Theed Spaceport

Jashin snorted slightly, very much noting that the woman, Ra'Mira she was called, took up the rear. As she prodded him, Jashin muttered something under his breath in his native tongue - a language that very few indeed understood anymore, let alone spoke. Jashin took it all in stride, however, or as much stride as possible when was covered in stinking vomit, already now well on its way to drying to a thick crust across his front. To the Jedi's condescension, which he took as a joke - or, at least he believed it was a joke, it was hard to tell with humans sometimes - Jashin replied in kind. "Patience Jedi. Patience."

As they walked, Jashin began the process of carefully picking and chipping at the dried vomit, idly talking as they went on. "My story is a boring one. But, perhaps necessary. My Clan served the planet of Serenno - The Carta, they were called. They were a clan of bounty hunters, assassins, warriors, and other such ilk. Skilled in the force, when I was born without the force, they had low hopes for me...though they attempted to train me in their arts, and I did indeed excel at the physical arts, my lack of force powers ultimately placed me as unsuited to be in their ranks. I left the Carta, struck out on my own. As the Mandallian said, I am a criminal. My Carta training was good for that, at least. When I heard the Carta were wiped out, and that I was the last surviving member, I was bound by honor to assume the mantle. So, I repossessed the ancestral sword, jacket, armor, and weapons - and set out to prove myself. The fact I couldn't even protect myself from a single debt collector after said equipment, seals my fate." Jashin trailed off at the end of the spiel, snorting in disdain and hopelessness. "I'm a coward. Through and through. Always was. Always will be. You, however, were able to save the ancestral jacket. Our last dignity. For this, I owe you my life. My family owes you its life."

Jashin fell into silence, a tumult of emotions within him - no doubt broadcast very clearly to the force users. He had had this one chance to prove himself of value, this one chance to prove he was capable of being...more. Good, bad, or something in between; but MORE than what he had been for the majority of his life - more than a coward who couldn't even toss one explosive, or draw one blade. In the wake of that embarrassment, was despair and hopelessness at his own weakness. Further, down, grief over the death of his family - and a consuming sadness that the reason he had not died with them, was because he had failed so miserably at being one of them. Chipping off a particularly large chunk of vomit, Jashin laughed easily, not a single hint of his inner demons on his face. "So that's my story, Jedi. Think we go somewhere so I can, uh, clean up?"

"I have proven myself unworthy of them...it is more than a matter of credits now. It is a matter of worth. Of honor." Said Jashin flatly, a note of finality in his voice. Shaking his head, he gestured at Gene, as well as the two women accompanying them. "Now, my duty is to your family. If I can't fight for my Clan, and for their honor...then I can die as one, and die redeeming their honor." Jashin was startled when the human woman put a hand on her shoulder, and, if he had been the same sentient he had been when he had left his clan, he would have bitten the offending appendage. He was a Firrerreo after all, and xenophobic tendences, as well as relying on others, were essentially second nature to him. It was bad enough he used his name on an off hand basis - but, in truth, he had tired of the use of different pronouns and name holders; it was, in all, very tiring in dealing with other sentients to use such formalities. The sympathy the woman showed, as well, was taken by Jashin to mean that he had showed too much weakness.

Try as he might, though, he could not summon the energy to simply - and rudely - shake the hand off. Giving it instead a single uncomfortable pat, Jashin used the motion to push the hand off his shoulder, while attempting to regard the woman in a friendly fashion. He had outgrown many of his species' tendencies. It was something of a necessity when dealing - and living - in the galaxy at large for any length of time. It wasn't as if she meant anything by it. And, if they were honest, its not like she was that different from a Firrerreo. Why, if she had gold skin... Jashin shook his head once, violently, and snorted openly and loudly at THAT dangerous thought. Turning his attention back to Gene, Jashin gestured to the building in front of them. "Besides, I don't think you have millions of credits at your disposal. Or the time to train me on how to be deserving of such armor. As for this Anneri...is this the place they are? I need more details, to be of use."

Wayfarer-class transport, the Midnight Shadow - Cockpit

Asking her own question just as Trent asks his, Neassa, who had been looking aft towards where everyone had gone when the disconcerting screaming had come from with her head tilted at an inquisitive angle, is asking, Who the bloody frell is Nora? just as he is asking what she was saying they would find out. Shaking her head when she realizes they spoke at the same time, Neassa asks, What?

Holding up her hands so that they don't start an unintentional comedy skit involving a series of exchanges of questions that will confuse her now in her less than alert and oriented state than they normally would, Neassa says, Hold on, hold on. Wait. Taking a deep breath, collecting her wits as best she can, Neassa lifts a finger to buy a moment more to come up with a reply to the question she had been asked, which requires that she recall what she had said to prompt it in the first place.

Nodding once she manages to reconstruct all she had said aloud, Neassa says, If the Captain decides to look for someone to blame. Tapping her chest, Neassa explains, Silas and I came up with the idea to go after the slavers instead of just doing the job the crew took on. Captain might start thinking that means we're responsible for what happened as a result. Neassa harbors no illusions about where the responsibility for Anzhelia's death lies; the Nagai made her own decision to go into battle and died an honorable death. The Captain is an aruetii, not of the Mando'ade, however, and Neassa knows that they have varying views of death and of dealing with it when it comes for those close to them.

Waving a hand to suggest the matter is not one that discussing will change, as whatever is to happen will happen no matter how much they discuss the possibilities, Neassa grits her teeth and, ignoring the pain and willing herself to be steady on her feet, rises from the chair, asking Trent, Should we go and see if everything is five by five? The screaming seems to have stopped, but Neassa knows that is not always a harbinger of good things, and while she is not sure how useful she can be in her current condition, she is determined to do what she can if her crewmates have need of her.

Adjusting her carbine's sling to an off-side drop position once on her feet, Neassa takes another silent deep breath and, beads of sweat appearing on her forehead despite her buy'ce's cooling systems, ignores the pain in her legs as she heads aft towards the common area.

Giving Silas a nod when she spots him - amidst the makeshift privacy screens and other alterations that have been made by their passengers - speaking with Erly, Neassa keeps her voice firm and even as she tells Trent, We should probably disembark and see if that emergency medical assistance you requested are here, and then staggers just the slightest bit as she moves for the boarding ramp control panel to head out to see if any medical personnel have arrived yet.

“Yes, yes of course,” said Jemima, and even as Erly moved off to talk to Silas, the young woman picked up the tiny figure, who was just lying limply on the floor with her eyes open. That was unnerving. She was lighter than she thought, which surprised Jemima. For all her displays of durability and strength, she somehow believed she would have needed a bulk loader droid to lift her, but Jemima could almost manage her weight effortlessly in one hand if she felt like showing off. But concern prevented such flights of fancy.
 
She moved cautiously through the Common Room to the medical bay, following the shift from artificial gravity to an actual one as the Midnight Shadow descended into the atmosphere of the planet Naboo. Once her head didn’t swim too much, she completed her journey and lay the girl down on an empty bed. All the while, she muttered to herself, “Always something going on…every minute. Always.”

Theed Spaceport, Naboo
 
Common Room, Wayfarer-class transport, the Midnight Shadow

Erly sat down cross-legged in front of the man, watching his work with keen interest, and paying close attention to all that he said, nodding ever so slightly, as her only indication that she heard him, while she looked at the metalwork with a frown. A concentrative frown rather than one of disapproval or anything else. Then she’d watch him directly. She was vaguely aware of Jemima passing by,  hastily carrying Krystal over to the Medical Bay, as instructed.
 
She was very intrigued by the man. Few in words though he may be, his answers revealed to her a great deal about himself. She guessed already he was some sort of lawman from wherever he came from, and that wherever it was, was a long way from the Rim Worlds. It was why she sometimes still thought of him as the Outlander. There was no more suitable word to describe a person than that word for him. She found him a hard man, but more by necessity than a preference, if her reading of him was right. Her eyes widened when he revealed the source from which he was making his bullets. So he was a survivor and a practical man too. Wise, given that he travelled through worlds filled with so much diversity and variance of resources.
 
But she felt bothered on a personal level that he had to use something that she would have had sentimental value for if it was hers or her family’s. She didn’t want to presume anything, because she knew far too little of the full facts other than what he’d revealed, so she said nothing, but in her mind, she thought, Maybe I’ll find him what he needs so he won’t have to use up his parents’ belongings. In a resource-rich world like Naboo, finding soft metal, even a crate-full of them, could be easily accomplished. Of course, there was the matter of how she was going to buy even a thimble’s worth of that when she’d essentially given the vast majority of her credits to Adrien to buy passage on his ship a while back.
 
She pushed the concern aside and listened to what he said about the rescued people. She turned to look at them, and smiled when he said it was the most blessed of sounds. Religious too, probably. She thought. “It is, yes.” She said. She turned back to watch the rest of his work of making his bullets. It was obviously a process he had done more than once. Projectile weapons were not common by and large, people found laser-based weapons more effective and useful, with far less resource wastage. But it felt perfectly acceptable to Erly, because of the way he seemed as he worked. His whole persona just made her accept what he did as his way, and it was right.
 
Now what he had to say about Isabelle Eoura piqued her interest, and she leaned forward as he spoke softly, paying closer attention, and nodding, trusting in the man’s judgement. It was not that he said anything incriminating, but it was the tone in which he spoke. She had seen the woman in passing. Including when she’d dashed past after Adrien, when she had been just standing there in her birthday suit. “I’ll make sure the captain knows...once he’s up for it. Until then, I’ll just keep my eyes peeled.”
 
As a sign of an end to their conversation, and with the ship having landed for a while since, Erly rose from her sitting position and took a head count of the refugees, having called out those that had been placed in the cargo hold or living quarters, when she spotted Neassa and Trent. The Mandalorian woman was moving too carefully, indicative of the amount of pain she must be in. She nodded at Silas when he asked if they were going to greet the emergency personnel outside, “Yeah, definitely, but just a minute. Hey, Neassa?”
 
The tiny blonde sauntered over to the armored lady, a faint smile playing on her lips, and a look of mild admiration, as well as mild exasperation in her eyes, “Wow, I guess all those legends about Mandalorians are true, if you and the big guy with Krystal are anything to go by. You’re invincible. Orrrr really stubborn.” In a softer voice, she added, “You sure I can’t convince you to let Gem at least have a look at you? You could ask her to just use her bioscanner and let you keep everything on.”
 
She stood before her and Trent, one fist planted on her hip, while her other hand reached ahead of Neassa to open the boarding ramp controls. She was mainly afraid of having another Constanza on her hands. If possible, she would like to prevent that from happening ever again. The worried look she shot Trent for all of a microsecond ought to have been noticed by the man, if he was half as good as she suspected at reading expressions and body language.

Theed Spaceport, Naboo

Boarding Ramp, Wayfarer-class transport, the Midnight Shadow

Now with both fists planted on her hips, she put on her own stubborn face, tilting her head in a similar manner to Neassa's as she started to make her arguments, Erly found she had to purse her lips, but her facial muscles twitched as Trent really made her want to laugh, but that would probably be counterproductive to the conversation she was having. The Corellian man however, took it another step, literally. Erly's jaw dropped, as did Neassa's probably, not that the blonde could tell, with the other woman's helmet. Now she really wanted to laugh, but managed to just keep it to a hiccup and biting her lower lip to stop anything else. That matter addressed, she now turned to look around at the gathered former slaves, giving them all a relieved and genuinely cheerful smile.

"When you all step off this ship," she said, jerking her thumb towards the exit, "you're all taking charge of your lives once more, and it'll be hard, but just keep putting one foot in front of the other, and never lose faith. Tomorrow's a better day."

She jerked her head to the ramp and said, "Come on, Naboo's got a great view. Just stay away from it's oceans."

Sea monsters? No, thank you.

Casting a glance at Silas, with a sort of knowing look on her face, she made her way back towards the Captain's quarters, and knocked gently against the door, "Captain? I'm gonna talk to the port officials, and see that the refugees are looked after, okay? I'll get the ship refueled and restocked."

As to how she was going to do that without a single red credit to her name, she had a few ideas, but none of them led to pleasant results if Adrien ever asked. Somehow, she didn't think he'd like the idea of CorSec resources being used on his ship. But if she played it right, nobody would ever have to know. When she made her way down to stand beside Trent, there was a small, hesitant line of people, those able to walk, at least, making their way off the ship. She had to give credit to the Naboo Emergency Response Teams. They were efficient, neat and swift. It looked like they had been here the whole time, waiting for them. She could see Neassa being tended to. The woman looked like someone had seriously whipped her pride. That someone was named Trent Weston, with Erly Ryzer thrown in by proxy. Resting her palms on her hips, she spoke to Trent using ventriloquism, and didn't move her lips, "This is going to bite me in the behind..."

When Neassa addressed an elderly man who was clearly an official, and then pointed at her, Erly straightened up to her full height of five feet and very few inches, looking a little alarmed, "...a lot sooner than I thought."

When Neassa gave her a thumbs up, Erly returned a toothy smile, which was more of a grimace, "I get the feeling you too, Trent."

Taking on a more authoritative posture, she waited for the man to reach her, and solemnly greeted him, mumbling or speaking where necessary. She avoided giving the man any sort of shifty looks, so she never once glanced uncertainly at Trent. When she worked in CorSec, she was always in a team, but back then, she had been the little one, in both rank and build. There was always someone else in charge, and rarely was she ever needed to do any talking or drawing arms. While she's pretended to be something else when she was undercover, it was a little different when she actually was in charge. She had to remind herself of that fact all the time, and that if she messed up, it wasn't just her that would be paying the price. She wasn't going to compromise this crew. Yes, she already more than knew for certain that Adrien Draykon was quite a questionable fellow. The people he travelled with before the current roster, or the contents in the cargo hold that she discovered when he told her to make space for Constanza's preservation machine. But for all intents and purposes, his refusal to deal in slavery won her support and loyalty above whatever else he might be responsible for.

So when the man said, "Dreadful, just dreadful. Slaves! You would think people would have abolished this across the universe by now. But, I have to ask: how did you get involved in rescuing them? Official Republic mission?"

Erly pursed her lips again, thinking for a moment, a dark look in her eyes, something Trent probably would easily identify as her acting. Behaving like a Republic Intelligence Officer, perhaps. All an act, but the fact that she knew how an agent might behave, was something to consider. "Let's just say that we happened to be in the wrong place at the right time, and we had the means to do something about it. What's important is that these people be looked after, and make sure there's no way to track the slaves, and protect their newfound freedom. We cannot let them lose the spark of new hope that has been given."

Grimacing, the elderly man wiped his brow as if exposed to great heat, and nodded, "Of course, of course, you're right, madam. They'll be given the finest care, but there's one matter, and I truly do not mean to be crass..."

There it was. How were they going to take it? Everything she could think up was going to be problematic. She wished she'd stepped further away from Trent, to speak alone with the official. But she suspected he would still be able to read her, and lying to him was out of the question, as it would be with Silas or Neassa, or even Krystal. The girl was perceptive, more than she let on or perhaps realized. It made her acknowledge one thing: She either just told them the truth outright, and as much as it might hurt, she would have to deal with it, and just hope it didn't get her killed. She did the only best thing she could and give Trent a pleading, apologetic look, before turning back to the official, "I understand, sir. Logistics always come into it."

"Well, madam, we aren't without heart, not at all! No doubt it wasn't the original objective, none of my business, so I won't ask, but..." the poor man felt more embarrassed, and that made Erly's heart wrench that much more. Because she was the one in the firing line. Especially with Adrien's mood so hair-trigger and unpredictable. Maybe Gem had better give him another look.

"It's fine," Erly said, waving a hand, and taking on a firm look once more, "I'm not asking you to do anything for free. I know how this works, so don't worry. But I hope you understand how important it is that me and my people be left in peace, and the less people that know about me or this ship, the better. Let sleeping sky hounds lie, you understand?"

A secret code, one only Republic officials would know. No questions asked, and whatever the one who spoke the right code requested was to be given, with no hindrance, and more importantly, no charge. The man's expression turned to one of understanding dawning on it. Nodding slowly, he replied with, "Yes. yes of course, until the skies are clear, yes. Well, you let me know if you'll need anything else, of course?"

"Yeah, the ship needs fuel, spare parts, fresh supplies, we've got some travelling ahead of us, and...do you have a military grade shield for a ship of this size?"

She put her head through the noose, she might as well get the works while she could. The man had given the correct code reply, so he assumed she was a deep cover agent of the Republic or one of the official world's equivalent. Adrien and his crew would get the very best. And by the time the reports and payment receipts reached the correct channels, she and everyone aboard the Midnight Shadow would be long gone from Naboo. With a murmur of affirmation, Erly put in the request for the shield and even an experimental weapon, but they would have to do the fixing themselves. She was quite certain Adrien wouldn't appreciate people from Naboo working on his ship or getting intimate with it. Would lead to more questions that even someone supposedly deep cover couldn't hide. Especially since she was no longer an agent, unofficially. knuckling his forehead in respect to her and Trent, the tiny woman waited until he was out of earshot before lowering her head. She folded her arms over her chest and said, "Go ahead, ask." Addressing Trent.

“Oh,” said Jemima, whirling around to look at the woman who spoke. The young doctor’s hand had gone over her heart before hastily bringing it back down with a blush. “Sorry, I thought...well, she’s...she’s, I don’t know what’s wrong with her. She just became catatonic.”

She glanced down, and noticed that the girl was finally looking...at her. But she didn’t seem any more responsive beyond that. Even the stare of her eyes was blank. It unnerved her, but her concern for the young girl overrode anything else. “She started screaming, and she was...I don’t know how I know, but I’m quite certain she was in a lot of pain.”

She stroked the girls red hair, combing it gently, “More than most humans can take.” The girl’s eyes were definitely looking at her. She was aware, alert, probably hearing everything, but unable to speak for some reason. Scanning her over with her eyes, the brunette caught sight of the girl’s fingers trying to move. It was a stroke of some sort! But she was already recovering. That was some serious healing potency. What was it with Adrien’s crew and fast-healing folk? Not that she was really complaining, mind. If they all healed like this, she’d have far less to worry about.

But Anzhelina didn’t, thought Jemima bitterly. Just like the first crew she started out with, the one that took her away from Coruscant. She imagined it would be a grand adventure, filled with fun and jolly. She watched them die, and even as quick as the launched escape pod was, it didn’t remove the screams in her head. Somehow, she could hear the voices of her friends as they were murdered or worse. She was certain it was only her imagination, but was certain she felt their pain as surely as if she herself had been hurt. Her medical training told her it was all psychological. Survivor’s guilt, that was what the doctors at the RDMC called it.

She still wasn’t sure how she alone escaped out of everyone. Blinking, she brought herself back to the present, back to matters and someone whom she could tend to. She stroked the girl’s head affectionately, with a look of grim determination on her face, “You’re going to be all right,” said Jemima, “I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.”

"Mesa give yousa...forty thousand. Okie day, goldie boy?" The gungan replied, watching Sinina walk back to the truck. The gungan still didn't seem that impressed - perhaps the species divide was too great - but the gungan apparently noticed the effect she had on the two humans. No doubt the gungan wanted to avoid an earful of complaints later from his workers about his stinginess. Shrugging, Jashin outstretched a hand, and shook the gungan's clawed hand, figuring a full ten thousand was as good as he was going to get. "Deal. Forward it to my account paired with my arrival dispatch." The gungan gestured to the humans, who inclined their heads before going off and fetching some load lifters. Bidding the gungan farewell, Jashin climbed back into the cab, hitting the button for the repulsortruck's ramp - allowing the lifters access to the cargo. Taking out his cargo manifest pad, he waited for his account balance to update, watching Sinina out of the corner of his eye

"Not bad Sinina. Not bad. You'd make a fair smuggler or free trader." Jashin said, wincing as the truck bobbed in the air as the loaders began unloading the cargo modules. "Where we are going next, though...it's going to be a little rougher around the edges. You have your weapons on you right?" The truck bobbed a final time, and Jashin put a hand on the handle of his door, preparing to get out. Just as he began to open the door, though, his datapad beeped in confirmation. Forty thousand credits, and not a decicred more.