The shady little motel was located in one of the shadier sectors of the massive sprawl that was the Vertical City, Nar Shaddaa. Anonymous, sure, but it was also dirty, seedy. There was a spice addict at the corner outside of the motel, a Rhodian who had sat slumped against the wall continually since Jaron had arrived two days earlier. He still wasn't sure the alien was even alive. Farther down the street was his spice dealer, and farther down the street in the other direction was a chop shop run by the local swoop gang.
Not exactly the kind of neighbourhood one let one's kids grow up in (unless one had no choice), but to people like Jaron, it was just like home, and probably a lot safer. He had picked the motel because it was a good place to lay low for a day, disappear, before the job. A place where he could feel safe for a bit before once again launching into the dangerous life of an undercover cop. And above his head, like a big, beautiful, bloated golden orb in the black sky, floated Nal Hutta, the home planet of the Hutt race, ever watchful of the criminal enterprises going on on its moon.
For a moment, he wondered if there was some Hutt somewhere who knew he was a cop, and was waiting for the opportunity to expose him, have him killed and his body dumped in a dumpster in some back alley. He forced himself to shake the thought.
He had spent several weeks now infiltrating the Zaa Fenn Syndicate. Doing odd jobs, trying to gain their trust. The work was easy. The trick was gaining their trust. His prison and gang tattoos had opened many doors and earned him trust, but some levels of trust were only gained over time and by doing dirty work. It was hard on the brain, mentally, too; always having to remind himself, every morning when he woke up, what side he was actually on in the endless war between Law and Order, and crime.
He had made friends in Zaa Fenn, friends that he would one day betray and put in jail. He had very few friends or acquaintances in the Sector Rangers - and most rangers would be unaware, and arrest him with the rest of the criminals, if they were ever raided. It was for his own safety, of course; the Rangers would act naturally, treat him like other criminals, because they thought he was another criminal, and so they would not raise any suspicions against him.
Jaron left the motel at sunrise, and began making his way towards the spaceport. He was supposed to meet with his temporary Zaa Fenn colleague at the spaceport cantina. From there, they would infiltrate the restricted docking bays, find the yacht belonging to the expert slicer that Zaa Fenn wanted to track, and sabotage it. Jaron was thinking about a timed small ion charge in the engine compartment. Small enough to remain undetected, and large enough to knock out just one of the thrusters. It wouldn't crash the yacht, but it certainly would force an emergency landing, allowing Zaa Fenn to track, and do whatever they planned to do with, the slicer, Gori Xaa.
The spaceport was busy, even at this early hour. The same was true of the cantina. Low level criminals, mostly, but also the occasional drunk. Nobody that mattered, or was a threat, Jaron concluded as he walked up to the bar and sat down to relax. The bartender looked over to him, but he shook his head and waved his hand, and the man returned to ignoring him and polishing a glass with a dirty rag. A starship flew by above the spaceport with a muffled, screechy sound, and on an intercom somewhere far away a female voice was delivering a message.
@Faust Rex
Not exactly the kind of neighbourhood one let one's kids grow up in (unless one had no choice), but to people like Jaron, it was just like home, and probably a lot safer. He had picked the motel because it was a good place to lay low for a day, disappear, before the job. A place where he could feel safe for a bit before once again launching into the dangerous life of an undercover cop. And above his head, like a big, beautiful, bloated golden orb in the black sky, floated Nal Hutta, the home planet of the Hutt race, ever watchful of the criminal enterprises going on on its moon.
For a moment, he wondered if there was some Hutt somewhere who knew he was a cop, and was waiting for the opportunity to expose him, have him killed and his body dumped in a dumpster in some back alley. He forced himself to shake the thought.
He had spent several weeks now infiltrating the Zaa Fenn Syndicate. Doing odd jobs, trying to gain their trust. The work was easy. The trick was gaining their trust. His prison and gang tattoos had opened many doors and earned him trust, but some levels of trust were only gained over time and by doing dirty work. It was hard on the brain, mentally, too; always having to remind himself, every morning when he woke up, what side he was actually on in the endless war between Law and Order, and crime.
He had made friends in Zaa Fenn, friends that he would one day betray and put in jail. He had very few friends or acquaintances in the Sector Rangers - and most rangers would be unaware, and arrest him with the rest of the criminals, if they were ever raided. It was for his own safety, of course; the Rangers would act naturally, treat him like other criminals, because they thought he was another criminal, and so they would not raise any suspicions against him.
Jaron left the motel at sunrise, and began making his way towards the spaceport. He was supposed to meet with his temporary Zaa Fenn colleague at the spaceport cantina. From there, they would infiltrate the restricted docking bays, find the yacht belonging to the expert slicer that Zaa Fenn wanted to track, and sabotage it. Jaron was thinking about a timed small ion charge in the engine compartment. Small enough to remain undetected, and large enough to knock out just one of the thrusters. It wouldn't crash the yacht, but it certainly would force an emergency landing, allowing Zaa Fenn to track, and do whatever they planned to do with, the slicer, Gori Xaa.
The spaceport was busy, even at this early hour. The same was true of the cantina. Low level criminals, mostly, but also the occasional drunk. Nobody that mattered, or was a threat, Jaron concluded as he walked up to the bar and sat down to relax. The bartender looked over to him, but he shook his head and waved his hand, and the man returned to ignoring him and polishing a glass with a dirty rag. A starship flew by above the spaceport with a muffled, screechy sound, and on an intercom somewhere far away a female voice was delivering a message.
@Faust Rex
