Open Coruscant Totally Legal Deliveries, In a Very Law-abiding Place

[Gatz Derrevar]

When it came to practicing his trade, Gatz Derrevar preferred to stay as far away from Republic space as possible. The Core Worlds had too many rules, too much traffic, advanced security systems, and so many peacekeepers you'd have to take a census to count them. All in all, those were obstacles to conducting efficient illegal business. All it took was one scan going awry for him to get busted, chained up, and thrown into prison. And trying to smuggle to Coruscant of all places? Only a fool would try it.

Gatz Derrevar was a special kind of fool.

As he brought The Long March in for a landing at the nearest port, the young smuggler could feel a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. In spite of everything that should have gone wrong, somehow he was a mere hundred feet away from his landing zone, where he could finally deliver the cargo on board his ship. Though his bay was full, most of what was in there was a red-herring of sorts: the crates of bacta he was delivering would earn him some credits, but his true payday lay in the single small box of spice hidden in a ventilation duct. That was meant to be delivered to a seedy cantina, on the lower levels of Coruscant.

At long last, his light freighter touched down in the hanger, a shabby metal thing far below the shiny grandeur of Upper Coruscant. Gatz stood from his chair, and left the cockpit, walking down the hallway that separated the sleeping quarters from the galley. He came to another door at the end of the hallway, which opened up to his cargo bay. He maneuvered past the large crates he was delivering, making his way to the loading ramp, which was already lowering itself. Before stopping there, however, he made one detour to the ventilation duct that held his most important delivery. He tucked the sealed box under his arm, and hoped most people would take it for nothing more than a simple package.

A round droid chirped at him from its post near the ramp. It was an old R4 unit, once a pristine white and green, now yellowing. Gatz gave him a small pat on his head, or dome, as he passed by.

"Keep an eye on the ship, R4. Don't let anyone on that isn't me."

Gatz's feet hit the metal deck of the hangar, and he turned to look up at his ISFT-21 Light Freighter. What was once probably a beautiful ship now showed the signs of its age: the grey hull had darkened, rusted in a few places, and was missing non-critical panels in others. The inner workings of his prized possession were exposed in those areas, which would only exacerbate the wear and tear on the ship over time. Maybe after he'd concluded his business here, he should head for Tatooine, and get his ship sorted out. Mos Eisley had some talented mechanics, and there was no shortage of scrap there. Plus, he wouldn't have to pay them an arm and a leg like he would here in the Core.

The money he was about to make would more than cover some retro-fitting.

 

[Nazzar Avopo]

Sometimes life forces you to make choices. Stay on Woostri with a cushy job as a security officer, give thirty years, then retire to a small house and a pension…Or cash out all your savings, sell all your possessions, give your notice, find a young smuggler, and get off world to see what the galaxy has to offer. For Nazzar, when the choice came, it wasn’t even a question. There wasn’t a single regret to get back into space. The Force had helped him sort out his life, helped him figure out what he wanted, and it paid decent. Honestly, it was far more than what he would probably make this Gatz, but kark it all.

As the Boss stepped off the ship, Naz was right behind him. With heavy steps he moved across the metal floor of the hanger, and immediately began to search for any threat to his employer. As he swept through his visible frequencies, his eyes color seemed to shift and flow as the light reflected differently. The taller man moved to the Captain’s side and looked over the wreck of a ship as Gatz did, with a slight smirk on his face. Hands rested on the butts of his blasters for a moment. “It’s seen better days, that is for sure.” His rough voice echoed from the floor and walls. He glanced across the hanger to the doors with narrowed eyes. “But it’s yours.” The man nodded to the Captain and stretched his arms to get himself limber as he took a few steps away. “So, what’s the plan Captain? Shall we go get your ‘present’ to…what was it again? Uncle? Lover?”

Of course, he knew what they were doing. But one thing he learned in the Midnight Dewbacks, you never spoke out loud what was actually happening in a mission zone. Coruscant was nothing less than a warzone for this type of endeavor.

 

[Gatz Derrevar]

"Yeah, she really needs a little "tlc." Maybe I should look into hiring an onboard mechanic."

Gatz wanted to argue with Nazzar, and tell the man that The Long March was beautiful, but anything he said would be a blatant lie. Or just coping. As much as he loved his ship, she had been thoroughly used: first by his father, and then by him. Most of the wear and tear on the vessel though, like the carbon scoring on the hull, had come from his time in the pilot seat. Dad had been a law abiding citizen of the galaxy.

Gatz, by necessity, wasn't. He didn't haul raw goods between the Core and the Mid Rim, like his father had. No, he smuggled illicit goods from Syndicate space into more civilized parts of the galaxy. The old man would probably be disappointed in his son, but, well, Gatz had bills to pay.

Keeping a sure grip on the package under his arm, Gatz nodded at his companion.

"Uncle Benji," Gatz lied as easily as he drew breath, "he really likes his Corellian rum. This vintage is old, and expensive."

Easy going dishonesty like Nazzar's was hard to come by: most thugs and scoundrels practically radiated shady vibes, and couldn't tell a decent lie to save their hides. The Keshian's ability to be subtle was the thing Gatz appreciated the most. That, and his skill with a blaster would come in handy, when things got tense.

Apparently the man was a great pilot too, but Gatz didn't trust his ship in any hands other than his own.

"Come on, his cantina is only a few floors down."

@Woosher

 

[Nazzar Avopo]

After he took a long look at the ship, Nazzar nodded. “Good mechanics are worth their weight in credits. But honestly, she isn’t in that bad of shape all things considered. She must have one hell of a pilot to survive what she has gone through.” His voice was honest, and he spoke only what he saw. His hands moved away from the butts of his pistols and took a more relaxed stance as he gestured towards the door. “Then let’s go. Where I come from, it’s a crime to keep a man from his rum. Not even joking, the Lieutenant once locked up one of the officers for a couple of hours after he drank his rum. Sacred stuff.” There was a light sound of laughter in his voice as he spoke.

Naz was not built for stealth, not truly. Each footstep was heavy against the metal floor causing a deep clank to echo. “Cantina, right. On your six Boss.” His wide hand reached up; he brushed some stray hair from his face. It was a curse, he swore it, his hair never would stay where he put it. After a moment he gave up and shrugged. It was his first time on Coruscant, the view headed down was like nothing he had never seen. He had fought on every mud ball, and back water one could imagine, and had a good amount of experience patrolling cities, but this was something so much more. Each step was the history of the civilized galaxy, each step was almost certain destruction due to countless dangers. It was exhilarating.

He took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. It was visually exciting in all the various wavelengths he could see, even here in the hanger things were excited. Even more so was the feeling of being surrounded by endless waves of people, all their wants, desires, intentions flowed over him like a tidal wave. The man calmed himself and went to the hanger door. After he pushed the button, he nodded out the door with a tilt of his head. “Always fun.”

@Gatz Derrevar

 

[Gatz Derrevar]

"I think I mostly just get lucky, from time to time."

Though it was humble, his statement wasn't entirely honest. He was the best pilot he knew. After leaving the Jedi Order, becoming a pilot had been his dream. He'd spent hours on simulators, and then, when he was old enough, he spent days flying The Long March when it had still belonged to his father. Then, of course, there was the past six years to consider. Syndicate space was a dangerous place to be, and so naturally, Gatz had been forced into his fair share of dogfights.

"Hey stealing rum this expensive is a crime: I don't blame your lieutenant."

Of course, running spice was an even bigger crime. One of the most serious charges that could be levied against a man in Republic space was the possession and distribution of spice. For all of Gatz insistence on not crossing his personal line, like murder or slave trading, smuggling spice was a pretty heinous thing to do. Spice ruined people's lives. He'd seen plenty of addicts on Nar Shaddaa, more husks wearing skin than people.

All of this and more drifted through Gatz's head, as he led his partner in crime through the lower levels of Coruscant. He was quiet, for most of this trip, opting to scan his surroundings for potential trouble. The lower levels might have been a hive of scum and villainy, but peacekeepers still patrolled them. It wasn't until they were in the elevator, hurdling downward towards their floor, that Gatz finally let himself breathe easy.

"I've got a bad feeling about this. We've had too little trouble."

@Woosher

 

[Nazzar Avopo]

As they walked in silence Naz kept a couple steps back. Large eyes were kept open, and constantly scanned the areas they walked through. His goal was to make it so that anyone who wanted to walk up behind the Boss had to go through him first. It made it easier to watch out for pickpockets and the like also.


He honestly had no problem with spice. It was a choice people made. There were millions of different illegal substances in the galaxy. Why did he care which vice they chose to use? When he has been a security officer, he cared. But only so much as it was his job. If the people kept their heads down and didn’t cause a stir, didn’t get caught, he didn’t lose sleep one way or another. He had learned to mind his business on Koda Station. That wasn’t to say he enjoyed this line of work either. Security work had been good to get his act together. However, he didn’t want to just lie down on a back water world anymore. One day, he wanted people to know his name, to be the best. It started here.


As they entered the lift, he turned to look at the Captain. Upon hearing those words, Naz licked his lips and rested a hand on the butt of his CDEF blaster pistol. “I really, really, really don’t like those words. They are bad luck, I swear.” The man’s voice went quiet almost a whisper as he leaned close. “But I agree. No customs officials, no bribes, no extensive paperwork with a half dead space port agent. It’s not like any cargo movement I’ve been part of before. I don’t know if it’s just a Coruscant thing or what. Stick close, just in case.”


Nazzar remembered the words of the leader of the Midnight Dewback’s. ‘In the middle of a mission was not the time to run away, or switch loyalties. Once the contract is in place, complete it. Your word is everything to a Mercenary, once it broken you are less than useless.’ His knuckles went white as he gripped the less powerful blaster. A finger flipped it to the stun setting, just in case. He hoped he was just being paranoid, but something itched in the back of his head. Every time someone said those words ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this,’ something bad awaited.

@Gatz Derrevar

 

[Gatz Derrevar]

The notion that what he was doing was wrong didn't leave him, even as their elevator came to a halt. Maybe it was the Jedi indoctrination, or the way his parents raised him. Maybe it was just him, and his own moral code. Either way, it nagged at him, and Gatz had to make an effort to keep the conflict from showing on his face. Broadcasting how guilty he was to everyone wouldn't help matters.

Besides, he'd already come this far. May as well finish the job.

"I know. We practically just walked in the front door. I get that the lower levels of Coruscant are pretty seedy, but there should have been something."

Gatz hadn't seen anything to suggest that they were in any trouble. But then, that was the problem, wasn't it? Often times, in his profession, calm denoted the presence of an oncoming storm. And... there was something off, about today. He could feel it, as he did from time to time. Like a little voice in the back of his head, warning him of impending danger.

The elevator doors slid open, and Gatz strode out of them. The Cantina in question was only down the street, a short jaunt. With each step, Gatz felt the air get more and more tense. He still didn't see any eyes on them, or at least, nothing more than short glances by the crown. Even so, the young smuggler moved the box, tucking it under his left arm, so that his right could reach his blaster if needed to draw it quickly.

@Woosher

 

[Nazzar Avopo]

As they stepped out of the elevator, Naz rolled his shoulders and tried to relax a bit. He moved his hands away from his blasters. Close enough to respond to an emergency, but not so close as to make others nervous. He tried to make it look natural.


The Merc glanced over at the Captain and nodded. He could feel the emotions. Honestly it was more like a guess, if he thought about it, but it was there all the same. Truthfully, Nazzar was nervous too. First mission back? A boss he respected, But on CORUSCANT? Too many people, too many variables, the din in his head had almost overwhelmed him. Besides, he was NOT as heavily armed as he would like to be.


He shook it off and grinned mischievously at Gazt. Lightly, he reached out and patted the man’s back.


“Don’t worry Captain. I know you hate your uncle, but its tradition. You know? Once we are done here, we will get a drink, see the sights, and get the kark back into space where we belong. Nothing like a good hyperspace trail to make the galaxy right.”


Large eyes glinted in the light, as he focused all around them, in an attempt to search out anything they needed to be wary of: Holocams, suits, tails and the like. So far, nothing. But how long would that last? Then again, there was a good chance he had let the environment and tension get to him. Finally, he let his shoulders drop, and let out the breath he had held.

@Gatz Derrevar

 

[Gatz Derrevar]

"Yeah. Once we drop off Benji's gift, we'll head upwards. I heard there's a nice diner a little ways away. Then we can be off again."

Good help was about as rare as a Jedi, which when you considered the trillions of people in the galaxy, made them pretty hard to come by. The easy way in which Nazzar directed their conversation about illicit goods almost made Gatz believe that they were actually delivering rum. What was he paying this man again? He ought to give him a raise.

The doors to the cantina hissed open, and Gatz stepped inside. He was met with a dark atmosphere: a single bar pressed against the back wall, a few booths lined up opposite, and dim lighting. The floors had seen better days, looking stained with spilled booze and something else. The air smelled burnt, as if a blaster had gone off recently. There was fresh carbon scoring on one of the walls, so maybe Gatz wasn't far off in that assumption.

Gatz approached the bartender, an Ithorian, and leaned up against the bar, "I'm looking for Benji. I've got a delivery for him."

Gatz spoke in a normal tone, neither wanted to be loud and draw attention to himself, nor whisper and... also draw attention to himself. Not that it helped: all eyes had been on them from the moment they'd entered the cantina. Clearly they didn't look like local folk.

The Ithorian gestured his broad head to a door behind the bar. He spoke in a language Gatz didn't understand, but a moment later the translator he wore around his neck kicked in: "back there. Leave your blasters on the bar."

Gatz didn't like that, but he didn't think arguing and making a scene was the right call. So he removed his DG-34 and slid it toward the bartender. Going in unarmed was foolish, but maybe there was a way to ensure he still had some protection...

"Stay here," Gatz turned his head to speak to his bodyguard, "I won't be but a moment."

Going in alone wasn't the best idea, but at least this way there would be someone on standby. Nazzar wouldn't be asked to remove his weapons, he was sure, so long as he didn't try to enter the back room.

@Woosher

 

[Nazzar Avopo]

As they entered the dimly lit bar, Nazzar’s eyes shifted color once more as they focused to better see in the dim light. Quickly, as they walked towards the bar, he looked around and searched for men more heavily armed than the others, or those who may prove to be problematic if a fight broke out. As the Captain talked to the Ithorian, he stayed silent and simply made his presence known, his weapons in plain view. A nosy Devaronian paid a bit too much attention to the boss, and Nazzar gave him a quick glare that had his nose back in his drink where it belonged.


As he was told to stay put, he wanted to argue. Even in a fist fight he could be good. But the reality was without proper planning it was better this way. The boss had the right idea. If something went down, they knew a fully armed guard was waiting to cause problems. So, as much as he disliked it, he nodded.


“As you say Boss. Be quick, or you know what.” His voice was loud, rising above the din so that anyone who listened in could easily hear, making sure to emphasis the word what.


Naz moved to the grimy bar, a hand placed on the surface. “Osskorn Stout.” As the frothy beverage was poured and handed over, he paid the bartender, plus a tip. Drink in hand he moved to a wall where most, if not all the joint was in view. He leaned against the wall, so that no one could sneak up behind him. Glass went to his lips, and he pretended to slowly nurse the bitter stout. However, not a bit of it was imbibed. The room had seen a good number of fights. The smell of ozone permeated the air. The Merc wrinkled his nose a bit and pulled the glass up towards his face once more. Most of the customers were armed, but, seemed to want to keep to themselves and shrank away if caught when they took a peek.


While he awaited to Captain’s return, he glanced about the room and made mental notes on possible exits, places to take cover, bottle necks and the like. This was not his preferred method, but they were the ones at a disadvantage here if something went wrong. Still, he kept his ears open for anything to hear, his eyes open for anything to see, especially hidden things, and his mind focused on the task at hand.

@Gatz Derrevar

 

[Gatz Derrevar]

Gatz stepped into the backroom, package still tucked under his arm. In all honesty, he'd expected more. A true criminal's hideaway, neat and organized with various places to stash illicit goods. Maybe a camera or two, or something of the like. Instead, he got... a storage room, filled with shelves of ordered booze, a big crate serving as a table, and smaller crates around that serving as chairs.

The room may have been nothing to write home about, but the three men sitting around the crate were. On the left there was a Duros, dressed in a long coat with a scar over his eye. A blaster was clearly strapped to his thigh. Across him him, on the right, was a Transdoshan that was almost naked, saved for some coveralls that lacked a shirt. He didn't seem to be armed, but he didn't need to be: those claws of his could tear Gatz into shreds.

Then, there was the big man himself. Benji. Gatz had never seen the man before, despite agreeing to this job. Benji was a Weequay, and he was far from average for his species. Broad shouldered and thick chested, the man in question was almost as tall as Gatz was while he was still sitting down. He was dressed in a simple tunic left open, to show off his chest. A smile was on his face, as he held his cards in his hand, but Benji's eyes gleamed with danger.

"I'm here to-"

Gatz was silenced by a simple wave of the Weequay's hand. Being the intelligent man he was, the young smuggler shut his mouth. Benji slapped his cards down on a table.

"Pure Sabaac," Benji's voice was deep and silky, "I think this round is mine boys."

A hiss echoed from the Transdoshan, who then slapped his own hand down on the table. Gatz couldn't understand the lizard, but he knew what an Idiot's Array looked like. It was the only hand that could beat a total of twenty-three, or as Benji had called it, a "Pure Sabaac."

"Interesting," the Weequay looked around the table, eyes flickering to his fellow players, "especially since The Idiot card has been up my sleeve this whole time."

What happened next, Gatz's eyes couldn't follow. Benji made a movement, there was a flash of steel, the sound of a sputtering squeal, and the echo of a something heavy thumping on a floor. A moment later, the young Smuggler's eyes adjusted, and he saw the Transdoshan on the ground, a knife sticking out of his neck, blood pooling onto the concrete.

Gatz gulped.

@Woosher

 

[Nazzar Avopo]

Slowly, the bar went back to normal. Patrons began to talk, music played from a box in a corner. It was hushed, like a calm before a storm. His drink periodically went to his lips as if he had taken a drink. The back of his head rested against the cool firm wall behind him. Honestly, he wanted to close his eyes, but for the moment it was best not to. On a holoscreen near the bar some various exotic sports game or another played, a highlight of some recent match or another.

Carefully, as the voices picked back up again, he listened in for anything of value. Most of it was nonsense, or simple day to day goings on. No value there. However, there was one conversation, just barely audible over the din that piqued his interest.

“Didja hear? Ol’ Man Sampson passed. ‘is son, Ver Dorjin is lookin’ fer a pilot to tryin reclaim a treasure. Almost wish I wasn’ retired.” The drawl of the nikto that spoke the words was…hard to translate, especially with that much noise. However, Naz took that tidbit of information. Treasure? Probably not. But a transport job to leave this rock? Could be good. If his boss ever returned, that is. Usually, when dealing with these things you do make it out alive if you deliver. Smugglers were not so common that you could go burning people and still make a profit after all. He grumbled a bit. “Hurry up Gatz. Apparently I have the patience of a womp rat.” He had no idea what the poor Captain was going through inside that store room. He hoped he could handle it.

@Gatz Derrevar

 

[Gatz Derrevar]

"Captain Derrevar was it?" Benji addressed him as if Gatz hadn't just watched him kill a man, "take a seat. I understand you have a package of mine."

Gatz was very much not inclined to take a seat across from this man, but after that murderous display, he didn't think he had much of a choice. So the smuggler stepped over a still cooling body, and sat down on a crate. He set the box down on the makeshift table, and pushed it over to the large Weequay.

"Sealed. Undamaged. As agreed," it was a miracle that he kept a tremor out of his voice.

Benji didn't acknowledge him at first, opting instead of open the metal container. It clicked with a hiss, and the Weequay lifted the top. Inside was a yellow powdered substance: spice, the deadliest vice in the galaxy. Even from across the table, Gatz was pretty sure he was risking a contact high. That was how potent the stuff could be.

His employer lightly dabbed a finger in the powder, and pulled it up to his face. A tongue flickered out, tasting the illicit substance Gatz had delivered. A tense second passed, where the alien's face didn't change. Then, before Gatz could start to panic over whether or not he'd brought faulty goods, Benji nodded at him.

"That's spice alright. Did you have any troubles getting past customs?"

"No. In fact, we didn't have any trouble at all."

"Good. I made a number of bribes to ensure that you made it here with my product."

With that, suddenly every stroke of luck they'd had since entering the system made sense. No wonder there were no scans, or customs procedures, or questions asked. Benji had ensured that his goods would reach him. Considering the price of a box of spice, Gatz figured a few bribes were chump change compared to that.

"I knew something was up."

"Of course," the Weequay produced a holopuck and placed it on the table, producing a hologram of The Long March, "I've had eyes on you from the moment you entered the system. Not that I would have expected you to make it to this system, considering the pile of junk you're flying."

"She gets me where I need to go," Gatz was insulted by that comment, but kept himself under control.

"She needs some work," Benji dug into his pocket for a moment, before tossing a credit chit to him, which Gatz caught, "you could spend those credits on it, or... you could make one more run for me, and I'll bankroll a retrofit for you."

With his payment in hand, Gatz could get up and leave. But... Benji's offer had him intrigued.

"What kind of a run?"

Benji smiled, and leaned forward, "heavy weapons, extremely restricted. I need someone to pick up a couple of crates on Balmorra, and drop them off on Serenno."

"You want me to supply the Imperials with Republic weapons?" Gatz really didn't think that was a good idea, but...

"You're declining then?"

"No. Tell me where on Balmorra I'm headed."

---

Gatz emerged a few moments later, with a credit chit in his pocket, and a new destination in mind. He spotted Nazzar sitting in a booth, and gestured toward the door with his head.

@Woosher

 

[Nazzar Avopo]

The noise in the cantina buzzed all around him. Naz sighed a bit and held the drink in his hand and swirled it. He waited like a good dog. As Gatz came out unharmed Nazzar pushed himself off the wall and let out a happier sigh. While not out of the woods completely, these types of things always carried some type of danger, even long after, it was a good sign. He helped the boss pick up his weapons and dropped his glass on the table.


They were still well within enemy territory. Suit patrols, enemy gangs, vigilantes, and the like could still prove troublesome. But it would be harder to get into a direct confrontation over the items in the box. He hooked his hands above his head and stretched them towards the sky before he looked at Gatz and gave a wiry grin. “So. You were talkin’ about a little café you knew about, Captain?” The man tilted his head down the walkway back towards the elevator. “Or did Uncle Benji need us to run another errand for him?”


Every great Mercenary started with a first step. For Naz, this was it. A mission down. But it was hard to find good bosses at the beginning, he liked Gatz, they got along. It was better than most situations a beginner would find themselves in. If the man had more jobs to do, he would be right there with him.

@Vicc125

 

[Gatz Derrevar]

Gatz made a quick stop at the bar, and swiped his gun off the counter. Tucking it back into the holster on his thigh, the young smuggler tossed a couple of credits in the Ithorian's direction. The alien could have pawned off his gear, or tried to keep it for himself, but had actually kept it safe for the few minutes Gatz was in the back room. It was rare to find a thug with a shred of honor.

Nazzar joined Gatz at the door, and asked after both a café, and whether or not they had a new job.

"We're running another job for Benji," Gatz whispered back quietly, "moving Republic weapons from Balmorra to Serenno. He offered me something I couldn't bring myself to turn down."

The Weequay still frightened Gatz, even if he'd been straight with the young smuggler. Benji might like him now, but how long would it be before he ended up like that Trandoshan? They'd do this one mission for the illicit goods dealer, get The Long March retrofitted, and then get out from under Benji's thumb before they got killed.

"For now, let's hit that cafe, relax a bit. After that, I want to see if we can't find some transport work from here to Balmorra. It'll be a waste of a trip if we don't find something to haul."

Of course, Gatz wouldn't take just any job. It needed to pay well, whether it was legal or not. Some work these days would even cover the price of fuel, and so what was the point of accepting those kinds of deliveries?

@Woosher

 

[Nazzar Avopo]

Naz leaned towards Gatz as he whispered to him. There was this wide grin on his face. This mission would take more guts than a nerf sausage processing plant. He shook his head and let out a deep laugh. “Auntie Mildred? What do you mean you thought she was a Gamorean! Haha!” The man nodded in understanding to Gatz. This would be a hell of a ride. The bodyguard raised a hand, a gun sign in the air and made a pew sound. “Café first. I’m starving, but that cantina smelled like booze and feces, so let’s walk slow. I need to clear my nose.”


With a wry grin he looked over at Gazt as he explained finding another shipment. “There are always ways to fill a hold. Some more profitable than others, but I don’t need to tell you that. The mercs I ran with used to take shipments of Med-kits, and commlinks, and other basic goods. But we were always headed to some backwater dump, so they sold well there.”


Nazzar hadn’t been in the game for a few years. Most of his contacts where with other merc groups, rather than with smuggling groups, and they generally wanted ammo packs, medical supplies and weapons. That took planning. As they walked towards the café, he picked his brain for anything that could be useful.

@Vicc125

 

[Gatz Derrevar]

Gatz smiled at Nazzar's "cover-up" conversation. There was a sort of enthusiasm to the Keshian. Loud and filled with some sort of love for life, Gatz's employee was something else. In a way, the young smuggler was jealous. He wished he could half as joyful as Nazzar was. But the truth was, Gatz wasn't in love with this way of life in the same way Naz was.

For Gatz, smuggling was a means to an end. Nothing more. He wasn't here to make a name for himself. He didn't care about the thrill of doing something illegal. It wasn't even about sticking it to the law. No, Gatz Derrevar was just trying to support his family. He'd never admit to that, of course. It would ruin his miniscule reputation. Hell, he didn't even keep a picture of his parents on his ship.

"I'll find us something. Balmorra is an industrial world, so I'm sure there's some vendor out there looking for someone to transport raw materials for the factories."

It was legal work, which rarely paid half as well as smuggling illicit goods. But if it covered the cost of fuel, Gatz would be satisfied. His real payday would come when they landed on Serenno with these Republic weapons. A complete rework of his ship was something he could barely comprehend. If Benji was being square with him. But the credits sitting in his jacket pocket told him that, as scary as the Weequay was, Gatz had nothing to worry about so long as he didn't try and cross the man.

"In the mean time, yeah, café. I need a hot meal and a drink that doesn't taste like it came out of a bantha trough."

@Woosher