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Thread: Showdown at Junction

  1. #21
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    Ben Merasska's Avatar
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    "You're late."

    Daz Mira frowned, but then smiled as he looked over the weapons and most importantly ammunition and explosives that comprised the major portion of the cargo.

    "Not by that long, my friend. Besides, Imperials —

    "Imperials threaten to board me too," the stern faced smuggler said, stepping closer. "Didn't stop me. Doesn't seem fair is all. I got blasters in my face and rude men touching me all over my bashful bashful body and I was the one on time."

    Daz stepped back. "I don't have any extra money, Captain. Everything I have I've given to the war effort."

    "The war is over," Captain Merasska said, keeping his eyes on Daz. "You lost."

    Daz's frown erupted on his face once more, turning into a full blown snarl, and he stepped forward, but the sound of a blaster priming to the side prompted him to look and see his comrades with their hands in the air, and a small Togruta female with an E-11 in her hands and her finger on the trigger.

    "Wouldn't do that if I were you," she said, keeping her eyes on the others.

    "What do you want?" the insurgent asked.

    "Names."

    Daz's brows rose. "Listen. I don't know much, okay? When you come to drop off the goods at the base later today, I'll get you to talk to the commander. He's the one who talks to our backers and suppliers off planet and all that. If anyone has an answer to those sorts of questions, he will."

    Ben sighed, and nodded, which seemed to be the cue the Togruta was waiting for; she lowered her rifle and stepped back. Daz and his men disappeared in the mass of humanity and Ben stood still, watching the crowds for a moment before collapsing onto a crate with a sudden rush of breath.

    Junction City's Grand Terminal was something of a tourist trap; but this was exactly why Ben had landed there. Thieves didn't really mess with Spacers unless they looked like easy marks, and the bustle and hustle and constant trade and coming and going would hide their arrival and departure easily. Well, that, and it would have been difficult to land anywhere else; the planet's skies were heavily regulated in terms of space traffic. That didn't mean Grand Terminal didn't have an 'economical fares' section, a row of ships sitting side by side with barely a wall to grant some privacy between them.

    "Oh it wasn't that bad," Shuvin said.

    "I was so scared," Ben gasped. "You know I'm not good at these confrontation things, right?"

    "But it got you what you wanted," Shuvin shot back.

    "No, it got that guy to say that he would get me in to talk to someone else. He's just as likely to ignore it as follow through."

    Shuvin pouted. "You really know how to burst a girl's bubble, Ben."

    Ben rested a hand on the teen's shoulder. "I appreciate it, Shuvin. But I don't need to go makin' more enemies when I have too many already. Now come on. These crates ain't gonna load themselves!"

    Shuvin groaned and got to work.

  2. #22
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    Abarai Loki's Avatar
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    On his way back to the heart of Junction City, Loki was joined by Feelip and Andria, the sandy-haired twins from Torque. When he'd been stranded without a credit to his name, they had been the ones to show him the cheapest and most convenient way to travel around the city. Side-by-side, they sat on the back of a taxi chariot, with their feet dangling inches from the dusty road. The chariots were pulled by twin engines, like podracers, but slow, and piloted by droids that were all torso and no manners. But, as long as the droids didn't find out, one could consider taxi-butting the unofficial public transport of Junction City.

    "Our auntie calls them fruitlets," said Feelip, holding out a paper bag. Loki plucked out a rainbow-coloured boiled candy and, after a moment of consideration, put it in his mouth. Auntie Meryble had a mixed record when it came to her confectionery concoctions, but, in her bright sweet fruitlets, she had achieved success. When Loki got to the soft gooey centre, he nodded his approval.

    "She's working us overtime," Andria confessed, regarding a fruitlet with disdain, "To produce enough batches for the festival."

    The Festival of the Traveller was a celebration of the fictional stranger who visited Junction many years ago, and brought with him, or her, great wealth and prosperity, turning Junction Town into Junction City. It was nonsense, of course, designed to attract magpie-minded tourists to the city and part them from their money. And because it worked, there was a festival for every month of the year. For these sequel events, the locals became less creative in naming their scams: there was the dull and innocuous Festival of the Visitor, the glaringly obvious Festival of the Generous Stranger, and the outright lazy Festival of Festivals. Feelip and Andria lived with their aunt, who sold pastries, candies, and local treats from their market stall outside the Grand Terminal. The festivals were the lifeblood of the family business, and it was with those earnings they were sheltered, clothed, and fed. So it was not all bad, Loki conceded in private.

    "You will come visit?" Feelip asked, before they parted ways. They knew how much Loki hated the pandemonium of the market, and had no illusions about convincing him to take the scenic route to the spaceport.

    "I will try." If Loki felt awkward avoiding promises he couldn't keep, then he felt positively dumbstruck in trying to make conversation once Andria had planted a kiss on each cheek. "I..."

    "Farewell, Loki," she said, and pressed a crumpled bag of Auntie Meryble's fruitlets into his hand, "For the journey."


    ----------


    "Good afternoon to you, young sir, and welcome to the Grand Terminal. My name is Naiweedamala. How may I be of assistance to you, today?"

    She was the most cheerful Rodian he'd ever met. Naiweedamala was striking in her bright orange blazer; a scrawny thing, she moved like she had stimcaf for blood, quick and snappy and all-too-eager to impress. Loki was, by comparison, a corpse.

    "I would like a ticket for Cathar, please."

    "Certainly, sir. You will be wanting a Zone B pass for 250 credits. Economy class, of course."

    "Thank you."

    But the lovely Naiweedamala was not quite finished:

    "Would you care for a private quarters pass for an extra hundred credits? You will have a bed, holonet, room service..."

    "Economy is fine."

    "Of course, you can always treat yourself to extra leg room for fifty."

    With her small pouted lips, thin cheeks, and bulbous silvery eyes, Loki was beginning to think she looked rather like a fish that was surprised to find itself out of water.

    "No, thank you. I only-"

    "Then would you care to indulge in our pre-flight spa package for-"

    "Economy... is fine," he managed, through his teeth.

    "Excellent! Well, young sir, all you have to do is take the Great Stair down to the second platform and take the seventh turbolift from the right: Cathar departures. You have yourself a great day, now!"


    ----------


    Once he'd located his locker and retrieved his backpack, his credits, and his toolbox, Loki headed for the Great Stair. The queues circled the periphery of an enormous round room and, sure enough, he fell in line with the rest of them. His misadventure to Ando with Taataani Meorrei had left him calloused against the monotony of long waits. His mind drifted into space with the ships above, across the stars, to Cathar, where the next chapter of his life would begin. He saw himself first as an apprentice, and then a respected tradesman of a small, close-knit community, where he'd buy his first home, maybe, and meet a pretty local girl. From his silent reverie surfaced the faintest of smiles.

    The Great Stair was guarded like an Imperial base, with guards, computer terminals, and advanced laser shield security systems. Only when a traveller had been thoroughly inspected, and presented their issued pass to the guard were they allowed through the barriers. Loki weathered his inspection in silence, for his tongue had an uncommon ability to turn even the most mundane encounters sour. The guard inspected his tool box, and rifled through the spare parts and scrap, and, when he dug into the depths of his backpack, it was everything in him not to insist on the delicate handling of his clothes. Creased, he thought, murderously - the lot of it, no doubt.

    The laser barrier died with a low whine, permitting him to descend the Great Stair itself. It was broader than any staircase he'd ever seen, the clean white marble of its steps glowed like moonlight beneath chandeliers so large they looked like upended crystal trees. The congestion of the queue system made navigating the Stair itself quite pleasant, that is to say Loki did not have to avoid anyone once. The first platform was reserved for the Core Worlds, and, frankly, everywhere he wanted to avoid. Here, the crowd thickened in colourful congregations around the turbolifts. Further down the Stair, on the second platform, the travellers were few and the colours were plain.

    Greeted by an expansive semi-circle of lifts, Loki counted seven from the right and, finding it unoccupied, he stepped inside. There were three buttons, he discovered. Three buttons for three floors. Whatever. He thumped the first button and decided to find out where he needed to go the old fashioned way.

  3. #23
    Joe
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    "Woah, there." Just before the door slid shut, a man slipped inside. He turned, and regarded the now-sealed door with a satisfied smile, "That was a close one."

    His glance crept sideways, and fell upon the boy, "Did you not see me there, kid?"

  4. #24
    TheHolo.Net Poster

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    "My apologies," Loki began, deflated that his moment of privacy had been scuppered, "I did not."

    However he possibly could have missed this one was beyond him, with his wide-brimmed hat, leatheris boots, and a waistcoat made from animal hide. No-one wore clothes like that unless they were auditioning for a movie. In the spirit of good manners, he afforded the stranger a second glance, a nod, and that would be the end of it.

  5. #25
    Joe
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    Arms folded, the stranger leaned against the turbolift, and considered the kid from beneath the rim of his handsome hat.

    "What business you got on Cathar, friend?"

  6. #26
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    "My own." Loki did not turn his gaze on the stranger for fear of burning his face off with it. The nerve of some people.

  7. #27
    Joe
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    "So, that's how it's gonna be."

    The stranger was undeterred. He found an unremarkable point of interest on the wall across from him, and talked to it.

    "Judgin' by that busted old tool chest you're carryin' around, I'd say you're some kinda mechanic. Now, I don't recall there bein' much need for more mechanics on Cathar, kid. You sure you're in the right business?"

  8. #28
    TheHolo.Net Poster

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    "I am a droid engineer."

    The words plodded over his lips, carefully leashed by patience. On the small display, his eyes were fixed, waiting for a sign that this would all soon be over. But there was nothing turbo about the low hum the turbolift made in its ascent, or perhaps, descent - he couldn't be sure. How he loathed small talk, especially with strangers - especially when they were so strange.

  9. #29
    Joe
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    "Huh. You don't look like one."

    The stranger studied the boy with a frown, as if he could unravel the sum of his parts from across the confined space of the lift. And then, he lost interest.

    "Me? I'm a family man." An obligatory tilt of the hat, "The name's Joe."

  10. #30
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    "Loki," he conceded with annoyance. And finally, he drank in the sight of the stranger - this Joe - in all his glory.

    "You know, you look like a cowboy."

  11. #31
    Joe
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    Joe looked down at himself.

    "Cowboy?" he repeated, the word seemed to amuse him, "Well, I guess I am, after a fashion."

    Suddenly, the lift gave a groan and stopped. The door opened up onto a long stretch of populated docking bays. He gave a nod.

    "Guess this is you. See you around, kid."

  12. #32
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    "Yeah," Loki retreated from the turbolift, mystified, "See you."

    Before the door closed, Loki swore he saw him smile. What a weird guy, and, in all likelihood, the first of many. The galaxy was indeed a weird and wonderful place. And, as he sized up the row of ships, he found himself hoping his next destination would bring less of the former, and more of the latter.

    Up ahead, Loki spotted a tall and flustered-looking Duros who was beset on all sides by a party of unhappy Ugnaughts. To his own uneducated ear, the grunting and the squealing of the Ugnaughts was just that, but to the comprehending Duros, their words had him incensed, and he was having none of it. Brandishing his datapad with menace, he dispersed the party with a final blow.

    "You deceitful ingrates! You're lucky I don't charge triple! And the next time I catch you attempting to smuggle yourselves through my dock, I'll summon the guards!" He wheeled around on the spot, with a great billowing of robes, and started at the sight of Loki, "Oh! My apologies. I did not see you there. How can I be of assistance, young sir?"

    "I am looking for a public transport to Cathar. Is this the right place?"

    "You are in the right place..." The dockmaster appeared to labour over his choice of words, "But I'm afraid you're a little early, young sir. The transport from Cathar does not return for another three days."

    "Three days!?" Loki blurted in disbelief, "I can't stay here another three days. There must be another option: a round-trip or something."

    "I am afraid not, young sir." Despite his alien features, the look of pity that took shape on the dockmaster's face was as clear as day. Loki couldn't bare it. In his desperation, he grasped at one final straw:

    "What of Captain Kolonium? Has he returned?"

    "Captain..." The Duros considered Loki carefully, stiffened, and said, "Apologies, sir, I'm sure I have no idea who you mean. Good day."

    With a nod, the dockmaster departed in haste. Loki's helpless gaze clung to him a moment longer, and then he cast his belongings to the floor, and slumped down upon his tool box before the ground swallowed him whole.

  13. #33
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    Rolth Wygraant's Avatar
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    The Feriae star system was a grouping of thirteen worlds. Of these, only the second and third planets were habitable. The rest were an assortment of sun and crater-blasted rocks, hellscapes with poison atmospheres, and gas giants full of crushing gravity and vivid swirling tempests. The outer-most world of Kytir was the latter of these, a vast blue-green titan that barely received the affections of the distant Feriae sun. Kytir and her seventeen moons seemed so far from the speck of civilization within, and not even mineral prospectors paid her much notice. On the fringe, she orbited in silence, half of her surface reflecting her chilly color back inwards. The other half was blacker than night, obscured by the dark of deep space that lay beyond.

    Within that darkness concealed unknown terror. The only outward display of looming threat were the pinpricks of artificial light contrasted against the void, arrayed in the shape of a dagger.

    "We're in synchronous outer orbit of Kytir, Captain. It's doubtful our arrival was detected."

    Rolth Wygraant listened to Commander Belgen's status update as he stared into the abyss of Kytiran night.

    "Launch the vipers."

    "Sir."

    From the illuminated bay of the destroyer Decimator, dozens of small pods disgorged in clusters. Urged on by small engines, the miniscule atmospheric entry vehicles began the long journey from their mother base to the destination of Feriae Junction itself. It would tax the capabilities of the remote spies to their limits, as the Arakyd probe droids were intended to be delivered closer to a targeted world. However, it was a one way trip for them. For the Empire to strike with a decisive stroke, they needed to know precisely where to hit their enemy.

    Captain Wygraant excused himself from the bridge, heading towards the aft corridor that lead to Lady Vissica's quarters. The guards at attention nodded to the captain, parting as he stepped to the opening door. Inside the spartan chambers, he glimpsed the Selonian Overlady in a moment of rare repose, curled asleep on a round pad at the center of the room.

  14. #34
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    The slumbering Selonian seemed to ignore Wygrant's entreating upon her chamber. Her placid expression didn't waver, nor did she shift from her state of rest, with her head cradled atop her hind flank and her tail completing another orbit around her coiled figure. A single eye cracked open just slightly, then closed again. Vissica drew in a long breath, letting it out through her nose in a languid exhalation.

    "We have arrived at Feriae?"

  15. #35
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    The deceptive state of calm of the Imperial Knight did not cause Captain Wygraant to refrain from standing at attention. He remained with his gloved hands clasped behind his back.

    "As you instructed, we are in outer orbit of the last planet in the system. It is unlikely our approach was detected."

  16. #36
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    Slowly, the giantess began to uncoil. It was an act begun by a wide yawn, displaying a curling tongue and an array of pointed teeth. Her four paws found purchase on the ground, steadying Vissica for a stretch that moved in an undulating wave from the top of her neck to the tip of her tail. Muscles tensed and relaxed, showing their steely contours through the Knight's short coat of fur.

    "Prepare my shuttle for departure."

  17. #37
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    This wasn't part of the plan, or at least that which had been revealed to him. Wygraant's expression telegraphed his mild surprise.

    "My Lady, shouldn't we wait for the probe droids to discover signs of the insurgency's whereabouts?"

  18. #38
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    Vissica rolled her flexible spine up, broadening her hind forepaws as she stood tall adjacent to her subordinate.

    "No, Captain. There is more than one way to flush an enemy from hiding."

    Clasping on her armor, the Selonian pushed Wygraant aside as she called her lightsaber to her grasp.

    "Conduct your spies as necessary. If our enemies have made allies on Junction, I will persuade them to betrayal."

  19. #39
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    The Captain wasn't cowed so quickly. He squared his shoulders, eyes meeting that of the Selonian.

    "There is the chance that your directness may cause the insurgents to go to ground, or worse, flee the planet before the noose tightens. The destroyers Rostrum and Quaestor are within a sector's reach. I suggest no less than a destroyer line if we are to control this theater."

  20. #40
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    "See that it's done."

    Vissica left her quarters, not slowing her gait to coddle the captain's conversation. She headed towards the turbolift that would carry her to the launch bays.

    "I intend to send a message to this band of terrorists. Make certain that they hear me clearly."

    The lift doors closed in the distance between Captain and Knight, punctuating their conversation with finality.

    Minutes later, Decimator began the launch of her Arakyd viper probe droids. Dozens of small atmospheric entry pods streaked from her main bay, scattering into the dark of space. Behind them, a lambda class shuttle slowly lowered from the secondary bay, deploying her wings as soon as she dropped clear from the mother ship. Accelerating ahead, the shuttle moved on a direct course for Junction. Vissica hovered in the background of the cockpit, watching the planets sail by as they closed distance toward the second planet.

    "Inform the central starport that an Imperial Envoy has arrived to meet with King Vashakhal."
    Last edited by Matatek Sel Vissica; Jan 3rd, 2021 at 07:19:57 PM.

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