Tools to Work the Land

[Kyp]

Freighter 'Red Tail', you are cleared for landing at pad One-Sigma. Descend to 10000 meters and approach from vector three-two-seven-mark-one-eight-one. Welcome to Ossus.

It was the friendliest greeting Kyp could remember getting in some time. It was nice being back among good, honest people again. Around two years back, he, an honest businessman, had ended up taking over this ship from a criminal syndicate (long story, that). As a result, he'd ended up sitting on a large shipment of spice and military-spec guns with an angry syndicate looking for him. They (they being his brother, their Jawa associate T'kreet, and the large gentleman flying the ship, appropriately named Hunk) hightailed to Vaynai to lay low and try to unload some of their merchandise to make some scratch. They'd almost succeeded in completing a deal when it went all tits up. Culminating in a Mexican standoff, a bunch of drunk people, local authorities, and an foodstuff that emitted the most incredible and especially noxious gas.

Thankfully, the particular Black Sun agent they'd been dealing with hadn't lost anything in the deal and was merely annoyed with the situation. Severely annoyed. Really, probably not annoyed enough. If things had gone differently, Kyp had no doubt they would have never gotten off the planet. Of course, if things had gone different differently, they'd have sold all the illegal cargo they had for a tidy sum and would be living comfortably right now. Instead, their lives had been about as easy as the approach to this landing pad. That's what happened when you stole from second-tier crime syndicate, got blacklisted by The Black Sun, and didn't know what the hell you were doing in the world of organized crime.

The ship shuddered as Hunk brought it around to the designated coordinates. The sudden change in acceleration sent Kyp tumbling to the ground for the third time since they'd entered atmosphere.

"Hey, Hunk, you want to maybe not kill us here? When did you forget how to fly?"

[Hunk]

Freighter 'Red Tail', you are cleared for landing at pad One-Sigma. Descend to 10000 meters and approach from vector three-two-seven-mark-one-eight-one. Welcome to Ossus.

Hunk brought the ship about to the designated altitude and vector. It dipped and weaved like a drunk at bar time.

"Hey, Hunk, you want to maybe not kill us here? When did you forget how to fly?"

"Ya ever gone ice skating?"
Kyp's blank look answered the question with a resounding no.
"Well, it's difficult. Now imagine skating with my Aunt Bernice on your back."
Another blank stare.
"She's gigantic. It would suck."

Hunk wrestled the ship back under his control, compensating for the cargo they were hauling. "See, the Ghtroc-720 ain't built to carry this kind of load, which is why your brother had to install those cargo clamps on the belly himself. They don't belong there. We must look ridiculous. And those beefed up repulsorlift generators we installed last month are keeping us in the air, but the slightest touch..."

He tapped the control stick to the right an inch, sending the ship careening and knocking everyone to the ground again.

[Kyp]

Kyp pulled himself off the ground for the fourth time since they'd entered atmosphere.

"To tell the truth, I'm just a little miffed you've never taken us to visit your family. Didn't you say you were born around these parts? Also your analogies are horrible." Kyp settled in to the captain's chair, anticipating that the ride wouldn't get any smoother as they got lower. "And I'm sure your Aunt Bernice is a lovely woman. I hope to meet her some day."

The ship dropped a few hundred feet in a few seconds and Kyp's stomach leaped a corresponding distance up into his throat.

"Assuming I survive this, that is."

Out the viewports, the planet's surface began to peak out through gaps in the cloud cover. Much of Ossus was a barren wasteland, supposedly because of some natural disaster in the past. But a few patches, like the region they were now approaching had been reclaimed by the planet's native flora and fauna. The Red Tail was delivering cargo to a settlement of Jedi somewhere in all that green, being helped by the Alliance. Kyp never really had much use for The Alliance. The Empire either. As far back as he could remember, he hadn't given a crap about this war. As long as whoever was in charge didn't interfere too much with him running his shop, he was fine with them. His shop was gone now and all he had was this ship, but the same principle still applied. Hunk, on the other hand, had apparently flown with the rebels for a while, including the big battle a few years back where the Emperor and his attack dog Vader were both killed. Even so, Kyp didn't get the impression that Hunk was driven by idealism either, so much as by some thrill-seeking urge. Thanks to some contacts Hunk had in the Alliance who still remembered him and were pleased to hear he was still alive, some sweet talking on his own part, and a low low price, they'd managed to get the contract.

They dropped below cloud cover and Kyp could just barely manage to pick out the small landing zone they were headed for in the distance. Though it was ostensibly a Jedi settlement, it was the Alliance and their new Cizeri allies that were building the place and administering things, for the most part.

Oh crap, Alliance. Military. Kyp activated the intercom and paged his brother, who was down on the lower deck. "Hey Anton, make sure the welcome mat is put away and hidden. I don't think this will be a welcome mat sort of deal."

[Anton G]

"Hey Anton, make sure the welcome mat is put away and hidden. I don't think this will be a welcome mat sort of deal."

Without looking up from the screen he was studying, a bespectacled young man down on the lower deck reached back and hit a rocker switch. A whirring sound and a series of thunks could be heard from the neighboring room, letting him know he'd hit the right switch.

He was performing a delicate balancing act, routing power here and there, trying to keep the repulsorlift generators running within the operational range. The main generator could handle the power demands of the newly upgraded system, but the ships wiring and power couplings could not. Bar and numbers danced about the screen as he monitored the various circuits, shutting them down ad bypassing them when they were reaching their limits. Every fire of the thrusters, every gust of wind, every time the CO2 scrubbers kicked in or a water pump activated, the power balance shifted and he had to compensate. Deactivating the welcome mat resulted in a noticeable power drain and kept him on his toes. It was another one of the systems that had been altered or, in this case, added to the ship since the brothers had taken it over.


After they'd run afoul of the Black Sun, they had to travel down other avenues to unload the illegal spices and weapons that filled the Red Tail's cargo bay. They sought out minor systems passed over by the larger crime organizations and took their chances on planets where the Alliance or the Empire had a strong presence. Wherever they went, they generally had to deal with the second tier criminals. The guys that were reckless and often less than professional. Being relative novices in the drug and weapons trade, the brothers, Hunk, and their T'kreet, their jawa associate, had to find ways to cover their asses. That was where the welcome mat came in. A good portion of the DLT-19 rifles they'd discovered had been disassembled and reconfigured into stationary guns and concealed within hidden compartments in the cargo bay. Buyers were brought on-board to examine the goods before the deal went through. If things went south, if some tough guy thought he could pull a blaster on the lightly armed sellers and get a complimentary sample, they rolled out the welcome mat. The guns locked on to any foreign life signs and were programmed to fire as soon as the first shot was fired. Never did they use the welcome mat to rob the buyers. They were, after all, honest businessmen. Even if their goods were less than legal.


The name, he felt, was warranted. The crew of the Red Tail always felt very welcomed on the ship.

[T'Kreet]

In the port cargo hold, T'kreet braced herself against a door frame as the ship lurched again. She dearly hoped she would survive this trip; it would be a shame to reunite with the brothers for the first time in months only to end up as a crater on the surface of this planet. She doubted the small amount of padding provided by her roughspun brown robes would mean much if they hit the ground at 100+ meters/s. Thankfully, the droids surrounding her were all secured, tied and clamped down snugly to the floors and bulkheads, so she didn't have to worry about one of them falling on her.

The withdrawal of the bay's stationary guns into their specially shielded compartments startled T'kreet even though she was well aware of them, having helped install them herself. They must be about to land and drop off their cargo at the Jedi settlement.

Their main cargo lay in the ponderous container strapped to the belly of the Red Tail - a special delivery from the Alliance in the form of a half dozen towering Verpine HT-series agri-droids. While they were presently in a contracted state for transport, when unfolded, the insectile droids stood 15 meters tall. They included four segmented legs providing locomotion and a pair of manipulators. Each was equipped and programmed to complete a wide variety of tasks from plowing to planting to pruning to harvesting. Wonderful examples of Verpine engineering, though they were seldom seen outside of Ithorian herdships.

In the ship's cargo bay lay her secondary cargo: dozens of refurbished droids of various types. These droids hadn't been commissioned by the Alliance, but the hope was that, somewhere in the settlement they were quickly approaching, there would be a market for all of them.

For the past two years, the brothers and the new guy had been keeping a low profile, sticking to run down, frontier ports. T'kreet had caught up with them a few times; sometimes she would hang around for a month or two, sometimes only a day, but she always arrived with a fresh load of parts to sell. And while Kyp and Hunk were out making their deals, Anton had stayed behind, aided occasionally by T'kreet, tinkering, building, improving. Some of the resulting droids looked stock, any modifications being purely internal. There were S19s and R-series astromechs, protocol droids, maintenance droids, medical and pilot droids, survey droids, service droids, and even a battle droid. They rolled on wheels and tracks, floated on repulsors, and walked on two, three, or more legs. Others, however, were monstrosities - custom built to perform a specific task or just because Anton had been inspired. Many of these defied description. Each one, however, no matter the outward appearance, operated at least as good as one would expect from something fresh off the assembly line.

[Hunk]

Hunk eased back on the control stick, bringing the nose of the ship up and leveling her off. A careful goosing of the repulsorlifts , arrested their downward momentum and let her settle down, depositing the large cargo container onto the landing pad. He reached up to the overhead control panel and pulled back on a large, newly installed lever. The ship shook as the clamps were released. Delivery made.

Free of the extra mass, the Red Tail rose up, away from the container. Back down to her fighting weight, she handled like a dream again. More switches were flipped and the cargo clamps retracted as the landing gear was extended. Hunk brought her around and settled down next to the cargo container. Before he could even shut down the engines and lower boarding ramp, industrial droids were rolling onto the landing pad and heading towards the container.

[T'yeellaa Meorrrei]

Around the time that Red Tail made her landing, a Cizerack speeder pulled up to the periphery of the landing zone, offloading a dozen Jaanni'saari marines and one very annoyed Major Verratoa. She marched to the freighter with purpose, barking an order in Cizeri for her troops to secure the offloading droids at once. Whoever was piloting this maverick cargo drop was about to catch an earful from her. Verratoa gave a nod to four of her troopers, and they all walked up the freighter's boarding ramp without delay.

[Kyp]

Kyp stood at the top of the boarding ramp, waiting patiently as it lowered to the ground with a gentle hiss. Behind him, he could hear Hunk running the ship's shut-down sequence with practiced ease. By the time the ramp hit the ground, he could feel the thumping of the large pilot walking down from the cockpit. Anton and T'Kreet were somewhere in the back of the ship, hopefully within earshot.

"Alright, folks, let's get these droids delivered, get signed off so we can get paid, and get our asses to town to see if we can get a drink somewhere," he hollered. "And hurry up. I'm not holding up the transport for anyone!"

He straightened his jacket and started down the ramp, but before he got halfway down, a team of hulking feline troopers started up.

"Hey, what are y-?"

"Where do you thi-?"

The marines shouldered him aside without a word, spinning him around so he could only stare, slack-jawed, as they continued past him and into his ship. His ship! Hunk stepped aside respectfully, though he, too, kept a close eye on them. He was about to chase after him when Hunk cleared his throat, nodding towards the landing pad outside where a smaller feline stood with more troops. The two had developed a keen sense for picking out the person in charge over the past few years of shady deals, and even if she hadn't been surrounded by armed soldiers, she was surrounded by the unmistakable aura of someone who was used to being listened to.

Kyp stepped off the ramp and began to stride towards her. "Hey, listen, lady, I don't know who you think you are sending goons to barge onto my ship, but I don't like it. We're here delivering that crate of agri-bots on behalf of General..." his righteous indignation sputtered to a stop. "Ah, shit, I forget her name."

"Raithal. Major General," offered Hunk from behind him.

"Yeah, her. Her and the rest of the Alliance Army Corps of Engineers. Regardless, what do you say we call back the muscle and we can maybe, I don't know, introduce ourselves."

[T'yeellaa Meorrrei]

Verratoa held restraint on her frown to prevent it from becoming an outright grimace. She could smell Jawa on this ship. It reeked, and the Major took great pains not to take any unnecessary breaths through her nose as she sized up the pair of humans who had crossed her path. They offered up their defenses, they always did, and Verratoa stood as stone-faced as she could through the meaningless name-dropping. Once she was satisfied the smaller human was finished yammering, she looked up at him.

"jI am Majorr Untaaura Verratoa of the Jaanni'saari."

Her blue eyes tracked from Kyp to Hunk, and then back to Kyp, narrowing.

"Arre jyou the Captajin of thjiss vesssel?"

[Kyp]

"You bet I am. Kyp Grenples. And this lunk next to me is my pilot," he tried to suppress a chuckle, "Hamilton and my brother and an associate of ours are still on the ship."

He forced a smile, trying to read her expressionless face.

"Now, isn't that better? Now do you think you could call your boys back from their illegal search of my ship?"

[T'yeellaa Meorrrei]

"jI haven't ssearrched anjythjing, jyet." Verratoa stated flatly, blue eyes appearing almost innocent. "Sshould jI?"

Behind the Major, her marines stood at the ready, the occasional trooper shifting weight on his feet as they looked around. Verratoa calmly produced a datapad, flipping it around so Kyp could see the screen plainly.

"jI count eleven jinfrractjionss - thrree majorr - jincludjing operratjing an jinterrsstellarr vehjicle wjith unsspaceworrthjy modjifjicatjionss and carrjyjing carrgo tonnage bejyond load capacjitjy."

The Major's ears pricked forward.

"Overr the Jedji ssettlement, jI mjight add. Captajin Kjyp Grrenpless, jyou have a long way to convjince me jyou arren't a rrecklesss menace, and jI don't charrm overr a grreassjy ssmjile. Sso, bessjidess the overrwhelmjing ssmell of Jawa pjisss and jyourr exemplarrjy fjirrsst jimprresssjion, whjy sshouldn't jI tosss everrjythjing on thjiss sscrrap heap that jissn't bolted down?"

[Kyp]

"Hold on now, eleven infract-...greasy smi-...wait, Jawa piss?! What do you mean Jaw-?" Ok, she had a point with that one. Even an especially odorous creature like a Jawa could be gotten used to after living together in close quarters for a while. He probably *did* smell pretty bad. Kyp took a few deep breaths to calm his nerves; it was no use losing one's temper in most interactions, and especially not with a tiny bureaucratic automaton.

"Listen, first of all, she bathes when she visits us, and second, she only stinks up the people she considers close personal friends."

He tried to catch a glimpse of the infractions, but settled on addressing the ones she mentioned, unable to read the minuscule text on the pad.

"As for your other objections, the Red Tail's been souped up to handle that cargo. The modifications may not exactly be pretty, and she might ride a little low in the water, but she deal with it, no problem. According to Alliance regulations, those modifications are legal on the condition that the ship's power converters have been likewise upgraded to a grade 6 system, which is the case."

They weren't. The power converters were only grade 5, but there would be no way of confirming that short of tearing the ship down to the frame. Little white lies. Still, it paid to know the law and to follow said laws to the best of one's ability - especially when one was carrying a cargo hold full of highly illegal items.

"So," he continued, "we weren't technically exceeding capacity. And since we clearly made it here without damage to ourselves or the cargo, the modifications seem pretty spaceworthy to me. And my first impression? I didn't really have a chance to make a first impression over the sound of your troops barging onto my ship like we're a bunch of criminals. We were hired. to deliver. that big box of droids. to the Jedi. which we've done. There they sit, undamaged *and*, if I might add, ahead of schedule. "

"In conclusion, you touch *anything* on that ship and I'll file an official complaint with the Alliance provisional government. You have no probable cause and no grounds for the seizure of a single piece of merchandise in that hold."

He smiled a genuine smile. "Now that we have introductions out of the way, Miss. Verratoa, perhaps you can have someone sign off on those agri-droids so we can get paid. And then perhaps we can move on to some additional business."

[Untaaura Verratoa]

"Majorr." Verratoa corrected icily.

However much she bristled at the human's familiar way of speaking to her, he was technically correct. The Jaanni'saari were here under mandate to assist in settlement construction and humanitarian needs. They weren't here to adjudicate disputes or to enforce laws. She could threaten and intimidate however much she pleased, though. The little bits of psychology and social engineering that police enjoyed using to get what they wanted out of people who might otherwise be uncooperative were certainly tactics favored by the Pride Marines. If she could put the fear of Saanjarra into this scruffy-looking forrda and his motley crew, then so much the better. All she knew was that she wasn't going to sit idly by and let some corner-cutting jackass accidentally drop an unsecure cargo load into a building her crews had built.

Still, this Kyp knew exactly how far her authority reached. And he was throwing it right back in her face. She knew enough scum from the smell, and that was beyond the stink of Jawa. Verratoa was nearly certain this human was up to no good. Nobody played that self-aware unless they knew it was in their best interest to figure out how to dance around the spirit of a law by hiding behind its letter.

"Captajin, jI have enough to do herre than to worrrjy about arresstjing everrjy ssjingle perrsson that touchess down wjith a ssketchjy sstorrjy, sso let'ss both do each otherr a favorr. Keep jyourr tonnage underr sspec and fljy rressponssjibljy, sso jI don't have to take half a dajy and explajin thjiss..."

The Major waved the infractions datapad in front of them for emphasis.

"...to the Alljiance harrborr massterr."

[Kyp]

He had just survived a dangerous game, one that could have gone very differently. Imagine the irony, surviving for years among the dregs of society, flitting about the galaxy with a life's sentence worth of cargo, only to be pinched when trying to make an honest delivery. Slowly and evenly he let the air slip through his lips, a breath he didn't realize he had been holding in.

"Major," he said with emphasis, ignoring the datapad and holding her gaze, "the last thing I want to do it cause for you any more paperwork or explanations. You have my word that we won't be breaking any laws on your watch, today or any day in the future. Now, back to the topic of your men on my ship, may I ask them to help unload our cargo? We have big ol' crowd of droids in there and there's a whole town a ways down that road that I expect might be interested in purchasing them."

[Untaaura Verratoa]

Of all the cheek. Now he expected her team to do his grunt work? Verratoa bowed back, ready to let loose a gale worthy of a drill instructor, and paused. Hmm...maybe not such a stupid idea after all. They could clear Kyp's eyesore from the tarmac twice as fast, and a half dozen Cizerack eyes might just even see something in the process that the Captain might regret. The short felinoid let her pent up breath out through flaring nostrils as she tilted her neck just-so allowing a few vertebrae to pop. Another half-turn of her head and she spoke off-handedly to her subordinates.

"Se'i suurraa, na'au jaa ka'kuuthraa'ne sa'a su."

A half dozen boots stamp-clicked together, followed by the same number of voices in unison.

"Rrou'a dra."

Verratoa again looked up at Captain Grenples.

"Usse them. Thejy underrsstand bassjic jusst fjine. Sshow me jyourr manjifesst."

[Kyp]

"Uh, as far as the manifest goes, I don't have technically have a "manifest", per se. We're usually a little more casual about these things. I can...rattle off our current inventory of you really want." And he could, too. He might not be able to build the damn things, but he certainly did know his merchandise. "But really, a lot of them are custom jobs. They don't really fit into any category but 'droid.'"

Kyp could sense the pressure inside the Major rising by the second. "But...we can iron out the details later. Gentlemen, my brother, Anton will show you what needs to be unloaded. Nice guy. Glasses. Should be in the cargo hold."

[Untaaura Verratoa]

The Jaanni'saari nodded in understanding at Kyp's words, filing past the pair as Untauura gawked in a nearly defeated expression. No manifest. Why was she even surprised? Why could you only count on a Cizerack to properly account for things and put them into orderly disposition. And no, she was well and truly past that with this human. She'd rather chew off an arm than help him metaphorically tie his own damned shoelaces. Facepalming, she muttered into her own hand.

"Jusst...whateverr needss offloadjing get jit off thjiss sshjip and off the tarrmac."

She finally looked up at Kyp again, averting her eyes in disgust.

"Therre'ss a...drrojid sspecjialjisst jin camp. Ssurrji..."

Verratoa abandoned the attempt at the alien's name before it even began.

"...A sspecjialjisst. Perrhapss sshe can help put jyou jin orrderr. And a bonuss, sshe prrobabljy won't kjill jyou."