Escort Detail
Slooga moved slow enough, but the Liberators managed to lag behind. Thanks to Lt. Byron's diplomatic graces, the soldiers were volunteered to do most of the heavy lifting for the exchange, while the crooks (and a few of the lighter Liberators) fanned out in a loose echelon formation. All told they had thirty sets of eyes, all panning the scenery of Ganatoo Spaceport and assessing the crowds. It was easy to forget, while in deep space, that plenty of people in the galaxy weren't smugglers, or stormtroopers, or rebels, or whatever else -- plenty of people were simply living out their lives as normally as could be managed in a time like this. Merchants, small game hunters, chefs, stick jockeys. The spaceport attracted all types. All types seemed eager to give the Hutt a wide berth. The team encountered no resistance as they made their way, slowly, to the illicit rendezvous. The exchange was to take place in an open square, isolated from the main drags by a few blocks and secure enough from any prying eyes. There were alleys and high windows to contend with, but with all the manpower and kit they'd brought, it seemed like nothing they couldn't handle.
A pair of runners -- shady as hell, Keller thought -- had run ahead to check out the site, and they were presently coming back into view. Vannin hummed a tune that could've passed for Gammorean folk music and pushed a heavily-laden sled. The pirates were nervous talking about business around the new LT, but he'd managed to gather that the trade involved weapons and scrap from the last weapon, and they were getting some medical gear of some sort (which Tadia, much to Byron's chagrin, had insisted on inspecting personally). The new faces in the detail were, to their credit, pushing heavy sleds up a hill like real-live Liberators. A noble calling. The HIGHEST calling. True Heroes of the Republic, to the last, astride their mighty loads. He chuckled. Well, that was the job, no helping it.
They brought the goods into the square and caught their breath. On the opposite end stood the requisite amount of scum and villainy, there to watch over the exchange and protect their own crime lord. One had to wonder how many of those could exist in the galaxy -- enough, certainly. Tensions seemed low and the business people set about their business while the grunts thumbed at their blasters and wondered about the slicing progress.
After a while -- the deal still progressing according to the brief -- a few more goons began to trickle in behind Slooga's rival. One at a time, at first, and spaced out enough so as not to arouse suspicions. But there were definitely more of them. A dozen had turned into fifteen, and another walking in with a carbine. Keller kept humming and casually checked the alley by which they'd come in. Someone was turning back passers-by a few blocks down -- and not one of their own people.
Motherfucker, he thought out loud. He made his way to the LT, casually as possible.
"I'm getting a real bad vibe," he muttered, omitting the 'sir' on account of their cover. "Might be nothing -- might be trouble." He gave a quick recap of the situation.
"I see them," Byron replied, with a tone that suggested he'd caught the same feeling as well. "Slooga's guys aren't picking up on it, and I don't know how they'll react, so keep it quiet for now. But pass the word to the Liberators. If something goes down, we can't lose the Hutt." Keller nodded and shuffled off to whisper in someone's ear. Meanwhile, Byron keyed his communicator. "How's the weather?" he asked. "Looks like we might have to take the nerf outside pretty quick."
Half Pint,
Ohm,
TokyoPewPew,
Maksart