The galaxy is in turmoil, the newly found REPUBLIC is trying to fill the void left behind by the fall of the EMPIRE while the sinister FIRST ORDER has risen from its ashes. While an uneasy treaty is keeping the peace the RESISTANCE under GENERAL LEIA ORGANA is determined to face the threat of the First Order. The association of many worlds with either party is in question and a plethora of cartels, organizations and corporations try and expand their assets on disputed or unaffiliated worlds. Amongst the profiteers is a small group of individuals manning the Milano providing rare goods and services to a galaxy that has been without for too long. Their methods have attracted the ire of the First Order and a notorious bounty hunter in their employ…



It had been a delivery with just a few hours on the surface of the mining asteroid mining colony of Pressy’s Tumble when the Milano and its crew was ready to set out again. It was a well payed job, and it had to be. Pressy’s Tumble was a mining colony in an artificial asteroid field, meaning that you had to slave your ship to the guidance systems of the base its flight control to traverse the ever-shifting field of ore-filled rocks. On top of that this was a First Order mining colony, rendering security tight and heavily monitored. Luckily (if you believe in such a thing) everything had gone according to plan.

Krus’s contact, a Nautolan called Callon Tur, in the colony had held up his end of the bargain and credits had appeared in the right pockets. Entry went smoothly, but getting back out was still tense. As they took off a droid voice suddenly cracked over the comms channel:


“Ship with departure number 1890AZ, please slave control to channel 1890BZ1. For guidance to the check-point. Anything to declare?”

Not having picked up a new cargo made this a simple reply. The crew knew they would be scanned and would be clear to be guided to the colony’s jump point.

In their wake, according to schedule, The ship carrying Gavon TreVayne left a nearby hangar, and was being prompted trough similar procedures…

Inside the "Milano", a distinctive vocabulator informed the crew via comm-link: "Ze rreaktor isz running zmoothly. Everizing down here rready for der hyperspace as soon as we exit die asteroid field... kan I Pressume ze aztrogration shall be ready too, Musuka?"

Inside the reactor compartment, Fixer kept, howewer, working with both hands full into a maintenance hatch. His third arm, at his back, made constant gestures to support his words in front of nobody. A task it only interrumped to exchange one or another tool with the main arms:

"Damn kapacitator, damn cheap and overrated kuati spare parts. Zat's the only zing zey do, and zey believe demselves experts because of that! Zis zing may fry up even if it vas installed in ME"

"Copy that Fixer. Let us know if something goes wrong in there, we'll...yell at you to fix it before we explode, or something." A deep and rumbling voice grunted mirthlessly. The owner of this voice was a large and somewhat rugged looking man by the name of Jacque Marduk, who was currently in the process of ensuring everything would be ready for the next job. It was a bit redundant, what he was doing, as clean ups were preformed shortly after the job had been completed. Still, Jacque liked the extra security that came with personally going over everything himself. He also enjoyed being able to do something aboard the ship until a job required his specific skill set or something heavy needed to be moved. Jacque was not a fan of being idle for too long. Idle hands made no credits.

Only when everything was exactly as he wanted to be did Jacque decide to stop. Once more the smuggler raised the comm to his mouth and thumbed the button as he started making his way to the upper deck, "Everything's clear down low. There's bit of corrosion on the hinges of the bay door though. Not sure what it's from, but we may have to look into that when we get planet side again.".
Once topside the slightly brighter lights of the upper deck reflected off of the man's goggles as he slid them up onto his shaven head. A pair of stone grey eyes flicked back and forth scanning, searching for something, a machine of great importance. When that machine was found the smuggler offered up a small smirk of satisfaction and strode over to it purposefully. Jacque reached out and pressed one of the buttons on the device. This mythical, almost holy device known as the Caf dispenser.

Jacque reached over to the nearby counter and plucked up a styrofoam cup, using his free hand to strum the top of the machine rhythmically with his fingers as the rich aroma of the brewing beverage filled the air. What fortune would this day bring? He could only wonder.

Krus had instantly headed to his room to count the day's profits. This territory belonged to the First Order, so he had left all of his special merchandise on board. However, being the kleptomaniac he was, Krus had managed to snatch some droid parts from the mining colony. He could already imagine the credits he'd get from them when the group would arrive to their next destination. Credits, yes. Loooots of credits. And more.

The Neimoidian's thoughts were interrupted by Fixer's voice on the main channel. It seems like we're finally making a leave, then. He got up, placed the droid parts in a container and marched out of the door, heading towards the ship's galley.

“Well that's just great...”

Gavon surveyed the ship's utility readouts, tapping firmly on the indicator lights above REFRESHER STATION WATER MAIN flickering between a crimson and amber color.

“So much for investing in quality amenities”. He sighed, a slightly irritated look on his face.

He'd acquired the Enforcer One, an SCT Scout Class light vessel from a liberated shipyard near the outer rim, compliments of the First Order. Since their ascension to military power in the wake of the fallen Empire, their reach knew no bounds, so much so that they had little trouble amassing large collections of star ships in every class, both transport and warships. Enforcer One was an older Imperial model from even before Emperor Palpatine's rise to power, used generally for long-distance reconnaissance and quick escapes. It’s agile maneuverability, short range cannons, non-reflective exterior paint, and reliable cloaking drive capabilities made it a great ship to strike out and slip away unnoticed. But, for all intents and purposes, it was a ship designed to remain in the shadows of space.

In an effort to allow their Agent to focus on his appointed targets, the First Order assigned an EV-12 droid to pilot the ship, freeing up Gavon from any real navigational duties. The idea intrigued him, considering that his piloting skills were not as refined as he would've liked, so relying on a fully functioning nav droid capable of calculating hyperspace coordinates in nanoseconds, deciphering ship codes, and landing without any incident wasn’t a bad deal. And, to top it off, the droids vocal modulator came preprogrammed with a much more appealing female voice than the default option. Overall, his suspicions continued to lay with the notion that his new employers simply wanted to keep a tight reign on their new asset.

It's all business, afterall, no matter whose side you're on.

“E-V, were those noted repairs made to the hyperdrive while I was on recon earlier?” Gavon asked the ship droid, it’s mechanical, tinkering hands busily pressing buttons and pulling levers for pre-flight testing.

“Affirmative Agent, the Pressy’s Tumble maintenance crew was able to assess and repair the issue within 865.19 nanominutes. A rather impressive time”

“Agreed, and not a second too late, as our targets were boarding their ship when I last saw them. Let’s get this can warmed up. I don’t want to be here any longer than needed.”

The Agent leaned back in his chair, a momentary thought of the last few days flashed across his mind. The proxy droid who was initially sent by the First Order to seek him out was essentially a messenger, but the fact that it arrived at his apartment doorstep in Nar Shaddaa armed with a military grade blaster and a chest piece full of live explosives didn’t make the message any less threatening. However, it made the point understood: Heed our commands or die.

Their instructions were clear indeed, as the ex-Imperial intelligence agent was once again being reassigned to work for the First Order, no questions asked, and under a clause that he would only receive payment upon completion of the job. A damn Bounty Hunter. This wasn’t him at all, but he knew why the Order wanted him, and they knew he wouldn't refuse the summons.

The mission seemed rather cut and dry, which entailed him to seek out the listed smugglers, track their whereabouts, and retrieve stolen cargo belonging to the First Order. Gavon couldn’t help but snort at that last bit, considering whatever “stolen cargo” it was most likely belonged to someone else beforehand. But, at this point, it wasn’t his call to make.

His thoughts, instead went far beyond that...

“I’m coming home soon little girl” He mumbled to himself.

The toughest aspect of his assignment was leaving Nar Shaddaa and his adopted Togruta daughter, Uriah, who was left in the care of his previous employer, Madam Z’noshe, until his return. An up-front payment of substantial credits went to Z’noshe for her assurance that Uriah had proper schooling, supplies, room, and boarding. He had his reservations about the blue-skinned Chiss art dealer taking on responsibilities such as that, but while in her employ for almost a year prior, he’d grown to admire the female alien’s moral stance on a personal and professional level. And besides, he had no other choice but to trust her.

“Agent TreVayne” Gavon suddenly snapped out of his reverie. “Sir, scanners are picking up the Milano departing out of docking bay three and their pace is quickening.”

“Ok, E-V, take us out, slow and steady. Are the tracking modules calibrated and ready to be launched?”

“Affirmative, we may tag their ship when in range. The units have a subspace transmitter that should allow us to track the signals in-”

“Yes, yes, I know how they work E-V, just keep an eye on their ship please…”

Gavon pulled up a recent holomap on the console in the middle of the bridge which highlighted the various trade routes and coordinates that have been likely used in the last several months. After a few moments of studying the routes, he shook his head.

“It’d be foolish for them to follow these coordinates. I doubt this is where they’re headed. E-V, fire the tracking mods when ready. I’d be interested to see where these scoundrels bugger off to”.

“Sir, if I may, we are being hailed by Pressy’s Tumbler command. I will open the channel now”

The channel opened up with the crackling of static, mostly due to the surrounding asteroid field interference, followed by a nasally voice on the other end.

“Ship with departure number 1925FW, please slave your navigations to channel 1925FW-2 for guidance to the check-point. Do you have anything to declare?”

“Negative Command, we’ve brought nothing aboard, however your maintenance crew did repair a minor engine malfunction we incurred during our travels. It’s been logged in your system I assure you.”

The Agent half-smiled. Since this particular station was run by the First Order, a series of access “release codes” were given to him based on various sectors of the galaxy, essentially lowering any red flags or allowing passage in and out of occupied territory. They would know soon enough that he was an Agent of their masters. Gavon punched in the fifteen-digit alphanumeric code into the console and sent it back to Command.

“Sir, the Milano is within range. Four targeting modules have been fired away and locked onto the target.”

Gavon leaned against the navigation console, allowing a heavy breath to escape his lungs, before focusing his sights on the large freighter-class ship known as the Milano.

“Ok scumbags. Check. Your move”

"No, no, no! Fur ze last time! I Kan't know if zere's an incongruenze in ze Negativ Energy Connector if you zon't tell mich!"

Up in the control station, Fixer was arguing with the ship's computer. Phisically. His comm device was plugged into the machine. He should had been able to silently speak with it... but he was franctically introducing commands in the keyboard as well as pointing and yelling at the computer with his spare limbs.

"Rogerroger: Of course wie are receiving smll Impakts! I'll check on those later: zis is an asteroid fild, damnit! Get som energy from ze veapons to die shield. Nein! Die Reserve Energy is fur der slave circuit. You vant us lost&vaporized out zere?"

The droid became silent for a moment. He seemed to be concentrated in some hidden part of the screen: "Vhatt?!" "No, I zon't zink Musuka can drive you zrug dat fiild!"

Definetly, the nerves were worsening the problem with his vocabulator. Finally he disconnected from the computer and headed towards the low poop levels again: "Fine! I vill run a test. AGAIN! But If you happen to be ok, I svear to ze Maker I shall have your memory viped out!. You're perkier zan a freaking R5!... Mynocks... ze zinks a droid has to hear. Ze nexte vill be Banthas or somezing like zat. Now, let's see if I rremember die Passwort..."

Completely unaware of the looming threat of the bounty hunter on their tails, Jacque allowed himself a moment's rest on the galley's couch with his cup of caf, during which he was treated by a brief, yet somewhat amusing show as he witnessed Fixer come from the control room and make his way back towards the lower levels, ranting and raving like a mad man as he went. Jacque gave a small snort of laughter as he watched the droid, though as with many times in the past he found himself unsure of whether he was more amused by Fixer's behavior, or by the droid's strange accent.

Catching sight of Krus, Jacque rose from his seat and moved towards the Neimodian, pausing briefly at the Caf machine again to top off his drink, as well as pour a fresh cup for the older alien. "So, what're we looking at in terms of profits today, Lionen?" He asked when he get close enough to extend the fresh cup to Krus. Back when he was still a solo act Jacque had more or less learned the ins and outs involved with proper budgeting. But that was back when he was solo. Jacque was not a businessman; he was a mover. A fairly talented and informed mover, but a mover nonetheless. This was something he accepted. Krus however knew how to run a business, and it was because he knew how to run a business that Jacque found little issue in leaving the budgeting to the alien.

Several redeploy-able mining bases were passed as the Milano went through the asteroid field of Pressy’s Tumble as the sound of smaller, unmonitored, asteroids hitting the ships shield in an irregular rhythm. A few moments ago that rhythm was slightly deviated from by the sound of a few small things hitting the hull of the ship. A barely noticeable difference, but there nonetheless. The ship had a short journey of sharp turns and sudden boosts behind it when the asteroid field started thinning as they came up upon the monitoring station. The place where the ship would be scanned for inspection. While the field thereafter was shifting at a slower pace than the inner field, but was still dangerous to unexperienced pilots. That was why Pressy’s Tumble had its set of defences here; a small Ion battery that worked of the threat of losing control over your ship while in the middle of the asteroids. A small hangar with TIE Fighters provided a bit more reach.

The problem with the monitoring station, as the crew had already heard from Jacque, was that it picked up static from the asteroids. More often than not you would be boarded without reason to check a harmless piece of plating on the inside of the ship.
This of course came to mind when a voice crackled over the ships comms:

“This is Flight control, you just entered the guidance area of Monitoring post 3. Slave control to 1890BZ2 and power off any interfering signals.”

Procedure would have them be scanned as they passed and the channel they would be slaved to would either guide them out or towards the boarding tunnel for inspection after an announcement from the monitoring post. It should be fine, and then they could be underway to this mysterious scientist called Ator Kaluun that Kruss had been talking about.

Alexnick was truly nervous. Yeah, he always knew that he wasn't the most brave and courageous type of guy (in fact he was a coward and he needed to admit it), but Grubnick at least needed to pretend that everything was okay after he lost everything, including his parents and his servants. Alexnick found a new place with a Milano crew. He knew that as a new guy and someone who was... let's be honest spoiled Grubnick was ignorant of many truly important matters. In case of any serious danger he would be useless and his skill with blaster, the only thing he could somewhat use to defend, was barely passable. Heck, if he could he would never even try to use it. Oh well, at least he was useful for something.

Cooking, cleaning, diplomation. Those were his specialties and Alexnick was thankful that maids and his parents (if they bothered to show up at home) were willing to teach him and enjoyed those. Especially cooking, Grubnick was proud of his cooking skills like corellian pancakes, Maz Kanata Apricots, Salacious Crumb Cakes and few other recipes which everyone practically inhaled every single time Alexnick cooked them. Although he had trouble doing his job with amount of asteroids they needed to dodge with rough turns. At least Grubnick managed to finish what he wanted to do. It was Corellian Pancakes day. It was time to rely the message.

"Corellian Pancakes ready everyone. I will pass them soon to everyone. I hope you'll enjoy the consumption of them."

Well his maids and parents always told Alexnick to be polite, although Grubnick doesn't know why some people are exaggerated with that and say that he should "chill out". This is kind of rude, Alexnick knows how to relax... Grubnick thinks. Chess, playing instruments, tea ceremonies sound like perfectly classy hobbies. At least he believes so.

"And please, do not cause a mess again, as much as I enjoy cleaning, it's aggrevating in the long run. Thank you for cooperation everyone."

Alexnick sighed and hope that this time he wouldn't need to spend as much doing his work as Alexnick had some additional new recipes to test out. Yeah, as long as Grubnick could just keep doing what he liked to do he would be golden. Problem was that feeling in his gut which didn't want to leave him no matter what...

Fixer switched off everything that may be an interference in the lower level. Given he was the closest thing to something illegal onboard, he didn't want the imps to inspect them; although it was not difficult to pretend being a reprogrammed maintenance unit made up of thrash, it was not pleasurable. For the maker's shake: some of the new guys in the order didn't even knew how a B1 looked like. It had been just 50 years, and half the galaxy seemed to have forgotten the most numerous army in galactic history!.

Once everything was done, the droid runned the test he had promised to the computer, and included a sub-routine to ensure nothing else was transmitting. If he was forced once more to pretend being a lobotomized sub-par R1 just beacuse someone couldn't stop downloading xeno-porn for a few minutes ... ¡Rargh!.

The cook announced the Corellian Pancakes day through the commlink. It reminded Fixer of one of his many personal and never-started projects: find an SE-4 servant droid and strip it of his taste sensors. The organics on-board always became true animals when those things arrived on the table. They couldn't possibly be THAT good. There's nothing that good in life.

Krus grabbed the drink, emptied the cup instantly and gave the man a smile.

"Thank you!"

Wiping the side of his mouth with his right sleeve, the Neimoidian continued:

"Profits? Let's just say we have enough
money to refuel the ship and refill our stock, yes? And our stomachs."

He burst into laughter and placed the empty cup on the table.

"Now, I'm not sure if you heard already, but I found us a potential customer. For our next job."

It was then when Krus was cut short by Alexnick shouting about the pancakes. He suddenly realized he hadn't eaten in hours, and was indeed very hungry. He turned to look at Jacque, waiting for the man to say something.

@Azazaa @Sleater @mattmanganon
Jacque shrugged off the thanks and offered up a slight quirking of his left brow at the response he received from Krus about the day's pay, "Enough, huh?". The human stared intensely at his crewmate in silence for an almost uncomfortable amount of time before cracking a smile, his way of letting the neimodian know that he was simply having a bit of sport. Jacque trusted Krus to get everyone's pay right, or at the very least, to not cut into anyone's checks without a good reason, however he still enjoyed making attempts at rattling the man every now and then to keep him on his toes. He'd just fixed his mouth to inquire about the new job Krus mentioned when the ship's comm crackled to life.

Following this was Alexnick's announcement of Corellian pancakes, prompting an annoyed grunt from Jacque. The annoyance stemmed not from the food- god only knew Jacque could devour a ten high stack of those pancakes in a single sitting, rather it was from the knowledge that what he was about to do carried with it the risk that there would be no pancakes left for the smuggler to eat. "We'll talk about that job later, first i'm gonna radio Fixer to see if he's powered down anything that might cause us trouble below deck, also while i'm at it i'm gonna go talk to Marka about slaving our control before someone decides something's off. If he's not up at the cockpit then i'll have to do it myself.".

With this, Jacque gave Krus a friendly pat on the arm and proceeded to walk around him. He made it approximately five steps before a terrifying thought occurred to him, prompting him to spin on his heels and face Krus as he started walking backwards "By the way, if Viik'ashak comes out for breakfast, please, for the love of everything that's decent, try to save me and Marka at least one damned pancake each. Hide 'em if you gotta, because otherwise there's no way in hell that there will be leftovers with that sweet tooth of hers. Alright? Alright.".

He spun once more and continued on his path to the cockpit, bringing up his comm as he went, "Marka, you in the pit man? You've gotta comply with those orders or they're going to get real pissy in a minute. I don't know if you know this, but getting blown up in space is not how I want to die. Fixer, how're we looking down low? Everything powered down?".

"Provided Alexnick iz done vith ze pancakes, I've svitched off even ze microveave" Fixer answered "Ze only zings ztill vorking are ze ovvious, die rradios, ID transmitter if you unzerstand mich, und der slavezirkuit...

A small rain of sparks emerged from a diferent maintenance hatch.

"... und die Jukebox. Die Jukebox vill be down für a few days: I had to rretrief a few kapazitators von it. Die auxiliary komputar ist doing a test right now... I'll be avle to tell you morre onze it is kom-plete... ze shiff believes it has a Mynock orr tchoo. I vas vondering if energizing the hull may give dose bastards an overdose"

The asteroid field’s magnitude seemed to fluctuate as both ships drifted along toward the Monitoring Post at a steady speed, Enforcer One falling back a good distance to ensure anonymity was kept in check.

Gavon continued to peer out the forward viewport toward his target, the Milano, his eyes squinting slightly with suspicion. The ship ahead of them appeared to be slowing down in small increments, even before making it to the checkpoint, which made the Agent wonder if they had already been hailed by Flight Control to be scanned

“If it's a guilty conscience they have, then there'll most likely be a slip-up on their part, causing Command to have no choice but to board them…” Gavon mumbled to himself, or so he thought.

“Sir, were you speaking to me? Your vocal modulation was much lower than it would be during a normal conversation. The likelihood of their vessel being boarded it approximat-”

“E-V!” The Agent raised his voice above average, with a tinge of irritation that lasted only a moment before he released a deep breath. “...I don’t need those statics. If they’re boarded, this may put a dent in our plans since the crew will be held for an indefinite amount of time, and this mission needs to be completed ASAP.”

“My apologies Agent, I will continue to monitor any changes in the Milano’s systems” The droid responded, it’s cool, confident, and sultry female voice seemed to ease any further anxiety on the bridge. Was this part of her design? He mused, a half-smile formed at the thought.

Gavon stepped in front of the holomap once again, studying the trade routes highlighted by his previous intel, and cross-examining past routes taken by resistance fighters. His hope was to gain a few strategic steps ahead of his targets, predicting their moves before they even know where they’re headed. A feat much more challenging than not.

“Agent, we are being hailed by Flight Control, shall I open the channel?”

“Go ahead E-V”

The crackling of the transmission wavered a bit before leveling out.

“This is Flight Control, you just entered the guidance area of Monitoring Post 3. Slave control to- ” The voice on the other end was suddenly cut off for a moment before resuming. “Uh...my apologies sir, please transmit your codes when ready”

A bit of relief washed over the Agent, as for a moment he wasn’t sure why they would have put him through the ringer yet again. He assumed, as in most large industries, a lack of communication between one station and another, or perhaps new personnel. Either way, he pulled up the list of codes, triggered the encryption protocol, and sent a new alphanumeric algorithm.

“Let’s hope this is it for these damn codes. You’d think these guys would just take a hint” He said, tapping his finger on the communication console. The thought had crossed his mind a few times, that even when he had been initially approached by the First Order, whether he was being played for a fool, or did they truly need a man who was once on the inside. The Empire, for all it’s flaws and misdeeds, was still honor-bound, especially within the circle of Imperial Intelligence. Was the First Order upholding that tradition?

“This is Flight Control. Sir, these codes have been run twice in our system and are coming up null and void...” Mumbled chatter could be heard in the background, as though there was a dispute between their own security protocol and that of specific instructions from the First Order. Gavon, shaking his head in disbelief, stood there listening to the exchange, their transmission fading in and out.

“Agent?”

“What.”

“Sir, one of the tracking modules has apparently dislodged from the hull of the Milano and is currently drifting.”

Aside from the unfortunate news, the droid’s smooth voice was a pleasant interruption to the static chaos and incessant bickering over the comm. Hopefully a decision would come from Flight Control soon before more pieces begin falling off their target ship.

“Correction Sir…” The EV-12 droid continued, a slightly less inspiring tone in her voice. “The tracking module has been hit by an asteroid fragment and completely disintegrated. My humblest apologies...”

“That’s...great E-V, thank you for that information...”

"Ugh... I seriously consider taking pancakes off eating schedule. The amount of mess all of you leave is troublesome. And I can't leave it alone !"

Yes, being the clean freak on a ship full of people which truly don't care about keeping tidiness around may try a patience even of someone like Alexnick as self-control was one of those lessons which were riled up inside of his head, even if sometimes those studies tested him to the maximum. It's still REALLY hard to annoy Grubnick, but everyone had their limit. Plus there's still a saying 'the way to a man's heart is through his stomach'. Oh, it worked really well if situation got out of hand. And he felt it's one of those moments. Of course as a gentleman he couldn't enjoy it too much, so he only showed miniscule smirk seeing some worried faces.

"No worries though, tomorrow on the list I plan to prepare some native 'specialties' from Nal Hutta planet. They are... unique."

Yeah, in cooking dictionary preparing anything from Nal Hutta planet was considered punishment of sort as many of dishes coming from there were edible practically only for members of Hutt race. Nal Pudding, Hutt coated cutlets and Slimed flakes as few nasty examples. Alexnick sometimes trembled in disgust remembering those and you need to add LOTS of additional spices or ketchup to even make them edible for races with somewhat normal stomachs. Heh, maybe this time it will work. But for some reason Grubnick doubted it...

A second message crackled over the intercom of the Milano:

“Monitoring station for the Milano, We repeat; please turn off all transmitting devices or we will be forced to inspect your vessel.”
The message was just relayed by comms-officer Daront when the supervisor approached him waving his hand under his chin to signal Daront to cut off the conversation. There had just been some commotion in the station for the ship that was next in line for the Milano. Daront gave the supervisor a nod indicating the connection was closed which prompted the supervisor to speak:

“The ship following it has a security clearance, might be the Order wants something with this ship, the signal we are getting is a tracing signal used by our military trackers!”

The supervisor was clearly nervous, they hadn’t had many situations like these before and she was clearly still pondering about it. Daront wasn’t sure what to do but before he got further orders his supervisor turned to flight control.

“Put that ship on a course for docking, Officer Daront, call them to announce an inspection. Get me a draft of monitored freighters and crews, if the Order wants them we’ll bring them in.”

A cocky glance went over the holo-display of the asteroid field towards the ship with the security clearance. Daront watched her in mild surprise, he knew the supervisor was a bit on edge due to a smuggler slipping through recently but-

“Daront, I gave an order.”

The comms of the Milano came to live again with the message followed by a sharp veering of course towards the station. Doubt gripped the crew, did they have any illicit goods left aboard? Was it my past that has caught up? Was it one of the fellow crewmembers that was hiding a search warrant? Did their contact rat them out?

---

In the meanwhile Gavon could see the change of course while the comms with the monitoring station remained silent…

Jacque sighed about the situation involving the jukebox but made no actual comment on the subject, "Thanks for the heads up Fixer. Just a heads up, get ready to do the "Patchwork droid" bit again if we get boarded.". After failing to receive an answer from Marka, Jacque took it upon himself to deal with the situation by entering the cockpit and making himself comfortable in the pilot's seat. He'd likely be fussed at later by the Xexto pilot, but being fussed at beat being blown apart by a landslide. He tuned in to the frequency that was currently being used by the checkpoint and proceeded to respond, "Apologies for the delay, proceeding with transmitter shut down as ordered." he stated in a curt but polite manner. The smuggler was many things, however, a crack shot pilot was definitely not one of them. He knew enough to flip the proper switches to shut off the automated pilot and anything that may have caused interference and slave the controls. This knowledge, as well as the knowledge necessary to fly a shuttle at least semi-decently was one of many basic skills those within Jacque's line of work knew. At least those that decided to take their operations off world at least. After all, one rarely made it far in the space trade without learning how to operate a ship.

That being said, there was no way in hell that Jacque had the skill necessary to outfly whatever welcoming committee the Milano would receive if something went wrong. "Any day you wanna get up here Marka, that'd be fantastic." The smuggler ground out as he allowed the ship to drift through the vast expanse of space in anticipation of the order that was bound to come. He could only hope that the lovely folks at the check-point wouldn't come across anything illegal.

He didn't really have anything to hide: his guns were post-war, only having been upgraded enough to keep them functional. The parts used may have been a bit questionable, but trying to find the registration that listed what parts were meant to be on a single specfic blaster rifle and pistol from an era where said rifle and pistol were mass produced alongside other models and sold for dirt cheap later would be an absolute nightmare for the poor sods trying to do it. It was one of many reasons he'd chosen them. His vibro-dagger was another slightly questionable item- technically legal considering that the more effective alternative to vibroweapons was something only jedi were allowed to carry, however the vicious wounds that vibroblades left tended to paint them and those that used them in a poor light. After that, all Jacque had left to his name was a bit of clothing and a toothbrush. The only thing that he could really be hassled about was his jail record, however he'd served his time and he was technically working an actual job.

All in all, Jacque figured that after a bit of chop busting he'd be in the clear. But what of the others? What if Krus failed to keep is hands to himself around something expensive earlier? What if Fixer got fed up with the 'patchwork droid' routine and snapped at someone for making a snide comment? What if Viik had a slave brand no one knew about and she was considered stolen property? The possibilities where as endless as they were unpleasant. Jacque let out a slow breath. He had to be calm. If he and the others remained calm then nothing could go wrong. Right?

Fixer nodded, somehow bored of being angry. If that was going to be the way things happened to be, then it was useless to have emotions about it. In fact, he would better appear to be as emotionless as the jukebox. His third arm brought him a small mirror from the backpack, and a screwdriver. Staring a the mirror, he started using the tool with his vocabulator:

"¡La, di,daaaa! La, di, daaa! Yezzz Mazzzter. Yezzzs Mazzster... Of kuuuuurze, Master. Vatever...Vatever... Whatevvver You Whiz... Master... Yes Master, Of course. Whatever your wish shall be accomplished by your humble ssservant. Ssservant. The droid does drrastic d-things not to get scrapped."

According to his experience, he could make the vocabulator sound almost normal for... twenty minutes. Then it will start to fail, again.

“E-V, current status report with the Milano...”

The Agent stated bluntly to his navigation droid, tiring of the games the asteroid station’s Flight Control continued to keep up, and to what end? Are they looking for something that may or may not be there? Has the First Order decided to take matters in their own hands? Gavon knew he had a chance, at least one successful chance, to diffuse the situation if it hit that point, but he didn’t want to reveal his hand too early on.

“Sir, it would appear that the Milano’s course has changed, and they are drifting toward the docking coordinates.” The droid’s head spun just short of one hundred and eighty degrees to face it’s master. “I would suspect, Sir, they are in line to be boarded...”

“Ok, so as usual, a ship full of wayward smugglers have caused several red flags to go up at a security checkpoint. What else is new?”

Gavon returned to the communications console, and activated the receiver to open a secure channel once again.

“Flight Control this is Enforcer One, stand down your search and seizure on the transport vessel Milano, per instructions of the First Order.”

The Agent released the comms button, and hoped his current employers had not already communicated with Pressy's Tumble for another matter entirely. “This whole situation seems a bit out of sorts” He mumbled to himself just before the comm crackled to life.

“Copy that Enforcer One, we await the proper clearance codes for consideration of your request.”

“Consideration? These are...geez, forget it. Sending now...” Gavon quickly scanned the list of codes, found a match, keyed in the proper sequence per protocol, and awaited their response.

“What the hell ever happened to ‘absolutes’? Apparently they died with the Empire” He mused, wondering why clearance codes from a First Order controlled mining outpost would ever be simply “considered”.

“I hate to say it E-V, but I have a bad feeling about this…”

The Milano was quickly nearing the docking tunnel of the monitoring station, that was already extending to lock with the Milano’s Airlock. The hisses of the air-tight tunnel locking onto the ship were audible for the crew as comms switched to a different channel, that of the inspection team.

“Crew of the Milano, open the airlock and assemble yourself in your common area while we search the ship.”

It was a grizzled voice, not one that worked with the threats of the Order, and as the search party entered the crew could see it was a mixed group of Stormtroopers and armed personnel doing the inspection. The Leader of the small boarding party was a tall and broad Chagrian in a First Order Costume that fitted him poorly. A smug smile left his face as two Stormtroopers he and two Stormtroopers kept watch over the crew. The rest of his men had fanned out across the ship inspecting various places that showed up on the scan.

“I am Tr’an Dasheer, Inspection officer. Now, we hauled you over cus of interference on the scans, six out of ten times that’s nothing.”

He let his gaze go over the crew.

“Sometimes it is. For those four out of ten I give the following option, declare the goods now and you will be treated as a smuggler of those goods. That doesn’t sound good, I know, but it still beats being seen as the owner of said goods. Anyone unclear on the difference?”

---

In the meanwhile the supervisor of the monitoring station was speaking in hushed tones with a Sullustan co-worker in one of the booths.

“You mean to say they show up for nothing? No aliases, no nothing?”

The Sullustan gulped:

“Nothing we could directly on them, sure they are being traced and the files suspect this and that, but nothing that would warrant an immediate arrest. They are clear…”

From another booth a voice declared that the Enforcer’s clearance codes checked out, asking for further orders.

“I said that they are up for consideration, he’ll wait.” The Supervisor hissed as she gave a hopeless look at the Sullustan.

“Can’t catch a break, can I Hulpa…”
She murmured before heading back to the center of the room.

“Tell Enforcer-one that they will be cleared after inspection as to avoid suspicion. Give word to Dasheer he is to let them through."