Kessel's Open Terrain

Fel thought fast. No time to do anything else. The A-5 would be in range in less than thirty seconds. The fear was palpable on the slave's face, and that was good. He hit a button on his wrist-gaunt, silencing the vocoder, and activated his internal comm unit, keyed to Melia's freq. 

Mel, I'm going in. Cover me. Out. 

He reactivated the vocoder. 

You have three chances to die, one to live. We stay here and that transport gets to us, you die. You run from me, you die. You take me to the Red Bitch, you get a fighting chance to live. Decide now.

He powered up the pistol, and aimed squarely at the man's face. 

In his earpiece, Melia clicked her comm once for the affirmative. He'd been in her crosshairs all along. It was darkly comforting.

He hadn't expected a counter-proposal.

Interesting. It meant more work for Fel, but catching a ride with the transport was certainly easier than crawling through the caverns. Though it also meant dealing with the mercs aboard the A5, which, all things being equal, he'd rather not do. 

The gun didn't waver an inch from the prisoner's face as Fel weighed the options behind his mask. Deactivating the vocoder, he signalled once more to Melia. 

What's your 20, Mel. Need to make sure I'm not obscured from your line of sight by the A5. 

The reply was the tiniest glint of dim sunlight off metal on Fel's two o'clock. Roger that. He activated the vocoder again as the A5 crested a hill, vibrations from its wheels causing nearby rocks to shake loose from the motion and sheer size of the vehicle. 

Get up. Turn around and face the vehicle. 

Assuming the slave complied, Fel pressed his pistol to the nape of the man's neck, moving him backward as the A5 approached, keeping on Melia's side of the approaching vehicle to ensure it didn't place itself unwittingly between them. Losing her covering fire at this point would be rather ill-advised. 

Deal. I won't shoot, and I'll do my best to keep you alive until we reach the Red Bitch. I'll tell them you gave yourself up and only wanted to return to work. 

Bloodpinguine Here. Got your two weeeps (VIPs). Erm... Is one of them a slave?
Bloodpinguine, Base Controll here. Not Confirmed. Take them in, the Mistress will sort it out.
Great. sarcasm meter was off the charts
Remember, follow orders, and you are safe.
Yimmbwembwey, Fooooloh owdjeys N yauh aurth safe.
Cut it Bloodpinguine, you are recorded.
Ah bugge- Boodpinguine exited the channel.

A5-s were indeed god damned impressive. Not as pants-unloady as an A6, but you still feel like you have to wash your undies later when one rolls up. And this was a Merc driven one. The worst kinds of Mercs. Slavers.
It had that cool teal tint, with horns above the controll room (cockpit was an insult) made from either a replica or a real creature, one would only know if one scanned. A Scantly clad lady was serving blood from a champaign bottle on one side, pouring it over an ostrich. Now, our dear slavers did get the part of "bird that doesnt fly" right, but they had the unlucky chance to subscribe to one of the many enciclopedias that were both cheap, and god damned faulty. None the less, they believed an ostrich to be a pinguine, and Bloodpinguines sounded awe-inspireing to most low-reading beer-drinking and well, not wery witty slavers.
That did not mean they were not dangerous.

The A5 rolled up, with bloodostrich and horn and all, started its curve about hundred meters before Fel, and actually manadged to park with its side towards him, a good 10 meters away.

All the while, the slave had manadged to fully crawl out, and didnt really resist the Fashistlovers attempts to hold him in both helmet and gunsight. As the light from the A5 lit them, it was clear that the mans cloths were cheap, colored with light blue once, but the dirt had now tottaly masked this fact. He was dirty from top to toe. He also was a survivor, trying to hold his captor and gunslinging Stormtrooperlover interested with conversation.

-383-
"See, there was an explosion. We tried to open a new nest, get the stuff, you know? Someone misscalculated or somesuch, and boom. I survived. Dont know how. Started digging. Its really that. I ... I know I am a criminal, you know, and I DO actually want to work, see?"

It was safest to be.... safe. The manner of his captor was dictating that he wasnt fully a part of Gaias crews, true, but what if he was a new recruit? Or someone whom was holding a gun in one hand and a CV in the other? Impressing the new lords of the realm with getting into the place by foot?
Many many paranoid thoughts went through our dear slaves mind as the A5 closed to a halt, and the side door flew open, a thin ribbed ramp extended.

Who came through was the Bloodpinguine Captain. A . Mant Harran wore a sweat, beer, and rationpack stained undershirt. Two bandoliers, right one packing a flash granade and a couple energy cells for small arms, the other had larger rings, newly filled with cold cold beer. Combat pants, combat boots, breathmask covering most of his face. Blaster on right hip, large combat knife on left.
He was soon followed by his two rodies, Chet and MalChett. The Twins. You couldnt see it now, of course because of the breathmask, but they were, I assure you. Characteristic twins. A bit hot on the spice, and it showed. Studded jackets, leather pants, and one had his head shaved on the left ide, the other on the right. Their names were not even Chett and Malchett from the start, they just changed it to sound more cool and minion-like. Made that secrefice for the group, and the good captain.

So, these... lets just call them characters, for lack of terms that would not offend their small minds, walked down the ramp.

Mockfriendly tone, cheery, but demanding too. No weapons drawn, mostly because they didnt see why the slave was shaking.

-Mant Harran, Bloodpinguine Captain-
"Hey there mate! I hear you are wanted by high command, so why dont you come with us, so we can take you two lovebirds in? A lot more hospitable then this damned minefield, yu know. I got beer!"

Mant got a funny look in his eye.

-Mant-
"Yeah... you brought any luggage, your highness?"

he glanced back at his henchmen, Chatt and Malchatt whom gave off doglike sounds that on some uncivilised worlds may be consedered as snickering. These two also had blasters, but instead of the large knife that their captain owned they were holstering shock staffs. The Cap waved at them and they stood out of the way, giving passage to "Military Surplus". The Captain stood where he was, trying to show his dominance by FORCING his guests to go around him. Not a big detour, just an extra step or two, and at least he leaned a little to the left, just to show the direction.

-Mant-
"After you Sir Surplus. Watch your step, dont want to dent that pretty helmet of yours."

A little bit more snickering from the minions.

Inside, they would get into a corridor intersection, the corridor actually being walled by seats, surely for whatever troops that SHOULD actually be in an Imperial Landship like this. Instead, it was covered with sleeping bags, trash from snacks, used syrenges, beercans on the floor and the urgent need of refurbishing. The seats were a bit torn and seems like there was a young virtuoso amongst the crew whom liked to draw huge dicks all over the place with an alcoholic pen. The only truly shocking sight would be the open door to the toilet. Spotless clean, with well preserved porn magazines for the literature hungry stapled under a well stocked paper dispenser, and an extra modification budoir (sp?). Left, the open door to the command center, two doors siding it (closed) that usually goes for the engines. Right, a closed door that holds the cargo bays.

-Mant-
"I am captain Mant Harran, of the BloodPinguines."

383 didnt hesitate, and dropped like the sack of potatoes he tried to oh so much impersenate. These were the BLOODPINGUINES. Not good news. Too many of his .... kollegues... had gone missing in their patroll territory. They were often on the gossipping tongues of the local slaves, since gossip was cheap.

Harran drew back as he walked the well known flooring of his landship, draining the beer like a hungry vampire would drain a sweet schoolgirl. Throwing his.... fifth? Sixth beer on said floor, he stopped by the door to the command deck, pulled a microphone from the wall.

-Harran-
"Roll baby, strait to home base, dont stop at start, and dont collect two hundred credits."

He slammed the mic back, and put a foot up on the seat next to 383 with a dominating gesture. The twins came up right behind them on the other side, watching them in silence with grinns on their faces. The tension was thick, like sitting in a hot steam room.

-Harran-
"So... witch one of you was the girl?"

Snorting laughter from the twins.

Sir Surplus did not answer, but this did not discourige the captain of this landship to continue this farse. Neither did it stop the hyina like snickering from the two cartoonish twins behind. At least they were on their way.

-Harran-
"Did you kiss, or just pushed the helmets together?"
"You did use protection, right? Beside that.... sidearm?"
"Sidearm... what am I saying... I meant middle leg."
"Was there payment involved? You know... just asking out of taxation purpouses."
"Not that I would ever.... audit."

Seeing as he could go nowhere with Mr Helmetface, he decided to torment the slave instead. He had no illusions about his identity. He was wearing the local slaves outfit, with a local slaves mask. He had a hunch that this slave was not the Nr 2 from the two VIPs, but he was told to bring two people, so his job was finnished. He slowly reached around for his seventh beer, then that huge combat knife on the side, and pulled. Now, turned towards 383, he assessed the sharpness of his melee weapon.

-Harran-
"See, many use the vibroblades. Cuts faster and better, sure, but it kinda takes away all the fun, not to mention it runs on a battery. Loooots of problems with batteries. I like to go back to my roots, see? Good sharp blade that takes its time, you know. I can still plunge it into most common kinds of flesh, so the purpouse is the same, and it never needs recharging."

Meanwhile, Mel would see a light move across the landscape. A speeder. One of the "Bees". It was still looking either for survivors from the blast downstairs, or the second of the two VIP-s.

383 knew the perfect soultion to survival in a situation where you are being shown a tool you might just find inside your own body soon enough. Ignore it. Ignore it and ignore it. If you cant see the monster, then you are blissfully unaware of it untill its teeth take you, and at that point its out the window anyways. He wasnt a fighter, not anymore. He was a survivor, a worker and a very good ignorer. Only way to keep his sanity.
On the other hand, most crazy people are also blissfully unaware of the monster called insanity, so .... well, there is a mute point somewhere, the thing is, 383 was shaking slightly and focussing on his feet.
Harran did not like this. Not at all. He liked an audiance, and he liked when he was in the center. Right now, his audiance inclouded a pair of fucked up twins, Mr Helmet and the slave, and none of them were biting (twins didnt count, they are ididots). In truth, besides being a beerdrinking badass captain, Harran also had rather far reaching childhood dreams about becoming a proffecional comedian. He even had tried becoming one in his adolescent youth, up untill something around his 24th birthday when he gave up. Actually, trying to become a comedian gave life to his present proffetion, wich was beating skulls. See, he was a wery bad comedian, with a hot temper and inability to take critique. I am sure you dear reader can understand how one step led to the other.
None the less, our dear Harran craved attention, and he had many ways to grab it. It was time for one of his well known gags. He didnt just bring up the knife to intimidate, it was a prop. Since his previous attempts at (by his estimates) good humor did not captivate his audience, it was time for the real show.

-Harran-
"But, every once in a while, I do need a vibroblade. It is inevitable, when one merc captain brings his new vibroblade to a meeting, I have to... you know... keep up with local trends. So.... I have to upgrade old Betsy."

He reached to the wall right over 383 and opened a locker. It opened downwards, more like slammed open, and landed on 383s head. The slave didnt even whimper, just took it and shut up. Harran produced a little bag. It had stars sewn onto it, and had this feeling of Birthday Clown Magician, if your B-Day entertainer was a drunk psychopath. From the bag, he pulled a roll of ducttape (his right hand was holding both the bag and the knife, so he was waving around with it, nearly stabbing 383 in the eye).

-Harran-
"Lacking the wish to fully remodernizie Betsy, I have to reduce myself to temperary sollutions."

He pulled and cut three stripes, and fastened them on the not edged side of the blade, letting them hang.

-Harran-
"But in the end, I will attain the wished vibroblade."

With that, he pulled a rather large specimen vibrator from said bag, and ducttaped it to his knife. He pushed a button on it, and bam, it started vibrating. The twins howlered.
Nobody said he was a GOOD comedian, I mind you. He still had a big grinn on his face as he showed up the jury rigged vibro combat knife, waiting for a reaction.

-Intercomm-
Boss, we are riding through the gates. One minute.

Harran nodded towards the back ramp, and they would ascend there.

The landship had rode into a large base, and parked beside other A5-s. Fel could see about ten others parking, with space for a dozen or so more. This seemed to be the main base, because they were surrounded by barracks and other several story buildings on one side (behind them in a half circle) and in front of them, was a large cavern opening (man made). Now, the courtyard before them, a muddy and dirty thing filled with threadmarks from the A5s was filled with people. There was athmosphere on this place, because nobody was wearing masks. The people in the great crowd were wearing the boring outfit that 383 wore too, and they were lined on either side by several mercenary type like the Bloodpinguines themselves. Armed goons.

In the focus of all this was a scene, on it two persons. One was sitting in a contraption holding his arms and leggs bond, and his head most importantly. A sort of stockade. The Red Twilek woman in front of him held something that looked like a forked icecream scoop. There was dead slience, especially as the A5 shut off its engines behind the Bloodpinguines and their protectees. The acustics of the cave were astonishingly well transporting her voice.

-Gaia-
"I have been leniant, I have been mercyfull, and I have been helping. You need something to work? I give. You need better food to work, I give. You need several thusand credits worth of equipment? I aquire. What do I get? An accident. Dead slaves and lost equipment. I get disapointed. Do I LIKE TO BE DISAPOINTED?"

-Crowd-
"NO MISTRESS!"

-Gaia-
"This man has betrayed you, betrayed you with his inefficiency and his promises of production. He has betrayed your trust and MY trust! I give you the right of judgement. You have the chance to save this man, you all will just have to live on quarter rations for half a year. DO you spare this man, my slaves?"

-Crowd, uninamously-
"NO!"

The red twilek nodded. She walked over to the bonded man, and reached up the forked icecream scoop. With skill, she pushed the scoop inside the mans right eyesocket. The cave acoustics did marvels for the mans (also a slave by the looks of him) screams as the woman ripped his eye out, and then went on to the next. It didnt take long, and when she was done, she simply dropped the tool and left the man there, waving the crowd away. The armed goons started to get the crowd going to wherever they were supposed to go. For the coming couple of minutes the soundtrack for this meeting would be the whimpers and cries of the newly blinded man as he bled to death from his face.

Harran smiled at Fel. One of Fels helmet eyes reflected his own smile at him, the other reflected the Twilek and her entorage of five or so armed goons slowly walking up to them.

-Harran-
"That, Mr Surplus, is Gaia."

The twilek wore a trenchcoat, and combat west, military pants and heavy boots. Most of all, she wore a slaves collar too.

---------------------------------------

The Speeder stopped not far away from where Mel was hiding. The merc seemed to want to take a drink, and not have the safe amount of hands on the steering wheel. That, or he had chought something on the sensors and also had a sore throat. Maybe he rode with open mouth and was just really thristy from dry mouth (yes, even in gas mask).
Yes, he had something on the sensors regiestered as a living person. Now, this was not an actual military outfit, it didnt run with perfect effectivity, nor did they fix everything when they half broke. His sensors were only showing he had SOMETHING in the vicinity, but he had no idea what and where, so he acted as if he took a drink, and looked around, hoping to spot anything that would resemble a living thing, and not get sniped.
Out here, you either had a weapon, or were a slave. He knew that, and hoped whomever his sensors had picked had a collar.

-Gaia-
"Then next time you should land closer."

She winked for him to follow. They took down towards a warehouse looking building. As they walked, two goons closed up on the slaves six, while the other three stayed behind Fel and 383. As they walked, she spoke up.

-Gaia-
"Why did you downgrade from the hot assasin to a local slave?"

--------------------

The "Bee" called in the annomaly, and hit the throttle. He didnt see nothing, and then ran off to BloodPinguines, thus home. With the entire landskape changed from the misshap downstairs, he had no idea what was old or new.

-Gaia-
"Make her distract me. Call her and tell her to land on the levelled ground just outside the complex. The fighters wont harass you no more."

As she got close to the smaller door inside the huge gates to the warehouse, one of the goons gentlemenly ran up to it and opened it to her.

-Gaia-
"Did you know Darth Vader once was a slave? Or so the rumor goes. Many great things can come from the lowest in society."

It was dark inside as the slave walked through the door, her goon holding it up for her as a buttler equipped for war. She reached to the side, and flipped a heavy switch. Lights started to set on, rows and rows, one after an other and with a bit of a delay. A sharp clicking sound echoed in the warehouse as the lights went up. First few rows lit nothing, dusty pavement, and then, the first that actually showed something, lit three small crates. Those crates were well known in smuggler circles. Kessel crates. Spice.
Then... nothing. Pavement, and pavement, the theatrics lost their power. Was that all?

No. The three hundred other crates of clean, pure spice was in the back. The twilek slave turned around, reached out her arms, stretching them as a magician ready to bow to applauses.

-Gaia-
"Smuggler. Smuggle!"

She was grinning.