Luck Has Nothing to do With It.
View Single Post
12.16.2012 , 06:49 PM |
Chapter 2: Khoonda Investigation Service
The trip lasted two days, but with the engines dying constantly it seemed to last longer. As the ship finally set down in the spaceport, a group of agents made their way inside the docking bay and waited in front of the vessel. Risec rose from the cockpit, a scowl covering his face. Agents where never good for business. As he walked down the ramp of the
, Risec studied the agents.
Out of three agents total, one was bald, the other female, and the last a Zabrak. The Zabrak was pale, with tattoos down both of his arms, which were visible by the short sleeve uniform. The women, human, with long black hair and grey eyes stepped to the front of the group, watching Risec. The other man was also human, with dark skin and no hair. He had slight stubble and bags under his eyes.
Risec stopped, and crossed his arms over his chest. He was nervous, but stayed stone-faced, letting no emotion leave him. The female agent cleared her throat, and then began speaking.
“We’re here with Khoonda investigation services. I’m Lora Sena,” she motioned to the Zabrak, “this is Neman Dao, and the bald one is…” she was cut off by the man, saying that Risec could address him as “D”. Lora motioned for Risec to come near, but he didn’t move.
“I’m fine here. What’d you come for?” Risec asked, trying to get the agents to leave him alone. His skill in smooth talking didn’t seem to help him now.
“We’ve had a recent influx of smuggled goods, fake artifacts, and scams. We’ve been tasked with searching arriving ships for such goods.” Lora said, the emotion gone from her voice, as if this was the thousandth time she had said that. Nemen Dao looked at the ship, then at Risec. His horns glistened in the light coming from the sun through the glass roof of the docking bay.
“This is your ship?” He asked, steeping forward. “I could’a swore that a group of mercenaries had this exact ship a couple days ago.” Risec leaned against the support beams of the ramp, crossing one leg over the over.
“Look,” Risec said, “me and my partner are just refugees. We have no contraband. And no, this isn’t my ship. My friend lent me his so I could stay here for a while. He lost a bet.” Risec put all the persuasive powers he had into his voice. Nemen looked satisfied, but Lora and “D” didn’t.
“Whose this ‘partner’ you spoke of?” asked Lora. She had a curious face, liked she was actually interested in knowing. “D” on the other hand, couldn’t have cared more. Risec motioned the “one moment” sign, and then went inside the
Once inside, he stopped. His hand made its way to his forehead, something he did when he needed a plan. Acara had heard the conversation through the thin sheets of electrum the ship walls were made out of. Risec thought of simply taking off, but he figured the agents would follow. Finally he turned and Acara and returned to the ramp.
“This is Acara. Acara meet Nemen, Lora, and ‘D’.” The agents appeared shocked, their mouths nearly touching the floor. Finally, “D” spoke, his voice thick and raspy.
“A wookiee? Really? A wookiee is your ‘partner’?” He spoke the last word jokingly, and in a major sarcastic accent.
“Yeah, he is. Wanna take that up with him?” Risec questioned, waving his arms, allowing Acara to walk down the ramp and get closer to the agents. They moved back slightly, but the fear had set in.
“I think your all set then!” Lora announced in fake excitement. She allowed Risec to walk past, and leave, with Acara walking slowly behind. Finally, just as they were exiting the docking bay, Risec waved goodbye and smiled.
Outside the spaceport, Risec found himself in the midst of a courtyard bustling with refugees and civilians. Markets and shops, vendors and merchants crowded streets.
“Apparently things have changed. Last I heard of Khoonda, it was barren.” He mentioned to Acara, who was tall enough to see over the vast crowds. “Hey, see any parts salesmen, or engineers from up there?” He asked Acara, who turned his head and peered, but saw nothing. He moaned a no, and Risec began making his way through the crowds. Asking refugees didn’t seem to help, they just said to go to the administrative center, so Risec and Acara did.
Bumping and pushing, they fought their way into the administrative building, and sought out a refugee welcoming person. Acara made a few civilians back up, but for the most part, they went unnoticed. It seemed everyone had a problem they needed solved, but no one wanted to help. Risec stopped, and then spoke.
“I see easy money.” Risec whispered to Acara, who didn’t understand. “Need help? We got the answers!” Risec yelled in a musical tone and fashion, and the crowds moved to him.
Nemen Dao wasn’t sure what the point was of searching the refugee’s ship in the first place. He didn’t even care if the man had any contraband, he had a wookiee. A stinking wookiee! He could see it now, the end of Nemen Dao, killed by angry wookiee. And not your average wookiee. No, this wookiee, by the look of his room liked weapons. Two bowcasters, a vibrosword, and grenades. None of it was legal, but that didn’t stop the wookiee. And Nemen wasn’t going to be the Zabrak that reported illegal weapon possession of a wookiee.
They had begun searching as soon as the travelers left. They scanned the ship, and saw nothing, but “D” had been suspicious. He insisted they check inside, and since he outranked Nemen, “D” won.
“D”’s real name was Damien, but that was all Nemen knew. Damien was always referred to by his first name, and no files listed a last name. He was a tough guy, big and muscular, and knew how to fight. In the few combat situations that had arisen in Khoonda, Damien was the last to fall, and Nemen had never seen that happen either. The training in Khoonda for services was low, and Nemen had always wondered why Damien knew so much.
In the search, nothing had come up. Nemen had reported twice, but Damien had forced him to double check. Then triple check. Lora just did as she was told, but Nemen didn’t think she cared about the contraband now either. Finally, he felt something. It was on the floor, something small and bearly noticeable. But he felt it.
He didn’t make a noise; knowing that saying anything would land him searching the entire ship for more. He was exhausted now already. Then Nemen heard a boot fall, and hit the floor. In the doorway of the cargo hold was the silhouette of the traveler, now known to Nemen as a smuggler. His hands were crossed, and he leaned against the doorway. Nemen was on all four with his butt up in the air, his face staring up at the smuggler.
“What’cha doing down there?”
"Pazaak bores me. I often suspect my opponent of cheating. I prefer predictable games, such as galactic economics." ―G0-T0
Luck Has Nothing To Do With It