"Blyat," R5's sour warble came through over the Bes'bev's internal comm-system, waking Skira out of a troubled sleep. Beside him, Ryn mumbled something and buried her head under a black pillow, clutching it to her head. He lay there for a moment, letting the warmth of her nude body keep away space's chill for a moment longer.
"Blyat!" R5 said more instantly.
"I hear you, you shabla dikut," Skira grumbled, forcing himself out of his bunk. "I'm coming."
Grabbing a black kute, he slipped into the protective jumpsuit and fastened it shut, then dawned his beskar armor and helm. In the bunk, Ryn squirmed until she was buried under the covers again. He ignored her and made his way to the cockpit, pausing only long enough to start the caff machine.
With a shudder, the Bes'bev reverted to real space in the Pembric system just as he reached the cockpit. The vortex stretched into lines, which stilled into stars. The shimmering planet of Pembric II filled the windows, transponder feeds lighting up the lanes of incoming and outgoing ships. There weren't a lot of them, he noticed.
He sat down and took command of the ship. In the void of space, the Skipray Blastboat handled almost as easily as a starfighter, despite its slightly large size and heavier armaments. A pair of patrol craft shifted their orbits and headed towards him, attracted by the warship's presence.
"Pembric II Control, this is the Mando'ad ship Bes'bev," he said over the comm. "Requesting landing clearance for refuel and resupply."
"Bes'bev, this is Pempric II, copy and stand by." A man's voice replied.
"Is there a problem, Control?" Skira asked. R5 let out a sour warble. They could make a run if they had too, but supplies and fuel were running low. There was also no sign of payment from the client yet.
"Negative, Bes'bev," the man replied after a moment. "Just a bit busier than usual. You're the third Mando ship to land here in a couple days and we're not used to the heavy traffic. Something going down?"
Skira arched a brow at that. Mando'ad were famously infamous, but there weren't a lot of them. Having two ships this far out was odd, especially without a lot of wars or bounties in the sectors. Still, it could present an opportunity, since he was running so low on funds. Assuming they were from a friendly clan.
"Not that I know of, Control," Skira replied, "but I'll be sure to check on it. Thanks for the tip."
"Uh, right," the agent said. "You're cleared for Dock 14. Please make sure all weapons are powered down and offline."
"Copy," Skira said, sourly. He hated having the weapons offline. "Any local weapons ordinances I should know about?"
"We request that all heavy firearms be left on ship," Control replied, nervously. "We appreciate the Guild's cooperation with us on the matter. However, you are permitted blaster pistols for open carry."
"Understood," Skira replied.
Banking the ship, he joined what little traffic there was heading planetside. The two patrol craft pulled off, returning to their orbit. The sky slowly brightened as he descended, his ship's shields taking the brunt of the heat from entry.
Soon, however, the heat burst into steam as he hit cloud layer, quickly followed by the realization that Pembric II was likely to be a miserable planet to be on. Cloud cover stretched as far as he could see, all of it drizzling rain at various speeds.
"R5," he said, "give me a rundown on this planet again?"
"Bleeyat," the droid grumbled.
One of the view screens lit up, rapidly filling with information. Pembric II. Misapplication of terraforming technology had transformed what was meant to be a temperate agri-world into a bog planet with near constant rainfall. Primary economic activity was criminal in nature, with only cursory Imperial or New Republic attempts to control it, combined with exporting Hfredium Ore and gemstones. Major imports were food, tech, and weapons.
No doubt there were plenty of bounties to be had down there. The question would be if they were worth the trouble.
He set the ship down on the designated landing pad and shut down the engines. Rain drizzled on the transparasteel windows of the cockpit, leaving everything beyond lost in a misty haze. Beneath the ship, the ground shifted, sinking with the blastboat's weight.
"Check with Control," he said. "See about getting us refueled. I'm going to get the lay of the land."
"Blayt," R5 said, its dome spinning around in a complete circle.
"Do you want me to come with you, Master?" Ryn asked from the hatch. She was naked, and rubbing sleep from her eyes, but she looked as eager to get off the ship as he felt.
"Fine," he said. "Just stick close. This isn't the best neighborhood."
"Of course, Master," the Twi'lek said. She bowed slightly, before turning back into the living quarters.
"And Ryn," Skira called after her. "Dress for rain."
"Yes, Master," she called back.
Shaking his head, he went to the comm-system and brought up his last client's contact info again. Punching in the code, he waited with growing impatience as the signal went through, but the other side refused to answer. It was starting to look like she'd stiffed him.
Which meant things were going to get messy. You didn't rip off a hunter and get away with it. One way or another.
"I take it there's no response?" Ryn asked, returning to the cockpit. Frustrated, Skira shut down the comm and shook his head. A gentle blue hand rested on his pauldron in comfort. "I'm sorry, Master."
"Is what it is," he grumbled. At least he'd gotten half upfront, even if it had gone largely to expenses.
He glanced at the slave girl. She'd dressed, in as much as she ever did, meaning there was far more skin than garments. Even the rain pancho she was wearing was transparent in order to show off her sensual form. She'd wear anything he told her too, but he'd made the mistake of leaving her to her own devices when it came to what she wanted to wear. Either because of her race, or her training, Ryn's view on clothing was that it existed to show off the beauty of her Master's possession and to entice him. If it failed to do that, it was worthless and she might as well be naked so her Master could use her.
"Just stick close," he reiterated as he strapped on a blaster and popped the hatch. "I'm sure we'll end up in enough trouble without you inspiring more of it."
"Of course, Master," Ryn said as she followed him down the side wing of the Bes'bev and landed much lighter on the ground than he did. Her face twisted in disgust as she breathed in the local air and looked around. "Kriff, it stinks."
Skira was grateful for his armor's filtration system. Bog planets tended to have a rather rotten smell, and looking at the mold that covered the nearby buildings, he suspected this one was up there in terms of bogginess. Behind them, the hatch sealed shut with a hiss.
A few landing pads over, he spotted a pair of familiar ship designs. The first was a Mandal Motors Pursuer class. It was a blocky rhombus, matte black with white tribal designs up along the sides. Tough and powerful, it was favored by bounty hunters and those who usually transported prisoners through space The second was another MandalMotors ship in gray and blue, a Kom'rk fighter/troop carrier, its triangular wings pointing to the sky, framing the cylindrical body. One side was decorated with Mando'a that read, Aliit ori'shya tal'din.
'Family is more than blood.'
The familiar words filled him with a sense of bittersweet warmth, along with a slight feeling of homesickness. How long had it been since he spoke he's people's tongue with another Mando'ade. How long had it been since he hadn't been alone and adrift?
He couldn't remember.
He was going to find the other Mando'ade here, if only to have a little piece of home if at all possible.
With steeled resolve, he made his way across the spaceport and tried to ignore the way the sucking mud tried to drag him down, or work its way into his armored suit. Behind him, Ryn cursed softly as her rather impractical heeled boots threatened to lose the battle with each step.
It wasn't hard to find the local watering hole, a place call the Thrusterburn cafe. Dimly lit, it was a cozy relief to the steady rain that had drizzled miserably over them during their walk. If Ryn had had hair, she'd have looked like a drowned rat. As it was, she was the holo-dicts poster child for abject misery. Perhaps he should have had her wear something even more immodest, at least then it wouldn't be trapping mud, sand, and water.
There was a hush to the cafe that he was familiar with. Mando'ad were rare, but everyone knew of Boba Fett, and his armor, and anyone who looked like that instantly drew fear, or at least caution. It wasn't hard to spot his kin, given the wide birth of empty tables surrounding them.
There were four of them. Two humans, one male and one female, both with the features of natives from Concord Dawn, lightly dusky skin and dark hair. The man wore armor of red and gray, most likely honoring a fallen parent. The woman's was blue and green, a visual commitment to duty and responsibility. The third was a Trandoshan male, his reptilian features cold and vicious in the dim light, his armor white and orange. Lusting after his new life. The final was a Togruta female, her skin a lovely shade of orange, with white patches over her eyes. White montrals rising from her head, her face framed with a long pair of lekku, all of which bore black stripes, matching her white and black armor. A just new life.
They paused their conversation when they spotted him, and the male human slipped out his booth. A WESTAR-35 blast pistol hung at his hip, but his hand stayed away from it.
"Su cuy'gar, ner vod!" The man said, extending his empty hand.
"Su cuy'gar," Skira replied, doing the same. The man took it in a firm grasp.
"Did you just get in, brother?"
Skira nodded.
"Wonderful," the man said. "I am Ordo, this is my wife Shada, and my brother Mrssk, of clan Du'kal."
Ordo pointed at the human woman and the Trandoshan, both of whom nodded in greeting.
"This is Raana Ti," he continued pointing at the Togruta. "She owns that jari'eyc me'sin pursuer."
"Some of us don't go'naasir time and money when we buy our ships," Raana said, her voice filled with dry amusement. "The Slave 2 worked for Fett, the Jai'galaar works for me."
"Come, sit, Haili cetare!" Shada said, giving the bickering pair a stern look, before turning to Skira. "This place's food is bland as shit, but it's filling enough while we wait. Now introduce yourself."
"I'm Adenn," Skira said, causing Shada to arch a brow at him. He pointed over his shoulder. "This is Ryn Le."
"Looks like a bunch of dead weight," Raana said, looking the Twi'lek over. "Laandur."
"She's not Mando'ad," Skira said, his voice cool. "She owes me a life-debt. I'm letting her pay it off."
Raana looked ready to say something, but stilled after she caught his expression. Adenn meant merciless, something his Buir had called him repeatedly during his training. Her lekku twitched. On a Twi'lek, it would have meant nervousness. He wasn't sure what it meant to a Togruta Mando.
"I'm surprised to see so many of us this far out on the back end of the Rim," he said. A waitress, a sorry looking human woman chosen for her looks fifteen years ago, placed frothing mugs of something green in front of them, along with two large trays of what Skira guessed was a local root, sliced in half, baked, covered in animal fat.
"Well, we were hired by a team of Galactic Alliance diggers," Ordo said, grabbing one of the starchy roots and stuffing it in his mouth. "Seems some colony in the Pembrellian League found a bunch of ancient ruins dating back to before the Old Republic. Buncha historians want to go check them out, so we're providing security, what with all the pirates and smuggler's about. Pay's good, they wanted more people, so we threw out a call and Raana answered. You're welcome to join us if you like."
Skira felt his brow arch. Any group willing to shell out for five Mando'ade was either overestimating their worth, or was in serious trouble. Somehow, he suspected they were doing more than just digging. Still, he was desperate for money.
"How many Creds?" he asked.
"Five hundred a day, including travel time," Shada said, helping herself to the green liquid. "We're looking at at least six months worth of work, with the option to be hired on further as needed."
Skira let out a low whistle. You could buy a starship for that, or at least upgrade to a class one hyperdrive and cut his traveling in half. It might be on the lower end of acceptable pay, but steady, safe work was better than high risk high rewards work. Better to pad his pockets now, than let this slip by and spend months trying to make his way back to the trade routes for better prospects.
"I'm in if you'll have me," he said.
Wonderful!" Ordo said, raising his glass, the others followed. "Haat, Ijaa, Haa'it!"
"Haat, Ijaa, Haa'it!" came the chorus.
Skira drank from his cup and grimaced. Apparently the local brew consisted of an alcoholic fermented milk that curdled on his tongue. From Raana's expression, she didn't like it much either. Mrssk downed his entire glass, the foamy liquid spilling out his reptilian jowls.
"When do we head out?" Skira asked. "I need to resupply, and I'm afraid my ship only has a class 2 drive."
"Two days. Your drive shouldn't be an issue," Ordo said. "The republic's bringing a small fleet along. Apparently in addition to the Galactic University's Archaeological team, the Navy is coming out because they want to try and deal with some of the pirates in the area. You'll be able to hitch a ride."
"I take it you've cleaned out the locals for supplies already?" Skira asked.
Ordo nodded.
"You're welcome to help yourself to some of it though," he said, "and of course we'll get to eat off the Republic's dime and supplies, so that's a bonus."
"Bonus indeed," Skira said, thoughtfully.