The approach to Nar Shaddaa was ‘easy’ enough. Nobody to hail, nothing to clear with orbital control or a defense fleet… nobody gave a shit. So on that score, approaching ‘Shaddaa was simple enough. And nobody was watching. I mean – loads of people were watching, but that was the good thing. There was SO much coming and going, and all of it (to one extent or another) illicit, that you had to do something pretty spectacularly stupid to stand out in the Black around Nar Shaddaa. Sure, there were larger factions, and folks to be paid off to stay in the Hutts’ good graces, but on the whole, approaching the Smuggler’s Moon was as simple as crashing. No, the trouble was not getting killed while doing it. 

Because the place was a lawless shavitt-hole, there were no agreed-upon shipping lanes, no approach vectors, barely any sensor buoys to dictate where the hell you should be going on approach. You had to have your wits around you while descending to planetside, and even that was no guarantee you wouldn’t get broad-sided by some ancient scow or hotrodded snubbie. Fel was on his game though, and maneuvered easily enough (though there were a few choice words aimed at one of the Hutts’ blockade runners and a couple of nameless ‘ugly’ sec patrol boats) to the outskirts of the Refugee sector. 

Another good thing about ‘Shaddaa, if there was an empty landing pad, it was “free for the taking.” That’s not to say there weren’t fees. There were. And depending on where you landed, you ran the very real risk of having your ship blown to bits if you had ‘taken someone’s spot.’ Which was why Fel landed in no-man’s land, outside the Refugee Sector, near enough to the Red Light district, and the Upper Industrial zones. They were nowhere. Which was just fine by Fel. Touching down on a nameless landing pad, with nothing but trash blowing about under his repulsors, Fel shut down all but the essentials. He wouldn’t be going anywhere until he knew who would be squeezing them for credits. It wasn’t a question of ‘if.’ Someone would. But there were as many flavours of scumbag on Nar Shaddaa as there were grains of sand on a beach, the question was, how dangerous was the scum who laid claim to this sector? 

He didn’t strictly need to tell anyone aboard the UA to play it safe. They all knew well enough that this place could swallow you whole, a little tenderizin’, a little seasonin’ and down you went. But he planned on saying it anyhow, as he closed the shutters along the flight deck viewports, and moved aft, adjusting the weight of the blaster at his hip…  

Aellyn grabbed her gear and stepped into the main room. She pulled the collar of her coat up around her neck as she saw the pilot emerge from the cockpit.  [color=AE91B8] “I’ll be out for a few days. I’ll give you a check in within twenty-four hours. It will give me time to find what I need for this Helix job.” [/color] She pulled the strap of her bag over her shoulder, keeping it close. She hit the button near the ramp as it lowered. She didn’t wait for an answer or acknowledgement from him or anyone. She headed down the ramp and onto the platform, where she headed toward the nearest taxi station. 

He didn’t stop her. What right did he have to do so? She was halfway down the ramp and out into the gloom of Nar Shaddaa’s mid-level semi-permanent twilight before Fel had even engaged his mouth. And so, he simply didn’t. He raised a hand, and simply waved as her back descended, turned and disappeared from view. [color=F7941D]“Good luck.”[/color]

The door to Jet’s quarters hissed open, and the man who stepped out looked markedly different from the tired mechanic who’d vanished into the ship hours earlier. He’d shed the sleeveless tank and workbelt, now wrapped in a fitted coat that hit mid-thigh, worn durafiber fabric reinforced at the shoulders and collar. The kind of gear that let you vanish in a Nar Shaddaa crowd, plain enough to forget, tough enough to bleed in. A wide-strap satchel rode diagonally across his torso, tucked snug beneath the opposite arm. His boots thudded with more purpose than his usual drag.

More telling than the gear was the prosthetic. It was whole again, still scratched, still war-weathered, but moving smooth, the internal motor whir barely audible. Jet flexed the fingers absently as he passed the galley, rotating the wrist once before letting it hang at his side.

He caught up to Fel near the ramp, [colour=ff0000]“Gotta check on something,”[/colour] Jet said, his voice low but steady. [Colour=ff0000]“Won’t be far and I’ll stay on comms in case anything breaks.”[/colour]

The kid was walking out of the extra quarters he’d taken to fixing up over the last few days. He seemed a lot more well-rested - his eyes weren’t ringed with dark circles and seemed far less sunken, and the complexion of his skin had started to clear up. He had pulled the jumpsuit’s sleeves back over his arms and zipped it up - from what he had gathered from the rest of the crew, the place was seeming like it might be kind of cold out. The jumpsuit looked as nondescript as possible. As much as Zane wanted to stylize the bland uniform, he knew it would help him blend into a more-populated landscape. Parlo had taught him that, once upon a time.

His tech belt was the only thing that seemed to have any difference - well, that and the tac-sling that was holding his E-11 blaster rifle. The tech belt had all of the identifying markings ground out of the leather, as well as a few other scuff marks to make it look legit. The toolkits’ serial numbers - if they had any - were all filed off, save for the model numbers. Same with his E-11. It was an old scrapper trick he’d picked up during one of their swap meets. No serial number meant no way to track it, which also meant there was no way of knowing who the previous owner might have been. It may have been unscrupulous, but it was necessary. At least for now.

He’d fashioned one of the spare pouches into a temporary holster for the hold out pistol Fel had given him. He needed to see about getting that back to the old spacer, but he hadn’t found the right time in their travels to get that taken care of. Holding the small blaster in his hands with the safety on, he approached Fel as he saw Jet heading for the ramp.

[color=cyan]”Hey boss? Wanted to say ‘thanks’ for letting me hang onto this for ya.”[/color] Holding the small blaster on the palms of his spindly hands, he offered it to the seasoned captain with a half grin on his features. Looking over his shoulder at Jet, his eyes flashed wide with realization, [color=cyan]”Ooh! Mr. Jet! You mind if I tag along with ya? My first time out an’ about on a new planet - I’d rather not go off half-cocked an’ lose my choobs on some place known as the ‘Smuggler’s Moon’, y’know?”[/color] The kid gave him his best grin, although it was also a fairly-nervous one.

The odd duo couldn’t have looked more dissimilar if they had coordinated outfits. Not that Fel felt the need to speak to everyone who left the ship, but Jet, and the Kid? Yeah. He faced his old partner, taking hold of his shoulder. [color=F7941D]“Take all the time you need. But don’t go looking too deep, if you aren’t ready to learn the truth.”[/color] He left it vague, but there was no chance Jet wouldn’t know what he was talking about. Turning to Zane, he looked at the holdout pistol, held out to him in the young man’s hand. [color=F7941D]“Keep it, kid. Just watch who you flash it to. Some folks here don’t take kindly to that. Step easy, and come back in one piece, you two.”[/color] He stepped aside, letting them step out and away.

Zane’s expression was an amalgam of surprise and confusion - furrowed brow, slightly-widened eyes, mouth slightly agape.

[color=cyan]”Y-...You serious, Cap’n? I mean, if ya ever need it back, just lemme know. I’ll take good care of it, promise!”[/color] The kid holstered the holdout blaster back in the pouch on his belt, letting the mag-latch on the flap snap shut before wandering off with Jet, eager to see what Nar Shaddaa had in store for him. 

Empty boat, except for Wrench, and the Baggage…

The Baggage had spent the rest of the flight sitting in silent shock on the captain’s bunk, staring wide eyed at the opposite bulkhead, flicking the twin blades in the toes of her boots in and out as she mindlessly mashed her toes on the trigger points. 

It wasn’t often that people surprised her. When it did happen, it was rarely a good thing for her, and the evidence was scarred all up and down her body to prove that. It took many gentle years and a lot of luck to trust that the ‘verse wasn’t just full of horrors and shitstains, and only minutes to unlearn how (and why) to see the good. So when Eryn was left alone, unscathed and still breathing in the bunk after the med scan, something in her brain short-circuited. 
Or,  maybe it was in her soul. 
If she still had one of those.
Whatever, the fact that this captain ‘Fel’ (as she’d heard the others call him) and his crew hadn’t done her any evils so far was taking her dark expectations for a joyride and she wasn’t enjoying any of it. His last words bounced around through her mind over and over again at high-speed, too quick and slippery for her to catch. ‘The bunk is yours. Get comfy. Have some food. Help yourself. Take a sonic shower. Free to go when we get there.’ 

Like………… the actual karkin’ kark? Not a hint of malice anywhere, no obvious ulterior motives? 
How dare he. After she stole from him, hitched a ride without payment, caused property damage, how dare he just be a decent human being. 
What the hell.

Eryn got up abruptly, palming the door with annoyance as she marched out into the hallway. It was time to go. For so many reasons, it was time to go. She couldn’t be around this kind of thing. It wasn’t good for her focused goals. 
And she wasn’t good for decent folk. 
The non-wicked ‘niceness’ of this spacer had upset her chaotically constructed house of cards, balancing on the foundational belief that everyone was trash and ‘good’ was just a manipulation tactic. 
A fact the ‘verse had beat into her time and time again.

She tried hard to reassure herself on the walk to the ramp that it was all just a show to bring her guard down and then cut her open for black market parts, or sell her into slavery, or keep her aboard for abuse and use her meat for meals afterwards, or maybe he’d already learned of her bounty and meant to collect on the Smuggler’s Moon… 
Maybe he was one of those people who lived by ‘favors’. He hadn’t mentioned it, but maybe now he thinks she owes him for not killing her, something he’d hold over her for power later on…

None of it stuck with the narrative she’d been shown, though. Her musings slid away as she approached the ramp, that overly familiar rusty, bloody, muddy, boozy, staticky, oily Nar Shaddaa air enveloping her with its rotten, gnarly arms. She could already smell the cheap perfume on sweaty skin from the Red Light Sector, and she was pretty sure they were nowhere near it.

She stood like a shadow, watching Fel give warm parting words to his crew as they all dispersed. 
Her annoyance somehow skyrocketed and diminished all at the same time. 

As their backs faded into the dark grime of the Smuggler’s Moon, Eryn pulled the dark scarf tucked into the collar of her jacket across the lower half of her face and came forward, arriving silent as a ghost at Fel’s side, watching as he did. 

Truth be told, she had absolutely no desire to be back on Shaddaa. There was truth to the saying that you could disappear easily here, a haven for those wanting to fly under the radar. Usually, that appealed to her. But it was also the place everyone looked first when they were hunting a bounty or looking for a lost soul. It was hard to go a block without running into at least one being on the hunt, and even the fetid metal maze of the urban underside got crowded real fast when listings were hot on the holo-net.

But she couldn’t stay. She couldn’t stay with these people, not for much longer, it would interfere with her plans and heighten the risk of exposure to entities she’d rather not tangle with… and it’d endanger them.
But she knew she really couldn’t stay, because a tiny part of her wanted to stay, and that scared her.

[color=00a99d]“You’re really just gonna let me go?”[/color] She didn’t look at Fel, already mapping out where she’d go from the landing. [color=00a99d]“No strings? Just ‘bye, good luck’?”[/color]

He had been watching the two men depart, looking anywhere but back inside his ship. Hand on one of the hydraulic rams that supported the planetfall ramp. So it made sense that her voice arrived, behind him. She would have been listening for them, landing, discussing, departing. It’s what Fel would have done. So when she spoke, it wasn’t entirely a surprise. [color=F7941D]“That’s the notion,”[/color] he replied, to nobody in particular. The pilot glanced back for just the briefest of moments, over his shoulder at her. She did not meet his gaze. 

[color=F7941D]“Here…”[/color] he said, slipping a small satchel off his shoulder and setting the bag on the ramp, stepping back, leaning against the support strut. There was plenty of space for her to pass by. [color=F7941D]“Ain’t much, but can’t have you walking out of here with your ass in the breeze.”[/color]

Inside were a hundred credits, some dried rations, and an old BR-14 blaster and a fresh charge. Not that she could see any of it from atop the ramp. He stood, arms crossed over his chest, looking out into the murk of Shaddaa’s gloom. 

He was giving her…stuff?

Eryn approached the bag like a jumpy feral cat, suspicious but curious as she crept around Fel, taking full advantage of that space. Upon opening the sack and cautiously withdrawing some of the contents, she froze, fixing the captain with the most bombastic side eye she’d managed to date. 

She opened her mouth but found she had no words. 

There was something tiny but familiar, soft and mushy and poignant blooming in her chest atop the cold, deep acid scars of abuse. She spent a moment metaphorically stomping on it, desperately, running dark thoughts through her mind to counteract the discomfort. It helped, a little. 

In the end, she slung the pack on her back and gave Fel a nod in thanks, which was all she could manage before slinking away into the Nar Shaddaa scenery. Eryn looked back once before disappearing into the urban sprawl, something she’d never done before. Hadn’t been a reason to do it until now. And for the first time since her life had been upended… she was questioning her mission.