Spurred by the Imperial Toe

[Nilk]

Nilk strolled the streets of Mos Elsey, looking about as casual as anyone else in the crowded alleyways of criminals, thugs, and scavengers like himself. Which was to say, not casual at all. His hooded gaze swept from side to side, one hand constantly patting his various pouches to ensure their safety, despite being zippered and latched onto his sash and belt. His other hand's position added to the tension; it rested on the holster of his blaster pistol. Jawas were by no means allowed to carry firearms, and were lucky if they did not have their junky, cobbled-together ionization blasters confiscated. Owning a dangerous, humanoid-killing weapon like a blaster pistol was an act of outright defiance, outright rebellion.

The thought pleased him in a strange way, but he did not let it cloud his judgement. There will always be someone with a bigger gun, Nilk, and you yourself will almost never be bigger then that other someone physically. You must be discreet! That's what his father had told him when he had lived in a sandcrawler with his tribe...a quiet, simple life. The fact that his eyeline reached only the waistline of a passing stormtrooper seemed to prove his dead father's point, and Nilk kept his face down, looking for junk left behind or a foolish man's pocket to pick. Suddenly, a commanding voice spoke out. "Stop! Jawa! Stop!"

Nilk turned, hand tightening on the handle of his pistol. The stormtrooper he had passed was now facing him, a large blaster rifle tucked under his arm. There will always be someone with a bigger gun...You must be discreet! Nilk gave his actions no more thought, and acted on instinct. Imagining the Stormtrooper as a Tusken Raider, as one of the fierce Sand-People that had slaughtered his tribe as a child, Nilk jumped to the left, between the hulking shapes of an enormous Bloxian and an impossibly tall Nagai.

Nilk pointed the blaster up towards what was now a Tusken in his mind, and uttered a single cry as he puleld the trigger. "Utinni!" The blaster fired, the laser shot connected with the man's helmet and passed through, and he fell dead. Immediately, yelling and jammering broke out, armed people on the street were pointing fingers in every direction at other armed individuals, and more fights broke out. In the chaos, Nilk fled to the market, slipping his pistol into his robe to hide his identity. When he reached the market, the Jawa gone outlaw mingled with the others, and the Stormtroopers, now on furious patrol and searching for him, could not identify him.

-----------

Three days later, Nilk's mind was set. He'd had about enough of hiding from authorities, and a few other Jawas had found out who he was. There was always the risk that they might give his name for hope of payment and a better life then desert-searching in sandcrawlers. That night at midnight, Nilk went out to the house at which some troopers were staying the night while their fellows patrolled the city. His rodent face twisted into a snarl under his hood. Taking his ionization blaster out from his robe, he settled himself in a small clump of arid, leaveless bushes and waited.

An hour or so later, a trooper was coming in the distance on a speeder bike. Nilk aimed carefully as he got closer, and waited until he was exactly 12 meters away...then fired. The machine's engine was disabled immediately. The surprised trooper leapt down, cursing quietly, and bent down to inspect his bike. Nilk took his pistol out and moved forward silently, giving the man a shot to the back of the head. He fell without a cry.

After a short while, the effects of his device wore off and Nilk was tearing through the desert on his new speeder-bike, feeling like he was captain of every sandcrawler on Tatooine and bossing Jabba the Hutt around.

[Nilk]

After three days of desert travel, the effects of his "grand" escape were at last beginning to weight on Nilk. The young Jawa had thrown away a comfortable lifestyle, and one that he received shortly after having his first comfortable lifestyle removed. He had been given a second chance in life, and he had ruined it.

But the thrill. He had shot down Imperial Stormtroopers, stolen their speeder bike, and gone off into the blue. The Jawas in town would be whispering his name to each other, aboutthis newest Jawa-legend, about the one that rose up...about Nilk!

Filled with glee once again, Nilk was just going to turn up the speed on the bike when it began to whine, like a droid at the end of it's power cell. It was much like that, only it was a bike at the end of it's power cell. The conclusion was the same, however much Nilk tried to avoid it in his mind: his bike was not going to move anymore. He was now on foot, in the desert, with little supplies. Desperately pouring a bit of moisture-retaining solution on his robes, and having a quick drink from his cantine, Nilk began to walk, not entirely sure where he was going.

When the walk was over, he was not certain how long it had been or how many mirages he had ambled toward only to have them disappear, or move farther and farther away the closer he got until he gave up. Still, he approached vision after vision, despite his growing fear that they would all be illusions, that even the mountains and boulders were illusions, and that there was nothing but sand, constant, endless sand.

It was in this state of stupor that Nilk suddenly came over a dune and saw what looked like yet another mirage. A small, makeshift building had been constructed, and figures roamed around carefully. As he began his tired appraoch, he was immediatly pointed at by a watchman he had not noticed, camoflauged perfectly with the sand and bushes he sat beside. The humans, for so Nilk could now see they were, were all talking. Some of them carried guns. As a sign of peace, the Jawa took out his own blaster pistol and ionization blaster and pointed them barrel-down, his arms open wide in passive submission. A few of the men came forward and (not too gently) brought him into the building, where he was lain in a hammock and watched over by a wary fellow in a soldier's uniform. He didn't look like anyone from the Imperial, though...Rebels?

Nilk's heart lifted. Rebels! He was among his own now, or so he supposed. He knew very little of them except that they often employed the local smugglers in Mos Elsey, and that they openly defied the Imps. Nilk looekd at his weapons, which were behind the man who watched him silently, on a table that was littered with other oddments; maps, tools, even a grenade.

"You ready to talk, Jawa? You've wandered into our camp, in obvious need of care, making signs that you come in peace. We understand you come in peace. But why do you come in the first place?"

Nilk's fuzzy mind pieced the words together and he replied in his native tongue of Jawaese, which obviously baffled the human, sounding like a string of gibberish. Fortunately, his translation-droid popped it head out of a pocket and spoke. "Translation: I flee Mos Elsey. I killed Imperial Stormtroopers when they tried to arrest me, and have stolen one of their bikes to escape. I am in need of food and water."

The man, suddenly fairly sympathetic, gave him both and pressed him for more. "Btu why come to us?"

Nilk munched a piece of dry bread thoughtfully, then spoke in the best Basic he could, his mind having cleared a bit. "No...no, not know. Found, chance."

The man nodded. "Will you be on your way soon then?"

Nilk shook his head, and the man raised an eyebrow. This time, the Jawa went back into his own tongue, and the droid translated. "It has occured to me that joining the Rebels may be the best option. I have some skill in stealth and marksmanship, and I am a skilled mechanic, working mostly with old droids, older vehicles, and completely outdated weaponry. But I can learn more."

The man rubbed the stubble on his chin thoughtfully, an amused glint in his eyes. "A Jawa in the Rebel Alliance, huh? Well, we'll see if it can be arranged."

Nilk was led down a ladder, his weapons carried by the man who had questioned him, and brought before a large door. The man knocked respectively. "Someone here to see you...wants to know if he can join us."

[Dasquian Belargic]

The door swung open to reveal a dark room. Like the rest of the encampment, it had an earthy smell, though thankfully much cooler than the world outside. “You're late,” a voice said. As Nilk's eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw that there were a number of people in front of him, crowded around a crude stone table. Most of them were human, but there were a couple of aliens too. They were all sitting beside bundles, that looked to be made up of all of their essential belongings.

“Come in, sit down.”

The Jawa was ushered inside by the first man he'd spoken with. It seemed that Nilk had arrived just in the middle of something. All eyes were on a tall dark-skinned man, who appeared to be in charge of the meeting. Nilk gathered quickly that it was a gathering of recently recruited Rebel sympathizers much like himself, who all wished to commit to supporting the Alliance. Their loyalty was going to be tested immediately.

“As I said, you are all heading to Pii IV, which as you may or may not know is right smack in the middle of an Imperial blockade. We've got a contact stranded there who needs help shifting some cargo that's important to the Rebellion. You'll be leaving out of Mos Eisley in roughly three hours. Do we have any questions?”

[Nilk]

"You're late." From the looks of things, Nilk certainly appeared to be.

He took in the environment of the room pretty quickly: the way the group was standing reminded him of swap meets between tribes. This was a gathering of some sort. The dark-skinned man with an obvious air of command was giving orders. It took only an instant to figure it out: here were recruits just like him. They were receiving their mission...right now? Nilk had hardly walked in the door! Then again, that figures, he thought. Hasn't it always seemed to work out that way?

He snapped himself to close attention as the man explained the mission. “As I said, you are all heading to Pii IV, which as you may or may not know is right smack in the middle of an Imperial blockade. We've got a contact stranded there who needs help shifting some cargo that's important to the Rebellion. You'll be leaving out of Mos Eisley in roughly three hours. Do we have any questions?”

Nilk had a few, but he dismissed most of them as stupid; or worse, challenging to the man's authority. So he only nodded, looking around at his new allies -his new tribe- with interest. Most of them did not regard him with quite so much interest. That'll be my scent...and my clothes' scent. For such weak-nosed creatures, humans sure are picky about what they're smelling.

The heavily assorted company headed out, Nilk with only a vague idea of where they were going. The man handed him his weapons back. Transportation had not been mentioned. Before he turned to go, he second-guessed myself and shot two quick questions to the dark-skinned man in Jawaese, the droid translating quickly. "What do we need to get through, and what is our mode of transportation?"

[Dasquian Belargic]

“All of your transportation has been arranged,” the man replied, his arms crossing over his chest. “Agent Keterick will accompany you all for the duration of the mission. Follow him to Docking Bay 92.”

Keterick was one of the men Nilk had seen skulking about outside the construct. From a distance he appeared human, but up close two little horns were visible poking through his shaggy hair. His face, tanned by many days spent in light of Tatooine's sun, was marked with thin, angular tattoos. He wore khaki fatigues, with a white poncho draped around his shoulders. He struck an impressive figure against the sand dunes. “Follow me!”

The group number eight in total, including the Rebel and Nilk himself. There were five other humans - four men and one woman – plus a pair of Rodian's, who lagged a little behind the others. “What's your name, mate?” Keterick asked, looking back to Nilk. He spoke with a slight Concord Dawn accent, unusual for an Iridonian.

[Nilk]

The man in charge informed him that they had both transportation and an agent with some experience. Nilk nodded, relieved, and left the building, quickly patting his robes to ensure he had his weapons. Those were the worst possible thing to forget or lose when you had just volunteered yourself to the Rebel Alliance, which effectively put your life in jeoprady and was likely complete suicide if you were unarmed.

The seven recruits were joined by what first looked like a human, but was revealed to have horns as he drew closer. Nilk had seen a few of his kind around before, and had once heard of the late Sith Apprentice Darth Maul, which helpd to identify him as a Zabrak. He told them to follow him, and Nilk moved forward, the Humans not far behind and the Rodians not far behind them.

"What's your name, mate?" Agent Keterick asked. He had a very interesting accent that Nilk couldn't identify.

"Nilk," he replied. "This job hard, yes? No?" Nilk questioned the mission's difficulty best he could, obviously nervous and slightly afraid. He tried to fight the fear, knowing he had given the emotion up (or tried to), but the feeling stuck. This would be more then just shooting the guards that came for you and fleeing; this was an organized infiltration of Imperial property.

That thought made the fear a little exciting, too.

[Dasquian Belargic]

“Could be. We'll worry about that later, though. We've got to get off Tatooine first.” Keterick grinned. As they came closer to Mos Eisley, he had the group split into smaller parties. Keterick took the lead, with the others following behind at intervals. The two Rodians were stopped for questioning by a Stormtrooper, but managed to avoid being detained too long and arrived at the docking bay with the others in time to leave.

“Everyone, this is Johnston. He's going to be our pilot.”

The pilot nodded in greeting. “Follow me...”

The group boarded the bulk-freighter and were escorted quickly to the cargo hold.

“This is where you're all going to be spending the journey,” Johnston explained, giving one of the many crates in the room a thumping pat on the side. “Hope none of you's afraid of small spaces.”

Looking around, the group could see that the hold was almost full of crates identical to the one that Johnston was leaning against. They were marked with packing labels that said they were full of freeze-dried vegetables going to the colonies on Pii IV.

“Each of you's is gonna be packed into one of these. Don't worry. We gots them padded, and you'll have food and air. You just got to make sure you don't make any sounds, or try to get out before I tell you, alright? When it's time to come out, I'll knock on the lid three times.”

“Won't they scan the ship on arrival at Pii IV?” said one of the recruits.

Johnston gave his nose a knowing tap. “Thought of that already. Don't worry. Far as they know, you're all just a lot of cabbages.”

“It's going to be a four-hour journey, but I'm sure you can all do it,” Keterick said, noticing the worried looks dawning upon some of the groups faces.

“You'll be fine,” Johnston added, with an assuring grin. “Now then... let's get you all settled in and comfortable.”

[Nilk]

The Zabrak man was not overly clear, that much was sure. Then again, I certainly didn't expect it all to have an instruction booklet. As Keterick noted that they first had to get off the planet, it occured to Nilk that this would be his first time leaving his homeworld. For that matter, he had never heard of any Jawas leaving Tatooine at all. His excitement growing, Nilk tried to sober himself by remembering that this would not be a casual jaunt off to some big city with tourist attractions and fancy dining. This was a dangerous mission, this was business. The solemn duty of it all smothered his outward excitement, but inwardly, he was immensely proud of himself and eager to begin.

The group entered Mos Elsey without trouble and in no time at all were aboard the docking bay. A pilot named Johnston led them into their ship, a bulk-freighter headed to Pii IV. In the cargo hold, it was revealed that their travelling would be uncomfortable at best. They would be stuffed into crates of frozen vegetables, masquerading as cabbages. It held a simplicity that the Jawa could appreciate, but it was at the same time planned-out efficiency. His confidence undeterred by the cold and cramps sure to come, Nilk climbed into a crate and hugged his knees to his chest. Well, I guess I'm better off then the humans. Waste of flesh realy, to be that big and all. Nilk smiled under his hood and settled in as the lid was closed over him.

--------

It had felt like more then four hours to Nilk when he clambered, shivering, out of his crate. The vegetables hadn't gotten any less cold during the trip and his joints ached. He had nearly cried out in joy when he heard those three knocks on his lid. Stretching and rubbing his arms to warm up, Nilk looked around at his surroundings. He was in a large warehouse, the other recruits looking equally or moreso shaken as they emerged from their hiding places. Keterick alone seemed unaffected by the voyage. Experience pays off. Nilk patted the pocket containing his blaster to reassure himself and joined the other recruits gathering around Keterick as he brought the last of them out of their crates. Nilk was first to speak the thought on all of their minds.

"Where go now?"

[Dasquian Belargic]

(OOC: Apologies for the delay, Nilk. I hope you're still around and wanting to continue :))

“We've got to get to the Maze bar. That's where our contacts are.”

There was no time to delay. The party risked arrest by Imperial troopers if they did vacate the area quickly, so Keterick was eager to part ways with the pilot. He lead they way from the docked freighter to the bar. Although it didn't appear particularly large from the outside, the bars interior seemed to stretch on for quite some distance.

As they stepped inside into the half-dark, the Rebel hopefuls looked to one another with trepidation. The bar was packed with spacers and aliens of all kinds. It appeared that there were no booths or tables, just raised bar sections with stools surrounding them. Many of the walls were mirrored and it was difficult to tell where the real bar ended and the reflection began.

“Well, now we know where this place got its name from,” said one of the new recruits.

Keterick chuckled, nodding. “It's the ideal place for this meeting.”

The Rebel Agent lead on as they winded through the crowds, trying not to get lost or lose any one member. Eventually it was apparent that the bar was narrowing, and the group found themselves approaching a pair of booths. As they did, a cloak figure watching them muttered something into comlink. A short bug-eyed creature stared up at the party, wondering if he had seen them before.

One of the booths was occupied by two particularly shady looking aliens. One was a large, green brute with bulging muscles and yellow eyes; the other was a smaller furry creature with a blue nose and scars across his cheeks. The large green alien snorted, rising up from his seat as the group approached, grunting something in an odd alien tongue. The little furry alien got up too, offering to translate: “Grugarsk says he doesn't like your face,” he said, looking up at Keterick. “I don't like it either. You better watch yourself... with a face like a ropnid's underbelly, you probably get into a lot of fights.”

Out of nowhere, the green alien – Grugarsk – threw a punch, knocking Keterick to the floor. The recruits panicked, some of them making an immediate bolt for the exit. Those who stayed were suddenly engulfed in smoke, as a grenade exploded nearby. As the cloud of smog spread, the remaining Rebels felt themselves pulled forwards. Rather than hitting a table or the wall, they found themselves being pushing into a stairwell. They fumbled down the steps, following Keterick's voice.

“You made it!” called another voice, through the smoke. The cloud began to clear and the now smaller group found themselves in a cellar beneath the Maze, being greeted by fellow Rebel sympathizers.

[Nilk]

((Don't worry about it. I'm still around. :p ))

Keterick said they were going to the "Maze", a bar somewhere on the planet. They wasted no time, bustling off at a quick pace. Imperials could make an arrest at any time. When at last they arrived at the bar, Nilk felt a mixture of confusion and greed take him. An illusion had been made, using mirrors, obviously creating the bar's namesake. It looked far larger inside then on the outside. The effect was very disorienting and likely expensive, fueling Nilk's envy. He tried to remain professional, one hand in his pocket and resting on his blaster.

As the group slipped through the crowds, Nilk turned his hooded face from side to side in worry. They were getting looks, and he distinctly saw someone mutter a message on his comlink. This could get bad. Nervously, Nilk closed his gloved fingers around his pistol tightly, a finger on the trigger. As Nilk was suspiciously looking at the alien with the comlink, a brutish-looking green alien grunted something that was without doubt unfriendly. A smaller, rather less tough looking alien with fur translated. Nilk had been right...nothing friendly was being said. After the smaller one gave his own insult, the enormous thug threw a punch. Panic followed, with recruits simply dashing out.

Nilk had drawn his pistol as soon as the brute raised his arm. He shot at the smaller, furry alien, aiming for the face. Before he could see if he had hit anything, a grenade's detonation wreathed the situation in smoke. In the chaos, Nilk grabbed a human recruit's leg and followed with the others as they were pushed down a stairwell and into a clear room. Rebel sympathizers were greeting them. Noone seemed to be addressing the fact that they were a fair bit smaller of a group then they had been just a moment ago.

Nilk stuffed his pistol back in his pocket as one of their new friends (so the Jawa thought of them) filled them in.

"Alright, the contact is hiding out with his cargo in an abandoned docking bay. His shutle in not functional, and Imperials could arrive on a routine inspection at any moment. For all we know, he may already be in captivity, assuming he would not have a chance to contact us for help before being captured and having his link confiscated. The cargo includes rations, weaponry, and even some stolen Imperial intelligence files. It is imperative that it is recovered, hopefully along with our contact. You need to head west and down several alleys, the route is marked on this map." The human man gave a detailed map of the area to Keterick. "After that fight, we could have Imperials here at any time. Get moving." The sympathizers said nothing more, splitting up and striding off at a quick pace.

The group moved off again, Keterick striding at the lead, sometimes checking on the map. The streets were mostly empty or deserted in this part of the city, as they neared abandoned mills or ports, failed businesses with "For Sale" signs surrounding them. They winded through narrow alleys, nearing the bay where their contact waited (hopefully).