For what felt like the ninety-ninth time today, Eryn wriggled out from under the elevated concrete slab and propped herself up on her elbows, pulling out the broken binocs she’d swiped from the trash three buildings over. She closed one eye over the cracked eyepiece and dragged a hopeless, practiced gaze across Abilene’s surface with the other.
Nothing new. No ships. No way out.
Oh my god. What a surprise. She just couldn’t even.

Disappointment had died days ago for her. Couldn’t even muster annoyance anymore as she dropped the binocs back on the tarp next to her and shimmied back under the makeshift slab shelter like some kind of crab returning to its shell. It wasn’t comfortable, but finding the concrete outcrop atop one of the only three story buildings in this dusty outpost had been a much needed shot of luck for her. The area was undisturbed, playing wall-less closet to a collection of old mining gear long past its expiration date, and with the way the slab had shifted over the top of the building, it offered her a vantage point without risk of being seen. Not a bad protection from any elements, either. From there, laying on her stomach with binocs in hand, she could track anything coming into Abilene from land or sky, and track she did.

So far, the only thing even remotely interesting going or coming past the town’s edge was the young couple sneaking off to make out undisturbed every other night.

Stupid teenagers.
She stared up at the damp concrete above her, running a finger across the multiple slashes in the arm of her leather jacket. Traced how wide and jagged each one was. Felt the dried blood still flaking off the leather under her touch. Brushed at the thick scar marks now knitted into her flesh.
Remembered the screams of her old captain.

Really stupid teenagers. They knew what was out there, and they still snuck out.
Not like she actually cared, though. Not her problem. They’ll die or they won’t. No one here mattered unless they were a way off this rock, and Abilene definitely wasn’t bustling with off-world activity.

“Not. My. Problem,” she breathed quietly as she scratched another line into the tally above her head with a bit of metal, a shower of concrete dusting her like snow.
Thirteen days.
Thirteen karking days and no end in sight.
A very, very small part of her had hoped at the beginning that whatever crew had survived and taken ‘The Wyvern’ would realize she was still alive and come back for her. They’d seen her during the chaos, she knew a few had.
After day four, that hope fizzled out, replaced by vivid, violent scenarios of what she’d do if she ever saw any of them again.

A rogue gust of wind rushed over her hiding spot, toying with the edge of the tarp she hadn’t dragged under the shelter. The sound drew thoughts of the instant noodle packages she’d stolen from one of the kitchens down the street, and the way her stomach growled, there was no denying it.
Time for dinner.

The one problem with this slab-shelter thing? You couldn’t sit up. Or, it would have been a problem for someone else.
Eryn contorted like a worm folding in on itself, her flexible Sorrusian bones briefly turning her into something out of a horror film as she reached around her feet to grab one of the brightly colored noodle packages.
It was gone in under two minutes, raw and crunchy, and the tiny heating pack included for cooking was activated and tucked into the breast of her shirt. The tiny bloom of warmth felt nice.
Eryn tucked the ripped packages into the stack at the edge of the shelter, stacking the rocks atop them like paperweights just in case of wind, and flipped herself back around to war-crawl towards the outcrop once more, enjoying the heat of the spice at the back of her throat. Felt better than dust. Tasted better than dust, which was all Abilene had to offer her up here.

Soon, she was perched, binocs in hand for the hundredth time today. Maybe this time. Maybe this time, someone would come.
She panned down out of habitual movement. There they were, sneaking out again. Stupid. Ugh.

Maybe this time.

The man who had adopted the surname ‘Fel’ sat heavily at the console behind the copilot’s seat. For the moment at least, he was alone, though he wouldn’t have put it past Jet, or hell, any of the folks aboard the UA, to pop into the cockpit to see how the conversation with Abilene went. He could’ve locked the door. But no. He’d never locked Wrench out of anywhere. Jet neither. Not even his cabin. He wasn’t about to start now. He breathed for a few moments, until the navacomp alert sounded. This was it. Stretching toward the main console, he cut in the sunlight engines, and right on schedule, Abilene sprang into reality, filling the viewport. The grey-green rock was barely the size of an average class-Zee lunar mass. He breathed deep, collecting himself. Keyed in the ident tag. A male voice, sounding very far away, badly static-laden. Fel boosted the signal, knowing there was little they could do, planetside. The atmo was thin, which did them favours when it came to broadcasting comms, but their tech level was so low, he knew this was as good as it was liable to get. The voice got stronger, closer.

“...dentified vessel, state your business, over.”

”It’s Fel. Unfair Advantage. I’d give you some hull registration number but we both know it’d be a bunch of numbers I pulled out of a hat. Need to talk to Abilene.”

There was a long pause. Long enough for Fel to start thinking they had lost the call. The ever-present comms ionization and ever-present static, like waves crashing on a beach someplace warm, didn’t help.

”Wait.”

He acknowledged, but the line had already gone dead. Now the waiting was killing him, and he started to turn the words over and over in his mind, which was usually when he ended up eating them. But just when he believed they had switched off, her voice, aged and weighted with experience and tough as nails, pierced the cockpit. The image was poor, but he could make out her shock of white hair, braided.

”Galdaart Fel, you doleadote Scrabjack – didn’t think I’d see your ugly mug around these parts anytime soon. What in the seven suns are you doing in my yard, son?”

”Good to see you, too, Abilene. And don’t go handing my thrusters to me. If you’re half the Harpy I took you for, you’ve already heard that someone paid Lotho Minor a visit. a pause for effect Figured I’d bring your druk back to you. Sure as a mudscuffer’s pant-leg ain’t worth nothin’ to nobody else. Now… you ain’t interested, I can just…” he mimes reaching to shut off the viewscreen.

”No! No.. we can deal. So that was you, handed the Buckets their daily dose of poodoo up the recharge port, huh? she cackled, devolving into fits of coughing, before coalescing into a wet chuckle. ”I would’ve paid good creds to see Kara’s face when you pulled the rug out from under him, and aboard his own rig, too. Seems I had you pegged wrong, kid. Never in the Typhoidic Nebula thought it’d be you bringing my world back to me.”

”You still got what we discussed, last time we was face to face?”

He couldn’t make it out too well, what with the bad picture, but her voice told him she was smiling as she replied. ”See you in the world, kid.” She killed the transmission, letting him eat static.

“Yeah. Yeah…” He killed the comms, and got up, transferring to his usual seat, and angled the UA toward the thick depression in the moon’s surface that was known locally as ‘Walden’s Scar’ and marked the closest visual landmark to the Abilene settlement. The thin atmosphere made travelling planetbound easy, and Fel spotted the settlement more than thirty seconds out at their current rate of descent. He cut thrust, and pulled in low, over the settlement, the cluster of small buildings battered by the UA’s repulsors, moving slow enough that it would be unmistakable to anyone there that the ship had arrived, and then banked South by a little over four miles, setting down atop a low rise, a steep canyon drop at their backs. It was a good spot. They’d see anyone coming, and their back was protected by an almost impossible climb.

Jet slapped the panelling above the doorway, a gesture signaling he had tasks to attend to. He gave Fel a firm nod, accompanied by a smug grin. He hoped the spacer picked up on the pride he felt and the unspoken confidence he had in him as a pilot. Turning on his heel, Jet began his trek through the ship, making his way toward the cargo hold where he had stored the crates from their last escapade.

As his boots echoed through the corridors, Jet's mind wandered to how quickly things had shifted. Just a few hours ago, the trio was stealthily descending into Lotho Minor, aiming for a quick and quiet operation. Now, they were on approach to Abilene with nearly a full crew. Jet shook his head softly, a grunt and a smirk escaping him. Life out here had a way of changing at lightning speed, but looking back, he wouldn't alter a single moment. The mission had been successful—they got what they came for, and everyone made it back in one piece. Even though things had gotten a bit dicey… All’s well that ends well.

He grasped the handle of one of the two crates he had stored earlier and pulled it out, walking over to a nearby bench. Popping open the crate, he found that he was lucky with his choice; the emitter lay there, ready to be assembled into a single cohesive unit. Jet sighed and muttered under his breath, "Alright, let's see what we've got here..." He laid out the various components on the bench, mentally mapping out the assembly process. It was a complicated piece of tech, no doubt about it, but he'd tackled worse.

Elsewhere in the U.A., Zane was taking the time to alter his “acquired” uniform. Now that he was no longer trying to impersonate an Imperial tech, it seemed only logical that he didn’t want to be seen with the markings on his jumpsuit. He found himself a quiet part of the ship - well, quiet-er, given that this place creaked and shuddered more than some of the buildings back home. Once he was by himself, he slipped the jumpsuit off and used some of the tools in his technician’s pack, improvising their use to remove the patches and identifying marks from the garment. By the time he was through, it had become nothing but a dull grey jumpsuit. Once he slid it back on, he left the top half unzipped, tying the sleeves around his waist after buckling the toolbelt back on. After all, it was still useful for carrying certain items, like the holdout pistol and the tech’s kit. Even if the boy didn’t know how to use the variety of tools, they could still come in handy. So could the patches, which is why he stowed them in one of the pouches on his belt - in case he ever needed to impersonate an Imperial again.

So, now Zane looked like a slightly more at-ease version of himself, with the white, long-sleeved undershirt and tied-off jumper making him seem more easy-going. He hated the fact that he still hadn’t addressed some of the wounds on his body. There were a few spots on the pristine white shirt that had already been made dingy by the open sores, but the kid wasn’t a doctor. So, for the time being, he just went about his business, trusting there would come a time where he could get it all taken care of.

On his way back to the common area, Zane stepped out of his hiding spot in the work-bay area into the central corridor, and heard Jet going through some of the crates within the cargo area. Thinking back to his previous job of “inventorying” the bags, he peeked inside to see if the big guy was going back over his work, instead finding that he was opening up one of the crates that they had heisted from the Imperial ship. Curious to figure out what was inside, he slid into the cargo bay and craned his head to the side to watch what Jet was getting himself into, quietly-observing his actions as the elder gentleman went on.

As Zane stepped inside, Jet gave him a wide smile, he couldn’t help but notice how the jumpsuit look suited him, reminding him of himself back in the day. “You wanna help me piece this one together, kid?” He nodded his head towards the collection of parts, leaning on his palms.

Folding his hand behind his head and scratching the back of his neck, the kid gave a nonchalant shrug, ”Uh, sure man. This seems like it’ll be more of a two-person job anyway, huh?”

Jet stuck his hand deep into his pocket, searching around a little while before ripping out a hydrospanner. “You’ll need yourself one of these, here,” he said, holding out the tool toward the lad. “We’ll get started with the base unit.”

Zane nodded, taking the tool into his hand and deftly flipping through its different settings. As a scrapper, he’d used a ‘spanner several times to disassemble and modify certain items, so it wasn’t really anything new. Except this tool seemed to be in much better shape than what he was used to. Once he was done, he moved around the crate to start working alongside Jet to get everything done, waiting to hear his instructions.

“The base unit keeps the whole thing still, stops it from shaking itself to bits, basically, Make sure those bolts are tight or we’re gunna have a problem.” He said, pointing to the bolts in question. He picked up the power core, handling it with a steady and practiced hand. “This’uns a tricky one, let me.”

The youth nodded, making sure to patiently observe the seasoned technician’s steady hands as he began to work on the unit. Zane took care to move in where the housing was on the emitter itself, using the ‘spanner to ratchet the bolts into place and ensure they were nice and tight while also doing his best to stay out of Jet’s way. He felt his thin muscles getting tired quickly from the effort, but kept going to make certain he was doing the proper job for his “instructor”.

Seeing Zane work made Jet's heart sink a little, it had been a while since he had the chance to work on something with someone, the last person being Nova. His mind wandered a little about her, wondering where she was, if she was okay, if he'd ever see her again… snapping back to reality, he picked up the field generator modules and placed them in front of Zane, “Allign them up around the base–here” he said, pointing towards the base of the power core. “Make sure they're all aligned proper or our fields not gunna be worth a damn.” He smirked, giving a cheeky wink Zane’s way before getting to work connecting the control circuits. Now wasn't the time to teach the intricate ways the wiring needed to be done, it had to be right or the whole thing would simply fail.

Zane followed Jet’s instructions, his eyes laser-focused on where the technician was instructing him to align the mods as he took each of them and placed them along the cardinal points of the emitter’s frame, right near the base. It reminded him of his days in the field, taking apart radomes and projectors that had very similar structures. The modules seemed to click into place, allowing Zane to place the pins right through the holes at the head and base of their seats and secure them properly before dusting his hands off in satisfaction and looking back to Jet. ”Think that should do it, Chief…what’s next?”

Jet watched the kid work as he finished up with the modules, he took to machinations pretty damn quickly, Jet mused it must have been all that time deconstructing that helped him figure things out. He picked up the outer shell and began sliding it over the skeletal emitter they had constructed together. “You mind grabbing some remote detonators from storage–should be over there?” He indicated with a flick of his head. Lowering the shell down, he twisted it into the slots and tightened the last bolts.

”Uh, yeah…one sec!” Zane’s head swiveled about, trying to find where Jet was indicating. Rising from his haunches, he jogged over toward the shelves and moved a couple of items around until he came across the aforementioned detonators, which were in a labeled case marked with all sorts of hazardous signs. The kid popped the latches on it, looking inside to make sure they were within before securing it again and taking it under his arm back over to where Jet waited. Holding onto it, he gestured with a half-shrug with his carrying arm, ”Got ‘em!”

Jet eyed the completed emitter, a three-foot-tall marvel that would keep those feral creatures at bay. He wrapped his fingers around the emitter's legs and hoisted it onto his shoulder with a grunt, feeling the weight of the device. It was heavy, but manageable—just another challenge for him to overcome. Jet smirked to himself with confidence. He carried the emitter over to the offramp and set it down gently, making sure it was secure. With that done, he knew the crew would have one less thing to worry about.

The kid followed along, carrying the small case with a careful hand to where Jet had set the completed piece of tech near the off-ramp. His brows furrowed with a bit of confusion as he saw Jet sort of stop there. ”Wait…that’s all for now? I thought we needed to get this thing set up or whatevs?”

Jet turned to Zane, nodding at him softly. “Yeah, it'll need to be set up but wouldn't want that in here, I'm pretty good with this sort of stuff but kriff if I know what sort of crazy that'd set off on-board.” He ran his arm across his face, softly mopping up a few dregs of sweat. “Nah, just need to get them attached and jobs a good'un, for now.” He spoke, again pointing at the detonators cradled under Zane's arm. “You good getting them attached–Sure you've messed with explosives tons back on that scrap planet?”

Zane looked at the case, his eyes widening a bit in fear as he considered his past luck with excavating and the like - the particulars of which were…less than stellar, from his memory. Grinning sheepishly, he felt a little bit of a shake enter his voice as he tried to convince Jet of the benefits of working together on such a task, ”Uhm…actually…? I think you might wanna keep me as far away from these dets as possible, if I’m being honest. Or, if you think you could help me figure them out, I’ll know how to do it if it ever comes up again? That…would be great, thanks…”

The next hour or so, Zane listened intently as Jet patiently took the time to show him how to properly install the charges and rig them to the detonators, putting the youth’s mind at ease as they managed to expertly place them in a concealed position. The boy was able to learn a new skill, and “many hands made short work”, or so it seemed. By the time they were done, they had rigged the explosives, but Zane watched as Jet chose not to sync the remote to the charges themselves. Zane was a bit puzzled by the spacer’s choice, but didn’t want to put too much thought into it. Maybe there was something that the Captain had in mind when choosing to deal with this “Abilene” lady that was just beyond the boy’s understanding. He’d simply have to trust that Jet knew what he was doing.

The two of them finished up, and then walked back toward the common area of the ship to report back to the rest of the group, ready for the long day that they surely had ahead of them.

She was up and moving long before the arriving ship’s metal touched the ground, leaving behind a mess of tarps and empty noodle packages stuffed into a corner of her shelter-pipe.

Watching the aircraft break clouds overhead after such a long stretch of waiting felt like hope again as she slid nimbly down her planned escape route, tempering the rising bubble of relief and elation in her chest. Best not to get ahead of herself. She hadn’t even seen the thing up close yet, nothing to be relieved about until she was hidden inside.
If she could even get inside. Personal starships and smaller freighters were tougher to get into than the huge star liners or refugee transports. The bigger they flew, the more space to go unnoticed. Run-of-the-mill spacers were either paranoid with great security, or stupidly overconfident with none.
Hopefully, this crew was the latter. Guess she’d find out soon enough.

Still. It was a chance off this rock. That alone felt good enough.

Adjusting the black mask over the lower half of her face, Eryn hastily stuffed her dark greasy hair into her hood and pulled it up over her head, sticking to the shadows as she looked for her opening to join the sparse flow of beings along the main causeway. A handful of them were armed to the teeth, probably looking more intimidating than they actually were. Much like her old crew, actually. Overconfident and focused on personal glory. ‘Gotta look the part’ kind of people. One or two were wearing long necklaces with what looked like a giant tooth at the end.
The same kind of tooth she’d seen buried in the captain’s face as the rest of ‘The Wyvern’s crew scattered in every direction.
Eryn curled her lip in mild disgust at the amulets. Far too clean and way too white to be something they’d actually ripped from the skull of the creatures prowling outside the city limits. Probably bought them in souvenir shops or paid for them from crafters.

She took a moment to glance at the small datapad she’d swiped from a bar patron days ago, scrolling past various galaxy-wide bounty postings to the more local information available to all. And there it was, right at the top.
Wanted: Dead. Credits for intact creature heads. Make money protecting the colony! Prices negotiable based on size of head. [Active]

The whole reason ‘The Wyvern’ had landed here in the first place. Crowing about how it would be easy money, how they could taste the credit chits already, ‘we’ll make this colony worship us by the end of the day’, etc.
Karkin’ dumb lot o’ trash. But, trash was easy to fool, and easy to control if you knew how. No one bothered her after she dismembered the Mon Calamari galley ‘cook’ who’d attempted to throw hands after accusing her of stealing ‘more food than she was worth’. She displayed random bits of him outside the small corner of the cargo bay she’d claimed as her own, and never walked the ship without both weapons drawn.
Certainly didn’t make her popular, but Eryn wasn’t there for buddies and comradery.

She tucked the screen back into the small pack on her back, eying the passing armed ‘bigwigs’ as they clinked and clattered past her, bristling with the same measure of cocky attitude that had seen ‘The Wyvern’ crew to their deaths.
Idiots.
She joined them, pulling smoothly from the shadows and blending unnoticed into the lineup, matching their stride and their attitude.
See? Easy to fool.

Her hunch was right. They were headed towards the exit, and by the looks of the groups they were joining up with, they were there to hunt.
If she could tail them safely, they’d make fantastic bait for what lay outside the city, and with the beasts distracted by such a large party, she’d have a chance at making it to that ship without too much risk.
Hopefully.
Maybe.
It was plan-as-you-go, fly by the seat of your pants for now.

“We want what he’s got. Don’t forget that. So don’t go to blowin’ up the ship. In fact, if we got to have his fireblasted ship after it’s all said ‘n done, I’d be fine about that. But don’t underestimate him, or forget what he is, neither.’ Someone from the assembled group of fifteen asked, the voice sounding like it was farther from the main group – mayhap one of Abilene’s hired guns – what he was, exactly. She scowled, scanning the faces for a source, but falling short. Pulling the wide brim hat off her headful of grey braids, she slapped the hat against her calf, letting the cloud of dust drop to the wooden flooring around her. ”A liar. A cheat, and a murderer. The reason your father raised you by his lonesome, Crim Kalpana!” she bellowed at a young man who was busying himself loading a rifle with vicious-looking hollow-tip rounds. ”And you there, Milla Olphen, he’s the reason your mother has to feel her way around your house, wearing a kerchief to cover her sightless eyes and rad-blasted scarring!” she called out, and pointed to an attractive young woman checking the load in her blaster.

She holstered a pistol nearly as long as her forearm, and shouldered a scattergun. “He’s ex-Imperial. And he’s a bastard no-good gravel maggot Hutt-spawn, who deserves more pain and sorrow than our blasters can rain down on him, and don’t none of ya forget it.”[/i] She spat on the floor, the hatred writ large on her face, and stepped down off the wooden riser that served as town square and crier’s hub, complete with a small wooden lectern and backed by a notice and job board, currently filled with missing persons pics.

She led a path through the assembled townsfolk, who parted, making way for Abilene to walk by, and paused only at the near-seven foot tall Wookiee, and his horned companion. ”...you know what to do.” The Wookiee grunted, grabbing up his blaster carbine, and moved off, away from the assembled group, followed by the Zabrak and two more outlanders. She turned back to the group of a dozen assembled colonists. Some looked at their shoes, fumbling with weapons they were clearly unaccustomed to wielding. Others met her piercing gaze, cocking and loading their mixture of slugthrowers and blasters. Abilene mounted a dapple-grey horse as others mounted up, or climbed aboard swoops, speeders or hover-skiffs. ”We take what’s ours. And we bury Fel where he landed. If’n I have my way, in an unmarked grave where our grandsons’ grandsons can piss on his bones every year at the anniversary. ‘Far as I’m concerned, the same goes for every sonovabitch he done brought wit’ him.”

They moved out into the dark, on a collection of a half-dozen horses – some with plassteel barding, some just with the tack and harnesses they took from the fields – a few swoops and speeders, and a single skiff with an E-Web mounted amidships, big enough to carry the cargo. Of the dozen souls that marched out on that barren scrub-land, maybe half had the hardened look of killers, or the look of hatred that showed they believed in the old lady’s words.

In stark contrast, one young lad, yellow eyes peering out from under a similar wide brim hat, long tongue tasting the air, cradled his pistol in nervous hands, watching for Prowlers. He hopped up on the skiff, sitting beside the young woman Abilene had bellowed at, a moment before. “I heard your ma say, day ‘fore last, Milla – that she ain’t got no fight with him. So which is it?” The young blonde pulled her hair up, and into a high ponytail, several strands wisping about her features. She pulled the blaster and scanned the edge of the darkness. ”I reckon it’s somewhere between Abilene and Mama. Not sure I’ll know till I see his eyes, Pol.” She laid a kind hand on the young alien’s leg, calming him some. ”stick close to me, ok? You’ll do fine…”

---

Fel powered down much of the cockpit, letting the dimming light of Abilene and her clear skies dominate the scene. Switching off, letting the horizon and the day come into sharp focus helped him grow accustomed to a new planet, a new vista, a new day / night cycle, a new sky. This one had only a thin atmosphere, and the stars, the nearby unnamed planetoid, the asteroid field, all seemed thrown into stark relief against the black void. Before shutting down, of course Fel had picked up on short range scans. They were coming. The swoops could be on their landing ramp in minutes if they wanted to be. But they were moving at a snail’s pace, compared to what was possible. Must be walkers, Fel surmised. Or horseback. Either way, it bought them a few minutes.

He rose, cracking his neck, and stepped out, into the avionics bay – really just a tiny vestibule between the flight deck and the entryway to the main crew space. He slapped a hand on Wrench’s radome. “You stay put, ‘wheels magee.’ Don’t need you getting caught in the crossfire. Got it?” The little astro droid mentioned that he had no intention of being deactivated, today or any time soon. It was only after Fel had disappeared into his quarters to retrieve his gun belt that he added a few bleeps and whirrs that said ‘be careful.’

Fel strapped on the gun belt, checking the load in his Power5. It slid easily in the oiled leather. (too easily?) He pulled on fingerless gloves, and his coat, the threadbare charcoal flight jacket devoid of any unit patches or insignia, but it was fairly obvious where they had once been sewn. He walked down the landing ramp, nodding at Jet and Zane as his boots touched Abilene soil. ”They’re coming. We’ve maybe got ten minutes.” He noted where the emitter had been erected, maybe ten feet off the landing ramp, and nodded, speaking loud enough for both to hear him, over the ever-present wind. “Jet, you pass me that detonator. And you both keep your distance from it, y’hear?” He had no intention of using it as anything but a threat. But it was a card to be played. He checked to make sure both were armed. ”I don’t want us shootin’ first. And if it comes to that, only shoot to defend yourselves. These folks didn’t do nothin, ‘sides from believin’ in Abilene.” He pulled the pistol, checked its load for the fifth time. He wanted it to go well. Willed it to go well. But he had a bad feeling about it. Almost like it was fated to go South.

Zane’s mind was reeling, trying to figure out what all he needed to do. He likely needed to arm himself, find a defensible position…but, first things first - he walked over to Fel, his voice calm, despite the fact that every nerve in his body felt the tingle of adrenaline starting to course through his system, ”Hey, uh…that det? It’s not synced up to the things that go ‘boom’. Just figured you’d wanna know, in case you needed more than a bluff to pull this off. Imma go and, uh, grab one of those stun sticks and that rifle I got off the Trooper. Prolly hole up in the machine shop or somethin’...” He gave Fel a nod, more to reassure himself than anything, and began making his way back up the ramp into the U.A.

Fel nodded in reply, but when Zane was halfway up the ramp, turned and called out to him. ”...might want to rethink being aboard the ship. I mean, I’m all for it if you wanna make yerself scarce for what’s headin’ our way. But if they torch the ship, I can think of a few places better to hide, with fewer chance of getting crisped. Also, if they win, and we die, they take the ship… you get to be passenger to a whole new crew of trouble.” He breathed deep, realizing he was doing nothing but giving the kid options he didn’t need, and was likely doing his poor head in, for the umpteenth time in a day. He also glanced across the horizon, seeing the telltale sign of dust rising from over the next rise. Maybe a mile off. ”Jus’ keep your head down, Zee. And wherever you pick to lay low – just make sure it’s far from me. I’m gonna be a durn magnet for stray blaster bolts.” The spacer smiled, almost as an afterthought. ”And hey – kid… check the small white box in the ‘fresher before you go diving in the dirt. Slap one ‘a them pads from in there, on anything that’s still bleeding.” He glanced over at Jet. “You ready, partner? Fates know what the old lady’s willing to do…” He realized he was still holding his blaster loosely by his side, and holstered it once more.

---

She crested the hill where Gunnar Fil’ix had been jumped by two of the ‘local residents’ early in year two; the sand-blasted and weather-stripped board that bore his name still stood a few feet out of the parched earth. She reigned in her dapple grey, calming the horse, which knew all too well what lay out beyond, in the darkness. Fel’s ship perched on the next rise, it’s back to the gorge, maybe a couple minutes ride, looking for all the world like a gaudy house of ill repute, lit up like a Coruscant sign-post. Hmph. She cursed once more, spitting on the ground, and kicked at her mount’s ribs, adding her voice to spur the old mare on. It wouldn’t be long now. And as the speeders and swoops moved ahead, stirring up the dust, she could taste victory in the air.

The stale moon air invaded Jet's nostrils, a pungent mix of metallic dust and alien flora, accelerating his breath as adrenaline slowly began its inexorable course into his veins. This well-worn sensation, familiar yet always jarring, stirred a potent mix of exhilaration and dread within his mind. The dust cloud grew, its swirling tendrils mingling with the crisp air, creating a haunting dance against the backdrop of the desolate landscape. As it expanded, it painted a sepia haze against the sky, a murky shroud heralding the approach—likely stirred by pounding hooves and roaring speeders, both promising trouble. Silence enveloped Jet's mind, his breathing echoing in his ears as his focus intensified. His hand twitched involuntarily, yearning for the reassuring coldness of metal—the tangible comfort against a torrential foe.

Around him stood his brothers-in-arms, a motley crew bound by necessity: The Pilot, The Captain, the de facto sharp-eyed and resolute leader of the group, exuding quiet confidence despite tumultuous intentions, a weather eye on the horizon. The Runaway, The Imp, the wrench in the works, now forging her own path through the makeshift galaxy with her own hidden agenda. The Scavenger, The Kid, absorbing lessons from those who had already frayed the ropes, eager yet cautious. These were his comrades, sharing his moment of anxious anticipation.

With a few soft, heavy steps, Jet moved beside the pilot, his trusted friend. He placed a leaden hand on the pilot's shoulder, offering a sullen nod. In that moment, a profound understanding passed between them—an unspoken pact of solidarity and shared purpose, forged through their shared experiences. Jet felt the ground beneath his feet, each subtle vibration a reminder of the approaching conflict. The earth seemed to pulse with anticipation, mirroring his own heartbeat. His ears caught the faint rumble of distant engines, a low hum that steadily grew louder, accompanied by the sporadic clatter of rocks dislodged by the unseen force. The air was thick with anticipation, each breath tasting of dust and imminent danger.

He inhaled deeply, drawing in the cool, crisp air as he steadied himself. The familiar weight of his gear pressed against his back, a comforting reminder of what they had survived together. As he breathed in, he could almost feel the tension crystallizing into a razor-sharp focus, his mind locking onto the task ahead. He exhaled slowly, letting the air escape his lungs in a controlled release. A grin began to spread across his face, a mix of determination and calm confidence. As he turned his gaze back to his friend, the grin widened, infused with a sense of shared purpose and camaraderie. At that moment, the weight of the impending conflict seemed to lighten.

He carefully retrieved the detonator from its resting place—a worn leather pouch hanging from his belt. The weight of the device felt both familiar and ominous in his hand. With a deliberate motion, he dropped it into Fel's open palm. Their eyes met, and he offered a slow, reassuring nod. In that silent exchange, they shared a mutual understanding that they were prepared for the worst, reassurances lending hand to hope, yet silently praying it would never come to that.

Moving back within the Unfair Advantage and past Aellyn and the doc, Zane eyed the crate of kolto going out with indifference. After all, Fel had agreed that this crate was supposed to be hers; so by all rights, she was just taking her due. Shrugging to himself, he continued to move further into the ship toward the refresher that Fel had told him about. Easing through the door, he searched around for a few to find the kit that the pilot had referred him to, opening it up to find bacta patches. These looked a lot fresher than anything he'd ever laid eyes on, and the kid didn't really know if he should be wasting them on his scrawny hide. Still, to look a gift bantha in the mouth wasn't just rude, it was also stupid. Those things smelled.

Removing his shirt, Zane looked over his body to the many different sores. He tried to figure out which ones were the worst, and which ones could likely just use some disinfectant and then be allowed to carry on and heal. After giving himself a sort of "triage", he opened the bacta patches one by one, the sickly-sweet scent of it beginning to fill the room as he started dressing his wounds. He only used a few of them, choosing to use the small can of disinfectant spray on several of the smaller ones before slapping a simple bandage over them and moving on. Taking a deep breath, he slid his shirt back over him and tucked it back into his jumpers before heading back out of the refresher.

The sounds coming from outside were a mixture of high winds, shifting sands and dirt, and something else he could barely make out. Sounded like machines of some sort. Zane made a quick effort to get back to his bags where he'd left the former soldier's E-11 rifle, also seeking to arm himself with one of the stun sticks he'd found in the shuttle they raided. Once everything was on his person, he said a little prayer to whatever floating noodle monsters might be listening, and then made his way back toward the ramp, choosing to hunker down just beyond the top of it. Whatever was coming, he needed to make sure he was ready for it.

They drew closer. Fel checked the load in his Power5 one. more. time. and held the det loosely at his side, taking a few deep breaths. There was no preparing for an interaction like this. There was no prepping his ‘crew’ for what was to come. He secretly hoped that Zane, and Aellyn made it out of this ok... they hadn’t signed on for his past to come callin’. Jet – he didn’t worry so much about. He always had the subconscious feeling that Jet would be fine, no matter what their current predicament. He couldn’t explain it, but he just had a feeling the older mech would outlive them all. Maybe it fed into his feeling about karmic payback. Jet’s karma was in the black. He was owed by the ‘verse. Himself? Not so much.

The dust cloud grew closer, and then closer again, until Fel could make out goggles, hats, individual wisps of hair caught by the incessant wind. The noise of the swoops whooshed and soared, and then fell silent as a speeder bike stopped on each side of Abilene’s dapple grey, no more than a dozen paces from the foot of the UA’s time-and-weather-beaten landing ramp. More horses appeared, ranging themselves in an arc around their leader. Finally, the skiff appeared, drawing to a halt behind the first row. Most of Abilene’s folk remained in the saddle, but the sound of feet on the parched Earth meant that the skiff was emptying. Fel would have bet dollars to pesos that Abilene herself would remain in the saddle… but he’d have been wrong. The older lady slid to the ground, boots crunching on the surface, and took a few strides toward the small smuggling crew.

“Abilene…”
“Fel. How you doin’, boy?” There was no smile. Barely a question behind the pleasantries.
“Lotta folks for carrying a half dozen crates.”
There was no visible reaction that told Galdaart they had an understanding, or that any of this exchange was good-natured.
“Well, can’t trust the untrustworthy. Can you…” she intoned. He didn’t reply. No point in provoking.
“It’s all here. The star charts. Your families’ life savings. The colony transceiver. And the emitter.” He pointed toward the device, a half dozen paces off to the smuggler’s left. “We did you the favour of setting it up here, so you all can be on your ease.” He raised his voice at that last bit so that all of Abilene’s folks could hear.

“This puts your colony back on a paying basis, I reckon. And I’m glad it was me and mine could deliver it to you. You put it out there to them was listenin’...but when I saw the message on the ‘net, I knew it had to be me. I owe you that much.”
“More.” Her thumbs worked their way into her gun belt, shifting it slightly, while looking casual. Goddamnit lady, don’t. Just take your shit and leave.
“Couldn’t help but see those charges placed on the Prowlers’ emitter, there. Hell of a thing for you to do, Fel.” His own hand strayed, hovered over the butt of his pistol. “You know how many good people we’ve lost to those sithspitting sons of whores, while you were schlangin’ about, taking your time?”
“Don’t gotta go this way, Abilene. Take it. Take it all, please…”

There was the unmistakable sound of more than one slugthrower cocking its action, and one of the swoop pilots went to draw down on his thigh-holstered blaster. Frack. Frack it all to the dark place…

The pistol was in his hand before the swoop jock could jerk his steel free. He missed with the first shot, the thick red bolt sending a shower of sparks off the nose of the speeder, but the second, and third found their marks, burning the young man down where he sat. Then he swung the blaster toward Abilene, though he hesitated. “I don’t want this, lady. Never did!” It was enough time for a shot to ring out from somewhere in the low hills to their left, striking Fel in the lower leg, dropping him as the leg crumpled under him…

As the shots rang out, Aellyn pulled the Doc behind the crate of Kolto, insisting he stay put. The Chiss didn’t argue with her. The other side, Jet's instincts kicked in, and his rifle was aimed at the group ahead before he even registered drawing it. The sight of Fel taking a bolt to the leg ignited a fierce, protective rage within them both. Aellyn peeked around the crate seeing Jet making his move toward Fel kneeling on the ground. His stance steady and his aim unwavering as he trained his rifle on the group. The tension in the air was palpable, heightening the urgency of the situation. Jet moved into a crouch beside Fel, his eyes never straying from the potential threats ahead, scanning every movement and calculating every possibility. Aellyn then moved as Jet did, pistol aiming toward Abilene, stepping in front of Fel and Jet, shielding them.

“Listen, lady. Take your cargo and go. Otherwise, our air support will blast your colony to rubble. That will leave your fate to either the wildlife or our blasters and honestly, I hear the wildlife isn’t too nice.”

Air support? Fel’s mind raced. What in the seven suns was she talking about? That dog wouldn’t hunt…

“ Wyler.. I’m going to need you to fire close to my position… we have some locals not playing so nice.” Aellyn whispered in her comm. As quickly as she stated, the freighter hovered just behind the UA, on the edge of the canyon. The shot rang about a hundred yards to their left, where the shot to Fel’s leg came from. Aellyn held her pistol steady, never taking her eyes off Abilene.

As adrenaline coursed through the mechanic, he took note of Aellyn stepping up to take command. Her contact for the Kolto, an unexpected ally, provided cover. This unforeseen assistance momentarily startled Jet, but he quickly pushed the surprise aside to focus on aiding Fel.

“Can you stand?” Jet's voice was a quiet murmur, intended only for Fel's ears. He extended an arm, offering the support to lean on if needed, while he continued to survey the group ahead, ever vigilant for any further hostile actions.

Fel was already working toward getting to his feet, but the appearance of Jet made the process that much easier. “Where in the fiery place did she get a ship from?” he mused aloud, as the freighter blasted terrain off to their left. There was a cry of something akin to anguish, pain or anger, or mebbe all the above, from the ridge off to their left, where the inbound friendly (?) had strafed. The spacer shook his head in dismay, and more than a little sheepish guilt. “Didn’t see that comin’... Shoulda known she was going to place folk on that rise… I must be goin’ soft, Jet…” Fel nodded in thanks to his partner, turned an eye over his shoulder to Aellyn, with an unabashed look of ‘WTF’ crossing his features. Holding up a hand with outstretched fingers, he held onto Jet’s shoulder, and bled.

He yelled out, over the din of the freighter hovering at just under a hundred feet. “Got you dead-bang, Abilene… Why don’t y’all lay down arms before my backup culls the population of this dustbowl right quick? And while you’re at it – send up a few of your men-folk – unarmed – and pick up these damn crates. Since when I gotta take a bullet afore you believe I just want to deliver what’s yours, ya kriffin’ Harpy?” He hopped forward a couple paces, far enough that the old lady could see easy enough, and tossed the det in the dirt. “You wanna make life easy for your people, grab a few cases marked with the Imp Seal, too. That there’s Kolto, and I’ll even give you the ‘friends & family’ bargain on it…” He set his jaw, the blaster wavering in his hand through a combination of adrenaline and pain, and called out one more time. [color=F7941D]”You want this to go hard… you just keep on firing. You do and I swear I’ll end this little ville. So for the void’s sake, put your weapons away, and let’s do business.”

The kid crouched, wide-eyed and frightened, behind the corridor beam that was mere feet from the loading ramp. Seeing Fel go down hadn’t made him feel any better. He had the E-11 blaster rifle at his side, white-knuckle gripped and finger near the trigger, as he watched the whole scene playing out in front of him. When the “THOOM” of the new ship’s cannons had hit dirt, he flinched a little, his breath raspy and quiet as he continued to watch everyone. If things started off again, Zane knew that he was likely going to have to take part in this whole shootout. He didn’t relish the thought; the other man that he had just recently put several bolts into kept flashing into his mind. Still, if it was going to be between his new crew and random strangers, then their lives and dreams were forfeit in his eyes.

From the moment the blast hit the hill, Abilene’s crew wasn’t so sure anymore. How were they going to compete with an extra ship? She sat (literally) on her high horse, hearing the whispers around her. Her mind twirling with thoughts on how she could pull another trick off. Not this time, the son of a nerf herder, pulled it off. “Lay them down.” Abilene dismounted, her head motioned to the speeder next to her, telling them to fetch the crates. “What do you want for it?”

Fel gave a thin smile, despite having been shot in the leg. Finally. Finally. “For bringing back what was yours – like we talked about months back. Nothing more. For the Kolto… thirty thou per canister. Two per crate. That’s sixty thou a crate.” He shrugged. It was a damn good price. And he knew she could afford it. “I’d take one canister’s worth in fuel and parts for the UA, though. If you can spare it.”

With more than a little hesitation, the motley crew atop the speeders flanking Abilene exchanged a few glances. No one seemed overly keen on approaching the loading ramp situation now that the spacer and his crew had back-up.
The lead on the left jerked his head towards the cargo, motioning for the right to go first.
The right just shrugged at him.

Given her situation, Eryn was a billion percent not fond of making moves that might attract any measure of attention, but the woman had a schedule to keep and she had no patience for gutless morons.
She pushed away from the speeder driver in front of her and slid off the vehicle, making sure her boots were heard hitting the ground. With the helmet on over the hood and the mask covering the lower half of her face, the only thing that set her apart from the others was her height.
As she suspected, the movement set the others into motion. Now all she had to do was follow the others and blend in.

Trailing close behind the speeder leads, Eryn kept her head down but her awareness up as she began helping load the cargo, studying the scene, making mental notes, looking for openings or things she might be able to use down the line.

The rival crew caught her interest. She noted the way they rallied around the wounded captain, the stubborn steel in his words as he stood once more, the sharp, calculating gaze of the older one. Eryn knew a soldier when she saw one. She could almost see the calluses on his soul, the weight of what he’d been through in the tension through his frame. The woman was the most intriguing, not much taller than Eryn herself, hair red as a laigrek’s eye. If Eryn hadn’t heard otherwise, she’d have assumed SHE was the leader of the group, commanding their back-up firepower with the unwavering diamond spine of someone who knew real power. But there was nothing…arrogant about it. If she was putting on a show, she was a damn good actor.

She caught sight of at least two others, but she couldn’t get a decent look without craning her neck, and the last thing Eryn wanted to do was draw more attention. She was hoping they’d have to board the ship to collect everything, giving her time to find a spot to stow herself…

Eventually, when all was loaded and the exchange had ended, no one would be able to find the short new member of Abilene’s cronies. Not that anyone was looking. She’d done a decent job of making herself forgettable. But the speeder crew would be short one grimey lackey, and nobody on that blasted rock would give a bantha’s ass about it…