Drop-offs [Cirith]

[Mara]

[... from And Ask Questions Later]



The cockpit of the Crimson Requiem was quiet as Pak Har'endanno sat in the pilot's chair, dozing lightly. After leaving the Umgul system, he had stayed to make sure everything was running all right and then gone right to his cabin, giving Rogarr the Amaran leave to do what he wished until they reached their destination. Though it would be a relatively short trip, the two planets close to each other in the big schematic of the galaxy, Pak had retired to his cabin to try and get some sleep. Without any alcohol left in the entire ship, sleeping was his second go-to for wasting time. Plus, he hadn't gotten all that much lately, so any time there was time for some shut eye was appreciated.

He hadn't actually slept much, though, spending most of his time laying in his bed in his sparse cabin, staring into the darkness. His dreams had been haunting him with the visage of Shenhua, the pillow under his head becoming her beautiful red hair, the bed frame her arm, her leg. And each time he was ripped away from the scene by the logical part of his subconscious, reminding him that it wasn't real, that she was dead (or thought to be at least). And then Pak would groan in pain and soundlessly punch the mattress beside him, wondering why she had to be taken from him so soon, before they had a chance to even be together.

After a few hours of the mindless cycle, falling asleep, dreaming, waking up suddenly with the sharp pain of loss, Pak decided to just stop trying to catch up on his sleep. He figured it was about time for the end of the hyperspace jump to Nar Shaddaa, and he could just wait out the remaining time in the cockpit. If anywhere everything would feel all right in the galaxy, it was when he was sitting behind the controls of a ship. Then, all his problems melted away for a few moments.

On the way, he scrounged in the small galley for something to eat and came up with a few prepackaged ration bars. Most military types despised the freeze-dried emergency food, but Pak had developed a taste for it while in boot camp. He figured it was because it was much better food than he had gotten living out on the streets in the slums of Balosar. Ripping one open, he took a bite and continued on through to the cockpit, stuffing the other bars into a pocket.

Settling into his captain's chair, he started to relax, but not fully. Looking out at the peaceful array of the hyperspace-stretched stars and being in the presence of his ship's controls was a start, along with the food of the old ration bars, but he still felt empty inside. Alcohol would be a fix, albeit a temporary one, and something he would indulge in quite frequently to push away the depressive thoughts of Shen, but all his alcohol was gone, drunk away in the last few weeks since he had replenished his stores. Deathsticks would be another, something he had given up when leaving Balosar and something he said he would never slip back into. But by every passing day, the hallucinogenic tubes were looking better and better. At the very least, he would forget his problems for a few hours. alcohol only numbed the pain; deathsticks would make it disappear for a while.

Nothing could completely fill the emptiness; after meeting the beautiful Miraluka, he hadn't been with another female at all. Pak had felt something different about Shen, and wanted to do everything right. Unluckily for him, she was gone now, without having a chance for anything for the two of them. And yet, he was still abstaining from women, afraid of what it might do to his pedestaled view of 'the one.' Plus, it would probably be temporary, just as alcohol and deathsticks would be.

Pak just had to make do with what he had. Try to live his empty life without Shen and his Shen substitutes, trying to be as whole as he could without falling into his mental pit of despair. Taking jobs, making money to buy his alcohol, always hoping, hoping that somehow, perhaps, the woman who haunted him would come back to him.

And the first step of doing that was to get this job with Rogarr finished with, and then part ways with the Amaran. Not just because the job had gone sour, though that was part of it, but because Pak knew he couldn't work with a partner, and needed to go solo. Maybe even he would skip out on the smuggling and do some freelance piloting for beings needing cheaper transport. Just anything were his contact with others was lessened.

A beeping interrupted him from his nap, and his eyes flickered to the console. They were approaching Nar Shaddaa. Finally, it was time to end this mess. Dump off the supposed Sith artifacts. And get on with his life. Pak pulled on his seat straps and pushed the button for the inter-ship comm to contact Rogarr. Putting on his social face, he called, "Better strap in, Rog. Coming out of hyperspace." He pulled down the lever, and then the moon of Nal Hutta came into view, shadowed mostly by the planet itself.

"And you'll need to tell me where we're dropping this stuff off." Pak clicked the comm shut. It was now or never...

[Cirith An'Gol]

Rogarr had been given leave by Pak to do whatever he wished when the Captain had gone to retire to his cabin. Rogarr though felt most comfortable on the bridge of a ship. So he stayed in the co-pilots seat for a couple hours. He mostly checked on his ship and the status of his AI pilot that flew the craft through hyperspace behind the Crimpson Requiem, and he received a message and a set of coordinents on his datapad, instructing him to land in the Refugee Sector and that they would find them. The whole thing was mysterious and creepy, just like both Sith and Jedi were rumored to be. Only one would kill you and the other would let you live.

That was until he heard what he assumed was Pak, crying out as the Amaran was walking past his room. Rogarr ofcourse nearly fell over when he heard Pak. He ran to Pak's cabin and was about to knock on the door when something stopped him and he hesitated. Now that Rogarr was this close and could hear the screams more clearly, they didn't sound like he was being attacked. Atleast not in any physical sense. It was more like an extreme sadness, at a depth that took Rogarr by suprise. It was different from the screams a person emitted when they were having a nightmare. Similar but, yet different. Rogarr had no idea what Pak was seeing or going through in his dreams but, his instincts told him that something traumatic was being relived in the Captain's mind. Something utterly unbearable.

Rogarr had had his fair of run-ins with the opposite sex. He'd even managed to get somewhat comfortable around women but, he'd never been in love before. The cry that Pak had emitted in his sleep was what Rogarr thought true heartbreak would sound like, if he were ever to fall in love with someone and lose them. The Amaran took his hand away from the door, unsure of what to do and went into one of the other rooms to lie on a cot and think. He thought for a long while, trying to determine how he would responde to Pak now, and eventually drifted off into a restless sleep, only to be woken by his com. They were dropping out of hyperspace and into Nar Shaddaa's atmosphere.

Rogarr got up and made his way to the Bridge, where Pak was waiting.
"Alright. Touch down in the Refugee Sector. Our employer wants both us and him, or her, to remain anonymous and off grid so as to not attract attention" Rogarr said as he sat down into the co-pilots chair, and tapped in the coordinents he'd been given into the navicomputer after showing them to Pak. He looked to Pak with concern and sympathy in his eyes but, didn't say anything. Pak might not have wanted Rogarr to know even that much about him after all.

"I've analyzed the coordinents, they should lead to a building with a rather large hangar or landing platform over by the nearby docks. Our employer will meet us there. There should be a busy traffic lane nearby also" Rogarr said as he input commands to his fighter. Telling it to drop from hyperspace and assume a standard orbit until instructions were given. "It's all very mysterious so, I don't think they'll try to stir up a commotion but, just in case I'm going to have my fighter make regular passes with the traffic above. That way if something does happen I can input a command and we'll have some trustworthy back-up if we need it" Rogarr said instinctively reaching out to Pak to place a hand on his shoulder and catching himself. He smiled and continued to reach out to Pak, patting him on the shoulder as if he addressing an old friend. "With any luck this will be easy, fast and we'll get you paid. We'll be laughing at how worried we were over a mug of ale in no time" Rogarr said as he leaned back easily in the co-pilots seat, crossing his arms above his head.

[Mara]

While Pak waited for Rogarr to respond, either from where he was or when he came back up to the cockpit, he engaged the Requiem's thrusters and headed closer to the Smuggler's Moon--a name he wasn't finding all that clever nor funny at this particular moment due to his own circumstances--going around Nal Hutta's gravity well. Even though he hadn't a clue as to where they would be dropping off these supposed Sith artifacts, he knew the basic destination, and he might as well start the process of getting clearances and permissions once they were closer to the atmosphere. The more quickly they finished things, the more quickly they, he, could be out of there.

He sighed as Nar Shaddaa came ever closer, growing larger in the viewport. Pak dearly hoped and wished that these clients of Rogarr's wouldn't think they were late with the delivery or that something was wrong with the cargo, especially if they were those crazy Sith with the Force. The Balosar wasn't exactly wanting to die, even if he was severely depressed at times and sometimes thought it would be better if he were. But the dead couldn't mope and get drunk in cantinas, nor could they still have memories of their loved ones and hope for a better future, a better life. If it ever came to any danger like that, he wouldn't exactly be slow to point the finger at his Amaran colleague. But even more hopefully, it was just some collector or another smuggler or procurer, a middleman, and they would just drop off the cargo, get their credits, and be on their way. Separate ways, if Pak had his way. Either way, it would probably not be as uninteresting as he really wanted this drop-off to go.

Before he could dwell even more on his pessimistic thoughts that were whirling around in his mind about the coming cargo drop, Rogarr was speaking to him, moving into the cockpit and seating himself. The small Amaran looked a little comical with his legs dangling in a chair clearly built for larger beings. But Pak didn't laugh. There was too much else riding on this job going right, and he didn't want to lose focus. A feeling that was reinforced when the other had approached; Pak's antennapalps were picking up a different emotional signature from Rogarr, but he couldn't pinpoint exactly what. Obviously something had sort of spooked the guy. He could only assume that Rogarr was a bit wary of these clients as well.

Without responding, he had nodded to the Amaran and headed to the side of the moon where the Refugee Sector was, easily gaining clearance to land after a few moments. He had never actually been to Nar Shaddaa (or Nal Hutta, for that matter), but had heard many stories from other pilots he had met in various cantinas along the outer rim. Pak had the idea that getting in was no problem; getting out would be the hard part.

Out of the corner of his eye, Pak noticed Rogarr looking at him strangely, something enhanced by his 'palps. He was no longer getting the feeling that the Amaran was afraid for what was ahead; but there was definitely something strange there. Almost... concern. But not concern for the job. Refocusing back on his piloting, Pak pushed it away. It wasn't his business to nose around in Rogarr's business, especially his emotions. All it did was give him further reason to want to part ways with the small furry humanoid. He was creeping out the Balosar by staring at him like that.

Fortunately Rogarr spoke again, continuing on with the plans of how to arrive at the drop-off site. Finally, something to concentrate on. He wasn't sure yet what to think about the fact that this employer wanted this cargo and drop-off to remain anonymous. But it could make sense. Pak definitely knew that if he was smuggling in Sith artifacts, he'd want to be secret about it as well.

Pak snorted when Rogarr mentioned his freighter. If there was any trouble, the Requiem could more than handle herself. And if she couldn't, well, all the fleets in the Republic Navy wouldn't be able to save them, let alone a little fighter, if this employer decided to rain down hell on them. Another truthful rumor heard in the cantinas. Sith or no, the thugs on Nar Shaddaa were a tough group. He just hoped to himself that it wouldn't come to violence.

Finding the building in the Refugee Sector marked on the coordinates, Pak started coming in for a landing, engaging the repulsors. And just at that moment, Rogarr touched him. The small gesture made the Balosar jerk, accidentally jerking the control stick as well, shoving his ship into a short barrel roll. When he had righted the Requiem once again, he looked at Rogarr, trying not to glare, but trying to get through a message. "Don't touch me." Thinking he might have sounded harsh, he added, "Sorry, just... personal space, you know?"

Clearing his throat, and hopefully clearing the air between them, he focused back on the task at hand, nodding with Rogarr as he mentioned his own hopes that the job would be concluded swiftly and without any hassles. The mention of the credits boosted his emotions a bit; with all the commotion over by Umgul with that Albatross guy and finding out about the true nature of the cargo, he had actually forgotten about getting paid. "Yes, hopefully." He agreed fairly generally, not wanting to decide quite yet whether he would be seeing this Amaran after the drop-off for an ale. Pak preferred to drink alone, anyway.

The Crimson Requiem landed softly outside of a hangar bay looming out of the marked building. Pak wasn't about to take himself and his ship into anywhere he couldn't see. It should be easy enough to unload out in the open without having to venture inside the darkness. He scanned through the console and finding nothing suspicious about their surroundings, powered down the ship, leaving only a few emergency systems on, just in case they needed to make a quick run for it. Pak looked over at Rogarr. "Lead the way."

[Cirith An'Gol]

Rogarr flinched when Pak jerked and barrol-rolled the ship by accident, luckily Pak's skill as a Pilot came through and they didn't find themselves painted across the side of a building or a crosswalk between buildings. Despide the obvious attempts the Balosar made to not glare, his tone did come across rather harshly but, the apology a moment afterward helped put the Amaran at ease. Rogarr just nodded and busied himself with inputting the directions to his AI.

A moment later the gold and black fighter streaked ahead of them, disappearing into the glittering skylanes of traffic. As they made their approach to the predetermined coordinents, a nervous anxiety found it's way to Rogarr's stomach. They were finally here, with the shipment of artifacts, weapons and armor that his mysterious client had requested. The next few moments would determine if they would get to keep their lives and earn some money, or if they would quite possibly lose everything altogether.

The moment they landed Rogarr felt a chill come over him brought on possibly by over-taxed nerves. Being around Pak was depressing in reality. The Balosar was always drinking and despite Rogarr's obvious attempts to keep the situation light, something always seemed to bring it down. The Balosar did his job though and that was really all that mattered to Rogarr.
Then Pak spoke, startling Rogarr out of his internatl monologue and making him jump a little.
The Amaran laughed lightly and said with a wave of his hand "Sorry, sorry, you just startled me is all. This whole thing is too mysterious for my usual tastes and I guess it's getting me jumpy. Especially now that we're actually here."

Rogarr took one final look at the scan readings his ship had sent him in it's first pass of the warehouse before sighing and looking to Pak as he said in all seriousness "Alright, come on, let's get this over with" before getting up out of the co-pilot's seat and walking towards the cargo bay.

A few moments later, they had the crates of merchandise moved off of the ship and onto the permacrete ground outside of the hangar bay. The Stinger made a second pass from the opposite direction and sent the results of the scan to Rogarr's datapad. There were two heat signatures that had moved into the back of the warehouse, and four others that had taken up flanking positions on the opposite sides of the warehouse, setting up a crossfire.

Rogarr's hand went cautiously to his holstered gun but, didn't draw it. "Alright, let's not play games! You hired me to pick up some merchandise a few days ago and so here I am! Are we gonna deal or are you going to try something?!" Rogarr shouted into what seemed to be nothing, his voice echoing in the seemingly empty expanse between them and the large doors of the warehouse.

"Very well put my young friend but, I assure you. I won't start anything if you won't" a young rich voice called out from the depths of the warehouse. A second later a young man probably in his early 30's or 40's walked from the darkness, dressed in a buisness suit, and accompanying him were two armed guards, a Mandalorian in black and cherry red armor, and a human in private security attire, his uniform a mixture of navy blue and gray.

The two walked comfortably out from the scant protection the warehouse gave and over to the two mercenaries. The young man in the buisness suit stretched out his left hand "I do apologize for the mysterious nature of this transaction but, I'm sure you both realize the danger of involving either of the force using factions to this little party. Both would surely fight one another and therfore kill us all, creating massive damages to everything around them in trying to obtain what you two have in those crates. I did not want that to happen under any circumstances as it would reflect badly upon me and my company. My name is Tosk Ularien, I am CEO of Ularien Universal."

Rogarr gingerly took the man's hand as he abosrbed all the relevant information. "Well, this is a pleasant suprise. My name is Rogarr Clawfere. Nice to finally meet my mysterious employer. Now, how about we talk price? In light of the value of our merchandise. I'd say 20 thousand easy, considering there are not one but, four force using artifacts in the bottom of these cases, plus the weapons, armor and survival gear. Not to mention the trouble we had to go through to get these here" Rogarr said easily coming up with a price that added each of the items worth.

The business man whistled "We sell weapons, armor and valuable items from across the galaxy. We are a moderatley sized local business at the moment but, we are slowly gathering contacts from other worlds and are currently trying to expand our territories. This will cost us quite a bit. Are you sure you can't knock the price down a little?"

Rogarr shook his head "Listen. I gave you a price based on these items value. If I went any lower then that would be under cutting myself and my help here. I just can't do that. Final price, I'm sorry. Take it or leave it. I'm sorry I can't accomidate you."
Tosk nodded understandingly while he thought it over. Finally he stretched out his hand.
Time slowed for Rogarr as his heart raced. Would he accept the offer or refuse? "Alright mister Clawfere" he said after what seemed a million heartbeats later "you have a deal."
"Good. I'm glad we could do business together. I see you have help so, if you don't mind. I'd like to get myself and my partner paid so I can get to my other jobs" Rogarr said with obvious relief.

The young man nodded and reached into his back pocket "Ofcourse. I apologize for holding you two up. Here is your credits I believe." Rogarr took the offered credits and counted them. A few moments he was satisfied, thanked the man and turned to give Pak his share. "Well, Captain. It seems this is it. Thank you for all your help and your patience" Rogarr said as he counted out Pak's share in front of him and handed it out to him. The young business man raised his hand "Um, before you go. I'd like to get your contact information. You see we'll be expanding soon enough and if possible, because you two delivered my merchandise on time and before schedule. I'd like to use you two again. If possible."

Rogarr looked to Pak first, to see what the Balosar thought.

[Mara]

He had thought the Amaran would be all business upon their arrival to finally dispatch their cargo and receive their credits. But Rogarr seemed quiet to Pak, almost distracted, and jumped when he mentioned he was ready to go. He nodded in response to what the other said, not wanting to voice any of his real thoughts on the matter. His antennapalps were taking it all in. Rogarr did feel nervous, but Pak had no idea why in the worlds he would be. He was nervous, obviously, about what their cargo turned out to be, but earlier upon learning such, it hadn't seemed to phase Rogarr. The Balosar shrugged it all off; there had been a fair amount of stress in the past couple days.

Following his partner's lead, they headed aft and started unloading the heavy crates. Pak hadn't realized how heavy indeed they were. He had noticed the small Amaran struggling with them on the exchange with that Albert fellow, but had assumed it was due to his shorter stature. But they actually were heavy. Or perhaps being away from the military for so long and getting into some bad habits again had turned his toned muscles into pudding. He was willing to wager a few credits on both scenarios, and made a mental note to try to get back in shape, if only to help him on future exploits.

Afterwards, he stood off to the side, waiting for whatever clients Rogarr had originally gotten contact from, letting him do all the talking and trading. If these guys did turn out to be Sith, Pak wanted to be as far away from them as possibly without seeming completely rude. That could be dangerous for his health as well. So he just stood there, belatedly wishing he had found his pistol as he noticed his empty holster, and hoping that this exchange went flawlessly, and he could get out of here a few credits richer.

Pak listened quietly as Rogarr called out to the other party who obviously were waiting inside the hangar he had parked outside of. He was surprised at the replying voice; it was actually cultured. But then again, he figured even Sith knew how to read. More surprised passed through as the being behind the voice came into view. Somehow he wasn't what Pak had envisioned as a dark Force user, but he supposed they came in all sorts. What was even stranger were the companions the man had chosen, including a Mandalorian. Again, he wished he hadn't forgotten his blaster, again wishing Rogarr would handle things easily enough and not cause any trouble.

Admittedly, though he was a little uneasy, there didn't seem to be any imminent danger, nothing he didn't sense anyway, through either years of military training or his 'palps, and Pak lapsed into a shallow daydream, not really hearing the man's explanation for the mysteriousness of the transaction. But his ears perked up when he heard his Amaran partner bring up payment. 20,000 credits? That would leave 10,000 for himself, not exactly what he was expecting but a nice sum nonetheless. The fact that he thought a price had been settled when Rogarr first came to him with the job didn't settle very long in his mind; all he could see were the credits.

Time seemed to slow for Pak as he watched Rogarr barter with the man about a price. He was actually a little proud of the guy for trying to get all their money's worth, especially after they found out they were not carrying something simple like illegal spice. The Balosar's antennapalps could feel no unusual emotions coming from their buyer but hoped that he would be reasonable and not take too much time going back and forth with Rogarr. And finally he did, shaking on the deal. Pak sighed with relief. Time to get going back to what passed as his normal life nowadays.

The credits came out and finally Pak stepped forward and closer to where the other two beings were standing to collect his share. Now that everyone seemed satisfied there didn't seem to be any reason to hide in the back waiting for bodies to drop. Everything was going much easier than he had thought they would. Something that may have alerted him if he wasn't already fingering his money. And imagining what he could buy with it.

Already thinking about spending his new credits, and what to say to Rogarr to part ways, he had already been turning towards his ship when the man spoke again. Pak looked at the man in silence, almost not believing what he was saying. Everything in him was screaming 'no!' that doing further business was not what he wanted. But the credits... If there were more where they came from... He glanced at the chips in his hand and looked over at Rogarr, who seemed to be expecting an answer from him. A moment later, he had his answer, for once in his life going with what was a sure thing.

"Uh, thanks for the offer, but I don't think it'll work out. Sorry." He shrugged and stopped there. Saying that he was thinking of going legit and dropping smuggling on the side probably not something he should be saying out loud. Let the man think what he wanted. Pak was turning down the offer, and that was that. They were both civilized men, after all.

[Cirith An'Gol]

Rogarr shook his head "As mush as I want to say yes, I'd best not. You operate on a level that quite frankly makes me nervous, and it's a risky enough venture I'm in to begin with. I'd rather just leave our next meeting, if there is one, to chance. No offense." Tosk waved the comment away "not a problem my dear fellow. I understand completely. I hope to run into you sometime in the future however. Lovely ship by the way, must be of custom make" he said pointing up as The Stinger made another random looking pass.

What the-? How did he know?[/color] Rogarr thought though he tried to keep his expression neutral. Apparently though, his ears gave away his thoughts. "A golden ship like that passing overhead does tend to draw a little attention, it was reported to me on it's 2nd pass. Good thinking though I must admit" Ularien said with unnerving sincerity. Rogarr's hand went instinctively to his gun again but, again he didn't draw it. The Mandalorian noticed almost immediately and trained a bead on the Amaran in a split second, as did the business man's bodyguard. Rogarr raised his hands in the universal sign of surrender "I'm gonna guess you have snipers trained on us as well but, if you don't let us walk out of here, my ship is gonna make your day a lot harder."

Tosk nodded to each of his bodyguards and held up his hands in a halting motion and his bodyguards immediately lowered their respective weapons "I have every intention of letting you walk out of here Mr. Clawfere. I apologize for the rudeness of my guards. Please, call your ship, I won't stop you from leaving." Rogarr raised his hands slowly and brought up his datapad. He kept both eyes on Ularien and his men as he simply pressed his finger to the screen, telling The Stinger to land at his position.

A few moments later, his fighter streaked across the night sky and made a wide but, slow U-turn and gently landed behind him on it's three landing struts, kicking up dirt, gravel and pieces of trash as it did so, creating a temporary dust cloud. Rogarr slowly backwalked to his fighter, his hand still relatively close to his blaster. The Mandalorian's hand likewise remained near his weapon but, it remained undrawn, the other bodyguard held his hands together behind his back, his body posture professionally relaxed. He commed Pak "I'll wait until you're safely aboard your ship and taking off before I leave. It was a pleasure working with you Captain."
Rogarr climbed the ladder to the cockpit and hopped in and waited for Pak to get to his ship.

[Mara]

(((Time to end this baby... If you want to do a final post, go ahead, but this is my exit.)))



Though all he really wanted to do was just get back to his ship and leave this rock, Pak decided maybe it would best to stick around for Rogarr's sake. Even though he was planning on cutting ties with the Amaran here, keeping their relationship to just the one job, he still had his military training from years prior. Even if this Tosk guy was on the up and up, Pak wanted to make sure that his bodyguards were, too. And that he wouldn't take their denials of working with him again as an affront to him. So the Balosar stood there, off to the side, tucking away his credits safely and keeping an eye and antennapalp tuned to the situation.

He tried not to breathe a sigh of relief when Rogarr also turned down the man's offer. Pak hadn't spent much time with the furry guy, hadn't really made a friend out of him, but he wasn't cold-hearted enough to wish the guy any harm. And in his mind, as much distance as they could put between themselves and this Tosk, the better it would be for keeping their lives. There was no knowing what he would want them to retrieve for him next, if they were to accept. Something worse than Sith artifacts, no doubt.

Pak had just thought it would be safe then to turn away after a brief farewell and get to the Requiem when something flashed through his heads. A change in the emotions around him sent by his 'palps, a change that seemed centered around Rogarr. He stopped in his tracks and assessed the situation, figuring out that the Amaran was responding to whatever Tosk had just said. Pak thought he remembered something about Rogarr's fighter. Maybe that was all, that he was surprised their buyer was aware of the small ship.

And then things got tense for a moment when Rogarr reached for his gun, the armored man for his own, and Pak was wondering if he was indeed going to be able to leave unscathed. This deal was getting worse by the minute now. He never should have went in with the Amaran, but then the credits... The Balosar wanted to smack his head against a duracrete wall. Credits were his downfall. And now when he thought everything was finally ticked off and settled, more drama was unraveling. He froze where he was, wishing his holster wasn't empty, trying to think of a way out if things suddenly went to all hell.

The man Tosk calmed the situation then, pretty much effectively ending the meeting. Pak let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding. Perhaps this little venture would be ending all right in the end after all. Even if he didn't like what he had been carrying and supplying, he had gotten paid and was leaving with his life. What else could one being really ask for? Seeing that Rogarr was heading to his fighter, Pak took the opportunity to casually hurry up to his own ship and up the boarding ramp.

The hatch had just closed behind him when his comm buzzed him a message from the Amaran. He waited till he was settled into his cockpit and strapped in before replying. Now that he was safely aboard among the Requiem's hull and weaponry, he was loosening up a bit. The stress dripping off of him was almost as good a reliever as a good bottle of liquor. Pak punched the comm to transmit, saying what he had wanted to all along: "Roger that, Rogarr." He could have added that he wish they could work together again, or that maybe they could meet up later, but he felt it might come out insincere, because it was, and just left his reply at that.

Closing his comm, he gave Rogarr the only full reply the other being needed and started up his engines, glorying in the sound of them. He was back in his ship, alone, back to living his life, or lack thereof. No more smuggling for him, no way. He may not be ready yet to take on a more structured life, maybe even return to the military, but Pak knew he could do his best to live a life above the line of crime. He would do what he did best, and that was fly.

And with those thoughts in his mind, the arrowhead-shaped red ship lifted up on its repulsors, vectored towards space, and blasted off to the next adventure.


[to Old Habits Die Hard...]