The Salvage of a Lifetime

"Aya, but my Love, it is too late now... "

"Nonsense Dearest, it is never too late."

"Oh Ziika, were but the galaxy not so cruel. We would be together forever, and burn with such passion that even the stars would need to shield themselves."

"Ama'ree, we will make it so... just as you say. I promise you that."

"I wish that you spoke tru-

ATTENTION ALL SCAV-RANGERS! ATTENTION ALL SCAV-RANGERS! PREPARE YOUR UNITS AND GATHER ALL SALVAGE!"

Always. It was always in those last crucial moments of an episode that he was interrupted. In fact, Rolaska-Tox couldn't remember a time when he'd been able to finish an entire episode without having to pause it. With a groan, the Squib rolled from his bunk, giving a shove to a younger brother in the process.

"Up-up. Call's out. Gonna drop soon."

Rolaska-Sito gave a garbled string of excuses as to why he needed to stay in bed, but protestation was futile.

"Things to make trades with, Sito."

That was enough to pull the younger Squib out of slumber, and Tox began the ritual of passing down the long line of bunks. Most of his unit was awake, sitting amid piles of trinkets and baubles and knick-knacks, sorting each piece in a frenzy of action in preparation for their next stop. Some were dozing, and those were given a light shake.

"Up-up. Going to drop soon."

Most needed no other bidding, and soon enough a din rose. Bags were stuffed with 'treasures', crates packed tight, and pockets filled.

It'd come down the line that there was a new station with a sizeable trading and merchant presence, and the ISSA had decided to add it to their lists of stopovers.

"What's the new place called again," a youngish, bright-eyed Picker asked.

"Jovan Station."



* * *


The ISV Istar-Ko had little trouble being directed to a Spire, and even less trouble disgorging its' occupants. That was the nice thing about a race that was only about a meter tall; their ships were small as well. With his treasures stowed in a rather bulky rucksack, his two tensor pistols safely holstered on each hip, and a well-worn brown poncho thrown over his shoulders, Tox cut a diminutive if not determined figure as he hurried through the umbilical, through the airlock's threshold, and onto one of the stations many docking spires. His unit followed closely behind, and it wasn't long before the Istar-Ko's other three units came across as well. Ahead was the Captain, a grizzled yet smiling Squib that was already in discussion with the station's customs agents.

It wasn't long before they were permitted proper entrance, and the gaggle of Squib soldiers (traders) were filing into the row of lifts, intent on their first stops being the bazaar that was on one of the lower levels.

It wasn't the bazaar that concerned him so much though, and Tox hung back. His unit gleefully surged ahead with the others, and his lips pulled back in a rueful smile as he watch Sito cram himself into a lift with at least twelve others.

He turned to the nearest officer on duty.

"Station map?"

The towering Cizerack male gave a grunt, jerking a thumb at a wall and the brightly colored display it held while still keeping his eyes on the stragglers who were relegated to waiting at the closed doors of unavailable lifts.

"Therre."

"Ah! Wonderful!"

A few quick steps brought him past his comrades and to the front of the display. One clawed hand reached up to trace the lines of each section, and his brow furrowed as he continued to search.

"Habitation... Command... Merchant... Reclamation... Livestock... where is it?"

Muttering to himself, Tox couldn't help the growing frown until a clawtip moved over a sector far below the others.

"A-ha!"

A pink tongue darted out to run over his lips.

"There you are."

"See you tomorrow, Chief!"

The chipper voice was completely out of place coming from the mouth of a grime covered face attached to a filthy uniform draped over a hunched body. The climate control on Deck 44 had gone all wrong. The heat and moisture levels were so high that the deck had been evacuated. Fourteen hours with no breaks had pushed the Engineering Corps to their limits. Each control panel inspected, every emitter checked, sensors replaced, and finally the entire system taken offline and rebooted. It was far from a standard breakdown, and a certain Hutt traveler was under investigation for tampering with the system. Thank the Gods it was fixed now, but it would be a few hours before the climate stabilized and become bearable again.

Absolutely exhausted, Mayael dragged herself across the deckplates of the station with only one destination in mind; her quarters where a sonic shower and her sleeping harness waited for her. One set of the Codru-Ji's hands held on to her toolbelt and tookbox, the other two were busy rubbing sore muscles in her shoulders, biceps, and back. She thanked whatever cosmic being was listening that she did not have fur like the Chief. He had gotten both the stabilizer agent and coolant in his fur. No doubt that would take some scrubbing to get out. Although, she would assume he was quite adept at getting it out, since he always turned her down when she offered to help him clean up.

Climbing into the turbolift she half heartedly thumbed a button, only to curse loudly when the realization hit her that she had hit the wrong floor. Unable to override the selection she waited out the duration of the climb, impatiently tabbing her foot as she leaned against the side of the lift for support. With a ding and a friendly voice announcing the level, the door opened and with a sigh Mayael pushed off the wall and reached for the control panel, only to fall short as something caught her eye through the opened doors. A small, furry creature looking at one of the station map display. In a moment all the exhaustion and frustration of the last half a cycle melted away and she could not contain herself from saying. "SQUIB!" excitedly.

Abandoning all pretense of going home, she hobbled toward the small furry alien. "Hallo! You here to trade?"

If there was one thing Mayael Gets-Into-Trouble Rakkamar likes more than anything in the galaxy it's fiddling with electronics and machines, and Squib traders were the very best when it comes to finding interesting odds and ends to fiddle with.

There were few things that could make a person freeze up like a flutterdeer in speeder lights. A four-armed Codru-Ji was certainly one of those few things. And when you were already on the short end of the spectrum, it really only made the enormity of the much taller person a bit trickier. Oh he'd seen plenty of Codru-Ji and made trades with any and all, it was just that when one wasn't expecting it, the surprise was visible and instinctive.

Jaw open, wide eyes blinking, Tox wasn't exactly sure what to say for the first 2 seconds after the opening salvo was fired upon him. But old habits and instinct were swift to return, and his muzzle shifted into a wide smile.

His almost-found treasure could wait for now.

"No other reason to be here, I hear," he smiled cheekily, "Or so the impression was given. First timer I think people would call me an' the rest of the crews."

His hand pulled away from the map, moving to hook a thump up under the strap on his left shoulder.

"Hearin' the lower level bazaar is the reek's knees for the real traders."

"I do not think they sell knees." She replied as her tired eyes glazed over, her mind wandering through memories of the promenade. Most things did not catch her eye. She was always looking for scavengers selling what most would consider to be junk. Anything identifiable was usually damaged beyond use. Many such things became babbles around her dorm room, lost underneath layers of junk and abandoned projects until rediscovered one day; kicking off a new project that would consume her for weeks to come until something functional took it's place.

Usually she unintentionally created dangerous devices or weapons, which were more often than not immediately taken away. The Grimlok Mk. 2 was carefully hidden away so that it would not join it's predecessor locked away in an armory somewhere. Likely under lock and key until the Alliance could figure out what to do with the hand crafted, multiple barreled shotgun. The Mk.2 boasted an underbarrel flanchette launcher. It was amazing what could be created with junk bought from scavengers, and a few gadgets she had left over from her piracy days.

"You bring goods to sell, trade?" She had interacted with Squibs enough to know they drove hard bargains and were usually more interested in an equal trade than gaining credits. Credits had value, but not in the same way as a physical thing. She could appreciate that. She couldn't even hold on to the credits she was earning, legitimately for the first time. It all went to delivery food, usually from the Cizerack Fusion place that made a brilliant Gorshka deep pizza, and to the promenade to purchase the odds and ends that fueled her real pashion. She missed the days of piracy and scavenging. She always had something to work on and new oddities to discover. She doubted that the Commander would appreciate her running off to scavenge old wrecks in her free time.

"I looken for Tensor Matrix."

Big eyes blinked for a moment longer, and Tox allowed his grin to freeze for half a second as he realized his turn of phrase had been interpreted rather... literally. This one was certainly an odd sort, but in his experience it was usually those that were the most promising and knowledgeable.

His free hand came up then, to idly run a clawtip under his chin in thought.

"A tensor matrix."

A tall order, but not impossible. His grin turned a shade of sly as he finally rocked back on his heels.

"Might got one. But isn't cheap."

He guessed that this Codru-Ji woman was well enough versed in the arts of trade, and if she was looking for a tensor matrix, she more than likely had a few treasures of her own.

The lift beeped, doors opening in invitation.

Ever since that tractor beam glove had passed briefly through their hands Mayael had wanted to replicate it. Most tractor beam technology was understandably big and bulky, designed to be mounted on starships and heavy machinery. She needed something smaller, that still maintained enough power, and nobody knew tractor beams like the Squibs. This wasn't the first Squib she had propositioned for a Tensor Matrix. The others had either not had one they were willing to part with, or refused to give one to a non-Squib. They had no idea what she intended to do with it. No doubt they assumed she was using it to build a tensor weapon; another Squib innovation. The thought had crossed her mind, and was a suitable plan B should the glove not work out.

"I not have much. I use what I find. Build things."

Her brain as too tired to consider her surroundings completely, and without hesitation she followed the Squib into the lift without thinking about what she was doing.

"You know, simple thing. Gravity bomb, blaster that shoot chocolate pudding, laser remove hair no pain, sound emitter drive Gizka to suicide. Oh."

A thought surfaced, a thought she did not like, of her most treasured piece of salvage. She had not pulled it herself, but had found it in an existing collection that fell into her hands when her Pirate crew destroyed a rival that had grown too old and to wealthy to not prey upon. She would hate to part with any of her real treasures, but perhaps it was time to let go of the things she had been holding on to and had never found the opportunity to fix or innovate. There was always that shady Squib collector who paid a lot of credits for old tech, if this one wasn't interested.

"I have little bit old tech. Very old hyperdrive parts, odd ends, and a 'frozen-blaster'. It like old lightsabre, but need portable power source. Very old, very broken. Still fascinating. I wish fix some day, but old parts hard find."

An ear twitched at the thought of one of those old lightsabers, and as the doors of the lift closed, his hand went out to depress a button of one of the lower levels. Fingerpad gently pushing in, his thoughts never strayed from the chance of possibly owning something so old. And if he could fix it...

"You gots a protosaber, eh."

The tip of a pink tongue darts out run over his lower teeth.

I's thinkin' we mights be able to workd sumfin' out," the lift sent them down a plethora of levels, and with a sideways glance, Tox lifted a single finger digit in emphasis.

"But I's wanna see it first."

Reaching forward, over the head of the squat Squib, Mayael selected the deck level that housed a majority of this Alliance personnel's living quarters; while pressing several other seemingly unrelated keys with an ease that only comes to someone with twenty fingers, forcing an override of the previous input rather than stopping at the first floor input before moving on to the next.

"I show you now."

The turbolift slowed to a stop and then ran back the other way, stopping at the selected floor. Mayael lead the way without another word like a woman on a mission. With the Squib in tow she passed many a gapping face, and many more who simply rolled their eyes at the too common sight of the Codru-Ji sparky doing something weird or out of the ordinary. Her room was down a few connected corridors, a maze that would be difficult to navigate for the uninitiated or those who like Mayael had a difficulty fully understanding the signs in basic.

The portal opened to reveal a workshop rather than a living room. Any comforts had been replaced with workstations and tables covered in half finished projects. String lights wound through the room, across the ceiling, and around support beams and table legs. Stepping over and through the mess Mayael made a beeline for the Porto sabre; strategically hidden beneath a pile of old magazines and circuit boards.

"See. As promised."

She held the ancient weapon out with pride for the Squib to see. It was as rough as she described. The once polished surface was pitted and scarred years lost in junk heaps and passing through pawn shops and dirty hands. The cable that would connect to a power pack was present but no power source. The wires were frayed and damaged with age and weather. The whole thing as clearly a broken relic from a bygone era.

He'd followed out of sheer curiosity and a need to see the protosaber she was willing to trade. And when he did see it, it was everything that he had hoped. Sure, it looked completely worn and practically gutted, but there was still a piece of history well-attached. Tox rocked back on the balls of his feet, using the rebound motion to lean in slightly, his head angling as he took a gently sniff. He could smell the 'old' on it, but it was a good kind of old.

Standing back straight, the Squib rolled his shoulders as he gave a look around his surroundings, seeing the state of the room he stood in as if for the first time. He'd been so focused on the act of seeing the saber, that he'd neglected to actually look around him. Everything was like a scavenger's dream... like he'd fallen into the most wonderful of trinket harems. He wanted to sit on a big pillow, surrounded by everything in here, and he had to consciously remind himself to not touch. It was hard, and in the end a useless effort.

Slowly he reached out, letting a fingerpad trace lightly over the edge of a worktable, then up and onto a half-finished project resting atop the well-worn surface. He made a swirl with his finger along the pitted and haphazard gadget's metal covering.

"I likes the place."

It wasn't long before the protosaber reclaimed his eyes though.

"I's thinkin' we's got the means for a deal a' sorts."

His muzzle broke, lips peeling back just a small bit to show a pointy toothed grin, and he squared his shoulders back while shifting his stance as if to stand as tall and proudly as he could manage while in the presence of a four-armed giantess.

"I's Rolaska-Tox. Scav-Ranger of th' I.S.S.A."

A slight bow of his head.

"At your servicen'."

It was with beaming eyes that she watched the little creature become enraptured with her work bench, and the projects laid out on it. Very few entered her room these days, and even fewer had any kind of interest in her hobby. Scavenging had become second nature while she was living with that band of Space Pirates. The ship was constantly falling apart, not that it was her responsibility to fix it. Oh no, she was responsible for keeping the crew's gear in working order. Mag boots, cutting tools, and blasters were all serviced in her old workshop. She never went on the raids; but the spoils were always brought back to her to see if what they found had any value. Many learned what to look out for in order to get an upgrade for their blasters or one of Mayael's homemade gizmos.

It always made her a little sad to remember her old workshop, and all the marvelous things she lost when she got her second chance.

Oh! Oh no! She forgot social convention again. Damn it. Damn it, Mayael! You need to do better!

"Uh, I am Mayael Rakkamar, of Clan Hanhaffan. I am happy to meet you. Deal, yes? Protosaber for Tensor Matrix, yes?"

Mayael Rakkamar. Strange name. But, most non-Squib names were strange to say, and so Tox simply gave a cheery nod and toothy smile.

Thoughts of repairing the old protosaber filled his head, and he could already see himself leading the Scav-Rangers in grand glory, at the head of their ranks with his blade ignited and stretched out before them all. Sito, Zan, even old Yonari-Laika with her charms and chants and old tech rituals would have to admit his trading prowess was top-of-the-pile.

"S'a deal."

His bulky pack was slid gently from his shoulders, flipping up one edge of his dusty old poncho momentarily, but he smoothed it down without fuss. The rolled up top was carefully unbuckled, and he flipped the two hold-down straps over the back. Unrolling the expandable canvas, he couldn't help another look around at Rakkamar's collection of worktables and - arguably enticing - tinker projects.

"I'm likens yor workshop here," a bit of polished metal caught his eye on the closest table, and he abandoned the task of opening his pack momentarily to lift up onto his toe-pads for a better look. Was she the station's resident fixer? Did she make sure everything was put back together here? It would make sense from the scattering of... well... everything in here,

"You fix everything here, on this station?"

Mayael tipped forward, bending ever so slightly, to try and get a better look into the opening of the little furry thing's bag. Perhaps some other technobabble or gizmo was stashed away inside. Something else she might want or need to trade for. her hopes were squashed as the scavenger paused mid-clasp to peer around the workshop once more. Parts were a lot harder to come by on the station, which is why she relied on traders like the Squibs to get what she needed. That also meant she didn't have much she could trade or afford to part with. Everything was what she could make due with. It was hardly the assortment she had with the Pirates.

"Oh no! Not everything. I fix some thing. Many engineers on Jovan Station, yes. My team is Gradoona, big fishy lady, and Anauri. He's, how you say... sour heart? Grumpy? Yes, grumpy. We do most electrical. Little plumbing.

Do you think you can get proto sabre working?"

A hand reached out to pull the polished metal close, and he palmed the trinket for a better look. It appeared to be a half-disassembled mouse droid brain, and he made a 'hrrm' face as he turned it over and around.

I's can try," was the absent-minded answer.

"Even ifens I can't, is still the bestest of things for me. Not any others havens one."

The shiny hunk of metal casing was set back on the workbench, and Tox resumed the task of opening his pack. The top flap was thrown open, and both arms dug in to begin moving around the myriad of stashed parts and bits of electronics tucked within.

"Tensor Matrix no jokens, yeah? Gots to be supes careful with it."

"I promise to be careful. It would be much fun to build one, what do you call it... tensor rifle? Yes. Tensor rifle. I have other idea for it. Beside, I already have blaster that shoot superheated paperclip."

Said blaster was a recreation of the homemade scattergun she had made while with the pirates, and which was promptly confiscated upon her capture and release on to the station. She had, naturally, rebuild it once before, fully functioning, much to the chagrin of the Commander; who had to confiscate that one as well. The paperclip launcher had yet to be discovered yet, but when it inventively did she planned on passing it off as a little hobby toy. Hopefully they would not discover the thermal heating element or that she was using paperclips made from a heavy alloy to really get hot and messy when they are fired.

"Getting salvage difficult here. Have to deal with garbage manager, or vendor..."

She couldn't help but hiss out that last word, her mind shifting to the only reputable salvage trader on the station; Damon Void. A insufferable baboon that did not treat his salvage well and charged far more than it was worth to sell. After their last interaction she had sworn to never set foot in that Black Hat shop again. Now she had to go down to the gritty lower levels of the station and harass sanitation workers to get her hands on anything.

Tox gave an understanding nod as he sent both arms into his pack. He'd at least had the foresight to stuff in a second-hand matrix in the hopes of maybe getting some extra credits for it. But the thought of getting a proto-saber in exchange? By Sima's Tits, that was the sort of deal that could only be imagined. He was already putting together a list of all the components he might need. Just imagine! Rolaska-Tox, Scav-Ranger and swords-Squib!

"I's gottens it here," he mumbled, digging deeper.

"Is repaired, will work likens new."

Stubby fingers closed around the matrix, and he pulled it free along with a few errant baubles which tinked and tonked to the flooring.

"Is matrix," he beamed, holding the prize aloft. The disc-like contraption was ringed in plated metal, with thin tension wires connecting the outer band to the inner magnetite ore and crystalline fusion. Connection wires dangled from the outer edge, and a focusing slider slipped lazily along a precise tracking groove that circled the outer edges. It had been cleaned and tested, to make sure that it was still serviceable, and the Squib held it out to Mayael.

Before she could grab hold of it though, he pulled it slightly out of her reach.

"We's makin' deal. Needen contract."