As promised, two days later, the Galactic Alliance's 'fleet' arrived in system, much to the annoyance of the local criminals and relief of the Mando'ade. Hermetically sealed suits or not, the constant rain has been miserable, the local food was terrible, and there was zero entertainment.
Four ships had been sent to deal with the piracy issue, given the length of travel times in the area. First was the Dauntless, a Republic-class cruiser. The other three ships, the Valiant, the Resolute, and the Intrepid, were Corona-class frigates. All four ships were heavily armed with turbo-lasers, laser batteries, and tractor beams, along with two squadrons of starfighters each.
The Intrepid would set up operations at Pembric II, with its complement of A-wing and B-wing fighters, cutting off the choke point to the larger galaxy for the rest of the hyperlanes. The Valiant was going to be based out of Timbra Ott, with its X-wing and Y-wings. The Resolute would be based at Jangelle, to help coordinate with the fleets of the Kathol Republic. The Dauntless would take the Galactic University team and their Mandalorian escorts Swedlan in the Pembrellian League, after which it would base it's operations out of Dolstan, the League's capital, three days away.
The captain, a flabby faced Sullustian named Nub, greeted them along with his first officer, a Rodian named Du'shan, along with a silver protocol droid. Both officers stood smartly at attention, their naval uniforms impeccable. The entire hanger that they'd been allowed to park their ships on was impeccable, Skira noticed. It made their rather rough and grungy looking ships, as well as the Mando'ade themselves, stand out even more.
Skira wasn't good with Rodian facial expressions, given their lidless eyes and long drooping snouts, but he suspected Du'shan was rather disgusted by their muddy and damn disposition.
"Captain Nub would like to invite our honored guests from Mandalore to join him this evening for dinner," the droid said in a crisp, clean mechanical voice. "Our honored guests from the Galactic Historical Preservation and Reclamation Society will be there as well, of course."
"It would be our pleasure," Ranna said, her helm cradled in her arm. "Frankly, I can't wait to fill my boots with something other than that shab swill they had planet side."
Captain Nub might have frowned at the Togruta's words, but it was impossible to tell with all the face folds. Instead he merely nodded, gave them one last disapproving look, and spun on his heel. Each step as he walked away sounded like a slug-shot on the metal hanger floor.
Skira took the chance to study the 'ground crew' as it were. Mostly human, he noticed, with maybe one in five being some sort of alien, with no other species making a noticeable contribution. All of them, though, were giving the Mando'ade sidelong glances.
"So," Raana mused after the captain and first officer left. "Nepotism or talent."
"For the Rodian?" Skira said, dryly, "nepotism."
Raana nodded. Her helm was modified to suit the montrals and lekku that extended from her head, but otherwise looked much the same as any other Mando'ade helm. The horn-like projections that grew from the top of her head both provided her an ultra-sonic form of echolocation and acted as her ears. Skira had thought that was interesting. However, they didn't work well with her helmet, which sometimes produced a rather annoying and sometimes painful feedback, apparently. Still, the protection of the buy'ce was too valuable to give up she'd told him.
Her armor also fit her much tighter than most Mando'ade wore it, but Skira had found himself appreciating it. Mando'ade valued strength in a partner, since often they were the one fighting by your side, and the tight fitting kute the Togruta wore showed off not only feminine curves, but hard muscles as well.
"I don't think they liked your pet," the Togruta added.
Skira looked around the hanger bay again. He, Ranna, and Ryn were the only ones of their little band out on the deck at the moment. They were drawing repeated looks from the crew he noticed. The wary ones were normal. The ones that directed themselves towards Ryn Le were a lot more lustful, and thus dangerous. The Republic had outlawed slavery, of course, but that meant next to nothing in reality. Getting a slave to admit they were a slave was hard, when they knew the consequences. On the other hand, the Galactic Alliance staffed its army and navy with people they trained to consider themselves heroes. Noble fighters who threw off oppression and fought for any worthy cause. Like freeing a beautiful slave girl, who would no doubt reward them with all the talents that had been forced upon her.
"I think they like my pet too much," he grumbled.
"So, we accepting the captain's invitation?" Raana asked, "or do we want to just send Ordo and Shada?"
"I'd like to meet my supposed boss," Skira replied. It was important to introduce oneself to the client when doing business. It offered a good chance to scout the lay of the land too, but it drew them away from their ships, and he doubted the Captain would like them to be heavily armed. "Ryn, I want you to stay with the ship and not let anyone in. Understood?"
"Yes, Master," the twi'lek nodded. Presently she was dressed in a small top and a pair of shorts and had put on a tool belt. It might be obvious what she was, but so long as she played her cover of being his ship's mechanic, maybe they could get everyone to pretend and prevent any violent altercations or people getting stupid ideas. "What about R5?
"Definitely don't let him leave the ship," Skira said. "Who knows what he'd get up to with the other astromech droids. If he tries to shock you, tell him I will blast his dome clean off and replace him with an R3 who gets an actual name."
"Yes, Master," Ryn said, undisguised pleasure in her voice. She minced her way back onto the Bes'bev and sealed the door behind her. Skira was grateful that his helmet hid how much he might have been looking at her ass.
Raana muttered under her breath.
"Don't be too hard on her," Skira said. "She was beaten until there was almost nothing left of her. She'll never have the strength to be one of us, or pick up a blaster and fight, but she doesn't deserve your contempt. We all adapt to life in our own way."
"Like you, Adenn Skira?" Raana asked. She was eye to eye with him thanks to her boots, though her montrals made her slightly taller.
"Like me," he said.
The Togruta was silent for a moment, then nodded.
"She's still to delicate a flower to be a proper woman," she said.
"Some would say you're too heavy a rock to be a proper woman," Skira replied dryly.
The Togruta gave him a dry, speculative look.
"Be the best proper woman you ever bed," Raana said, turning and walking towards her ship. "I'll see you for dinner."
"Hrmm," he replied. The Togruta didn't mince, but there was most certainly a sway to her hips as well.
Rather than go back in his own ship, he turned and looked out the hanger into the void of space. Part of him was concerned, if he was honest, about the state of the GA's fleet. All four of the ships were capable of carrying three squadrons of fighters, yet each had only two. From what he could tell, they were running at perhaps sixty to seventy percent crew strength as well. Whatever they were sending, it wasn't their best.
And if it was...
The Vongese had nearly destroyed the galaxy. Even ten years after its end, despite the Galactic Alliance's desperate attempts to prove otherwise, life hadn't recovered. Whatever this paltry show of force they was sending out here, Skira frankly doubted it would make much difference. One ship and two dozen fighters wouldn't do jack against pirates they couldn't catch. Piracy and smuggling were just a part of life this far away from the Core.
Slowly, he walked his way around the hanger deck, not focusing on anything, just getting the lay of the land as his armor's scanners took in the details and relayed them to his HUD and the Bes'biv. R5 would go over the data and let him know if anything fishy was going on. It wouldn't be the first time Republic soldiers decided to make some side profits on a military trip. The line between 'political criminal' and 'regular criminal' was pretty thin at times. People generally had a taste for the finer things in life, and once tasted, they wanted to keep going.
Judging by the looks several of them cast towards his ship when they thought he wasn't looking, they wanted to taste something very fine indeed. They'd find a few surprises if they tried, and he doubted the captain would let anyone caught get away with it. Getting on the bad side of the Mando'ade was not something the Republic wanted. Pirates were one thing, but an entire race of trained, professional warriors who had managed to keep their sector of space largely free of destruction by one of the most dangerous forces known was something else entirely. The Mando'ad might lose, but victory would be far more costly to the Republic than any prize they gained.