Time is Money, Friend (Fook)

[Svenskeren]

Sattle District, Nar Shaddaa.

"I do' wanna be a bova', but I can 'xactly look the odda' way no' can I? Butch canna do me a proppa favor an drop 'him down abit?"

The thug let out a grunt before slamming a boot into the backs of Cleggia's legs. The Rodian cried out in pain and fell to his knees. Now he was on eye level with his three foot tall boss, and was forced to look deep into those big, golden eyes. Drawing deeply on his cig, Svenskeren plucked it from his furry lips and blew the smoke right into the Rodian's milky blue eyes. The coughing fit was cut short by the sudden distraction that was a cig being put out on your forehead.

"Skimmin' da top hurts us all Cleggia. Leukish ain't happy. Since you spent da credits on ladies 'ol Butch here gonna saw off your nads and feed 'em to you. Ta love."

The screams eventually quieted down, leaving Sven alone in the back room of the Nun's Cloister. On the other side of the soundproof wall was a jumping and jiving club filled with sweaty bodies full of overpriced liquor. It was a front for the real business going on; illegal sales out of the back room. A very successful front. Which is why Cleggia's dishonesty was especially unforgiving. He had not just been skimming profit from the black market sales but from the club as well. Such dishonesty and theft was downright disgusting, and Svenskeren would not see Tenloss or Galindas reputation sullied.

That meant removing the cancer and repairing the damage; and the wound was credit shaped. That meant bringing in bigger, better items not normally sold in a shithole like this one, and pushing that product as hard as you can without pissing off the wrong people. Getting the ledger back into the black was the top priority and the reason he was here. Nobody could push deals like a Squib, and Svenskeren was no exception.

Already crates were being brought in. The walls were already covered in all manner of weapons, armor, equipment, and drugs. Whatever the hard desired was either here or could be brought in. For the right price. What was in the crates was the new stuff. Products so valuable that they could not be exactly put on the walls. If they got stolen it would be a blow to his reputation and if they got raided they needed to be mobile enough to be thrown on a speeder and sent away. Good stuff. Yes.

"Unlock da doors. Get some cust'mers in 'ere!"

[Li Ho Fook]

There were clubs, and there were clubs, and the Nun's Cloister was certainly in the category of the former, to Li Ho Fook. Oh, sure, the beats were phat, the drinks ill, and the homegirls hot, and in the Sattle District there might not be a better club. But that was the problem: it was the best club in the Sattle District, and that didn't mean a lot to a galaxy traveler such as the 4'2" Wah. Sick bling sparkled from the gold rings on his black-furred fingers as he lifted his drink - some overpriced concoction made all the more extortionate by the selection of top-shelf ingredients - and took a sip. Acceptable. Not mad, not whack, just acceptable. Just like the club itself.

Despite his bling, his drink, and his clothing - designer label, with all the accessories including dampening mesh to hide the blaster on his hip, as well as an other item disguised as a cylindrical power cell, from scanners - Fook was not there to mix it up or mack on the hotties. No, he was there for business, and he'd already dropped his card into the "Free Drawing!" slot as he'd been instructed. Now it was simply time to sit back, chill, and enjoy his acceptable drink until his "private booth" was ready. The bounty hunter's stock of toys was running low, and in a place like Nar Shaddaa, someone in his profession could get just about anything they needed - for a price.

[Svenskeren]

"What can do you for, la?" Sven asked, looking over the top of the desk he had positioned himself behind. The human gave him a bit of an odd eye, a look that Sven wasn't too keen on, but he let it slide because this was business and nothing personal. He was, in fact, standing on the seat to give himself a better view, but had positioned himself forward, aggressively, with his hands on the desktop, putting him eye to eye with the prospective buyer. This particular human was dressed oddly, with a backwards hat and a white tank top, trousers all scrunched up on one leg and hanging low at the belt. He was a tosser, but a tosser with credits.


"Don'tcha know, dawg? I'm looking for a sweet bit of heat. Somethin' I can hide in my pants and then whip out when I want to cap a few suckas in the ass. You dig?"

Sven's ears noticeably dropped down the back of his skull. This wasn't a client. This was some rich brat wanting to play tough guy in the streets with enough fire power to back up his unintelligent nonsense. A kid like this was just as likely to shoot his own nadgers off as he was to hit an innocent bystander. This was business, and that meant not caring where the product went or how it was used.

"Butch, darlin', get this'n fine gentleman a Corvax Defender. Nice lil' piece, a real beaut. Discreet profile, loud zap. 'Xactly what your looking for. Trust me. Bring in the next one, Seryl."

[Li Ho Fook]

In the club, Fook sipped at his drink and considered macking on the Twi'lek gal just down the bar while he waited. She'd looked his way more than once, so the odds were high that she was interested more than just curious. But any hopes of getting jiggy were dashed as the bartender slapped down a red keycard onto the bar beside his drink.

"Looks like you won the drawing," the bartender said. "VIP Booth just opened up; they'll show you do it."

Fook's little black eyes followed the bartender's nod across the dance floor and its jumping, writhing bodies, to a side door guarded by two very large men dressed in black, wearing sunglasses indoors. Palming the keycard, the Wah pocketed it before laying out the credits for his drink, which was taken with him through the ever-changing sea of dancers until he emerged upon the opposite shore.

"VIP, yo," the diminutive bounty hunter said, fishing the keycard from his pocket. The bouncers said nothing, merely swiping the card and confirming Fook's provided identity before sweeping a sensor wand over him to check for weapons. Twice, the amount of gold he wore set it off, which was clearly frustrating to both parties, but in the end he was deemed clean, and Fook was allowed to pass through the velvet curtain, and the security doors beyond.

Drink still in paw, the Wah made it to the back room in time to see some scrub-ass sucka being escorted out, likely to go and holla at some shorty from the passenger side of his best friend's ride, no doubt. It was only after the wannabe playa was shown out that Fook turned to see his host, and a tiny white eyebrow raised beneath his flat cap when he saw someone shorter than himself. A sip from his drink and he nodded.

"Yo, dig the club, homie," he said. "But I'm here for something that makes a bit more boom than those subs, feel me?"

[Svenskeren]

Sven froze, ears cockeyed, as he deciphered the words that had just been spit to him by the red, white, and black furred creature. After a few seconds the best plausible translation was selected and slotted into place. "Oi, I feel you... homie. You've come t'the right place." He turned his head and nodded to the two burly gentleman within the room with him. Butch, the large human who was made more of pancakes than muscle, but his size still gave him considered power to throw around. The other was a skinny Rodian dressed in an incredibly tight suit who walked with his hips and talked with his hands.

The two of them moved behind Sven where closed, large armoires were opened one at a time to reveal weapons of all sizes and shapes contained within. Each was brightly lit and secured with a force field.

"How much boom are you lookin' for 'xactly, Mr. Fook." He asked while a little smug smirk tugged at the corners of his muzzle. While Xiao Long Bao was the name he gave when asked at the door, it had not taken long to run his face through their extensive database and locate an active Bounty Hunters Guild membership. More results continued to pile up for nearly identical looking creatures with different names. Sven had nothing to worry about. Bounty Hunters were some of his very best customers and as far as he knew there were no bounties on his head. He disliked dishonesty, and wanted every interaction to be as honest as possible. His prices were all honest for the trade with no gouging, no tricks. No one bought arms from Galindas Exports that exploded the first time they tried to use them.

Well, at least not now that Mr. Cleggia was out of the way.

"Golan Arms FC-1 Flechette Launcher. Modified BlasTech DLT-20A Pulse Laser Rifle. Merr-Sonn Munitions Thermal Detonator. FutureTech X7-11 Ion Rifle (http://img13.deviantart.net/5ea0/i/2012/252/6/3/syndicate_concept___riotlance_final_version_by_tor venius-d5e30q1.jpg). Amberlandrax Armaments' Tensor Rifle, which has th'biggest boom." Turning around so that he was sitting on the desktop, he went down the list while pointing to each weapon in it's respective case. It was scratched the surface of the extensive selection of large arms.

[Li Ho Fook]

Fook didn't even flinch as his real name was used, in fact he smiled that his supplier had bothered to do their homework. Trust, yet verify, and all that shit. The fresh leather of his new sneakers creaked softly as he padded forward, paws clasped behind his back, to inspect the display cases, impressed with the variety before him.

"Dag, yo, they wasn't kidding when they said you had choice gats," he said with an appreciative nod. "But, let's scratch them gats you and I both know would be too big for a man of my stature. You know my name, you know I'm a bounty hunter. Half my arsenal is non-lethal, and I'm always looking for some new, cutting-edge shit in that department, but lately I've had some whack time with droids, dig? Ion weapons take out droids, right? Might be interested in some of them. And shellcasters with them explosive rounds." He paused to rub at his white-furred chin. "You think that X7-11 can take an SBR mod, dawg? Maybe folding stock, or at least advanced recoil compensator."

[Svenskeren]

"Shan't be a problem." was Svenskeren's reply. Snapping his finger and pointing sent Butch over to the cases to open the force field with a fingerprint analyzer and password, and then he withdrew the X7; which he handed off to Sven, who took the much too large weapon clumsily in his hands. Standing it up on it's butt, he pointed out the different features of the rifle. "The barrel has boff recoil dampeners and cooling vents to keep ya' shootin'. Da primer spins in'da'pendently so no warmin' up when da shit gets fick, fast. Adjustable stock. Access'ry rails allow for any sights 'o scopes. Dis tube inna front is the power supply. Lil' front heavy. Course not everyone needs a dedicated ion rifle. It comes in cut down and pistol versions, too. (https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/d6/b2/bd/d6b2bdeb561b51caf82037073c19663e.jpg)

I cannot vouch for ther' modi'fication capo'bilities. Da stocks are removable and all but da pistol comes wif access'ry rails. As fer shell casta's, I happen to have a beaut of a piece." Again there was a snapping of fingers and from the cases was retrieved a gaudy pistol. It was bulky for a handgun, with a long, large barrel. The body was silver plated with gold designs interwoven across it's surface, and a leather wrapped grip. To most it was hideous, but to Sven who loved shiny things, it was amazing. "Used 'ta belong to a smuggla' prince. Fully restored, works perf'ectly." He produced a bullet from about his person to show Fook. The bullet was quiet large, and to those familiar with the design, it was a shredder point. "A bullet like dis blows a'hole th'size of a soup plate out th'back. Course, it can handle 'splosive ammunition as well, la."

[Li Ho Fook]

"Hmm, interesting," Fook replied. He studied the shellcaster with great care before his paw reached out to pick it up, hesitating until he got the all-clear. Furry black fingers wrapped around the grip, finding it a bit large, but that was hardly uncommon for a man of his size, and he knew full well it could be adapted. Despite being heavy, the weight was balanced well, and he raised an eyebrow of request prior to being allowed to work the action on an empty chamber. "Bit flash, yo, but interesting. You got extra shells?" he asked, setting the pistol back down.

"I'll take one of the cut down ion rifles, two of the pistol versions, holographic sight for the rifle one." This was going to be an expensive day, certainly, but in his business it often took money to make money. "Need a dozen thermal detonators, five EMP grenades, eighteen proton torpedoes for a FreiTek system, six net cartridges for standard launchers, twenty kilograms compressed Tibanna gas in heavy canon grade, five kilograms of standard blaster grade, two personal shield generators, and an additional power pack for each, if you got 'em."

A smile worked up his face, and he smoothed the brim of his flat cap between thumb and forefinger. "Hook a playa' up with a good deal, maybe we can talk about this here 'caster, too, feel me?"

[Svenskeren]

Sven once again became statuesque as he listened to Fook rattle off his order. His unblinking stare was by no means an indication of a slow mind. Rather, his brain was accessing vast mental databases of all the wears he had on site and at each site nearby in the quadrant. He was also adding up the exorbitant price. It was all coming together in his head to form a neat little distribution plan. Before inheriting this sector he had been a very successful logistical officer for a different Overseer. Moving the product around in an intelligent pattern was almost as important as getting your hands on it in the first place. Product had to be kept moving to keep it from getting impounded, and what doesn't sell in one sector might sell like KFN in the next.

"Nat'rilly, Mr. Fook. I am honored by you patro'nage. Rest assured you will be getting th'very best 'o me prices." He began as he scrounged around his desk to locate a datapad. Turning on the screen he began sending out encrypted messages to his supplies and other black market sites operated by Galindas and Tenloss. "Course, gonna take time t'get all that t'gether. If'n you like, I could bump off a couple more percentages if you would be willin' to do a job fer me. Koovy?"

Reestablishing this sector was not his only priority. Svenskeren had many fingers in my pies and smuggling weapons was not the only business to be had. A lucrative drug deal with Black Sun Vigo Grym Kandle had put an exceptional offer on his plate, and it was already under attack and risking complete failure. A Bounty Hunter like Fook no doubt had the ability to make the problem go away. Sven had tried many other avenues and so far they had all resulted in complete and utter failure. A strange turn of events indeed considering the quarry.

[Li Ho Fook]

"I know the market value on all that shit, dawg, so you ain't gonna play me on the price, feel me?" Fook replied, one of his little white eyebrows raising beneath the brim of his cap. "But this playa ain't so loaded that he won't seek that discount, yo. What's the job? If it takes blasters or cannons, gonna at least need that Tibanna gas up front, dig?"

In his career, Fook had held business dealings with more than a few Squibs, and he knew their penchant for making deals as lucrative to themselves as possible. Sven had come recommended, but that only meant getting through the door for the bounty hunter. A return visit would depend on the bill, and the quality of the merchandise.

[Svenskeren]

The movement was subtle, the slightest canter of his ears backwards as Fook's words scraped across every nerve of his being. There had never been the slightest intention to abuse prices. In fact, he had intended to give below market value prices for such a large order. Such thoughts of goodwill vaporized like ice on the surface of a white star. Sven prided himself on being honest and not abusing his clients. It was what built Galindas Exports the reputation it has in many of the sectors he had overseen in just the last few standard years. They could not threaten Black Sun's hold on the criminal underworld, but they could offer honesty and cheaper prices; a rare commodity in this line of work.

Snapping his fingers his Rodian associate dipped out of the room.

"Th'job, Mista Fook, is to retrieve some goods I lost. They were taken by some tossers, a droid crew. They've gone t'Terminus. I've used every bit 'o me influence to keep 'em grounded and incapable of sellin' me goods, but ain't nobody gonna grease them on my account. That's where you come in. I don't rightly care how you do it, just get me my crates back. You'll be lookin' fer the Silver Knight and it's captain who calls 'imself Mad Black Morty Beepbeepboop. The whole lot of them droids 'ave gone rampant. Dangerous and crazy. Ah, here's Slim now."

The Rodian was back, pushing in a nondescript crate on a repulsor cart. Sven lifted the datapad in his paw back up to eye level.

"That's five kilo blaster grade, ten kilo cannon. S'all I have. My other clients will go without today. The rifle and pistols, and the holo sight. I also 'ave six thermal detonators, th'net catridges, one shield gen with power pack. Th'rest will 'ave to be shipped in. Should 'ave it all ready by th'time you're done wiff Beepbeepboop."

His clientele at a location like this was more in the business to buy weapons, not ammunition and supplies. They were thugs and gangbangers who wanted a big piece to tuck into the waist of their pants so they could pretend to be a big man. Other suppliers took advantage of that and sold fakes or dysfunctional weapons because they were never be used until it was too late to realize they were fault. Everything Fook sold was in working condition. A client that survives is likely to be a return customer. Yes that meant he charged more, but you got what you paid for.

"Would you like that bagged t'go, or dis'creetly sent to your ship?"

[Li Ho Fook]

"I think discretion is best for both of us, feel me?" The Wah nodded. Pressing a button on his wrist computer, he spoke into it. "Yo, G-Dawg, gonna be gettin' some company, dig? Delivery. Open the cargo hold, and offer the deliveryman some refreshment, too."

"UNDERSTOOD, SIR!" A deep voice attempted to boom out of the wrist computer's tinny speaker. "WILL IT BE THE ENTIRE ORDER? THEY'LL NEED ACCESS TO-"

"Partial, G," Fook cut the voice off. "Just accept the crate, I'll sort later, yo. Gots to go."

There was no reply from the other end as Fook tapped the button to terminate the call. Taking a breath, he looked back to Sven. "Apologies, dawg; ship gets a bit talky, dig? But now... Mad Black Morty Beepbeepboop?" Fook's left eyebrow climbed as high as it could. "I just had to tangle with some whack-ass droids, and thanks to you I got the right gats now. Not supposed to take jobs what don't go through the Guild, but as this ain't a bounty, I don't think they need to know. You got the details for this job you can forward me, or am I gonna have t'record voice instruction?" He paused, then added, "To be deleted once the job's complete, naturally."

[Svenskeren]

With every passing moment with the creature, Sven was feeling less and less sure about this entire thing. His dialect and accent continued to grate on his nerves in a way he could not fully explain. Sven did not dislike people on a personal level. Rather he took the proper emotional stance that was expected within this business culture. In short; he was not afraid to get mean with his subordinates. The former owner of this backroom did not get any leniency and had died extremely painfully just moments ago when his testicles were forcibly torn from his body and shoved in his mouth until he pain swallowed them like pills. Then he was kicked until he died. It was better than he deserved. Sven held nothing against the man on a personal level. He had never met him before today, but the job required him to take care of the trash.

Fook was something else entirely. Voices in his head demanded he should shoot it to death and dump the body into a very deep hole, and then fill the hole with durocrete, and then build a church on top of it. However, that was not how Sven did business. He did not shoot, in this case, high paying customers in the back. Still, that did not massage his conscience at all. He still felt like he was looking at a royal cockup in the face, and he had just offered it a job to reclaim extremely delicate cargo. For all he knew the furry red man would find a way to make the whole thing worse. The info he pulled up on Fook said he was capable, but seeing him in person gave an entirely different impression.

"That won't be nec'sarry, Mista Fook, cause I'll be going wif you. A lil', how y'say, insurance. Dem bots are bad business. Gonna need anotha' gun."

What was he saying? He didn't have time for this. He had a business to save and putting himself in danger was not the way to do it. However, perhaps that old saying was right. If you want something done right and so on and so forth. Snapping his fingers caught the attention of his goons, who stiffened in place.

"You hearin' that boys? Yous and me gonna bust some bots with Mista Fook."

[Li Ho Fook]

"Boys?" Fook asked, one of his ears cocking forward in surprise. He studied Sven's underlings, then Sven himself. "Um, dawg, I know an extra gat or two can be plus, but I think you overestimate the size of my ship, homie. Ain't no galaxy cruiser, feel me? 36th Chamber be a modified light Squib freighter. Emphasis on the light​, feel me? How many crates we talkin', and how many of your boys you thinkin', here?"

By his calculation, his storage hold could take approximately ten standard cargo crates, while his living quarters could handle another two in a pinch, though that would leave no room for anyone outside of the cockpit, which was appropriately squib-sized. If Sven had more than that to carry, the dealer was going to have to pony up his own spacecraft for the job.

[Svenskeren]

Sven stopped in his tracks and looked skyward, doing some calculations in his head. He was not overly familiar with Squid starships despite being a Squib himself. Being sold into slavery and all that had not done much to teach him the culture of his people. Still, he had at least a passing interest in the sort of things his people were famous for; the three major ones being bartering, tractor beams, and the starships that allowed them to travel in order to do both. A light squib ship could hold a few squibs, but if you throw a standard size human in there it would muck up the whole cabin and ruin any cargo space.

Damn.

"O'right then. You boys be stayin' here and mindin' the shop, see? I'm going wiff Mr. Fook. Make sure ev'rything is handled correct-like. Percy, be a lamb and fetch me cannon."

The Rodian sashayed away and returned quickly with a weapon case. Unsnapping the latches and opening the container allowed Sven to reach inside and pull the odd looking blaster from the case. It was obviously a blaster rifle based on it's longer stock and forward grip, but it's bulky body was short by human standards. It was clearly designed with the small Squib in mind. "Ever seen a tensor rifle 'fore, Mr. Fook?"

[Li Ho Fook]

The Wah studied the weapon carefully, noting a few components shared with other weapons, but that was where the similarities ended. He'd heard of tensor rifles, and knew that the tractor beam on his ship could be modified to act like a giant one, but he'd never actually seen a handheld one outside of a datalog. Fook kept his position, though his eyes played over the rifle as Sven held it deftly. The compact form factor alone made it appealing, but Fook knew nothing about how to actually use one in combat. Point and shoot, he imagined.

"Only on the holonet," the Wah replied. "Seen a few advertised as 'parts only,' so I ain't never had a proper one. Supposed to be good against biological matter, right? It gonna stand up to droids, fam?"

[Svenskeren]

"It's an acquired taste, and a Squib spec'lty. Real loud, lotsa kick, and heavy damage. It's true its betta' at killin' fleshies, but it does just fine 'gainst droids. Just gotta hit 'em dead center and it'll mash up all their important parts. Makes 'em 'splode. For the right price you can own one of these beauts."

The Tensor Rifle was not going to win any beauty contests with it's unique design that made it look very much like it was cobbled together from spare parts; and in a way it was. Sven owned an original Tensor Rifle built by a real Squib back home, and after taking it apart and reverse engineering the basics of the design, he had made his own, and a few others to sell to the occasional collector. No one wanted to use one of the blasters. They were far too noisy despite their cruel effectiveness. Against a biological being it would disrupt their bodies on a cellular level causing massive cell damage and death. One shot through the chest or head would kill a man a few minutes later when his body realized it was no longer functional.

He had also heard that it was extremely painful to have your molecules torn apart.

[Li Ho Fook]

Fook considered the offer carefully. While it would be nice to have an additional option in his arsenal, the effect of the rifle wasn't one which seemed to benefit his particular line of work. For a bounty hunter, one either needed their target incapacitated and healthy, or dead in an instant. A weapon which delayed its results, and was often lethal, simply didn't have a beneficial role in his armory. That shell gun, on the other hand...

"Appreciate it, dawg, but gonna pass," he replied with a smile. "Not sure I'm ready to take on something new like that, yet. But that shell gun there..." he nodded toward it. "Let's add that, and some explosive shells for it, and we can be on our way, dig?"

For all his smiles and smooth charm, Fook inwardly worried about the task ahead. He was going to be bringing an armed stranger onto his ship, to engage an unknown crew protecting a cargo of unknown legal status. Too many variables, not enough data: it was his least favorite kind of job. Still, it was a job, and a job for a black marketeer, so perhaps it would pay off in the end.

"If'n you're ready, we can go. Time's money, holmes, feel me?"

[Svenskeren]

"Done."

The weapon of choice was pulled free of it's display and handed over to the diminutive bounty hunter, along with ammunition. The transaction was getting more complicated by the moment but it would be all worth it should they manage to retrieve the merchandise. Losing his stake in the Bliss market would traumatize Galindas for years to come, and could even see Sven on the other side of the chopping block for a change.

"Bring the speeder around, Percy."

The Rodian headed out leaving them alone with only Butch standing stoically by the door, his eyes level, looking at nothing in particular. Goons like Butch and Percy only come along once in a rare while. He had gone through a steep vetting process to find them, the perfect amount of dumb, obedient, and greedy. So long as they were being provided with a pay check he had no doubts they would never so much as think about betraying him. Sven treated his underlings well and liked to think they had a bond of trust, but not so much that he would ever not keep an eye on them.

Laying the Tensor rifle down he grabbed one of the ion pistols and slipped it into the holster under his little coat before opening a crate in the corner and selected two matching cylinder objects. "Ion grenade. Real beauts. Only got the two. One fer me and one fer you, Mr. Fook." He tossed the item to his new, slightly taller companion. Grabbing his Tensor rifle again he headed for the back door, with a beckoning wave to Fook to follow. Directly outside the door was the waiting speeder, with the door opened so that they only had to travel a single step outside the building, before climbing inside. "Off we go, Percy. Where you parked, Mister Fook?"

[Li Ho Fook]

The ion grenade was caught deftly in Fook's left paw, the Wah holstering his new shell gun with his right. With a smirk, he looked over the ion grenade, imagining how useful in a previous job it would have been had Segarious Duckets stocked any. His mind was brought back to the present as his new employer led the way to a speeder, and Fook hopped in with ease.

"VIP lot," he said with a nod, and the speeder took off around the corner. Just how a newcomer who wasn't even on the guest list got into the VIP lot was something Sven would have to take up with his underlings at a later time, but true to his word, that was exactly where Fook's ship was parked.

Discretion being the better part of a successful sale, the 36th Chamber had its adaptive camouflage paintwork activated, skinning the entire ship in a matte black finish, except for its mirror-gold windows. It had been a light squib freighter at one point, though only the shell of that ship appeared to remain, its engines replaced by ones much more massive, and the weapons and equipment arrays having also seen significant upgrades. The lower door to its small cargo bay was open, his order being loaded under the watchful eye of Guan Yu's little camera drone.

Upon spotting his master, the ship's AI boomed cheerfully, "AH, WELCOME BACK, SIR! JUST GETTING THINGS LOADED NOW!"

"I feel you, G," Fook nodded. Climbing out of the speeder, he nodded to Sven's toadie who was studiously loading things into the mostly empty bay. "Yo, I'll take that cannon gas, homie," Fook said, extending his paw to take the canister. While waiting for the rest of his goods to be loaded, he wandered around to the nose of the 36th Chamber, and linked up the canister to vent gas into the ship's cannon system. It wasn't as much as he wanted, but it was better than running on empty. That done, he returned to Sven.

"Looks like we're set, yo. Cockpit's up top, we can use the cargo ladder to access it." Jerking a black-furred thumb over his shoulder, Fook led the way into the tight cargo hold, having not oversold its limited capacity. Li Ho Fook was a bounty hunter, not a commercial trader, after all. The bay was sparse, utilitarian, its floors mildly textured for grip, and every cabinet or panel on the walls locked. Beyond that, it was pure grey, a stark contrast to the main cabin above. The access ladder opened into the main living quarters, its hatch covered with plush, deep purple carpeting, which was only the start of the riot of color which was to ensue.

All the trim imaginable was either gold, marble, or exotic hardwood, while the walls were both zebra-striped and patterned with some designer logo in various colors. A banquette of button-tucked purple crushed velvet ran in a C shape around a white marble table, while a massive holovision dominated the wall opposite. Wooden cabinets with striking grain and color lined the back wall, framing a doorway to the rear hatch, while more wood marked the wall leading to Fook's bedroom, and a door to the 'fresher. Even his kitchenette was high-end, with the best appliances and a gold-flaked black granite countertop. Pausing just long enough to remove his shoes, Fook padded on through into the cockpit, where more purple crushed velvet awaited.

Two seats were all which could fit in the cramped cockpit, one perfectly sized for Fook, the other large enough for a standard humanoid - something about galactic accessibility standards for ships with transferrable titles, he recalled - and both were swathed in the same fabric as the banquette, with gold piping. The Wah heaved himself up into his own seat, its belts fastening automatically as a human face appeared on a central screen in the dash. It was a male of Asian descent, with a long black beard and green silk robes with matching hat. Upon spotting the Squib in the cabin, the face lit up with a broad grin.

"OH! I SEE WE HAVE A GUEST!" A gregarious, if not almost deafening voice thundered within the ship. "IS HE A NEW APPRENTICE? SHALL I PULL UP THE TRAINING MANUAL?"

"Nah, G, this is Mr. Svenskeren," Fook replied, shaking his head as he flicked switches and pressed buttons to begin the launch sequence. "He's our employer. We gots something of a job, and he's got the specs, feel me?"

The face on the screen looked puzzled, glancing to Sven before back to Fook.

"A JOB, SIR? I DON'T SEE ANYTHING ON YOUR LEDGER FROM THE GUILD. DID I MISS AN UPDATE?"

Again Fook shook his head, now taking the flight yoke into his paws. "Let's keep this one on the down-low, G-dawg. It's more like a... personal favor."

"UNDERSTOOD, SIR. I SHALL BE THE MODEL OF DISCRETION ITSELF!" Guan Yu replied. "SO, WHERE ARE WE GOING?"

"That's up to our guest." The Wah glanced over at his Squib employer. "You got location to punch into the nav, dawg? Destination panel's yours, there. I'll get us out the atmosphere."

With that Fook flicked on the lift engines, and the 36th Chamber parted ways with the ground, its landing gear folding neatly away as he angled the ship starward.