor loft, avoiding eye contact with the house's other patrons.
The ground floor of the tea house hosts a number of patrons of various interstellar species. Duro and Neimoidian represent the majority, with some Humans, and a few individuals of other species as well.
None of the patrons look familiar to Wade, including the Duro.
A skinny Neimoidian waitress pushes a hovering metal cart around the ground floor of the tea house, offering small plates of various Neimoidian luncheon dishes.
A fat Twi'lek woman sits in a corner, eyeing Wade thoughtfully as two young Human males massage her head tails.
The ancient Duro owner of the tea house stands behind a counter, humming cheerfully to the music coming out of a cheap speaker placed behind his wrinkly head.
Wade ruminated for a bit, working out the details of his surroundings and the locals. The Twi'lek woman stood out the most, probably because she was watching him.
He thought for a moment more, deciding that a direct approach would get him the results he needed, allowing him to size her up by her reaction. He picked up his lum and walked across the room.
"So, was there anything you needed, or just trying to figure out the new guy?" He asked as he stood before her.
As Wade stands by the twi'lek woman's table, a vacant-eyed Neimoidian from the second floor loft also stumbles towards the same table. He smells of burnt flowers mixed with industrial-grade cleaning supplies, and whatever it is makes Wade's eyes water.
One of the males attending the woman conducts a silent transaction with the stumbling Neimoidian, solely through the use of hand gestures. Money is exchanged, a small red paper packet is handed to the Neimoidian, who vanishes back up the stairs.
The large Twi'lek woman looks at Wade as if she were eyeing her next meal. "You don't have the scent of the opiated yet, nor do you have the build of a rock breaker. We have heard there's an Imperial ship topside, so you can't be a messenger from my supplier... whom I do not know, and you aren't looking for, are you? Now, you could be an Imperial agent, but you wouldn't be interested in a simple provider in this two-bit town. So I ask myself, what kind of pinkskin offworlder just walked in to my parlour? Are you here for business or for pleasure?"
The woman's green head tail flicks in a vulgar manner as she smiles politely.
"If no one has need of me, then, I'll be heading into town to see what supplies I can't pick up, maybe contact a few folks, grab some leads on what's going on. Hopefully keep us from flying blind."
Turning, Elliot heads back into the ship to grab his pack from his bunk.
Might be able to contact some new crews, too. Keep up the network, dad always said. Supplies, jobs, information, who knows. Whatever I can get. And if it comes to it...
Elliot stopped walking, his thoughts forcing him to stop. Could he really do it? This place had felt more like home over these past few months than any place had since he had left home all those years ago. If he remained, though, something was sure to happen: A crew member he couldn't save on the operating table, a lethal accident, death in a firefight: it didn't matter. At some point, someone would be lost, and then it would be too late. It would happen all over again. That pain; that loss; the emptiness inside a person that felt like wind flowing through a cave.
I've got to get out of here. If I don't...if I don't...
The large Twi'lek woman looks at Wade as if she were eyeing her next meal. "You don't have the scent of the opiated yet, nor do you have the build of a rock breaker. We have heard there's an Imperial ship topside, so you can't be a messenger from my supplier... whom I do not know, and you aren't looking for, are you? Now, you could be an Imperial agent, but you wouldn't be interested in a simple provider in this two-bit town. So I ask myself, what kind of pinkskin offworlder just walked in to my parlour? Are you here for business or for pleasure?"
"I don't see what's wrong with a little of each, provided they're compartmentalized to avoid one interfering with another." Wade said as he took a seat. She was a very cool-headed individual, professional. He recognized she acted on a give and take system.
"My name is Wade, Wade Macton. Right now I'm contracting as fighter escort for a cargo freighter. But, I also handle- odd jobs, on the side, as long as they don't interfere with my contract. Might I assume this establishment is yours?"
I will first try to find a place with my favorite Durese dish, live Urchin Delight.
If Cinder absolutely freaks out, I'll take us inside wherever we can, and/or hail a cab from that point.
Anybody else is welcome to come along with us.
BTW, do we all have a security/door code to the ship (& hangar?) or what?
Laris stays by the port, keeping an eye out for any imperial presence.
She'll act all friendly and make mental notes of market values for future visits but the destroyer in orbit has her quite on edge.
Not receiving any real answers to his query, Soz decides to head out with Ulula to gather some supplies. Perhaps someone on the way knows more about the synthene distribution in town. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't important, but just knowing that he was in some way contributing to turning people into addicted messes like he used to be bothered him. Adjusting his weapons, and insuring they were set to stun while in the town, he stood beside Ulula.
"If you don't mind Ulula, I'll head out with you to get the supplies. I could use a good stretch of the legs for a bit."
Of course there were reasons beyond just the prospect of information gathering and exercise he wanted to head out with Ulula. Soz was getting homesick and he knew if he went out alone, and didn't find any info about the synthene, his depression might get the better of him and he could find himself at the bottom of a bottle once again. A fate he wanted to avoid. It was hard enough to sober up the first time.
Cinder tried as best she could to control the fear that had her heart hammering in her chest as Ulula and Soz stepped out into the open unprotected air as if it were nothing. With a gulp she stumbled after them, staring fixedly at Ulula's heels. If she didn't look up, she didn't have to see the awful emptiness above her, the air with nothing holding it where she could breath, the...with a gasp Cinder skipped forward and reached toward Ulula's hand, then hesitated and clechned her fists to her chest instead. "How...how much farther?" she managed to ask weakly, shaking with both a fear of the sky and an urge to look up at it, and maybe prove it wasn't all terribly open to space after all. When Ulula and Soz didn't hear her weak query and began to pull ahead of her in the street, she gulped and, still excercising an iron control to avoid looking up, she jogged forward to keep up with them. Under the open sky was bad enough. Alone was worse.
With the transaction done, Mayvar smiles at Laris and tells her he'll be out looking for work.
He heads to any cantina of "ill-repute" where this kind of work can be found . He orders a drink and starts asking around, looking for any hint he can get. Being a natural schmoozer, Mayvar actually truly enjoys this part of his job.
After the labor droids have taken last cargo containers out of the docking bay, the cone-headed R3 droid beeps and whistles again as it accesses further holo-images in its memory banks.
A new projection of holo-spokeswoman Trenn Liada shimmers into view, again wearing modernist Corporate wear and a pleasant smile.
"Flumahdi Unlimited thanks you for concluding your business transaction in one of our many convenient spaceport locations. An encrypted message containing the keycode for this docking port has been sent to your ship's communications array. Keypads for entering this code are next to the main docking bay door, and a smaller pedestrian door adjacent to the main door."
The main doors to the docking bay begin to slide closed automatically, and a yellow light flashes above a medium-sized pedestrian door to the right of the main doors. The noise from the crowd outside immediately dies down as the doors seal shut.
Two of the astromech droids beep at each other, while the "spokesdroid" conjures up one remaining holo-projection of Trenn Liada.
"If you have no further requests, Flumahdi Unlimited wishes you a prosperous journey. While you are within the spaceport, you may send a comm message to channel 10-zeta-7 to page a concierge droid at any time, and we would be happy to assist you... for a nominal fee. And the next time you are in a Flumahdi spaceport, remember Flumahdi fuels - the stuff that puts the drive in hyperdrive!"
As the droid's message ends, the trio of astromech droids begin to wheel themselves towards the small pedestrian exit from the docking bay.
Overhead, the sound of other spacecraft landing at Port Noctis fills the air.
The wide main streets of the spaceport in the old Durotown section have a number of narrow side streets leading into darkened alleys, most likely to communal courtyard residences where many Duro families share one central open space together.
Speaking in Duro, Soz asks several locals where the best shops might be to find starship parts. The best prices and least dishonest merchantmen are some blocks away from the docking bays, near the open air food market at the heart of Port Noctis' Durotown. Says one old Duro spacer in a woven reed hat, "Citadel cruiser? You'll want to find the shop of Nenaze the Runner. He has many friends, some of them are even legitimate. He will most likely have that which you need."
...
The walk towards the open air food market is pleasant, and takes the trio past at least one open docking bay where a newly landed Corellian ship is taking on several large pallets, laden with metal ingots.
The crowd becomes more dense closer to the market. The noises become louder, the smells become more pungent. Dirty-looking eateries, general stores, and other small businesses line the sides of the street in this district of the Durotown. Any one of the eateries might serve a great tasting dish of live Urchin Delight... they are all filled with patrons in spite of the dive-y outward appearance of the small restaurants.
Finding the junk shop of Nenaze the Runner might prove more difficult, however. "Alleyway, other end of the market" is the closest to a set of directions that Soz is able to gather from the pedestrians around the market.
The large Twi'lek woman shifts her weight in an almost Hutt-like fashion. If she does not serve the local Hutts, she seems familiar with their mannerisms.
"I don't own this place... I just provide the old Duro with a bit of the action. If there's a bright part of the galaxy, this isn't it... it's the underside of the rear end of the dark parts, pinkskin. It's a real nerf hole, but it's quiet... and that's all a girl asks for when she's looking to retire.
"The difficult part is maintaining a good supply of product here. It is difficult to get reliable couriers, and doubly so if there's any rumor of Imperials making a mess of things top-side."
The Twi'lek peers over Wade's shoulder as several strangers enter the tea house.
Mayvar, Laris, and Elliot enter the red-doored tea house at the same time as a pair of other off-worlders.
The off-worlders are both Human males, and have the spacer's look about them. Their style of dress is unlike the locals. The manner with which they carry themselves speaks of a certain confidence and independence that is more rare amongst the downtrodden and planet-bound. They quickly find a table near the doorway.
One of the off-worlders has bloodshot eyes & has a rattling cough. Mayvar has no real interest in picking up whatever microbe the man is carrying, so the Captain strikes up a conversation with the other off-worlder.
"Perto Guroon, navigator from the freighter Comet's Wake. We just come in from Calder, carrying some light machinery and basic droids to sell. Nobody buying up at Port Bellarin, maybe because of the miner's strike. We had to come down here. My partner picked up something of a cough while he was on Calder."
As the food cart comes past the table, the off-worlder orders a few small dishes, and then continues talking.
"Our Captain plans to take on a consignment of ingots and ore, but I don't know where we're going next. Corporate shipping runs most metal runs to the shipyards at Wazta, so it's often the smaller players who buy metal off independents like us. Builders on Biccara who want things like Tritanium to use in alloys for crazy buildings... the shipyards at Junisk, who take whatever metals that don't get taken up by the military shipyards at Wazta... the factories on Gaulus, where many bigger outfits don't want to deal with the toxic atmosphere... Captain has done all those runs before."
Entering the tea house, Elliot remarks to the Captain that he's going to chat up the patrons, see if he can't find out what's going on around here.
Picking a seat that's well placed to overhear a variety of conversations, Elliot orders a drink, and begins to piece together what he can.
The large Twi'lek woman shifts her weight in an almost Hutt-like fashion. If she does not serve the local Hutts, she seems familiar with their mannerisms.
"I don't own this place... I just provide the old Duro with a bit of the action. If there's a bright part of the galaxy, this isn't it... it's the underside of the rear end of the dark parts, pinkskin. It's a real nerf hole, but it's quiet... and that's all a girl asks for when she's looking to retire.
"The difficult part is maintaining a good supply of product here. It is difficult to get reliable couriers, and doubly so if there's any rumor of Imperials making a mess of things top-side."
The Twi'lek peers over Wade's shoulder as several strangers enter the tea house.
Wade glances back over his shoulder as he notices the Twi'Lek look to newcomers. He noticed the captain, amongst others, walking in. He turned his attention back to the Twi'Lek.
"So, you're more along the lines of the local "Go-To-Girl" or Information Broker, right? That must mean you know just about everything going on in this hemisphere."
The Twi'lek woman smiles, baring her fanged teeth in a broad grin. "Flattery will get you anywhere, handsome. But what's there to know? Port Noctis may be the center of things, here in the South... but there isn't much to it. Now, you'll hear big talk from those miners come down from the North, but to me, it looks like the company men busted up their organizations pretty easy. It'll be twice as hard for those rock-busters to go back up there & do to the company men what's already been done to the miners. The miners' groups are just too many, too disorganized to do much of anything but bring the hammer of the Empire on us all."
Gesturing towards the other off-worlders who have entered the tea house, the woman continues. "Outsiders and off-worlders come to unload equipment, or so they say. How much of these equipment and supply runs are for people with bad intentions up North? Must be a lot. At times, it makes it tough for legitimate businesspeople like myself to do honest business. Patrols of the shipping lanes by the corporate types and the governor... it's driven up the cost of doing business!"
She stops for a moment, and smiles. "Of course, opinions are free. If you'd like to talk business, it might cost something, depending on the types of business arrangements you might be after."
Downstairs, the conversations are fairly muted and light. Duro patrons order small plates of food and various kinds of off-world tea, and mainly discuss the merits of the cullinary arts, when they speak in Basic.
Occasionally, Elliot can hear talking from the drug-addled patrons on the second floor lofted space.
Otherwise, the most interesting talk at present comes from the Twi'lek woman that Wade is chatting with.
I'll be holding Cinder's hand, both because of "dense crowd on poor, dangerous planet" and to keep her more "together", being outside. If she really freaks out, I guess I'd step inside whatever enclosed building is at hand or jump in a cab.
So, you've seen a blown Drive Containment like this? You know the most difficult part to look out for when fixing 'em, right? (Testing her to keep her mind in comfortable places)
I guess we'll find that Urchin Fix first. As we do this, I'll discuss our landing here with Soz, wonder where those transports full of scabs are coming from, etc...? I think we all speak Durese, though unless Cinder uses it, I may assume she doesn't.
New visitors enter the common room of the tea house as other visiting ships clear their cargo. A trio of Duros finds a table near the entrance, their gaudy flight suits making them easily identifiable as non-native to the planet. They look suspiciously at the non-Duro in the tea house as they speak quietly to each other in Durese.
Soon after the Duros settle into their chairs and enjoy their first cups of tea, a professionally dressed Human woman ducks into the tea house door, quickly looking for a place to sit. She taps at a matte black data pad distractedly, then locks eyes with Elliot, who is sitting by himself.
Behind the corporate-looking woman is a brutish and large Human male wearing ill-fitting, bulky clothes. He is most likely her bodyguard or protector. He too surveys the scene, then sizes up Elliot - most likely for an entirely different reason than the woman's reasons.
The woman quickly makes her way over to Elliot's table. "Haeritt Locard? I was informed that you might know several good miners who would be willing to relocate to Nenaxis."
Maybe Ulula heard her weak query after all, because Cinder suddenly realized that Ulula had grabbed her arm and was pulling her through the increasingly crowded streets. It made it easier to keep her eyes fixed firmly on the dust covered street, and away from the looming openess overhead.
"So, you've seen a blown drive containment like this?" Cinder heard Ulula ask as she stumbled along behind her. "You know the most difficult part to look out for when fixing 'em, right?"
Cinder struggled to pull her gibbering thoughts back into something resembling order. "Well, the Urchin's in better shape than the junkers the pirates used," Cinder began. As she remembered old ship repairs and crawling through dangerous crannies with an analyzer and scared and angry pirates waiting outside the warren of pipes and machinery, her thoughts steadied. "The hardest part was making sure the entire system was acutally sealed before starting the warp ion generators...but I don't think the Urchin's engines are nearly as eroded." As her mind became absorbed in the problem presented to her, the hesitant tone of her voice strengthened as well. "Probably it'll be tuning the force field to the right resonance. I saw how tightly you calibrated things to keep it running as efficiently as possible." Cinder couldn't help a breathless chuckle. "The pirates were just happy enough to have field integrity - the coils didn't even match; they took whatever parts could be scrounged off ships. I've never seen a system where you could get beyond basic operational requirements to actual...efficiency gains."
Ulula's gambit worked too well, and Cinder, distracted, accidently looked up. "By the abyss..." she gasped, and stumbled backward, vertigo setting her mind to whirling as she stared in horror up at the sky. Gravity couldn't hold the air in, they were venting into space, and she could feel a breeze...that could only mean there was a breach in life support systems...Cinder looked around wildly and saw, amid the growing crowd of flimsy tents and useless awnings, an info booth with a large "Out of Order" scrawled across its windows with faded red paint.
She yanked her hand out of Ulula's grip with all her might and stumbled to the booth. She fell against the hinged folding door and kicked and yanked at it for a second before it creaked open. She slipped in and threw herself against the back wall, kicking the door shut with her foot and then falling against it to hold it closed. She crouched there - the floor was disgusting and there were some unpleasant odors wafting into her nose she didn't want to think too hard about - but for the moment she was safe and hidden from the open air. She shuddered and hugged her arms to herself and began a slow and stuttering count to a hundred, gasping between counts. "One...two..."
A few questions in Durese, and Soz soon points the trio of crewmates into the small open-air market. The crowds and closed-in feeling of the space makes Cinder feel slightly more at ease, momentarily making her forget the open sky above.
Soz then leads Cinder and Ulula towards an alleyway with a simple teal sign above it. A single Durese word is painted on the face of the sign - "Uncertain".
The alleyway leads into an open courtyard. Four flat-leafed trees in each of the corners of the rectangular open space, providing ample shade from the sun. An old Duro woman sweeps dust and dessicated leaves into a simple metal pan at the far end of the courtyard.
Along one of the walls of the courtard is a simple teal doorway. Above the doorway, a red sign with swirling Duro lettering advertises Nenaze's Imports. The door is open, and when the group goes inside, they see two Duros chatting. One is seated at a simple table, dressed in a silvery longcoat. The other Duro stands nearby, wearing a greasy jumpsuit.
Seeing potential customers, one of whom being a Duro, the seated Duro in the longcoat stands and addresses the group."Location, location, and location. Bah! If you sell nothing truly valuable, then location is all you have to make yourself important to your customers. If you sell what is valuable, your customers will come to you. In this manner, one might achieve a more harmonious duality between importance and non-importance, wouldn't you say?"
Looking around the interior of the store, the crewmembers see all manner of parts and pieces of electronic gear. Some might describe this as a junk shop, but to technical folks such as Ulula or Cinder, the variety of parts & the overall sense of order in the Duro's arrangement of parts makes him more interesting than a junk peddler. He has an eye for used but valuable parts, which sets him apart from those who carry shelves full of junk.
"...one hundred..." Cinder felt better - she was able to think again. At the same time, the shame she felt over her actions as clarity returned to her was not pleasant. One step forward...a big running leap back. Still crouched down against the booth door, Cinder pressed her face into her knees and wrapped her arms around her head as she took a deep, steadying breath and did the best she could to school her expression into something other than absolute mortification. She stood up and, eyes fixed steadily on the ground except for a quick and embarrassed glance up at Ulula's and Soz's faces, smiled a nervous little smile of apology. "I'm....sorry. Sorry. I'm okay now. Um...can we...uh...hurry?" Twisting her fingers up together in front of her, Cinder scurried after her shipmates. Hopefully the shop they ended up at wasn't one of those skrogging tents.