He hated Laarty drops. There was always something to them that said "meat to the slaughter" to him. It was all a little too nostalgic, with white-painted armor and an ARC helmet under his arm, playing dress up like a fossil or piece of living history that he didn't feel. He even had the sabre jockey in there, green as grass and brim-full with idealism. He hated the idea that history was repeating itself, even though this kriffing moff would absolutely love it all. Barve. He remembered all too well the shudder of the drives and the whine of the engine, holding on to a strap with his legs straddled just so, anticipating the movements like the old days.

This one had a cargo, but it was droids, and a couple other SpecForces troopers dressed like scuzzy fringe junk merchants, which wasn't really hard -- dress for Nar Shaddaa. Spacer pants, boots, jacket, blaster, blaster and maybe paint the hair a shocking bright color. The other one was sealed tight with a bunch of commando types. The Moff might want to inspect a Laarty, this would be the one.

Of course, the plan involved him doing the talking, the bastard would be all over that. Besk felt that this was too much like working in Intelligence -- of course, if Intelligence had a clone, he would have found a way to choke the right officer until he unclenched his cheeks and squatted the clone out and then -he- would be wearing the ARC getup to give some Moff with a fetish for a war he didn't fight his jollies while Besk stuck to what he did.

It just felt too polished and gleaming and, dare he say, hero-posing for a galaxy that had the ideals kicked out of it in the Dark Times. They were under the triangular shadow of the Venator, which itself was the dull grey of the Imperial Navy, lacking color and in itself a potent symbol but not one the Empire preferred. He'd had a lot of the idealism beaten out of him. He followed an emotional gizka-hole into the Rebellion chasing after the old times and found himself embroiled in what he knew were his last battles, spending himself strategically because he knew no better way to contribute to the galactic whole.

As the LAATs door opened, the mercenaries all raised their weapons before lowering them. They weren’t sure what to expect, though the gleaming white armour of a… clone trooper? Wasn’t exactly what they were expecting, nor were the old droids that were in their ‘offline’ configuration. The only reason the mercenaries really knew what the droids were was due to the fact that their ‘boss’ was so interested in clone wars era relics. 

Without so much as a grunt, the besalisk put down a hologram emitter on the ground between them. With a characteristic hum the visage of the Governor appeared, blue with streaks running down it. The range on the holopad must have been extended to include the occupants in the LAAT as he paused for a minute as if to collect himself. “My, my. I didn’t know that I would be dealing with an trooper!” His eyes directed to the clones helmet. “Let alone an [i]arc[/i] trooper! Tell me, before we start anything else. What do you think of this museum in the honour of your former brothers?” The hologram raised its arms to indicate the ship.

“I realize I still need to have the hull painted, and am missing a couple of bits and pieces. Though Clone Wars technology is so hard to come by these days, what with most of it being picked up by the Rebel Alliance or mercenaries such as yourself. Though I must say, none of the other outfits I dealt with had an actual [i]clone[/i] working for them. I say, would you be available to hire?”

“Depends on the job, Moff, you’d have to talk to my boss.” Usually, Besk made an attempt to be less conspicuous, but here the plan was to stand out as a clone. In most cases, he’d learned how to lose himself in a crowd and dress a certain way and add headgear to blunt the effect. It didn’t stop a really cunning person from not recognizing him. The moff, of course, was rendering him down to one of a large batch, a production run after a lifetime of existence where they sought meaning for themselves and, by this late stage, either found it or didn’t. Besk, of course, embraced that he was built to do something, but decided where and how to apply those prodigious abilities.

“It’s certainly a blast from the past.”

“Excellent. I may well do that, once this business is concluded first.” The hologram waved his hands at one of the guards, who carried forth a container full of credits. “I have the agreed price here for you, feel free to inspect it, that said we shall wait for the Juggernaut to be brought aboard before anything exchanges hands. In the meantime-” He turned, his voice mouthing words that didn’t transmit as he was facing someone outside of the hologram.

He looked back a the delegation again, whatever he had been told was giving him serious pause as he considered something. “-I am afraid I was going to offer you a tour, but I am required urgently elsewhere. So if you could please have the Juggernaut brought aboard as soon as possible, we can exchange funds and be done with this.”

"Copy that." Clone sarcasm, as Besk keyed in the 'go' code to Keep. Now the sabre-jockey had to see to her end of the business, "I'm sure you'll love the Juggernaut. It's a classic."