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Drop Zone Seven
Delta Two

Fanno sneered at the device, slapping it on it's side a few more times before flicking the power button back off. "Can't get any sort of reception out here."

"Off the grid means off the grid, you know." She looked up from the datapad at the human, a scowl all but permanently etched on his weathered face. "Trying to catch your serials again?" She mocked.

"No." He shook his head, not entirely sure where to begin correcting that question. "One of my guys from the rim said they intercepted something with coordinates for our system, passed it along."

"Anything to worry about?"

"Can't tell. Pretty sure we got away clean, ain't nothing on long-range." He rubbed his chin, three days worth of stubble cleaning some of the grime out from under his fingernails. He looked at them for a moment, realizing it was now on his face, and grimaced worse. "All the same, we should probably get this shipment all prepped as soon as possible."

"The manifest seems in order." She sauntered over to him, the blue of her skin accentuated by the electrochem lights. "We're only waiting on the Tibanna gas from Cabana cartel, and they are due any minute now." She set the datapad down, smiling at him as she turned away, walking toward the door that led from the concealed hangar to the inner rooms of the old prefab base. It was a holdover, imperial surplus, sunk into the mud and guts of the jungle planet a dozen or more years back. But it was on the back end of nowhere, and it served their needs well enough.

Fanno watched the Pantoran disappear into the base, letting his hand fall onto his blaster, resting casually on the holstered weapon. He lifted his head a bit, eyes falling on the datapad, the inventory of all of their runs lately. A few crates of coaxium they liberated from the Devaronian transport ship, a few hundred weapons kits from the first order wreckage in the asteroid belt, and the massive amount of ...well, whatever they were, it had to be worth a lot if Cimmbik couldn't slice the locks. That kind of security wouldn't be worth using on ration bars or seed supplements.

The chirp of the sensor array brought him out of his own mind. Fanno turned, the display showing an inbound GR75 transport. He nodded, clicking the comm on his belt. "Cimmbik, Hala, I think Cabana just got here." He turned, stepping out from under the shade of the bay, regarding the sky as the rich blue slowly began winding down to the deep violet of sunset, the point of light in the distance getting stronger and clearer as it approached. He turned, seeing the Pantoran and Aleena make their way from the back of the bay. Hala came to a slow as she passed the sensor display, eyebrow going up in question, before continuing toward him.

"New ship, eh?" She grunted, nodding up at the transport as it got closer, navigational jets firing as it spun for final approach. "Didn't think they made quite that much money."

Cimmbik chuckled. "They have an entire mining colony, and you think a transport is out of their budget?"

"Have you even been to that 'colony'?" Hala looked at the diminutive slicer. "It's barely spinning."

Fanno stepped backward, out of the way, motioning to the others to do the same. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

"You say that every time we're about to get paid, old man." Cimmbik looked up at him.
"You know what?" Hala shook her head slowly. "I kinda do, too."

The whine of the hydraulic landing gear echoed through the clearing as the transport set down, the loading doors sliding open to reveal an empty bay. Empty, save for one man.

Fanno flipped the latch of his holster nervously, stepping forward. "Now, I might be mistaken, but it seems as though you forgot our merchandise..."

He stepped toward them, the heavy bootfalls measured and steady, the wash from the transport's engines whipping long hair and coat around.

"That doesn't look like any Cabana guy I ever saw." Cimmbik uttered the words as he got closer to them, an unease growing in even his mind.

Fanno drew his blaster smoothly, leveling the weapon at the man. "All right, that is about far enough, friend." The whine of the charging weapon comforting him some.

He kept coming, the dead black of his eyes glowering into him, cold and predatory. Fanno didn't mean to, but his finger squeezed the trigger, the weapon stirring lightly in his hand as the orange-red bolt tore from his blaster toward him.

The man raised a hand, the blast freezing in midair, the plasma roaring in an invisible cage as he held it there with his mind. Before it could register, Fanno felt the air behind him solidify, hard as old stone, shoving him forward steadily, boots scraping against soft earth and mud. He grimaced, feeling the warmth of the captive blast on his face as he fought against it, digging his heels in. He turned his head, wincing as he felt his skin start to scorch, eyes falling on his friends, their mouths agape.

It was the last thing Fanno Ridge ever saw.

The man stepped toward Hala, Cimmbik hiding behind one of her legs. She threw her blaster on the dirt in front of her, hands trembling.

"There is a simple choice." He spoke slowly, the words seeming to echo in her ears and in her head. "Die now, or die the next time one of your crew take from us again." He tapped a button on his arm, the symbols of the clan erupting holographically above his fingers. He waited for a moment, for recognition to bloom behind her eyes before continuing. "Choose."

GR75 Medium Transport
Delta Two Low Orbit

"Kinda like using a turbolaser to hit a womp rat." Locke sneered at the Quaestor as he opened a channel to the Perdition.

"They'll never believe what they saw." The clone allowed himself a smile, regarding the former consul's retelling of the encounter.

"Right. But they will believe that taking from us has consequences." Locke tapped on the datapad. They had gotten more than they had lost, the crew assembling ill-gotten gains from a dozen jobs in that hangar. He looked up, happy with his plan, turning to the Quaestor and the materializing hologram of the Consul.

"Overkill is underrated."