“Mistress Miki. This is your wake-up call, mistress.”

The calm male voice that Mikita had built into her ship, the Desperado, spoke through the comm system around her. The lights in her room were flashing on and off too, as if the abrasive strobing was supposed to help in the awakening process. Miki blinked open her eyes reluctantly, gazing up at the metal ceiling above her and frowning as the lights remained on.

In a murmuring, sleepy voice, she responded, “Dessie, darling, I don’t remember requesting a wake-up call.”

“You didn’t, mistress,” the ship concurred. “But you were having the dream again.”

Mikita sat up, holding the blankets to her chest as she peered around at the sweat-soaked sheets around her. It would seem odd, because she felt chilled rather than hot, except that this was always how she woke after the dreams haunted her all the way until morning. She’d probably been whimpering and thrashing about in the bed too, which is what--on occasion--alerted the ship to wake her.  She felt the tale-tell shiver run down her spine as flashes of imagery accosted her mind, suggesting that the dream wasn’t willingly giving up its torture just yet. Scooting backwards to sit leaning against the wall behind the head of the bed, Miki sighed.

“Dessie, I think I’m going to need a drink. A strong one.”

“I have to suggest, mistress, that you save that sort of thing for a more appropriate time of day.”

She sighed louder. “I don’t rightly care what you have to suggest.” She hesitated, and the ship waited for her to continue. “Well, alright, a mild one mixed with a morning-appropriate juice, then.”

“A reasonable downgrade, mistress. Would you like it in your room?”

Closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the wall, Miki pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them. Her voice was small and quiet this time when she responded. “No, in the kitchen. I need a reason to get out of bed today, I think.”

“As you wish.”

Mikita continued to sit curled up on her bed for another few minutes, thinking about the past couple of days and what she’d managed to get herself into. The idea of signing on with an organization had seemed the only logical next course of action to progress her career, but she wasn’t used to having to consider what people thought of her. Usually, she did a job and moved on, and if by some chance she returned to the same area, there were usually either different people around or those that were left had mostly forgotten about her. Now, though, she was going to have to keep seeing these new people on a regular basis, if she was serious about getting involved with their work. Of the new coworkers she’d met so far she had, by her count, probably already disappointed one, disgusted another or two, and disturbed yet one more. How was she supposed to succeed at this level of her line of work if she’d never once in her life maintained any type of working relationship? Much less friendship…

One thing she knew for certain – moping about it wouldn’t get her anywhere. Throwing off the blankets, she slid out of bed and shivered again, but this time at the cold metal floor under her feet. She used to have a rug… but it was currently serving as a makeshift insulator for a powercell she’d been hoping to get replaced, until she got distracted and missed the meeting with her vendor. But that was a completely different story.

She was still in her lounge pants and tank top as she strolled along the chilly floor to the kitchen area, where she found that the Desperado had prepared for her a steaming cup of caf instead of her requested spiked juice. She frowned at it, ignoring the fact that it really smelled more appetizing that the juice would have anyway. Still…

“Dessie, remind me to see about getting you some less intuitive programming. You’re starting to get a wild mind of your own.”

“I don’t expect that I will follow up with that request, mistress. I trust you’ll forget as well.”

Miki snorted and snatched up the cup, taking a tentative sip and finding that Dessie had of course also prepared the caf as she liked it – sweetened more than was probably healthy to drive back the drink’s natural bitterness. She took a bigger drink, then, savoring the warmth that helped her ignore the cold at her feet.

The Desperado spoke up again as she stood mindlessly enjoying her beverage. “I have a delightful change of subject for you. You received a message from a coworker.”

Mikita slowly lowered the cup from her mouth, paling slightly as she feared what it might be about. “Oh, no… pull it up for me, I guess…”

A display panel near the main cooking area flashed on, and Miki crossed to hesitantly read the alert. She felt a flood of relief when she realized it wasn’t anything condescending, followed by genuine intrigue and interest by the indication that it was work involving a ship – finally, something she might be good for!

“Ah, Dannik. Well, in that case, I could certainly use s’more loot around here.” She glanced again at the time of the meeting, noting that it was soon enough to start making preparations. “Dessie, upload the coordinates to the navicomputer. See if you can patch in a hyperlane nearby, and send a reply that I’ll be there.”

A crudely crafted light freighter drifted slowly through the depths of space, it's hull ancient and battered appearing with the name "Khal" brandished in bright red color on it's side. Inside the thickly armored hull, Mason stood, dressed in a long white coat, over a bench covered with a variety of weapons, barrels and bottles filled with a dark amber liquid.

He cursed loudly as the pin jammed in the barrel of the weapon he was working on, causing him to shoot a rage filled glance down at the black metallic limb. The prosthetic hand began tensing and untensing, another habit he'd picked up since acquiring the robotic upgrade. Knocking the barrel away in annoyance, he picked up a bottle labeled "Corillian Whiskey" and began gulping back a majority of it's contents. As he put the bottle down and pulled a disgruntled face with a groan, the small droid he referred to as 'T' rattled up to beside him.

"What is it?" Mason snapped as the droid began its infuriating beeping before holding out his holopad on a little metal limb.

Snatching the holopad off the droid, the device still vibrating as it indicating he had a new message. Opening up the message as he slumped back into his chair beside the crafting bench, Mason began to glance quickly through the message. "Dannik" he muttered thinking back. Ah yeah the walking suit of armour with quite the ego...what was it he kept referring to himself on Nar Shaddaa...'A wrecking ball?'. Glancing at the mission briefing as he relaxed back into the wooden chair. A Hutt job then! Mason had stolen from the Hutts before, the job had nearly cost him his ship as well as his life, but the risk had been well worth the reward.

"Never know what sorta gadgets you'll come across on a hut freighter." He grumbled to the droid that sat in silence beside him. It'll give me a break from this lot of kriffing jobs anyway. He thought referring to the runs he'd been making on Balmorra recently. Since returning to that planet Mason hadn't managed to get a full hour sleep in three days, the nightmares had just got considerably more violent. Even his good friend 'drink' was finding it hard to quench their intensity.

Mason threw the holopad back at the droid, the device smacking the little bot before falling to the ground "Send that fella back a message saying I'm in..." Mason ordered as he made his way to the cockpit to set their new coordinates.

Four messages had gone out, four replies had returned.

All I had to do now was to wait.  I’d taken delivery of a crate of grenades earlier in the day, I had already gone through them to make sure they were in good working order and had arrived intact.  After that, I’d checked over my armor making sure it was up to my demands.  I’d given special care to the air filters and the special tools.  On one arm I had a vibroblade tucked into the gauntlet that I could trigger for a nasty surprise.  The other arm I had a grapple line.  I had no idea when I would use it, but it didn’t cost me anything to be prepared.

Knowing the people I was working with, I already had a bet running with Arty, someone was going to be late.  Not intentionally, but I’d even put in a bit of a “cushion” with the time I’d told them I’d wanted them to arrive.  If no one was late . . . well, I would suffer the indignity of owing twenty credits to my ship.

With nothing else to do but wait I called up a dejarik game and set about battling Arty.

I stopped my piece in mid-move.  I thought I'd heard something . . .

"Arty, is there - "

"You have a visitor, sir"

"Stop with the 'sir'".  I stood up, checked the pistol slung at my hip and strolled forward.   "What do they look like?"

"Human female sir, blonde hair."

Sounded like Mikita.  I had my hand out, ready to open the hatch when I remembered something.  She didn't like droids.  At least, she didn't like the ones on Nar Shaddaa.  "Dead, talking things."  she had called them.  I sighed, I didn't know how much better a disembodied voice belonging to a ship that she was inside of would go over.  Better to not risk it.

"Arty, you're running silent for this job.  Route anything through my datapad."  I patted said datapad at my belt.

I palmed the hatch open and she stood there, hand raised to knock again, looking like she was bracing to be made a fool of.  I gave her a quick appraisal, she was taller than me by a little bit with messy blond hair framing her face.  The clothes looked comfortably worn, very utilitarian.  Both the blaster and the scattergun slung across her back looked well-used but also well cared for.  I gave her points for maintenance.

I'd never quite gotten the hang of "playing host".  I tilted my head and moved aside, gesturing to the interior.  "Come on in Mikita."

As we walked in, I oriented her to the ship.  With our backs to the hatch, the lounge was central, with the cockpit in front of, and a little elevated from the lounge.  Shelves holding stacks of datacards with books on them staggered across the bulkheads.  Standing in the hatch, the armory was to the left and the cargohold and escape pod were to the right.  Galley - fully stocked - was past the armory and at the far left end of the lounge.

"Bunks are . . . " I paused, she was going to be the one woman on the ship.  I decided to try being polite and give her a chance to refuse, if she wanted, rather than just shoehorn her in with the guys, and make for a (possibly) awkward situation.  "Your bunk is in there," I pointed to my cabin.  "The others will be in that bunkroom.  I'll be in the cockpit for most of, if not all of, this run."

I stood in the middle of the lounge and spread my hands.  "The galley's stocked, I've got a few pazaak decks floating around if that's your thing.  Or you could try reading.  Make yourself comfortable, the others will be here soon."

I had just finished showing Mikita around when I heard the knock at the hatch behind me.

She looked to the hatch and I surreptitiously checked the datapad.  "Miralan.  Male.  holster visible, no make on the weapon."

The only Miralan who would have a reason to be out here was Relastra.  I had never seen the guy though.

I opened the hatch.  "Do I know you?"

Mikita felt the tension in her shoulders disappear in relief when it was, in fact, the Skorlen she was hoping it'd be who opened the hatch. She beamed brightly at him, accepting the invitation to follow him inside for the tour. "Good to see you again, y'beast."

As she glanced around at the interior of his ship, she noted all of the important locations, although she itched to wander about and find the maintenance hatch for the engines to get a look at how the thing was running. Since she always did her own work on her own ship, she tended to be leery about flying around in a ship she hadn't personally inspected. Everything she'd seen so far, though, led her to believe Skorlen was a man who liked to take care of his things well enough, so she tried to put any wariness out of her head at risk of being overtly rude.

Skorlen wrote:

"Bunks are . . . Your bunk is in there.  The others will be in that bunkroom.  I'll be in the cockpit for most of, if not all of, this run."

Mikita noticed the hesitation and was immediately impressed by his thoughtfulness. She tilted her head, smiling warmly as she replied, "Ah, sugar, don't put yourself out for me. I'm not afraid of sharing a bunkroom with a bunch of smelly boys." She hesitated, thinking about it for a moment before adding, "Although, they might be afraid of me. Whatev, we'll sort it out later if we have to."

A knock at the door punctuated the end of the tour, and as Skorlen went to investigae, Miki took his advice to make herself comfortable as she went about browsing the maps on the wall. When she realized the scribbled notes there were, as far as she could tell, either indecipherable or in an obscure language she'd never seen before, she promptly gave up and moved on to reading selection. She didn't care to get herself all caught up in a novel or anything so stuffy, but her eyes landed on a stack of datacards bearing images of engine and cannon parts and she eagerly scooped one of those up to link into her datapad. Slouching down comfortably into the seat of one of the couches, she moved her scattergun from her back to lean against the arm of the couch beside her, then peered curiously toward the door to see who the new arrival was as she waited for the data to pull up on her pad.

Ubbit strode through the space-port, clad in heavy armor, with a rifle strung across one shoulder, and a bag of impromptu field medicine supplies strung over the other. He paid no attention to the gazes he drew; people always figured he was a soldier when he went out dressed like this. He just liked the idea of being able to take a scattergun blast to the chest, and living to tell about it. Subtlety wasn't really his 'thing.'

He made his way up the ramp to Skorlen's ship, wondering why anyone would name their personal vessel after a natural disaster. He'd rather fly in something that didn't bring to mind massive property damage and a high casualty count. Regardless, he raised a plated fist and banged on the door, three times.

Skorlen wrote:

I brought him in and showed him around, introduced him to Mikita.

Rel followed the Captain in.  The decor was decidedly not what Rel had expected.  His head swiveled around on the tour, his violet eyes absorbing everything.  The other ships he had been in were so...functional, on a basic level...like just another tool.  This place was personalized.  This ship, to Capt. Skorlen, was just like MeMouse was to himself, Relastra surmised.  Rel's hand drifted across an unoccupied couch and he gave it a slight squeeze.  Nice. Rel noticed the woman reading something on her datapad over on the other couch.  "Hi, I'm Rel," he added after the Captain's introduction.  Shifting his duffel again, he spread the fingers of his free hand in a slight wave.  He suddenly realized the captain had moved on in the tour and he snapped his head around to follow.  Krayt's Teeth! Was he staring?  Rel was glad his skin was too green to show a blush easily.  He hurried to catch up to Skorlen.  When passing the bunk room, Rel slid his duffel into a neutral corner.  He wasn't particular about where he stayed and didn't want to assume any spot was his, but neither did he want to lug the bag any longer than he had to. 

Skorlen wrote:

"If you're interested, I might have a better pistol than that stored away that I could let you borrow for this run."  I shrugged.  "If that doesn't interest you, I've got a few pazaak decks floating around."

Rel looked down at the blaster and wiggled it slightly in the holster.  He looked up at Captain Skorlen with a sheepish grin.  "Actually, Sir, I'd like to take you up on both offers if that'd be all right."

As Skorlen made the first introduction, Mikita appraised the new face with a wicked grin of her own. "Well, hello, cutie," she at least managed not to wink as she looked over the Mirialan, Rel -- apparently her bad flirting habit was not limited to her own human fellows. He was away, then, to finish his tour and she returned to her browsing for a few moments more until yet another knock sounded.

The introductions began again; one she didn't recognize, and...

"Oh, no..." despite the uttered words of dread, Mikita's face lit up again with impish delight at the sight of Mason. "Skorlen! You should have told me you were inviting Sunshine." She sat up a little straighter, patting the couch cushion beside her. "I just know you want to sit next to me, right, Mason?"

She knew, of course, that he wouldn't, but she couldn't help but be the first to make a snide comment as Skorlen grouped everyone up to get the main attraction rolling. Business was business, though, and even Mikita could manage to be focused and relatively serious in the face of a new job. She rested her datapad on her lap, turning her attention to the leader with a nod and awaiting the details of the mission.

Mason grimaced as Ubbit mentioned his arm. So much for keeping the whole situation quiet. He’d tried to hide his new upgrade for this mission by wearing his long sleeves down and donning heavy gloves.Mason was about to shoot a sharp comment the doctor’s way but the hull suddenly opened revealing Skorlen and Mason was left holding his tongue. He grunted in greeting as he strolled past the captain of the ship giving only a quick nod as he glanced at Skorlen before saying “I remember you being taller…”

Glancing at the other crew members behind Dannik, Mason was surprised to see the blond haired Mikita sitting beside some green fellow he’d never seen before.

Nixie wrote:

"Oh, no..." despite the uttered words of dread, Mikita's face lit up again with impish delight at the sight of Mason. "Skorlen! You should have told me you were inviting Sunshine." She sat up a little straighter, patting the couch cushion beside her. I just know you want to sit next to me right, Mason?

“Now darling, you damn right know I’d rather shoot myself then do that” Mason replied as he took a seat farthest from the group.

Skorlen wrote:

Once I had everyone in the lounge I finally cracked a smile: “now that we’re all here, who’s ready to make some money?”

“Well if we don’t make some, there’s going to be more then words just had after this karking mission! ” Mason answered to Dannik as he brought his cold gaze to meet Skorlen’s eyes.

I ignored both Mason's jab and Relastra's nervous-sounding chatter.  Instead I called up the holoprojector.  The first image to spring to life was the swirling disc of the Hutta system, second came a cutaway layout of a Corellian Engineering Corporation 110 class light freighter.  I leaned back against the holoprojector, facing them again.  “This is our target, a CEC-110 freighter named Tey’s Rain.  It will be arriving in the Hutta system in two day’s time, and it’s travelling with no escort.

“So it seems worthless.  That’s what I thought.  Except for two tidbits.”  I jerked a thumb at the image of the freighter.  “First, Tey’s Rain is an alias.  There’s no ship registered under that name.  What we have is another CEC-110 named Kuyuk’s Haste travelling under a new name.  My source tells me they’re the same ship.  Second, Kuyuk’s Haste is registered to a Kuyuk Brothers Courier Service on Glee Anselm.  So the Hutts have outsourced this run.”

I had paced my way to the other side of the projector as I spoke.  I leaned over it and looked through the image to my partners.  “Why would someone outsource a run?  Why would someone require the ship carrying their goods to change their name?  You don’t do something like that for foodstuffs or trinkets.  They want this run kept secret.  That ship,” I jabbed my finger at the image of the freighter, “is our payday.”

“This action will be simple.”  I pointed to the cutaway of the ship.  The bridge jutted forward from the bow of the ship; behind it on the centerline were the galley, the crew lounge and quarters, then the escape pods, and lastly the engineering bay.  On either side of the centerline compartments ran a corridor, and outside of the two corridors were the two cargo holds: port and starboard.  “This ship is designed to run with a crew of three, can house up to six. For a run this important, we’ll say there are the full six aboard.”  I highlighted the dorsal hatch in the engineering compartment, “that is our entryway.  I’ll get the ship disabled, we’ll dock there and Relastra will slice us in.”  I crossed my arms and focused on the schematic.  “I’d prefer to keep us all together, but we need to handle those two corridors at once otherwise the crew can end-run around us and shoot us in the back.  So myself and Raynstar will be the first group.  Mason, Ubbit, and Bondara will be the second group.  Us two will take one corridor, you three will go the other way and we will link back up at the bridge.  It's not critical, but if you can, keep some of the crew alive, we might need them to crack open some passwords.”

I paused for a heartbeat, considering my plan, then turned to face them and leaned back against the holoprojector again.  “Any questions?”

Mikita watched in mild amusement as Relastra was berated by his datapad. She kept her mouth shut on that front, though... what could she say? She, afterall, owned an entire ship that talked back.

The fact that they were dealing with hutts didn't bother her, but one key thing she'd been waiting to hear during Skorlen's briefing had been blatantly missing. She turned her attention back to him, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees as she narrowed her eyes almost suspiciously. "I noticed that you never specified what the cargo is, exactly.  I just want to be clear before we get in there -- is it that bad that you're hoping not to mention it, or do we flat-out not know?"