Freelancers

Vaiken

The low hum of cabin lights and the steady pulse of hyperdrive engines filled Jag's personal quarters with soothing white noise. Space travel had always been a way for him to relax and this trip back to base was no different.

Jag stepped out of the refresher with a towel draped over his head. Silver and black hair peeked from beneath it, and his matching beard was trimmed short. His bare chest, covered with traditional Mandalorian tattoos, let off little wisps of steam as he came into contact with the cool air of his personal quarters. Mandalorian souvenirs decorated the shelves and small banners hung from the walls with symbols of regiments long gone. His armor and weapons decorated a nearby rack, and stood alert as if on guard. The immaculately clean walls was in stark contrast to the rest of his ship. Unlike the greasy, oil-stained floors of his flagship, he kept his personal quarters tidy and spotless - and dim. His room wasn't the largest, but he quite liked it that way. It reminded him of the long gone days of his youth, in the barracks on Mandalore training to be a solider.

Much simpler times, he thought.

He willed his aged body slowly to rest against the side of his bedframe; the many years of hard combat made recovery much more difficult. He sat for awhile and stared blankly at the decorative box on his desk.

All this trouble for a measly souvenir?

He scoffed, and reached across the bed for his flightsuit and was reminded of the injuries he sustained aboard the prison station. The kolto shot Veriss had administered earlier quickly healed him, but the rippling cords of muscle beneath still spasmed with every move. He winced in pain, and cursed his fortune lightly under his breath. The intercom sprang to life and a female's voice, monotone yet surprisingly soothing, echoed throughout his room.

"Jag, we're nearing Vaiken Spaceport. We'll be out of hyperspace soon," said the voice quickly, as the intercom clicked itself off.

Jag let out a prolonged sigh as he zipped up the gray flightsuit and slipped on his dark leather boots. He grabbed the bed post as he carefully stood up, obviously hindered; he did not know if it was due to age or his injuries. The door to his quarters whisked open and the smell of stale air swept in. Jag slowly limped out and followed the cramped corridor towards the cockpit, where Veriss would undoubtedly be waiting. The gentle hum of space cheered him on as he carefully used the corridor walls to support his weight. He shuffled around the corner and saw Veriss' red-gold hair peeking above the captain's chair, and her armored boots up on the piloting controls. Her blaster pistol in one hand and a strong drink in the other.

"I think you're losing your edge. Even a deaf nuna could hear you coming with all that banging around you're doing," called Veriss as she skillfully twirled her pistol and ejected the battery pack. She placed the empty pistol on the control panel, and turned her head slightly to look back at the older man with a wry smile on her face.

Jag reached forward and placed his hand on the back of the pilot's chair and said, "Talk to me when you've had five tours with Mand'alor, and a Chiss civil war under your belt. We'll see how slick you are then. And that's only going back twenty two years!"

Veriss snorted in amusement as she checked the navicomputer. The bright white tunnel of stars soon blinked back into stationary dots as the Vengeance dropped out of hyperspace.

"We're here. Go and actually get dressed this time; I'll handle the docking procedures."

The radio quickly lit up with chatter from both spaceport control and local traffic. Veriss reached for the intercom, but stopped halfway to look at Jag who stood still. His brown eyes stared back at her as a contemplative smile formed across his lips.

"Hurry up and go, you're not getting any younger," laughed Veriss as she turned to address the spaceport controller.

Jag shook his head and laughed. He took one last look at the enormous space station they were approaching, and turned around to hobble back to his quarters.

If only Lenna were here to see you now.

--

Vaiken Spaceport, the central hub of the Empire, teemed with activity and lifeforms milling about. The bright hangar lights flooded every corner and illuminated the metal floor with an almost blinding radiance. Large freighters entered and exited the hangar's forcefield, delivering the day's goods. Aliens and humans alike stood at the bulkheads furthest from the customs desk attempting to pawn their skills to incoming ship captains.There was never a shortage of work, legal or otherwise, at Vaiken.

The Vengeance's landing gear hissed as steam was released from the overflow vents. The landing ramp descended slowly and arrived at the hangar floor with a reverberating thud. Veriss and Jag, menacingly dressed in their full assault armor with helmets nested at their sides, walked intimidatingly down the ramp towards the meek Imperial customs officer and his astromech droid.

"Greetings! Welcome to Vaiken Spaceport! If I may kindly ask you for your ship's manifest, we would-"

Jag cut him off with a raised hand.

"That won't be necessary. We're not here on business. The nature of our stay is of the pleasurable sort," said Jag with a sly wink. His smile and graying, patriarchal beard softening the features of a steely man. Veriss stood there with arms crossed as she stared at the meek officer impatiently.

"Of course, sir. Please, en-enjoy your stay," he stammered. The officer bowed and quickly moved out of the way for the pair of hunters.

"Fencing a priceless antique falls under a pleasure trip, does it not?" whispered Jag to Veriss, as they quickly walked past the officer towards the elevator. He smiled and let out a soft laugh, as he palmed the satchel containing the Dathari memory cube.

Veriss simply shook her head in amusement and smiled, as they waited for the elevator to arrive.

"Absolutely. In my experience, making a lot of money is very pleasurable," laughed Veriss.