OOC:

Using my personal fighter and droid for this, as I just bought a fighter in ICS. Got permission from Drac to combine these, though only with enough content to satisfy both stories.

The small fighter sat protected in the hangar, secured by a ray shield. He had chartered it for a week and glanced around, checking nervously for anybody who he knew. Technically he was on leave, though for more than his own purposes than for anything else. After chartered trips to border planets, unchartered trips to Imperial Remnant planets, working his way to a neutral planet, then back to a border planet, Fyston had one more trip to go before he was done travelling. He didn't want to be tracked by anybody, least of all the person he was going to meet. Previously he had boarded freighters to get from destination to destination, using a discreet ship transport company to move his fighter to his final destination.

"And now the fun part begins."

He was Xenefious Tsiy, a down on his luck merchant with no ties to any one group. His fake identity had been covered by an associate he knew that was less than friendly with the authorities. Ever since he'd begun his spice habit he'd been introduced to helpful, if aggressive, people. It was to one such organization that was his destination. He glanced down at the unfamiliar flight suit, unaccustomed to the feel of it as compared to his Vast Imperial issued flight suit. The helmet was also tighter than his normal helmet, as the Zabrak who sold it to him had slightly smaller horns and, thus, slightly smaller holes in his helmet. It agitated him, though not past the point of ordering a new helmet and awaiting it to arrive.

He glanced around once more before slipping the helmet onto his head. The look and feel of it was different and Fyston longed for the familiarity of his own equipment. He strode confidently across the hangar floor to his awaiting fighter, an ETA-5 fighter that he'd bought only a few years after his escape from Iridonia. He approached the terminal and an R2 droid wheeled out from behind a nearby storage container.

"Beep wheer blop bip."

"Well I'm here, aren't I? You ready to go?"

The droid gave an affirmative beep and wheeled around, waiting for the ray shields to dissipate. Fyston glanced down at the impatient droid and couldn't help but smile. R2-N8, Nate for short, was an impatient and inquisitive droid that Fyston had picked up only months after his departure from his homeworld. He couldn't bring himself to wipe the droid's memory but focused on the present as the droid accessed the terminal. A mere second later the ray shields fell and the droid sped towards the fighter. Without the availability of the equipment needed to properly load the droid, Fyston made a simple ramp, allowing the droid to get on the ship without problems.

"Remind me to get you some modifications later, alright?"

"Wip bleep bup drooo."

"I'm just saying, it'd make things a lot easier."

Fyston clambered onto the fighter and waited for Nate to pop open the cockpit. A few moments later and the Zabrak dropped into the cockpit, pulling it closed behind him. He strapped himself in, preformed a number of pre-flight checks, and activated the repulsorlifts. The fighter made its way out of the hangar and was quickly on its way into orbit.

One more Hyperspace jump and I'll be on his front door.


______________________________________________________________

Fyston extended the landing gear as he neared the appropriate landing pad. He continued to slow his descent and brought the craft down lightly. He popped the cockpit open and crawled out. A number of unsavory thugs approached him, no doubt interested in him. He unzipped the top half of his flight suit and revealed a DC-15s blaster pistol. He still had a dagger hidden near his ankle but nodded at the thugs as they moved away. He popped off his helmet and tossed it back into the cockpit just before Nate closed it. He pushed a number of flat rocks into a staircase and pulled a board in yet another ramp. Nate popped himself out and wheeled himself down the ramp. Fyston glanced again at the thugs and spoke in a calm, commanding manner.

"You will not touch my fighter. You can look all you like, but if I even think that you've touched it I'll ensure you pay for it."

"But we ain't got no credits, we don't."

"You'll pay in other ways. Let's go Nate."

The droid whirred and set off beside Fyston. It wasn't long before he found himself seated in front of a fat Twi'lek who was known as Grunt. Despite the name, he held a small position of power in a crime syndicate, one that specialized more in drugs than other crimes.

"So, Fy, how may I help you today?"

"It's Fyston. Only friends can call me Fy."

"We are not friends? After I set you up with that cover? It's a shame, my goons leave you alone due to me. I guess since we're not friends they have nothing to fear from harming you."

"Relax, I meant nothing by it. I wish to maintain a professional relationship with my dealer so that I may give him the respect he, that is you, deserve. This avoids me forgetting my place."

"Hmm... you're right. You're awfully smart for a spice addict."

"Thank you, Grunt."

"So, what do you need? More spice?"

"Well, I'd like some information. I've heard through The Maw that you know who is smuggling large amounts of illegal weaponry to Vast Imperial planets."

"The Maw should learn to keep its mouth shut. I'll deal with The Maw later and its gaping black hole for a mouth. I'm unable to share that information with you, Fyston, as my memory is extremely frail and damaged."

"Perhaps I can help repair your memory? Perhaps I buy some spice and promise to spread the word around."

"My memory is beginning to come back. Perhaps more will entice me."

"500 credits sound like enough?"

"That's way too low! How about three thousand?"

"One, tops."

"Two would be sufficient."

"One and a half."

"Hmm... why do you want this information?"

Fyston thought for a minute then smiled at Grunt before glancing down at Nate.

"It's simple. I want in. A lowly pilot like me can't even afford a nice flight suit. Some extra income and you'll make more money. I even promise to cut you a slice."

"Hmm... Without two thousand I can't remember."

"It's a shame. Well, since it won't matter one way or the other, my offer is no longer on the table. I happen to have another associate who knows about this market. He also has better spice for better prices."

The Zabrak stood, making sure to make the credit chips jingle in his pocket. He said his good byes and signaled to Nate that it was time to go and began walking to the door. He had his hand on the primitive door handle before the Twi'lek gave in.

"ALRIGHT! 1.5 and you'll buy some spice and keep coming back."

"Deal, tell me what you know."

"Buy the spice first."

Fyston turned and walked back to the desk of the alien. He withdrew a few credit chips and tossed one on the table. After checking the amount on the chip, the Twi'lek nodded to one of his guards. The Rodian proffered a block of spice, which Fyston promptly took and slipped into his flightsuit. He glanced down at Grunt and raised his eyebrow, expecting the man to begin talking.

"Well, I can't pronounce their name. Here, I'll right it down. They're fairly small, anyway. They're using the profits to fund anti Vast Imperial forces and arm them with whatever they don't sell. These forces aren't well trained and are the minority. When I say minority, I mean it. Very few think what they're doing makes sense, and of those only one or two feel it necessary to sign up."

"Send me a full report of everything you know to my datapad."

"My money, though. I'll have to do it later, but I need my money."

Fyston laid down two more credit chips, which Grunt promptly checked. He sighed with relief and Fyston respectfully nodded before excusing himself. As he and Nate walked out of the dingy room, Fyston sighed with relief. He glanced down at Nate and a smile crept across his face as he proudly began talking to the droid.

"I was worried he wouldn't bite. You got that recorded, right?"

"Woop, woop, beep bip drooo."

"Good. I hope somebody can put this to use. We've got a day to make it back to Vast Imperial space. I've got to secure this again so that nobody suspects I have it. If they do, they'll mess with it and I hate when people mess with my stuff."

The droid made a smart remark as they boarded the fighter. Fyston let out a laugh and realized that his heart had been racing. He slipped his helmet on again, zipped up his flight suit, and started up the fighter. He lifted off in a cloud of accumulated dirt and debris and pointed the fighter towards the night sky.

[ooc]WC is 1528. I really hope I didn't get off topic, but if I messed up I'll be happy to go back and edit it.