Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood (Neo) [Jabiim]

[Ghostie]

“Ready, Gaar?”

Pash looked to his co-pilot, the Wookiee’s multiple shades of brown fur and bright eyes would’ve been indistinguishable in the darkened cockpit had the electric blue energy of hyperspace not illuminated the entire cabin. Everything was bathed in the blue light, with the occasional yellow or red light blinking across the controls breaking through the monotony. It wasn’t that the Smuggler and his First Mate flew without lights to guide their hands, and purposely kept their controls dark. Rather, the eerie appearance of energy from flying at lightspeed was able to seemingly subtract their artificial light, and gift them back it’s own. Pash had once heard an old tale about how hyperspace was supposed to be its own realm of sorts, that getting blown out of an airlock while a ship was flying that fast was supposedly worse than getting blown out of an airlock while in subspace.

The Smuggler wasn’t keen on testing that theory.

With an affirmative growl from his First Mate and a pull of a few levers, The Our Lady of Onderon gave a slight lurch and left hyperspace. The blue vortex quickly faded away, and in its wake was left a marble of a clay like color, occasionally broken up by bits of murky blue. It was a mudball. A literally mudball. Pash had been to Jabiim a few times before, as it was a well-placed stop before Sith Space. It had all the typical peculiarities of any backwater planet, and was usually left alone by most galactic governments. That made it perfect for people like him. But after each and every visit, he always felt as if he had to hop in the refresher before anything else. He hated getting The Lady dirty, and Jabiim was the filthiest planet Pash knew. Taking care of a few post-hyperspace issues, Pash turned in his seat and reached above his head for a few buttons and levers.

“Think you can land us at Cobalt Station while I check on our passenger?”

It was a rhetorical question, to be sure. Gaarchiir was more than a decent pilot. Almost as good as Pash, himself. Of course, everyone was almost as good as Pash was, when it came to flying. The Onderonian wasn’t shy about throwing that fact around. Nonetheless the only hands, or rather huge, hairy paws that Pash trusted his ship in was the Wookiee’s. After all, The Lady was the man’s pride and joy, and the thing he loved most in the entire Galaxy. When Gaarchiir growled again, Pash stood from the pilot’s chair and spun around, his long blue duster whipping gently across the ship’s controls. The thick sliding door to the cockpit had been left open and trailed on out towards a hallway, well lit in a yellow, warm light and circular in presentation.

As Pash walked down the hallway and across the ship, he could feel the deck give way under his feet, bowing with each and every light step. Well, in all reality he actually couldn’t feel the floor moving under his boots. But Pash thought he could. Imagined he could. That was the key with every good smuggling compartment; hiding in plain sight, and yet not being found. And The Our Lady of Onderon was littered in such hideaways. The most prominent, of course, being the ones cut into the deck boards below everyone’s feet. Those could hold quite a bit, and went on from the cockpit and all across the light freighter. In fact, they were currently in use. The Onderonian found it quite ironic that he was transporting medical goods without authorization, all while ferrying a Doctor to the Outer Rim.

After his last chartered flight, Pash had been more than a little hesitant to take on another. His adventure with Aiden had been something else entirely, and the Smuggler had no wish to make a repeat of the event. No matter how many credits the pair of them had be rewarded for that rescue, no reward was worth fighting of a cruiser full of pirates. Still, Pash had wished that the Kid had taken him up on the offer to join The Lady. He had grown rather fond of Aiden by the end of things, and he was more than capable. Plus between a Wookiee and an Ex-Jedi, Pash could sit back and let them do all the work. He smiled a bit at that thought.

Doctor Bellamy, the Onderonian figured, wouldn’t give him the same sort of adventure. And that was perfectly fine in Pash’s book. She seemed rather reserved, and had kept to herself most of the flight. From what Pash had seen of her, she was petite and rather cute, with her short, dark hair and green eyes. The Smuggler might’ve strayed far from charter flights, lately, but most passengers weren’t good looking doctors looking to get away from Republic Space. Pash could make an exception in those cases.

“‘Ey Doc?! Just thought I’d let you know we’re a few minutes from landing.”

Pash’s words rang out just after a few of his olive knuckles finished rapping against the closed blast door to the starboard dormitories. Normally, The Lady wouldn’t have been closed off like this, but when Pash took passengers, he did what he could to make them as comfortable as possible. Waiting for a response for a few moments, the Smuggler leaned against the round bulkhead, watching the door and listening.

[Neology]

[googlefont="News Cycle"]

Jabiim. Well, you could hardly tell anything by the name. Cristine had always liked rain, at least in theory. Perhaps more importantly, passage had been cheap. Several intergalactic trips in as many months, buying her way out of her work contract with Wayland colonial services … All that left Dr. Bellamy less financially solvent than she would like. At least there was no shortage of work. Her finger scrolled through newsfeeds from Jabiim’s surface – they gray rot had resurfaced a bare few weeks ago. Relief from the Republic or Empire, while possible, would be too late for many. The gray rot killed in only days and spread rapidly, through weeping sores or contaminated water. In a way, the planet was lucky. A disease that killed quickly had less opportunity to spread. But that was hardly a guarantee. If it made the jump from the isolated mining camps to Choal or Cobalt Station, things could quickly spiral out of control. A real nightmare scenario, though the tragedy of one small independent planet was unlikely to garner much notice in the galaxy at large. Cristine felt the ship drop out of hyperspace and swung her legs out of her bunk. Almost time to go – she had no desire to linger like a slugabed hotel guest. The datapad was quickly stowed away with the rest of her belongings. Finally, she retrieved a hypospray, an alcohol swab, and a red ampule from her doctor’s bag. For all the horror of the gray rot, the treatment was surprisingly simple. A bacta injection before or immediately after exposure would completely suppress the plague’s symptoms. Cristine self-administered, then rolled her sleeve back down over the slightly raised injection site. Hard to say which the planet was lacking: bacta or skilled hands. Her own supplies were surely insignificant in the face of that need – there were millions of people on the planet – but it was the right thing to do. ”One moment.” Cristine slid to her feet and tidied up her few belongings, and by extension the small passenger cabin. She opened the door with the swipe of her palm, blinking up at Captain Arlos. ”Thank you. Everything was very satisfactory.” Was she supposed to compliment the ship? She didn’t know the first thing about star ships. Burdened down with one bag and one suitcase, Cris started to edge by him, into the hall. ”Be careful what you take on here, Captain. Or if you disembark. The health risks are not insignificant.”

[Ghostie]

“Thank you. Everything was very satisfactory.”

Very satisfactory? Pash didn’t know what to say to that. He tried to keep himself from frowning, though he failed, the edges of his mouth turning downwards every so slightly. Perhaps she had been trying to compliment the starship, or his services, both of which the Captain felt had been far more that satisfactory. But he felt more hurt than anything by the lowly compliment. After all, this was the Our Lady of Onderon. It had a reputation as being one of, if not the, fastest ship in the Outer Rim. Captained by one of the best Smugglers around. As the Doctor edged past Pash, he frowned after her. No matter how wounded his pride was, however, he didn’t make a fuss about it to her.

After all, she still had part of her fare to pay him.

“Be careful what you take on here, Captain. Or if you disembark. The health risks are not insignificant.”

“I’ve got some business to attend to after we drop you off, but after that, we won’t be stayin’ too long.” Following the doctor down the hall of the ship and towards the main hold, Pash let her carry her own luggage, especially after the half-hearted compliment. His thumbs hooked in his belt loops, his arms pushing his large jacket back and out behind him. “I assume that’s why a brilliant doctor like yourself is comin’ all the way out here, right?” Even if Bellamy had hurt his pride, though she might not have registered it, Pash wasn’t above a bit of flattery. Especially when his paying clients looked the way she did. “Always nice to see people think of others, and not themselves. It’s becomin’ rarer and rarer.”

The Smuggler had heard that there was some sort of disease making its rounds across Jabiim, but he had no desire to stay long enough to find out what it was. What he did have a desire to find out, though, was how much money medical supplies could fetch on the surface below. Like the medical supplies that his hidden cargo holds were stuffed to the brim with. Such supplies were ever increasingly difficult to get past customs in Republic Space, and and the group that Pash had contacted promised they were going to do some good, help out those in need. Any day was a good day when the Smuggler could make a fistful of credits with a clear, clean conscious. Not that he was usually mindful about the state of his conscious, anyways.

“There’s some caf brewin’ in the galley, if you want. I gotta che - ”

It was at that point that the Our Lady of Onderon bucked wildly, the port side of the ship jumping high as an explosion rocketed against its underside and shielding. Pash fell back against one of the bulkheads, bracing himself until the short bout of violent turbulence had come to an end. It felt like a laser blast. Someone was shooting at them. Gritting his teeth, Pash became all the more upset as the revelation dawned on him. No one was going to shoot at him, at his ship, and get away with it. Looking around for Doctor Bellamy, Pash checked to make sure she was okay before running off to the cockpit.

“You alright?!”

Giving the good Doctor a quick once over and trusting that she was okay, besides maybe a bruise, the Captain ran off to the cockpit, to check on his co-pilot. By the time that Pash got there, Gaarchiir was babbling something unintelligible in Shyriiwook, waving his mighty, furry paws at the viewport and yelling. The surface of Jabiim completely absorbed the scene in front of them, as they were only a few thousand feet high, now. The Wookiee had been trying for a landing approach, before being shot at. Cobalt Station could be seen below, and it looked like it was at war with itself.

“Hang on, Big Guy!”

A few starfighters screamed overhead, a whole jumble of different classes. It was a rag-tag, thrown together squadron. But they overshot the Our Lady of Onderon by quite a distance. In fact, they stayed on track for engaging a different set of ships, more starfighters, and a pitched dogfight ensued. As this was happening, Pash slid into the pilot’s seat, and pulled back on a few levers. He dove quickly for the surface of the planet, trying to get out of the way. Jabiim was known for its constant issues with pirates and raiders and the like, as much as it was for the mud and rain. It looked like Pash and Gaarchiir had wandered into the crossfire.

“Looks like a turf war ta’me. Let’s try to land without gettin’ in the way anymore.”