The White Zone is for the Immediate Loading of Passengers Only

[Hunk]

Home sweet home. It was cramped and smelled like a wet dog, a sick dog, and a dead dog, all rolled into one; but the Ghtroc 720 was home. He had spent the last two nights in a clean, if painfully austere room while the Red Tail was on layover here on Ossus, awaiting an outbound shipment. His days, on the other hand, had been thoroughly occupied trading stories with the old barkeep at the cantina and shooting dice with construction workers. It had been nice to not fear for his life for a few days, but his wandering spirit (as well as the lack of attractive, available women here) made this a welcome departure. He wanted to be back in the air. He wanted to be back in space.

Whistling merrily, Hunk sauntered up the loading ramp, ducking his head to avoid the low-hanging bulkhead. Behind him, the Alliance technicians were finishing the maintenance work on the ship. Behind them, Kyp was having a conversation about something with the foreman. At the top of the ramp, the big man looked towards the rear of the ship.

"Yo Anton, you aboard?"

From the smell, he was pretty certain T'Kreet was.

[Anton]

"Yeah, just securing these droids."

Anton and T'Kreet were busy fastening a 4-wheeled cargo-handling droid into its bay. Anton passed a strap over the droid's frame to T'reet, who attached the end to an anchor on the floor. The two had been hard at work loading up their inventory for the departure.

All in all, the visit to Ossus had been a very fulfilling one for him. The majority of his time had been spent with one Suriyesh Rajinaathra, the settlement's resident mechanic. Anton found the nehantite to be quite brilliant and hoped the two would meet again in the future so they could collaborate on a project.

Anton could still hear Hunk in the front of the ship, tossing his duffel bag into his sty of a berth. The man sounded like Fambaa lumbering around.

[Kyp]

"Listen, Buddy, I don't care what that big-eared Major wrote down in her report. I've been trying to explain to you, her *advisements* are nothing but a bunch of trumped up nit-picky bantha crap. You and I know there's nothing wrong with that ship and I have appointments to keep."

In truth, Anton was starting to get a little nervous. It was all cleverly hidden, but The Red Tail *was* carrying a fair amount of illegal cargo. Every hour spent sitting here on this landing pad was an hour when either the Alliance or the Cizerack got a little too curious. None of this, of course, was the fault of this poor dock foreman, who was simply doing his job and responded with a helpless shrug. With nothing to do but wait it out, he leaned against a nearby polymer barrel and waited for the workers to finish their inspection of his ship.

Anton was simply having a bad day. He was hoping to unload some of their droids here on this backwater planet; surely, he'd thought, the Alliance and the Jedi could use all the help they could get to build this settlement. Unfortunately, he was only able to sell a pair of droids: a serving droid to the owner of one of the cantinas, and a maintenance droid to one of the Alliance construction workers. Bunch of cheapskates, these Jedi were. If it weren't for the fat paycheck they'd be getting from the Alliance for delivering the agri-droids, he'd have called the whole trip a waste.

Strike that, the sandwich he'd bought at the local sandwich place had been incredible. Honey-roasted shaak with Alderaanian cheese. DAMN was it good. It never failed - those hole-in-the-wall joints always had the best food.