Star Wars: On the Job

Chapter 1: Landing Permit

The Ghost banked against steel-gray clouds, coming around again to face the mountain-hugged city below.

"No, I don't have a landing permit," Hera doled over the com for the second time. "I'm here in response to an employment posting by the Commerce Guild."

A female voice rumbled from the speaker, "Brase Spaceport no longer recognizes the authority of the Commerce Guild. Without an official permit we request that you deviate from your present course."

"Okay. How do I get a landing permit?" She switched off the fuel warning blinking overhead and pressed her lips into a thin line. Fifteen percent remaining.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but in accordance with Brase Planetary Regulations, Whyllton City Spaceport Authority Ordinance states that all unregistered interplanetary spacecraft..."

Hera rolled her eyes as Kanan slid into the co-pilot's seat. He cocked an ear at the com, took something out of a bowl and held it up to her. Hera's nose turned towards the tangy, metallic aroma. She took the meiloorun slice from him without taking her eyes off the sky. The voice droned on as she chewed.

"...have to return to orbit until your employer files for a permit."

Kanan exchanged an annoyed expression with Hera as he popped a rosy slice into his mouth.

"That's not really going to work for me," Hera said around the fleshy fruit. "Isn't there some kind of standard docking permit for visitors?"

"A tourist's permit is available upon landing for three hundred credits."

Hera gawked at the com while Kanan half-choked, thumping a flat palm against his chest.

"I read on the holonet that the fee was only a hundred," she said in a controlled voice. She didn't think there was that much to see on Brase, anyway.

The woman let out a poorly muffled sigh. "I understand your confusion, ma'am. But according to the new Imperial Regulations, only ships with pre-existing authorization are grated permits under that fee structure."

Kanan made an irritated noise and threw himself back in his seat. He shoved another slice of meiloorun into his mouth next to the other one. Brase was supposed to be one of the few mid-rim planets left without an Imperial presence. It was one of the reasons Hera had chosen it. The other reasons were that its Commerce Guild was advertising for free-lance freighters– and they desperately needed credits. But Hera wasn't thinking about that just now. She was more interested in the way the controller had said "Imperial regulations" like it was some kind of obscenity.

"Here, too, huh?" she asked. She knew it was a risk to show any sort of political dissent, especially when negotiating with a public employee, but she'd taken worse risks before– just not with so little fuel.

Her gamble was rewarded with a short huff from the controller. "New regulations came down last week," she grumbled. "We're all still getting used to them, ma'am."

Hera was working out how to use their mutual distaste for the Empire to her advantage when Kanan waved his hand, drawing her attention. His mouth was full of juice and pulp, but that didn't stop him from trying to talk.

"Unh-unh-erow-ooh," he grunted.

Hera gave him her best What?-face and shook her head, making her lekku sway.

Kanan sat up and held up his index finger emphatically. "Uhn!" he said.

Hera leaned sideways towards the com. He better know what he's doing, she thought. "In that case, I should report that I've got a one..."

Kanan reemphasized his finger.

"...one..."

He closed his fist.