She was more than a little unnerved by recent events.
After Teverian's death and the resulting collapse of Tev Logistics, several small-time spice rings and a set of lucrative contracts with Monoe Shipyards and Repair Inc, Naomi was finding that Rani had changed. Or was it her? In any case, the Force Bond they shared was telling her more than she cared to know. Something had gone wrong once she'd blacked out on that shuttle. Even that brief encounter with that light-side idiot, Mal, had left her confused. She didn't like not knowing where she stood. It had, in truth, put her in a somewhat foul mood.
And the sudden surprise message she'd received from an old childhood friend had rankled her entirely. Upon her wrist-comm, on a channel she hadn't accessed since she was a little girl, was an urgent message telling her to meet at a shoddy cantina. She'd been told this particular man had died after an accidental explosion in one of the docking facilities aboard her family's orbital shipyard. It seems someone was lying...or someone was very clever about saving his own hide.
Glad to escape the unease she was feeling from Rani after the month's shipment, she fled Ziost.
And now she was parked in an absolutely filthy cantina on Tatooine. Nothing as extravagant as Oola's down in Mos Eisely, but still just as ruddy. Dust and grime covered every exposed surface and the clientele was mostly that of those kicked out of other establishments. Jawas, a scattering of Rodians, what looked like a three-man Zabrak bike gang and a spattering of the poor, the drunk and the both. Among these was a skeletal looking man in the bright blue/black coveralls of MSR mechanic-dom, his face long and tired. Naomi swallowed a lump in her throat, fought back tears and sat down.
"I...didn't think you were alive", she said with the faintest tremolo of uncontollable emotion in her voice. The man spread his cracked lips wide in a grin, his hazel eyes lighting up with recognition and even adoration. Naomi felt something in her recoil in--shame? Or was it guilt? The fact was, she was not the sweet little girl he'd trained with a hydrospanner, the little girl he'd revealed flight sims to. Another lump form in her throat, preventing more words from coming. All she could manage was a word. "How...?"
The man snorted. "That damned X-X-X---the chief, I thinks he had the, uh, the generator rigged, see? I may not be all that savy with them uh, new-fangled engines an' all that new crap, but I know my way around a freighter's innards, missy. I spots this d-d---this bomb, and I know that i'm bein' punished for bein' all cozy with you", he said with a shrug. "So I hopped the uh, the um...", he snapped his fingers, his bad memory seeking dusty, forgotten data. "Oh! The service shuttle to the planet! I 'die' on the uh, the dock and yet I don't. Haw!", he crowed, giving her a grin. Naomi snorted.
"So...you changed your identity, obviously...but...you reapplied with MSR?", she asked increduously.
The man shrugged again. "It's good work, I love the uh, the crew and the work...'sides, old man Monoe don't even knows my face. ANYWAY", he bellowed, drawing the disproving glares of the drunkards around him, "I heard see, from uh, the uh, foreman...who come from Monoe's office, the man's all steamed, screamin...says that lil' ol' Nayo done blasted that Huttdung Teverian". Naomi swallowed, but nodded. The man slapped his knee. "Fantastic!! Always knew them rotted little Huttwads would end up under your, uh, your...", he trailed off.
"Um, Harkan, you called me here...?"
"Oh, right! Right, right. I gots this here order from on high to uh, prep the Miss Monoe's private yacht, see...for uh, long-scale flight into Imp Space. The Corusca Wing, hell of a ship. Hyperdrive alone costs the same as a well-weathered freighter, shields and all that flashy--". Naomi coughed politely, feeling impatience begin to work on her sense of nostalgia. "Oh! Right, sorry little miss. Anyway, I figured...I figured you'd wanna do 'er in, like you did Teverian. Seems like old deeds bein' rectified...an' I certaintly can attest to their scumbaggery, heh. So uh...yea, here...". He slid a flimsy, cheap datapad across the table to her.
Naomi plucked it up, narrowed her eyes. She brushed strands of fire-red from her face, surprise alighting upon her pale features. The datapad contained a list of what the ship should be stocked with, how much fuel was necessary--MSR mechanics were trained to be very anal about efficiency--and the coordinates, hyperspace routes and destination to be programmed into the Navcomp. Naomi felt the stirrings of that insatiable beastly rage. Vehemence was quickly replacing her calm and her impatience. She held in her hands the navigations to her sister's whereabouts...she held the first step towards her next goal. She looked up, her eyes locking with the old man's.
"Go get her, Nayo. Get her good".
After Teverian's death and the resulting collapse of Tev Logistics, several small-time spice rings and a set of lucrative contracts with Monoe Shipyards and Repair Inc, Naomi was finding that Rani had changed. Or was it her? In any case, the Force Bond they shared was telling her more than she cared to know. Something had gone wrong once she'd blacked out on that shuttle. Even that brief encounter with that light-side idiot, Mal, had left her confused. She didn't like not knowing where she stood. It had, in truth, put her in a somewhat foul mood.
And the sudden surprise message she'd received from an old childhood friend had rankled her entirely. Upon her wrist-comm, on a channel she hadn't accessed since she was a little girl, was an urgent message telling her to meet at a shoddy cantina. She'd been told this particular man had died after an accidental explosion in one of the docking facilities aboard her family's orbital shipyard. It seems someone was lying...or someone was very clever about saving his own hide.
Glad to escape the unease she was feeling from Rani after the month's shipment, she fled Ziost.
And now she was parked in an absolutely filthy cantina on Tatooine. Nothing as extravagant as Oola's down in Mos Eisely, but still just as ruddy. Dust and grime covered every exposed surface and the clientele was mostly that of those kicked out of other establishments. Jawas, a scattering of Rodians, what looked like a three-man Zabrak bike gang and a spattering of the poor, the drunk and the both. Among these was a skeletal looking man in the bright blue/black coveralls of MSR mechanic-dom, his face long and tired. Naomi swallowed a lump in her throat, fought back tears and sat down.
"I...didn't think you were alive", she said with the faintest tremolo of uncontollable emotion in her voice. The man spread his cracked lips wide in a grin, his hazel eyes lighting up with recognition and even adoration. Naomi felt something in her recoil in--shame? Or was it guilt? The fact was, she was not the sweet little girl he'd trained with a hydrospanner, the little girl he'd revealed flight sims to. Another lump form in her throat, preventing more words from coming. All she could manage was a word. "How...?"
The man snorted. "That damned X-X-X---the chief, I thinks he had the, uh, the generator rigged, see? I may not be all that savy with them uh, new-fangled engines an' all that new crap, but I know my way around a freighter's innards, missy. I spots this d-d---this bomb, and I know that i'm bein' punished for bein' all cozy with you", he said with a shrug. "So I hopped the uh, the um...", he snapped his fingers, his bad memory seeking dusty, forgotten data. "Oh! The service shuttle to the planet! I 'die' on the uh, the dock and yet I don't. Haw!", he crowed, giving her a grin. Naomi snorted.
"So...you changed your identity, obviously...but...you reapplied with MSR?", she asked increduously.
The man shrugged again. "It's good work, I love the uh, the crew and the work...'sides, old man Monoe don't even knows my face. ANYWAY", he bellowed, drawing the disproving glares of the drunkards around him, "I heard see, from uh, the uh, foreman...who come from Monoe's office, the man's all steamed, screamin...says that lil' ol' Nayo done blasted that Huttdung Teverian". Naomi swallowed, but nodded. The man slapped his knee. "Fantastic!! Always knew them rotted little Huttwads would end up under your, uh, your...", he trailed off.
"Um, Harkan, you called me here...?"
"Oh, right! Right, right. I gots this here order from on high to uh, prep the Miss Monoe's private yacht, see...for uh, long-scale flight into Imp Space. The Corusca Wing, hell of a ship. Hyperdrive alone costs the same as a well-weathered freighter, shields and all that flashy--". Naomi coughed politely, feeling impatience begin to work on her sense of nostalgia. "Oh! Right, sorry little miss. Anyway, I figured...I figured you'd wanna do 'er in, like you did Teverian. Seems like old deeds bein' rectified...an' I certaintly can attest to their scumbaggery, heh. So uh...yea, here...". He slid a flimsy, cheap datapad across the table to her.
Naomi plucked it up, narrowed her eyes. She brushed strands of fire-red from her face, surprise alighting upon her pale features. The datapad contained a list of what the ship should be stocked with, how much fuel was necessary--MSR mechanics were trained to be very anal about efficiency--and the coordinates, hyperspace routes and destination to be programmed into the Navcomp. Naomi felt the stirrings of that insatiable beastly rage. Vehemence was quickly replacing her calm and her impatience. She held in her hands the navigations to her sister's whereabouts...she held the first step towards her next goal. She looked up, her eyes locking with the old man's.
"Go get her, Nayo. Get her good".
