- Joined
- Dec 12, 2019
- Messages
- 57
- Reaction score
- 11
Weigh Station Karambola. Outer Rim
36ABY
The reasons for being this far out are obvious. Karambola’s weigh station drifts on the fringe on the galaxy, and serves mostly those who like to do the same. Times being what they are, business has been good. Much of chartered space feels ripe for the carving after the recent troubles, and all walks are appreciating the operational freedom the station has to offer. Elites and Scum mingle freely, and every handshake hides a bribe. Welcome to the new frontier.
****************
“Yer done” grumbled a portly bothan, forcefully ejecting a grease covered theelin woman from his hangar on the 4th level.
“Debts paid. If I see your ragged mug again, I’ll sell you back where you came from, or worse. Hear me talking?” Lykka scowled, as if this young woman’s existence was a personal offense to his person. In his left hand, he dangled a filthy old rucksack over her head as if it were bait for a show animal.
Already flustered and sore, she took the bait and took a few futile swipes for the bag from the cold durasteel platform she lay on. Lykka quickly grew bored with this, dropping the satchel in her lap in a gesture he considered to be benevolent. Hastily examining its meager contents of a half change of clothing, and cracked data-pad, the theelin sprang to her feet with a nasty yellow eyed scowl.
“Give me my pistol, and my tools!” She barked, sounding more desperate than she would have liked.
Lykka cackled, “You think I’m sending a a thieving womp-rat like you back onto this station ARMED? Let’s call it your pissy attitude tax, and count yourself lucky to be alive.”
Inhale. Exhale. An uncommon calm came over her. She replied quietly, and purposefully, “I have worked off my debt, and earned back ALL my effects”
“You have worked off your debt, and earned back ALL your effects.” Lykka agreed, and produced a medium blaster with matching stun baton (clearly security issue from somewhere), and an incomplete assortment of maintenance tools. After that he simply nodded, and retreated into his hangar bay for good.
Numa huffed a sigh of relief, and scrambled to stuff the weapons into her grease stained satchel before anyone noticed; careful to leave he hilt of the baton poking out just enough for a quick retrieval. The old hand tools were fastened to her belt as a type of advertisement. She rubbed her hands together vigorously, and used the heat to press back her bright shock of fluorescent hair, puffing out her chest in an added effort to feign confidence. After a quick look around, she seemed satisfied that no one (that she noticed) had been paying too much attention, and set off towards the station rest area.
Though she did a passible job of blending in to the assorted scabs and roughnecks that populated Karambola Station, Numa was terrified. Not for her safety, but for a single realization that sounded in her like an alarm.
What in the 7 hells was she going to do now?
@The Captain
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