The Nexu's Nest dropped out of hyperspace in a flicker of pseudomotion. Unlike its previous entries into the Bastion system, it did not do so furtively, hanging around the edges of the system, but openly, brazenly, just a few AUs from Bastion itself. Here I come, world, it would have said, if ships could speak. Face hovered behind Ro'vena, who was sat in the captain's chair, piloting the cruiser into the shipping lane. He was far too experienced a soldier to fidget, to pace about impatiently, to chatter nervously. But he was still a pilot, and like most pilots he disliked others handling his ship, and he couldn't resist the urge to look over her shoulder. Just to keep an eye on things.
'It's fine, Face,' Ro'vena said, slightly irritated. She adeptly slipped the ship between two larger bulk cruisers who were themselves making their way to Bastion. Face looked her over. Like himself and the other Nexus, after the destruction of Hosnian Prime, they had taken to wearing parts of their old New Republic flight suits. For this mission, he had ordered that all New Republic insignia and accoutrements be stashed in a hidden compartment in the cargo hold, and to don either their pirate's flight suit or civilian clothes, but Ro'vena had kept her life support system strapped to her chest, on top of her pirate suit. 'It's better than my other one,' she had said, shrugging. Face had almost made a point enforcing his order, but thought better of it. Better to have a slight risk and have working equipment in a sticky situation, than be caught out without a working respirator. The comm blared with angry comments from the freighter behind, complaining about them cutting in, but Ro'vena just turned down the volume and soon enough the other pilot gave up.
It was a slow crawl through space, and after an hour Face gave up staring at the back end of the bulk freighter ahead and decided to double check the ship. In the cargo hold, the droids were lined up and powered down, with fake restraining bolts attached to their bodies. Around them, several pieces of scrapped TIEs and other starfighters, including parts from their own Uglies, sacrificed for the mission, were littered about the place. It wasn't much, but Face couldn't risk making a raid nearby to bolster their stock for trade. The possibility of word reaching Bastion - or, worse, Shayde - that there were New Republic forces in the vicinity was too great a risk. Garan was stalking through scraps, checking everything, too. Face took a deep, steadying breath and walked up to him. 'Cap'n,' he said to Garan. The Duros looked around, momentarily puzzled. For this mission, Garan was to be the captain of their small band of spacers. Evidentally it was a promotion that he was still getting used to.
Quickly, though, Garan's confusion gave way to aggression. 'What do you want?' he snarled, the words made harsher by his raspy voice.
'Just making one last check,' said Face, keeping his tone neutral.
'Same,' Garan said. The two stood there in uncomfortable silence, and then. 'What's the hold up?'
'Just a long line, waiting to get in. They seem to be checking every ship,' replied Face. 'Nothing to worry about.'
'I didn't say I was worried.'
'Didn't say you were.'
'Good,' and with that Garan stalked away and up to the cockpit.
Face wandered over to one of the far corners of the cargo bay, knelt down, and knocked on the floor grates. 'How are you holding up in there?'
'Fenn's stable,' came Tarrik's muffled voice. 'I however may commit several murders if I am forced stay here any longer.'
Face winced. The doctor had served on many ships, and had qualified as a fighter pilot, but, Face had learned only recently, that he was not good with confined spaces. 'Just hold on a little longer. I'll get you out the moment it's safe,' he promised. He headed to the bow and found Vix, Twitch and a subdued Ka'iulani lounging in the salon. Face had no idea where Kai was hidden, though he was sure he was somewhere in the salon. Vix had suggested that the Bothan hide. It was an old, outdated stereotype that Bothans were all spies but, Vix argued, the First Order were more than likely to buy into that thinking, and had made the suggestion to Kai that he make himself scarce.
'How's everyone doing?' he asked the room at large.
Twitch, a trained and experienced sniper, was the calmest of them all, being quite used to long waits. He was busy eating several meal packs. 'Twitch needs to make sure that Face goes shopping for better food,' he said between mouthfuls.
'All good here, Face,' said Vix, but Face could feel the tension between him and Ka'iulani. How they studiously avoided looking at one another.
'Kamāli'iwahine,' said Face softly, addressing Ka'iulani, 'how are you doing?'
'I'm fine,' she said, addressing the table.
Face felt he should say something more, make some sort of gesture, not just for her, but as an example to the others, but he could think of nothing. Thoughts of Zatt lying lifelessly on the bed kept flashing through his mind, to the body placed in a makeshift coffin, stashed in a storage compartment in the floor of the cargo hold, to be delivered to Glee Anselm, to her parents, for burial. In the end, he just patted her gently on her shoulder, and left to go back to the bridge.
Garan had taken the co-pilot's seat, so Face settled for hovering behind them both. It was another hour before they reached the front of the queue, coming to a halt in front of the closed shield gate.
A bored voice spoke over the comm. 'Transmit your ship's identification, cargo and transit passport.'
Ro'vena looked to Face, her brow furrowed. Transit passport? she mouthed, then spoke into the comm, thickening her usual soft accent considerably. 'Ah, yes, of course. One momehn,' she paused to submit the ID and cargo manifest. 'Ah, but I am unsure what this is, this passeport.'
The voice on the other end let out a long sigh. 'It's the thing,' he said wit exaggerated slowness, 'that we give you to travel - travel? Yes? In First Order space.'
'Ah, yes? Then thank you very much!' Ro'vena replied brightly. 'I shall have one, thank you, please!'
'No,' the controller said shortly. 'You have, you were given, yes? Someone gave you one already.'
'Yes, yes, I have the cargo,' she offered with a smile, and Face had to struggle not to laugh. Even though there was no way the controller could see her, she had a vacant, blank eyed expression, a simple smile, like she didn't know what was happening but was sure she made a new friend.
'Whooo seennt youuu,' said the controller slowly, emphasising each word. 'What captaainn?'
'Ah, mon capitaine?'
No, not yours. First Order capitaine- captain,' the controller let out a string of insults after that.
'Ah, yes, capitaine, capitaine, euhh - D'mor?'
Face felt some alarm at that. It was perhaps not a good idea to use a name that was even tangentially connected to the Nexus, but he couldn't blame her for that.
'Of what ship?' the controller asked.
'Ah, this is my ship, yes!'
'No, no, not - sod it, nevermind,' the line went dead.
Ro'vena looked around, first at Garan, then Face. 'That goes well!' she said, still in character.
The comm clicked back on. 'Captain D'Mor of the Terror?'
'Ahh, yes?' Ro'vena replied uncertainly. 'I have ten.'
'No,' replied the controller, exasperated. 'Oh, never mind. Go. Just go.' the shield opened up, allowing them entry.
'Ah, thank you!' she said happily, and then added something in her own language. Face wasn't as familiar with Ryl, but understood enough to recognise the words, 'go cook an egg, you diarrhea pump'. Ro'vena idly coaxed the engines to full power and, quite casually, flew down to the surface of Bastion, laughing all the way.
