Connecting Flight

From TFC Galactopedia

Kethran System

On any planet bigger than Kethran, it would not have even qualified as a dive. But Kethran was a remote backwater, little more than an outpost, and as such, the cantina was about as good as it was going to get. And so, for the third day in a row, Mathias found himself whiling away the hours inside.

He had arrived on a tramp freighter eight days before. He was on his way to Etti 4, following on his sister’s trail. It had been six years since he has last seen her face. Six years since their parents were killed and she and their brother Avery had been sold into slavery. So much had happened in those years. The murder of Alizar Glutz, the run from his former shipmates, the destruction of his ship and the subsequent deaths; it all weighed heavily on him. Hearing that Avery had disappeared in a pirate raid a year later had nearly been the final blow. Still, Wensl was still alive. And she was all he had left. So he followed her.

He had criss-crossed the Inner regions, from the Dolomar, through Corfai to the CSA. The wolf had worked for traders, smugglers and criminals, trading his skills with ships and guns for passage. He thought he finally made a breakthrough when he tracked down the man, a merchant out of Nar Shadaa named Hiram Jalcobs, who had first bought Wensl, only to find out that he had sold her nearly a year prior to a wealthy corporate tycoon. With a little persuasion, Mathias managed to get a name and a place to go.

And now he was stranded on this backwater rock.

He was sitting at a table in the back when they came in.

Mathias surreptitiously glanced at the pair of newcomers. A strikingly female arctic fox led a young, green-scaled chameleon to one of the empty booths near the back. Both were short, yet for a brief moment, something about the fox’s poise struck Mathias as odd. However, it lasted but a moment, and then she was just an ordinary spacer.

‘Smuggler,’ he thought as he finished the last of his lum. He knew the type. Heck, he’d worked for enough of them over the years. This one did seem quite sure of herself, and something else, though with the young lizard in tow, he doubted she’d be interested in offering work-for-passage. He’d find another ride off this rock.

‘Might as well go check the docking log,’ Mathias thought, pushing back from the table. He stood slowly, re-fastening the longsword on his left hip as he rose. While most people thought them archaic and purely for show, to the grey wolf, his sword was as deadly a weapon as blaster pistol holstered under his right arm. More than a few had misjudged that and paid for it, dearly.

As he passed by their booth, Mathias gave the fox an obvious appraising look. It probably appeared leering, and was calculated to. The look he got in return told him all he needed to know. While her face was impassive and gave an air of disinterest, the look in her brown eyes made it quite clear the results of that kind of advance. That was one fox Mathias didn’t want to meet on the wrong side of a dark alley. The wolf kept walking.

And didn’t stop until he had reached this rock’s sad excuse for a control tower. So far none of the ships coming in had been going in the direction Etti 4. Actually, not many ships came in at all. It was hard to have been so close, yet still out of reach. Still, he had a purpose, a destination. And nothing would get in his way, not Imperial soldiers or corporate movers, warlords or crime bosses. Not even a Jedi would be able to stop him reaching his goal.

Well, maybe a Jedi could, though they had been all but wiped out decades before. The odds of running into one were beyond astronomical. And Mathias could plot a hyperspace jump with a hand calc and a flexiplas star chart, so astronomical took on a whole new meaning.

With a sigh, the grey wolf keyed the tower door open, stepping out of the blowing dust and into the depressingly drab ‘administrative reception’ area, an open room that filled the first floor of the tower. The bare permacrete and garish lighting were a suitable indication of the CSA’s thoughts on the planet. And if one still missed the point, the staff reinforced it. Three commo techs, lorded over by a CSA appointed ‘Administrator’, who in reality was just a fat, aging flunky, shipped off to this backwater for some transgression or another. Still, he was helpful enough, even to the point of answering questions without a bribe.

“Any new ships coming this way?” Mathias asked as he wandered over to the marmoset’s desk.

“Other than a light freighter…um, Clodbouncer or something, that came in this morning, nothing on schedule for another week,” the marmoset said, his eyes never leaving his data terminal, “Just like yesterday.”

A list of mild expletives went through the wolf’s mind, before he turned and left without another word. Getting mad would not get him off world any faster. And it would more likely as not get him in trouble with the Espos. Mathias really did not want that. Bored soldiers were not a group you wanted the scrutiny of. And being corporate security, they were just as likely to shoot him down as bring him in for ‘questioning’. Being the equivalent of an interstellar drifter meant the Espos were already watching him. He did not want to do anything to make them more suspicious of him.

His wandering thoughts saw him to the landing yard, little more than a flat pad of permacrete. At the edge of the yard he stopped, surveying the ships grounded there. It was a depressingly short list. Other than a couple Espo patrol fighters and the rusting hulk of an YT-1300, the only ship on the pad was a scarred and battered YV-666. Mathias studied her from afar. He noted that while she looked like a bucket, streaked and pocked with carbon scoring, the ship was obviously well cared for. The quad array was in good repair and the sensor receivers looked like a little buffing would have them shining. He studied the freighter for a few minutes before shuffling over to the old raven that passed for a mechanic on this dustball.

Actually, from prior conversations with the bird, Mathias gathered that he actually was a fairly good mechanic, living out a quiet life in obscurity. Currently, he was sitting in a chair under the rusted hulk, staring out over the field towards the horizon, a bottle in hand. The wolf wandered over to the shade, the bird following every movement with on black eye.

“’Afternoon,” the wolf said in greeting, “Exciting day?”

“Eh?” the bird croaked, nodding to the freighter, “Just that.”

“Oh?” Mathias said, cocking his head inquisitively, “And what’s up with her?”

“Busted motivator,” the raven said, taking a drink, “I told the vixen that I didn’t have a replacement, but I could put one together for her.”

The pair talked about motivators for most of the afternoon, relating things they had seen, opinions of various models and some of the horror stories they had experienced traversing the galaxy. It turned out that the old bird was fairly well travelled, having served in the old Republic Navy during the Clone Wars. Their conversation was turning to local cuisines when a series of sonic booms rumbled through the sky.

Mathias stepped out from under the hulk, his eyes scanning the sky. He quickly spotted the source; a freighter was gliding down for a landing. Its approach was fast and the landing a little harder than normal, but not dangerously so. The wolf eyed the freighter, its lines suggesting something out of the Sorosuub yards, but he could not immediately identify the model.

He watched as the landing ramp descended, the noise covered by the pops and clicks of the cooling hull. A short, stocky looking grey cat clumped down the ramp a moment later and stalked off to the port tower. Mathias waited, leaning against one of the hulks rusted landing struts. A few minutes later, the cat stepped back out of the tower, eyes searching the field. A brief moment passed before they locked onto the old hulk and the grizzled bird beneath it. The cat made a beeline over, his pace more relaxed and measured. He came to a halt at the edge of the rusted ship.

“’ministrator said you’re the fixer ‘round here,” he said, his accent clipping of parts of his words.

“Yup,” the bird replied, “I am.”

“Good, I need a new astrogation unit. One I got’s right shot.”

Mathias looked the cat over. He was short, but well built, like he could load his own cargo without a repulsor sled. His fur was matte grey, with no highlights whatsoever. His rumpled shipsuit was covered with grease and bulging pockets and Mathias saw the telltale bulge of a holdout pistol under his open flight jacket.

“Hmm, then you’ve got a problem,” said the bird after a moment, “I don’t know of a spare unit or droid on the whole planet.”

“Pudoo,” the cat spit, “My unit started failin’ on my last run and I been calculatin’ short jumps by ‘and. And I got a load that needs to get to Etti 4 in 8 days, or I don’ get paid.”

Mathias’ ears perked up at that. Here was a spacer with a ship who needed a navigator to get to Etti 4, and he was a navigator who needed a ship to get to the same. Sometimes the universe works in strange ways.

“I can do it for you,” he spoke up. Both the bird and the cat turned to look at him. He went on, “As long as I’ve got updated stellar tables and a computator, I can plot the jumps for you. I could do without the computator, actually, but it’d take longer. I’m looking for a ride to Etti 4 anyway.”

“Oh really,” the cat replied, incredulity showing on his face, “You c’n plot’a jump to Etti by ‘and?”

“You can’t do it in a single jump, even with a military astrogator. Takes at least three from here. But I can get you there in 4 days, no problem. We aren’t far off the trade lanes. I used to fly a scout ship in the Navy,” Mathias enunciated the capital N.

“So you’d work for passage to Etii.”

“No,” Mathias said immediately, “A navigator would normally get paid around 500 credits for a run like that, working without a astrogation unit. I’ll do it for 200 and passage.”

“200!” the cat spit, “I could buy a new droid for that.”

“But there isn’t one available. I am,” he shot back.

“True, but is still robbery. 100 credits and passage,” said the cat.

“170,” Mathias replied, squaring his shoulders.

“120,” the cat responded, settling into the haggling mode that any trader would recognize.

“160, and not a deci-cred less,” Mathias said, knowing well how the game was played.

The old bird watched them haggle for a few amused minutes before the pair settled on 145 credits and passage. They shook hands to seal the deal, bit farewell to the old bird, and split up, the cat to his ship, and Mathias to the hostel to collect his gear.

As he stuffed the last of his clothes into the battered flight bag, he took a look at the small holo of his family. A wave of bitter sadness cam over him, but he pressed it down and focused on his sister’s face. He would find her again, even if it took a lifetime.

“I’m coming sis, you just hang on,” he said quietly as he tucked the holo into his pocket and picked up his flight bag, leaving the hostel and Kethran forever.