Tavick approached the edge of the city. He had never seen a city, but from stories he doubted many of them were like this one. It looked as if it had been dropped already pre-built into the middle of the desert. The sands forming banks as they blew against the outer limits of the city. He placed a firm, yet gentle, hand on the neck of his mount - beast known as a Yamen, he knew it was Windwalker. A ship passed overhead and he concentrated on the power of the Ashla to help calm her, she was unused to the flying contraptions that inhabited the 'civilised' parts of the Galaxy. Like most beasts belonging to the Sijin she had been raised far off into the desert through the storms that protected their land. He wasn't entirely sure if he was trying to calm himself, or Windwalker. It had been so long since he had interacted with anyone besides the Sijin, but the fact that he had had interactions in the past was the reason he was chosen.

Tavick merely looked like an outcast and a wanderer, having never being raised from birth as a Sijin the elders had reservations about him wearing their traditional garb, he could blend in with the other miscreants that they knew to inhabit the planet. To go out and search why the Ashla and Bogan were in such conflict, with the Bogan threatening to over power everything. The fragile balance of their world was in the balance. As they entered the city limits the city felt as if it was on edge. Men patrolled in plastoid white uniforms, people spoke in hushed tones as they approached. There was a genuine sense of fear flowing through the city. Hearing the inmistakable sounds of a tavern, the smells and the telltale signs of drunk patrons Tavick tied Windwalker to a nearby post. Stroking her head slightly before walking in.

The smell of filth immediately assaulted his senses, the dust, stickly smell of vomit and the unmistakable stench of cigarra smoke assaulted him within the dim lit confines of the tavern. Behind the bar stood a large being with four arms, a large bulging stomach. He was pouring four drinks simultaneously, a seasoned veteran at his trade. Tavick walked up to the bar and placed a credchit on the bar. Waiting for the bartender to finish, once he had he moved back over and eyed the chit suspiciously. "A Republic credit?"

The being shrugged before placing it to a pouch hanging below his stomach. "What'll it be friend?"

"I'll have whatever beer you serve, and access to a holonet terminal if you've got one?" One of the beings hands worked beneath the counter, pulling a bottle out of an unseen fridge before opening it with an opener he procured in his other hand, placing it on the counter.

"I don't have no-terminal. Though if you want information, you've come to the right place. What do you need to know?"

Tavick took off his hat and placed it on the stool next to him. "Who won the war?"

The bartender starting laughing a jolly, heavy laugh. Slowing down as he noticed the serious look on the strangers face. "You're kidding aren't you friend? That was five years ago." He shrugged. "I guess in some way, the Empire won."

"The Empire?"

The bartenders hands worked below the counter, this time taking out two small glasses and filling them both with a liquid bronze. Sliding one towards Tavick, the barman took the first shot.

Tavick nodded his thanks before pouring his down his throat, it burned it's way down to the pit of his stomach and he had to fight the reflex to not shake his head in disgust. As Tavick moved his hand to his pocket to withdraw a credit the bartender merely shook his head.

"that ones on the house friend, it's going to be a long story."

It was about mid-day when Ceva woke up, though ‘regained consciousness’ may have been a more appropriate term. Staring at the ceiling for a moment, she blinked a few times and wondered why things felt ‘off’…then she realized she wasn’t looking at the ceiling of her apartment.

Bit by bit her memory can back to her, piecing together what she’d done. She’d just finished brokering a small arms deal with some low level Crimson Dawn, and had just been paid, so she went out to celebrate. A few drinks led to some dancing, which led to some more drinks and some Slick; that led to her making out with a young Togrutan woman, which then led to the apartment Ceva had just woken up in.

Feeling the weight and warmth beside her, she was tempted to go back to sleep for a bit longer, but decided against it. Slowly extricating herself from the bed, Ceva padded around the room and got dressed. Once fully clothed, and taking a moment to check that she hadn’t lost any smaller items, she slipped into the hallway. Making her way outside, she took a small hit of Slick and lit a Cheroot, blowing a fragrant cloud of pink-ish smoke into the air and she stepped onto Woln’s streets.

Yawning, she rolled a shoulder to try and work out a knot, before looking about to get her bearings before taking off on foot. Should hit a terminal, see what’s up. She thought, heading in the direction of her favorite watering hole. First, breakfast and a drink.

Aranea had spent most of the morning doing civilian repair jobs and was currently found elbow deep in the guts of a gonk droid trying very hard not to get electrocuted by the busted up walking battery’s faulty circuits. The large spider like woman wore a long thin black coat over her bleached fur, the outer pockets ow which stuffed with various tools while inside ones concealing varios small weapons. Atop her head was perched a large battered wide brimmed hat that was doing its level best to protect her from the sun’s rays. As she fiddled away inside it she tried to avoid paying attention to the droid’s owner who was hovering around her impatiently and occasionally grumbling to her about this taking far too long and that he was a busy man. After a few minutes she extracted herself from the droid, slapped the hach shut. As she stretched her protesting limbs and back the human owner spoke up.

“Well?”

“Looks like someone’s ripped the capacitor regulator out of this thing, its amazing they didn't fry their brains doing that by the way, and now it won't be able to hold charge properly. I can get you a replacement and install it, but it’ll cost you”

The two then proceeded to haggle about the price for her services and the replacement parts culminating in the human saying “Then I’ll get the cops to get the damn part back instead. I can't afford this ridiculous price your quoting.”

The hench merely shrugged her six shoulders at this “Good luck with that. Your just inviting more trouble, coz the Imps aint interested in protecting the likes of us”

“Then what the hell am I supposed to do”

“Keep a closer eye on your droid in future. I’ll see if i can get you a cheaper part in the meantime or improvise something for you.”

“Bah. fine”

After eventually getting her consultancy fee out of the disgruntled human Aranea headed out into the streets to try and find either the part the droid needed or some other work. She found little success in either department however. As the sweltering heat of midday rapidly approached the Harch saw it best to seek shelter as she always did, lest the sun roast her in her fur. She deftly weaved her way through the city, the perfect image of a obedient imperial citizen who nonetheless managed to avoid ever getting within 20 m of any of the stormtrooper patrols. On other worlds she'd learned how to blend in through a good deal of trial and error. She’d only survived the errors thanks to a little luck, a fair bit of skill and a whole lot of bribery. The money she had acquired from her military and raider days was long gone however, and her current work wasn't paying very well, so all she had left now was cunning and a few connections she’d made on this world.

As she entered the tavern she spotted a few of these, criminal scum the lot of them who needed a mechanic who didn’t ask questions or who knew their way around the kind of teck that would have imperials banging on your door for even knowing it existed. A few might have been ex-CIS like herself, but you never talked about that. There was a kind of defensive doublethink going on in what could be barley called the fugitive community, war criminals helping out old comrades where they could while never verbally or consciously acknowledging that their old shared cause was the reason for their charity. It was safer that way for everyone because if the bucketheads ever managed to pick one of them up for questioning then it was best they all knew as little about each other as possible. Can’t rat someone out if you make an effort to know as little about them as possible.

Aranea gave a nood too a small group of these acquaintances lurking around a table near the back of the place after she entered, then took of her hat and headed for the bar. It was there that she overheard the tail end of the conversation between the drifter Tavick and the barkeep. Before the latter launched into his tale the woman plonked herself down next to the human drifter.

“If your history lesson comes with free drinks then sign me up” she joked, propping a pair of elbows on the bar and resting her head on a pair of clasped hands. She was rather curious what rock you had to live under to not know about the empire. Maybe she could avoid the empire herself if she found that rock and crawled under it.

"And you have been told, commander, that no outsider, Imperial or otherwise, is going to be allowed access to the Enclave. The Clans have suffered the loss of much of our culture already between all the wars and your Empire. You would have us lose more?" The Imperial commander on the other side of the holocommunication looked nervous as he stared at the impassive T-shaped visor that allowed the helmet wearer to see out. If there was one thing he hated, it was dealing with Mandalorians. Sure, there were those that the Empire could buy off and yet others that the new Mandalore government, an Imperial puppet government really, could persuade to be sensible and allow the Imperials to work. But these clan members on the very outskirts of the Outer Rim? They clung strongly to what tattered remains were left of their culture and many clans had moved here to be bothered less, and do less bothering to, by the Imperials and Mandalore government.

"And I have told you that I come here on the authority of the Mandalorian Government-" He found himself cut off as a laugh was barked from the man in Mandalorian armor. That was never a good sign for Imperial access.

"Unless Mandalore himself orders me to let you in, you are not getting in. You are fully aware that we cause no trouble here, so why do you persist in causing the opposite?" The commander bit back his reply. Unfortunately, the Mandalorian was right; since the Empire had arrived, the Mandalorians had caused it no trouble so long as they stayed away from their Enclave. Sighing, the man nodded.

"You're right, you're right. Elias Ordo, I apologize for my intrusions and will leave you and your people to do as you will. Contact me if you require the Empire's assistance." The communication cut as it was ended from the Imperial end and the Mandalorian finally relaxed as he turned to leave, flanked by two Ordo Honor Guards.

"That's an Imperial military officer? I've seen Banthas with more bite." Outside the yard was alive as both young Mandalorians and potential prospects worked on their training and older Mandalorians prepared for various trips. His guard on the left, Eli, chuckled.

"That you have, and I believe it took a bite out of your rump too." Elias slapped him in the gut and shook his head. Between Eli and Jenus, it was a wonder Elias had done as well as he had leading the Enclave for the last couple of years, considering the jokers they could be. As he got close to the central compound, another Mandalorian, a woman in full armor, approached the trio.

"Elias."

"Jenara Ordo. You don't come around often." Her stance told him more than she knew and what it said was that something was most definitely wrong.

"Come, we...have a lot to discuss and little time to do it."

The ship had entered the upper atmosphere of the planet, and headed for the closest available landing pad in the space port. From there the announcement came over for the crew, and it's solitary passenger could now leave the ship via the landing ramp. Leo took a deep breath as he made his way through the corridors of the light freighter. He had paid well for passage, and they had accommodated him well but he hated being inside a ship. It was too cramped, to easy to die in. He wouldn't of even been able to fight back before his death hit him. So he never bothered to learn to pilot. Choosing instead to let someone else do the flying. His boots echoed across the metal mesh flooring, as he made his way through the winding corridors of the ship, down the ramp, and out into the hot air of the desert world. The local garrison had already met them on the landing pad, a squad of storm troopers, and an officer stopped them. "Present identification, and do not attempt to flee. If you do all of you shall be met with the full might of the emperors finest." The officer said, holding his hand out for data pads. His uniform was spotless, and there was hardly a trace of dust on his boots. The same went for his escort of storm troopers. They probably pissed someone off if they were assigned to this backwater. So anything for them to look good on inspections, and retrieve a reassignment.

When the time came for Leo to present his datapad the officer was annoyed having to cycle through so many people. When he looked over Leo's identification he smirked. "Are you here for business, or pleasure? Bounty hunter." He asked.
"Neither, I'm here to make an honest living for once. Saved up enough credits to buy a moisture farm, and equipment for it. Sir."
"Well make sure you stay out of trouble, we'll be watching you." The officer said, with a tinge of contempt. He handed back Leo's datapad, and sent him on his way. From there it was just a matter of going to the governors office registering his moisture farm, and showing him the deeds he had bought. All boring stuff, but for once boring was good. Leo had spent too long fighting, and had too many near scrapes with death that a boring life, and a boring time felt like paradise. Even if it was on a backwater desert world.

With his time in the governors office done. He went off, he decided to walk the streets of the main city of Haven. Taking time to explore, buying the essentials for his farm plus some rations that he could live off of out there in the desert, and a piece of junk speeder that was way overpriced. He was sure he could hire someone to fix it given time. He still had plenty of the credits he saved up so he decided to treat himself. So he moved his way over to the local cantina. On a backwater like this he knew what to expect. Off duty imperials, and the shady type of men. People like himself. Bounty hunters, hired killers, outlaws trying to keep their head down, and avoid eye contact with the garrison, smugglers. He didn't even care, he wasn't here on business, so he had nothing to fear, nor did they. He stepped quickly over to the bar, and took a seat on a stool facing the bartender. "Something strong please, but something strong for a human. Last thing I need is for you to give me something that could kill me." He said. His voice was quick, and firm. The bartender didn't even regard him, or say anything. Just a curt nod, and a quick pour of a drink. He set it down in front of Leo, and turned back to his conversation. But the former bounty hunter didn't care, instead he lost himself in his drink.

A large shadow appeared over the city of Haven. Circular in shape many looked up to the sky to try and determine what it was, all those except the Imperials however who knew exactly what was arriving. It took over news networks, any form of holonet broadcast and communicators chirped all over the city as the shadow continued to grow. A sonic boom could be heard as the object entered the atmosphere, a thundrous roar as engines slowed it's descent as the occuptation dome came down. First at dangerous speeds before it started to slow down gradually, flames that initially formed due to friction with the air dissipated as the dome came into full view. Crashing into the surface in a cloud of dust, massive bay doors opened releasing speederbikes and walkers. TIE Fighters swamed out of hangars, their whine clear coming out across the city. In the bar Tavick had stopped speaking to watch the video of the Imperial Occuptation Dome landing outside of the city. Most of the bar had stopped talking throughout the ordeal in fact.

"That my friend, is the Empire." The bartender turned to pour some drinks for other patrons that had approached the bar for refills as patrons suddenly wanted to drown their sorrows in a bottle. Tavick stood up and nodded. This all made sense, the darkness was continuing to grow on the planet as the bogan infected everything. Even the wildlife was beginning to act differently, no doubt this Empire sought to spread this darkness as it stripped Maldra of every resource it had to offer. The question was how could such an undeniable power be stopped, perhaps if the Republic could be contacted then they would be able to help fight the Empire off, or even the Separatists. Surely one of the two would have something to say about this other Galactic Power carving up worlds and stripping them for resources. He turned to the multi-armed arachnid sitting beside him.

"Excuse me, but do you know someone who could get in contact with either the Republic or the Separatist Alliance? Surely there's someone that would oppose this 'Empire'?"

Ceva sat in a quiet-ish corner of the Stan’s End cantina, using her scramble key to interface with the public terminal beside her. She had her interface plug attached to the key, and was then projecting the data to her ocular HUD, and using her haptics to interface. From a distance, she looked like she was merely seated against a wall and starting into space as she nursed an ale.

Her fingers flicked and slid as she used her haptics to interface with the ‘net. In the background, a few of the other patrons were watching some sort of sports feed on the cantina’s main holo; this however was interrupted, much to everyone’s annoyance, by the INN. Though the sound was down, Ceva had noticed the increased noise from the other customers and shut down her HUD to see what all the noise was about.

On the holo, a live (time delayed) feed from the Imp city showed a massive dome shaped craft touchdown and almost at once being launching fighters and deploying ground units; Ceva quickly lost interest. Going back to the ‘net, she kept poking about, mostly waiting to hear from a contacts she’d made within the Mandos.

When she’d first arrived on Maldra, Ceva had quickly set herself up as an info broker, dealing with small time outfits and low ranking players in the major organizations; it was steady, if not super well paying, work…and she rarely got shot at which was rather nice. Right now she was trying to track down and either confirm or deny a rumor. The rumor was that a small band of Mandos was on the verge of making a move against some clan rivals, and if it was true, she knew a few souls who might pay well for a ‘heads-up’ as it were.

Frustratingly, her contact had yet to respond, so now she was just killing time…

The general calm of the cantina was rudely shattered by a screaming howl that sounded like it threatened to lift the roof off of the building. Joining the others as the rushed into the street, she got outside just in time to see two Imp fighters banking away to the south, who were closely followed by another pair doing a low pass from the north. ”Don’t the Imps got better things to do than hassle a girl who’s just got up?” She muttered, heading back inside.

@Sep
He watched as the occupational garrison made land fall, and he chuckled. He scanned the bar as one of them spoke of opposing the empire. "They are The Republic you fool." He said rather sharply, his voice was like that of a parent chastising their child. "The Seppies died with The Republic. Or at least I think, you see droids marching around out here? Doesn't matter if they still exist or not. They aren't going to help you. Now if you had two brain cells to rub together you'd shut up, and keep your eyes down. Yeah? Less you get a sympathizer to kick your ass." He continued, before lifting his glass for a long drink.

His drink tasted terrible, fucking backwater worlds. People had no manners, these people were lucky enough to have some form of assistance out here. They bring business just like anyone else and they want to fight it already? You think in a backwater like this they'd love being able to have more work as well, and he didn't doubt the Imperials would offer bounty contracts. So why were people so eager to bite the hand that can potentially feed them. If you keep your eyes down, obey their laws, then nothing has to happen to you. He let out a long sigh, he could almost hear the voice of the woman he lost chastising him for being to mean to the guy speaking open treason in a bar. It wouldn't be the first time he heard someone speak treason in a bar. He'd heard the same shit in the bounty hunter guild as well. Join the Separatists and only accept contracts from them, no join The Republic. Fuck em both, they never really cared for you anyways. If Leo was given the chance he'd have put a blaster bolt in Dooku's, and the Chancellors head if they popped up on a contract. That's the only thing that Leo would obey a bounty hunters contract. Nice, and airtight.

As he lost himself in his thoughts, he snapped back to reality. "Hey boss, whatever that guy is drinking pour me one down here." He said, the bartender was happy to oblige, giving him the same liquid bronze drink he put it on the counter near the empty stool next to him. He beckoned the man over. "Come ere, take a seat. Let's talk for awhile. You look like you know the lay of the land here anyhow." Leo spoke across the bar, this time his tone of voice was a little bit more friendlier.

Speaking with: @Sep
Mentions: @Enalais

Aranea’s dismay at the arrival of the occupation dome matched the rest of the bar, tinged slightly with a morbid amusement at the empire’s dramatic timing in relation to the hermit’s line of questioning. She was pulled out of the subsequent rapidly suffocating dread, her mind racing to workout just how fucked she was by this new authoritarian arrival, by the hermit’s talk of resistance. She visibly flinched back from him as if the very suggestion had stung her, her eyes wide as she looked down at the man as if her were mad, before she quickly composed herself and leaned in close to try and hush him, her arms unnervingly scuttling her closer till they where nearly face too face, at which point she whispered to him.
“keep it down before...”
but it was far to late as his question had been overheard by, among others, a gruff looking human sitting alone nearby who was more than happy to answer the question for her.

She turned and examine this latest newcomer to her regular haunt as he spoke, judging him to be a recent arrival to the desert world. Unlike the hermit, who’s skin and clothes looked as if they had been marred by the relentless sun and sand for the best part of his life if she was any judge, he looked like he had either stepped right of a ship and into the bar or he had meticulously kept himself spotless like some of the stuck up imp officers did. She didn't take him for the type to care about appearances however, as the mans scarred face and a stature told a tale of a hard life doing dangerous work, in that respect at least he fit right with the rest of the locals, so she deduced that he was probably a new arrival to their little hell-world.

After the off-worlder had finished his interjection she turned back towards the hermit and in a low voice she muttered to him that “The man’s mostly right, the republic’s shown its true colors and separatists are dead. As for the sympathisers however, I’d be more concerned about snitches than thugs round these parts if I were you.” she warned before adding grimly ”Hope is lost to the galaxy my friend. I suggest you learn that quick, before you get yourself killed”

With that said she righted herself, and proceeded to down the drink that she had been served in one gulp at the same time as she paid for it. She was used to the barkeep’s brew at this point and almost managed to enjoy the burning sensation it brought. Almost. It took the edge off regardless and that was all that mattered.

Tavick turned to the gruff scarred man who promptly informed him that the Republic had turned into the Empire, the war was over and the Separatists were gone. That made no sense, the war seemed to have no end when his ship had crashed. The Republic, with the Jedi were operatives to what Tavick now knew off as the Ashla. Before simply he would have regarded it as the Force, but the Sijins taught him that there were two different forces that made up the Force. The Ashla and the Bogan. Light and the Dark. From the feelings many of the sages were having the Empire were operatives of the Bogan. What the Bartender and this man said matched up with the growing sense of dread and doom the sages were sensing, the reason Tavick had left Sanctuary to venture out into the more populated areas of the planet. So far he wasn't liking what he saw.

His trials were to find the source of this spreading disease, see if he could halt it and right now he didn't have a lot of hope. As the man gestured Tavick sat himself between the arachnoid being and the scarred human. "I know these parts more than I care to admit. It may not be my original home, or the one I chose but it's the one I have. The Galaxy may have changed more than I knew, but that doesn't change what I have to do." Tavick sighed as he tipped his head back as the glass approached his lips downing the rest of his drink before standing. "Now I need to find the things I need."

---

Governor Lyra Atorn stood on the bridge of her vessel as she watched the fleet of Mining Guild vessels go past, some carrying Ore Crawlers while others carried parts of the prefabricate base they would be setting up on her new world. Others had scoffed at her for campaigning to gain control of this sector, but with no Republic Representation during it's reign she easily managed to secure the mining rights for ninety-five percent of the planets landmass. There were concerns in the senate about the 'native' population but thanks to the reports that Lyra had sent back to Coruscant it was clear that the wave of criminal immigrants had wiped out whatever was left of the natives years before the Separatists arrived.

A hologram appeared beside her and she had to do her best to prevent the look of disgust translating to her face as the distinctly non-human representative of the Mining Guild appeared. "Foreman."

The being bowed it's 'head' in what she assumed was a respective gesture. "Governor."

"I hear there's delays." Straight to the point, Lyra didn't want this conversation lasting any longer than it had too.

"We're having labour difficulties. The terrain is harsh, and this world is far from most of our territory. Many sectors between our primary workforce-" The implied meaning being slaves. She nodded, slave labour taught people their place. It was a respectable form off punishment. "-still hold to old Republic Laws, meaning that we cannot relocate the necessary workers."

Lyra waved her hand dismissivly. "I'll speak to the Colonel to round some people up in Woln for you."

There was pause from the foreman. "What will you tell Coruscant?"

Examining her nails she looked up at the being. "The usual, Rebel Sympathisers." With that the hologram was cut off. She sighed as she walked out of the bridge, within the hour Stormtroopers would begin rounding up individuals in Woln from all the possible Rebel cesspits. Taverns, workshops, gambling arenas, gladiator pits. Beaurcracy was so tiresome, she wasn't looking forward to the paperwork. The payoff would be worth it however.

"And how many were injured?"

"That's what's unclear. The attack hit so suddenly, Jorwain said that no one called out in surprise. There was a short burst of weapon's fire and then it was quiet again. No one's reported an injury, but..." Elias sighed as he leaned back in his chair. It wasn't what Jenara had said that worried the leader of the Enclave, it was what she wasn't saying. Jorwain was a Fett, a clan that had been on the edge of extinction until recently thanks to the infighting amongst the various clans, but he was a good man and one of the more experienced hunters of the desert. But there were concerns that this wasn't an attack by the Sijin or the animals of the desert.

However, before he can make a response and talk about the Rancor in the room, one of the trainers bursts into the room. "Turn on your holo-viewer. The Empire's made a power play." Frowning, Elias does exactly that, turning on the viewscreen that only saw use when major events were happening in Haven or when Elias felt like catching up on the news from across the planet. And what he saw only deepened his frown.

"An occupation dome. They're making it clear that they aren't to be trifled with. Jenara, recall the hunting parties and prospects. We're going to need to discuss what to do if they turn their sights on us."

The man frowned into his drink, he had been in a situation like him before. Instead life chose for him, and it ruined everything. "Listen, don't do anything you'll regret. Something this big doesn't just go away if you poke it enough, if ya fight it they'll just call in more, then what? Keep fighting, you can't fight most of the galaxy. The odds are against you from the start." He said, then gave a heavy sigh. The way he spoke of avoiding a fight was so unlike his past self. He threw himself into the worse of it, he even went hunting Jedi. Yet due to his luck he always won it out, but with something as big as the Empire ones luck was bound to run out.

When he spoke again it was a change of subject. "If you both have been around the planet, I don't suppose you know where the Varston moisture farm is? I bought his farm from him. Now I know it's a piece of junk, and it's falling apart but I figure I got plenty of credits to hire some help to help me fix up the place, and some people to help get it runnin. I'll pay ya if you show me where it is, few bonus creds if ya tell me what's gonna eat me on this planet if I go out alone." He spoke his offer, hoping the enticement of credits would grease some palms. Then again not everybody was like him. He loved his credits, but as much as he loved his credits he loved what you could do with it. If ya have em, you should flaunt em. Especially if you are the toughest son of a Rancor around. Something The Empire has in spades.

Despite her casual remark, Ceva was actually kind of worried. The Imps usually stuck to their outpost on the other side of the city; other than the occasional ‘bike patrol around the outskirts, they mostly kept to themselves, but with the landing in Haven she figured things would be changing.

Dropping back into her seat, she finished her drink and got back onto the ‘net. Carefully, she made her way into the ‘deeper’ recesses of the local ‘net; buried in there she’d found a message board dedicated to ‘Resisting the foul scourge of the Empire’. They were all talk, but they did do a fair job of keeping track of Imp movements, so they were at least useful. Now there were posts, with images that showed several shuttles, both light and heavy lift, landing at the Imp base.

Disconnecting, Ceva pocketed her key and quietly exited the cantina out of a back door. She was fairly sure the Imps were aware of the message board she’d been watching, and as such she’d made her own plans to keep herself safe; that said, she figured it would be best to relocate.
-
Back at her own apartment, she gathered up all her identification; a splendidly false collection that identified her as one ‘Riv Hayoa’, droid tech, down on her luck ex-spacer and all around general nobody. Clothes, credits and a few other essentials went into a bag, while the ID went into a ‘flash tube’, a locking plasteel tube with a thermal charge inside that would destroy the contents.

With her bed/sit apartment cleared, she tossed the place to make it look like it’d been robbed, before leaving the building. Moving at a brisk pace, she dropped her door card into the tube, locked it, and set it to flash on a ten minute timer. Making a fairly direct route, via side streets and alleys, to Woln’s shuttle port, she tossed the tossed the tube into a passing dumpster.

Arriving at the port she bought a ticket for the next outbound flight to Haven using another totally genuine, but utterly fictitious ID of one ‘Pasca Iik’; a newer member of the Bounty Hunter’s Guild with a valid B23-1-14 permit to boot. Shea was worried that the bucketheads might halt flights out as they began to move on Woln, but as the shuttle lifted off that didn’t seem to be the case. As it banked away from the city, Ceva settled into her seat for a nap.