A drunk old man tries hard to stay focused as his weekly staff meeting via data pad continued onward. Taking a drag from his Gabaki stick he blows a ring of smoke in the air as his data pad vibrates slightly, indicating an incoming message. BOUNTY HAS BEEN TAKEN, PLEASE SEND COORDS FOR DROP-OFF POINT.
“Well then….” The old man says to himself, as he is filled with the energy and excitement that always accompanied a new adventure.
“Miss Aimi, “he said to the diminutive Zeltron woman he called “Boss”. It amazed him at how much she had grown into this role. It seemed like yesterday she was playing with the other children on the purple lawns of the Resort, on Dantooine. “This is a rather important matter that requires immediate attention,” he continued.
Aimi looks over at the old man on her monitor and raises an eyebrow. “A trap, you know this is a trap, right?” she says looking to the others in the meeting for confirmation of her suspicions. Each one nods in turn as Aimi’s eyes meet theirs. Fou-darr, a Zabrak, and her husband and bodyguard, Mina, a Chiss woman, and one the old man referred to as “Shadow”, as well as a beautiful Mirialan woman, on a viewing monitor, her green skin darkening slightly to indicate her tenseness.
“Dammit Dino!” yelled the green-skinned woman from a remote location. Destia was the love of the old man’s life, yet he seemed to press her buttons continually. He always thought of it as adding another log to their passionate fire.
“It’ll be ok, my Dearest,” the old man responded. “Any sane being knows this is a trap, heck the bounty just made it to the boards ten minutes ago. It doesn’t get anymore “trap” than that.”
The old man looked back down at his data pad and started typing. MR JONEZ WILL MEET YOU AT DESTALON, TATTOOINE
“Be careful,” said Destia, in calmer tones. The others who were in the room nodded to indicate the same thing.
"Weekend at Demi's" part1
Re: "Weekend at Demi's" part1
Suited up in his powered suit, the old man, looked over at his “associate” a tall human named Rith’an, but for today was going to be Mr Smythe, to his Mr. Jonez. The old man, aka “Mr Jonez smiled as his associate stepped off the shuttleport platform. “I have a place where we can stash him, he should be coming in soon,” said “Jonez.
As “Mr Jonez” finished speaking the shuttle arrived, and out stepped a red Twi’lek, smallish, with perhaps a female body typed, though hard to be certain under the armor they wore. She had with her an Ithorian, in a shirt and pants with no armor, hands bound behind him. He seemed drugged as he moved sluggishly forward at her prompting.
"This the guy?" asked Jonez as they two stepped off the shuttle.
"Depends," said the Twi'lek. "You the guys?" she asked.
"yeah," responded Jonez, handing her the chip,a specifically programmed cred chip that would give this hunter the credits mentioned in the posted bounty, thus finishing the deal.
"All yours then," she said.
"Hey Son, get his bag please," said the older man.
"Ima like this one," said an enthusiastic Smythe, taking the bag.
"Your chip is active," said Jonez. "It has my info, I wanna talk work if ya like."
"This is all i found on 'im when i caught him," she said.
"Got it," said Jonez. "You got a datachip?" he asked.
"Sure," she said handing Jonez a datachip that contained her contact information.
"Thanks, we'll be in touch," said Jonez, pocketing the chip.
After securing Ghaal to one of the speeders, the two mounted their speeder swoops and drove past the Imperial installation that sat by the shuttle port, on the edge of town. The turned up along a row of small houses, that were conveniently located by the town cantina.
“This place seems awful Imperial, Jonez, What’s up with that?” asked Smythe as they reached their destination; a small rental home.
“Its ok, Smythe, I know a guy,” replied the old man. “This guy actually returned my flask after I got out of prison. I had dropped it on an Imperial ship.
“Really?” he asked. “That’s just crazy, “commented Smythe.
“Yeah, I thought so too. It was opening night at the distillery, and this big Zabrak fella comes up and says: Here, ya dropped this.”
“Well we got to talking and became friends and well, he’s renting this house to us”
The old man then walked to the door and tried to open it up. “Crap! The damn thing’s locked,” said Jonez, his curse coming out no louder than anything else he had said, due to the nature of his helmet, which had an internal mic.
“Well Jonez, what do we do now?” asked Smythe. “I mean the mark is tied to my speeder,” he continued. “You got any other ideas about where to stash him?”
“Uh no,” He said. “I know this girl, hang on, maybe she can help,“ he said as he looked in the direction of the cantina, and spoke into the helmet’s comm system.
“Damn, Jonez, you sure seem to know quite a few people, what’s her story?” the younger man asked, curiously.
“She dances over at that cantina, and she’s a real sweetheart, but don’t get too flirty, I mean she’s kinda hot, and they hate folks pawin ‘em, and getting all fresh, the old man explained as a speeder bike pulled up.
Her name was Samave and she was just as the man said: Hot.
“What do you boys up to?” she asked in a friendly voice that held an edge of suspicion as she noticed the Ithorian tied to the back of the speeder.
“Well, we were supposed to meet some folks here and well, its locked, any chance you gotta key?” asked the old man. “We are kinda of in a hurry, actually.”
“What are ya doing with him?“ she asked motioning to Ghaal. “He ok?”
“Oh I think he’ll be ok, just wanted to get him inside, not feeling too well,” Jonez explained while Smythe nodded in agreement. “May have had too much to drink, you know how Ithorians get sometimes?”
“Is he dead?” I mean I don’t think Demi stores dead Ithorains here, I’ll have to call him,” she continued.
“I worked it out with Demi a while back,” the old man explained. “We gotta a deal goin. And no, he’s not dead.”
“Oh yeah? What kind of deal?” she asked with a smirk. Her eyes moved from one man to the other, and to the Ithorian, clearly suspecting that something seemed out of place. Women just knew, she was a woman, and so she knew, they always knew. “Well, I can’t get in either,” she said. “Gonna have to call Demi, it’s his place.”
“You got any other places we could rent?” ask “Smythe”. “We are in a hurry,” he finished, nervously checking his chrono.
“We could make it worth your while Ma’am,” said Jonez, in a voice dripping of sugar and kindness, his eyebrows waggling ineffectively from behind the helmet he forgot he had on.
“Well, then tell me the real reason you want this place so bad,” she said. “That helmet comm isn’t hiding your desperation very well, ya know.”
“Ya sure I can’t offer ya some “consideration”? asked the old man.
“Not thinking so, sir, not falling for that today, besides, Demi is on his way, better just wait for him,” she finished.”
Samave hopped on her speeder and started back toward the cantina. “Bye Fellas!” she yelled as she waved. “Good luck with whatever...”
“I can see it now,” said Smythe. We are locked out of the stash house, and some Imperial patrol walks by“ he continued. “What are we supposed to do now?”
“We just gotta wait here for Demi, maybe he’ll be here before anyone else gets here,” assured the old man. “Otherwise, I guess we just shoot him again with a stunner, and bury him in the sand a bit, maybe park our speeders over him so no one notices.”
Moments later a large Zabrak man pulls up on his speeder and hops off. “You guys, waiting here long?”
he asked. “I had forgotten all about that conversation we had back at the Flask. But here ya go,” he said as he unlocked the place. “Do what ya gotta do,” he said as he looked at the Ithorian, then smiled and winked.
“Thanks, brother, we’ll try not to make a mess,” said the old man, waving to the now departing Zabrak.
“Won’t make a mess? Asked Smythe. “Really?”
“Well we won’t mean to make one,” said Jonez. “But, son, ya never know how these things’ll end up, ya just never know.
As “Mr Jonez” finished speaking the shuttle arrived, and out stepped a red Twi’lek, smallish, with perhaps a female body typed, though hard to be certain under the armor they wore. She had with her an Ithorian, in a shirt and pants with no armor, hands bound behind him. He seemed drugged as he moved sluggishly forward at her prompting.
"This the guy?" asked Jonez as they two stepped off the shuttle.
"Depends," said the Twi'lek. "You the guys?" she asked.
"yeah," responded Jonez, handing her the chip,a specifically programmed cred chip that would give this hunter the credits mentioned in the posted bounty, thus finishing the deal.
"All yours then," she said.
"Hey Son, get his bag please," said the older man.
"Ima like this one," said an enthusiastic Smythe, taking the bag.
"Your chip is active," said Jonez. "It has my info, I wanna talk work if ya like."
"This is all i found on 'im when i caught him," she said.
"Got it," said Jonez. "You got a datachip?" he asked.
"Sure," she said handing Jonez a datachip that contained her contact information.
"Thanks, we'll be in touch," said Jonez, pocketing the chip.
After securing Ghaal to one of the speeders, the two mounted their speeder swoops and drove past the Imperial installation that sat by the shuttle port, on the edge of town. The turned up along a row of small houses, that were conveniently located by the town cantina.
“This place seems awful Imperial, Jonez, What’s up with that?” asked Smythe as they reached their destination; a small rental home.
“Its ok, Smythe, I know a guy,” replied the old man. “This guy actually returned my flask after I got out of prison. I had dropped it on an Imperial ship.
“Really?” he asked. “That’s just crazy, “commented Smythe.
“Yeah, I thought so too. It was opening night at the distillery, and this big Zabrak fella comes up and says: Here, ya dropped this.”
“Well we got to talking and became friends and well, he’s renting this house to us”
The old man then walked to the door and tried to open it up. “Crap! The damn thing’s locked,” said Jonez, his curse coming out no louder than anything else he had said, due to the nature of his helmet, which had an internal mic.
“Well Jonez, what do we do now?” asked Smythe. “I mean the mark is tied to my speeder,” he continued. “You got any other ideas about where to stash him?”
“Uh no,” He said. “I know this girl, hang on, maybe she can help,“ he said as he looked in the direction of the cantina, and spoke into the helmet’s comm system.
“Damn, Jonez, you sure seem to know quite a few people, what’s her story?” the younger man asked, curiously.
“She dances over at that cantina, and she’s a real sweetheart, but don’t get too flirty, I mean she’s kinda hot, and they hate folks pawin ‘em, and getting all fresh, the old man explained as a speeder bike pulled up.
Her name was Samave and she was just as the man said: Hot.
“What do you boys up to?” she asked in a friendly voice that held an edge of suspicion as she noticed the Ithorian tied to the back of the speeder.
“Well, we were supposed to meet some folks here and well, its locked, any chance you gotta key?” asked the old man. “We are kinda of in a hurry, actually.”
“What are ya doing with him?“ she asked motioning to Ghaal. “He ok?”
“Oh I think he’ll be ok, just wanted to get him inside, not feeling too well,” Jonez explained while Smythe nodded in agreement. “May have had too much to drink, you know how Ithorians get sometimes?”
“Is he dead?” I mean I don’t think Demi stores dead Ithorains here, I’ll have to call him,” she continued.
“I worked it out with Demi a while back,” the old man explained. “We gotta a deal goin. And no, he’s not dead.”
“Oh yeah? What kind of deal?” she asked with a smirk. Her eyes moved from one man to the other, and to the Ithorian, clearly suspecting that something seemed out of place. Women just knew, she was a woman, and so she knew, they always knew. “Well, I can’t get in either,” she said. “Gonna have to call Demi, it’s his place.”
“You got any other places we could rent?” ask “Smythe”. “We are in a hurry,” he finished, nervously checking his chrono.
“We could make it worth your while Ma’am,” said Jonez, in a voice dripping of sugar and kindness, his eyebrows waggling ineffectively from behind the helmet he forgot he had on.
“Well, then tell me the real reason you want this place so bad,” she said. “That helmet comm isn’t hiding your desperation very well, ya know.”
“Ya sure I can’t offer ya some “consideration”? asked the old man.
“Not thinking so, sir, not falling for that today, besides, Demi is on his way, better just wait for him,” she finished.”
Samave hopped on her speeder and started back toward the cantina. “Bye Fellas!” she yelled as she waved. “Good luck with whatever...”
“I can see it now,” said Smythe. We are locked out of the stash house, and some Imperial patrol walks by“ he continued. “What are we supposed to do now?”
“We just gotta wait here for Demi, maybe he’ll be here before anyone else gets here,” assured the old man. “Otherwise, I guess we just shoot him again with a stunner, and bury him in the sand a bit, maybe park our speeders over him so no one notices.”
Moments later a large Zabrak man pulls up on his speeder and hops off. “You guys, waiting here long?”
he asked. “I had forgotten all about that conversation we had back at the Flask. But here ya go,” he said as he unlocked the place. “Do what ya gotta do,” he said as he looked at the Ithorian, then smiled and winked.
“Thanks, brother, we’ll try not to make a mess,” said the old man, waving to the now departing Zabrak.
“Won’t make a mess? Asked Smythe. “Really?”
“Well we won’t mean to make one,” said Jonez. “But, son, ya never know how these things’ll end up, ya just never know.
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Re: "Weekend at Demi's" part1
After working to overcome the knot tying excellence of Mr. Smythe, the two armored men carried/dragged the large Ithorian up the steps and into the house, where he was taken to a back room and placed on the floor of a room, that had no furnishings whatsoever. Upon being put on the floor, Ghaal, the Ithorian began to move and show signs of wakefulness as Jonez and Smythe looked at him, then to each other.
“Well….?” Asked Smythe, dusting the dirt from his hands after having carried the Ithorian to this place of rest.
“Well what?” Jonez returned.
“I mean what do we do now?” asked Smythe. “we have him here, and so?”
“Smythe, son, now is the time for us to present our initial offer, to out friend here,” he explains, pointing to Ghaal.
“What if he says “no”?” asked Smythe. “I mean he may not want to do what we want.”
“Smythe, don’t be negative,” admonished Jonez. “It is common for those who make deals to come back with a counter offer. We will, of course give Mr Ghaal plenty of time to consider his options.”
As though on cue the Ithorian, grunted something that seemed vaguely to Jonez as the language of the Hutts. “What do you want of me?” he said.
“The organization I am representing wants you to cease your hunting of the human woman, Aldara,” stated Jonez, matter of factly, imitating the guttural language of the Hutts. “While I do understand as well as appreciate the bounty hunter code by which you do business, hunting this woman needs to stop immediately,” Jonez finished.
“What is the reason for this?” asked Ghaal. “What is so special about this human?”
“She is under the protection of this organization, and that is all you need to know.”
“And if I do not choose to discontinue my hunt for her?” asked the Ithorian.
“You won’t, “stated Jonez flately. “In fact, Smythe and I are going to leave the room and allow you all the time you need to come to this determination,” he finished, motioning to Smythe to follow him out of the room after quickly securing the hands and feet of their Ithorian captive.
“So how long are we gonna wait on this guy?” asked Mr Smythe.
“Why you askin’ son? You gotta be somewhere?” chuckled the old man. “We’ll just give him time to realize the futility, of his current pursuit,” he explained. “And of course, this spot is out of the way, and thus ideal for thinking, and making wise personal choices, don’t you think?”
“Well that hunter sure seemed to be surprised at your choice of locations,” said Smythe. “I could tell in the way she talked,” he explained.
“I do allow folks to have their preconceived notions about what my agenda truly is,” explained the older Jonez. “I am not certain how they knew, but I suspect they were thinking I would keep our friend at New Zeltros. That was the trap that I think they had in mind,” he continued. “Ya see, we store our friend there, and maybe he has other friends who spring him, and then he is in a great shape to capture his prey. He seemed to be fixed on her staying in New Zeltros.”
Smythe and Jonez, sat back and waited. Jonez, broke the seal on his helmet, pulled a flask from his utility belt and took a long drink, offering it to Smythe. Smythe refused, then stood up and started pacing. The young man was clearly excited, and so he seemed to demonstrate his intensity by staying on his feet, demonstrating his constant readiness. The older man seemed rather relaxed as he drank from his flask.
He got back to his feet and resealed his helmet, then nodded to the younger man. “I reckon we could check on our boy now, if ya like?” said the old man, storing his flask in an ammo pouch.
https://media.discordapp.net/attachment ... height=560
Both men looked stunned as the door opened to reveal an Ithorian holding a blaster in one hand and a thermal detonator in the other.
“Put your guns down,” said Ghaal in Huttese.
“What did he say?” asked Smythe. "I bet its not good."
“While I am no a walking lexicon of Hutt language, I have been around long enough to know what ‘put your guns on the floor’ means,” he explained as he keyed his mic, allowing the personnel back on Naboo to hear what was happening in the room.
“what are we gonna do?” asked Smythe as he slowly reached to take his weapon out of its holster to lay on the ground.
“Shoot him,” said the old man as he quickly drew his blaster and fired at the Ithorian, knocking him back into the other room.
“Get the hell out of here!” yelled the old man as he shoved Smythe toward the doorway. Ghaal came back out the back room, firing, and hitting Jonez as the two dived out of the building.
Jonez hit the ground and rolled up onto his knees, firing back into the building, knocking holes in the walls and pushing Ghaal back under cover. Smythe fire into the room to cover Jonez as he got to his feet.
Ghaal then charged out of the building, between shots, but was caught by Jonez, getting shouldered up against the wall by the old man in the powered suit.
“Crap!” yelled the old man as his punch then hit the wall, missing the Ithorian and hitting the wall, knocking a hole in it. Smythe tried to get a shot, but was blocked by Jonez, who swung and missed with an uppercut, that eluded the odd shaped head of the Ithorian. Ghaal then kneed Jonez in the gut and dove off the platform, and rolling as he hit the sand, coming up with the thermal detonator in his hand. Activating the timer switch, he threw the explosive at the two men.
“Hit the deck!” Yelled the old man as he dived off the entryway platform and onto the Ithorian. The explosive bounced off Jonez then exploded, in a fashion that was significantly less than intended, though knocking the wind out of the old man.
Jonez, undeterred by the smallish explosion, landed atop Ghaal, knocking the wind out of the larger Ithorian. The two combatants rolled on the sand, trading blows while Smythe tried to line up a shot. Ghaal rolled to his feet and fired a couple shots into the old man, then started to run. Smythe then stepped around the corner and fired a couple shots into the fleeing Ghaal, sending him sprawling to the ground where he laid unmoving.
“Dino?” asked Aimi, concern in her voice. “Dino? “asked Destia, also in a voice filled with concern. “Dammit Dino!” Mina frowned and looked down to the floor, in exasperation.
“We better get over there,” said Fou-darr, immediately leaving the room.
“Well….?” Asked Smythe, dusting the dirt from his hands after having carried the Ithorian to this place of rest.
“Well what?” Jonez returned.
“I mean what do we do now?” asked Smythe. “we have him here, and so?”
“Smythe, son, now is the time for us to present our initial offer, to out friend here,” he explains, pointing to Ghaal.
“What if he says “no”?” asked Smythe. “I mean he may not want to do what we want.”
“Smythe, don’t be negative,” admonished Jonez. “It is common for those who make deals to come back with a counter offer. We will, of course give Mr Ghaal plenty of time to consider his options.”
As though on cue the Ithorian, grunted something that seemed vaguely to Jonez as the language of the Hutts. “What do you want of me?” he said.
“The organization I am representing wants you to cease your hunting of the human woman, Aldara,” stated Jonez, matter of factly, imitating the guttural language of the Hutts. “While I do understand as well as appreciate the bounty hunter code by which you do business, hunting this woman needs to stop immediately,” Jonez finished.
“What is the reason for this?” asked Ghaal. “What is so special about this human?”
“She is under the protection of this organization, and that is all you need to know.”
“And if I do not choose to discontinue my hunt for her?” asked the Ithorian.
“You won’t, “stated Jonez flately. “In fact, Smythe and I are going to leave the room and allow you all the time you need to come to this determination,” he finished, motioning to Smythe to follow him out of the room after quickly securing the hands and feet of their Ithorian captive.
“So how long are we gonna wait on this guy?” asked Mr Smythe.
“Why you askin’ son? You gotta be somewhere?” chuckled the old man. “We’ll just give him time to realize the futility, of his current pursuit,” he explained. “And of course, this spot is out of the way, and thus ideal for thinking, and making wise personal choices, don’t you think?”
“Well that hunter sure seemed to be surprised at your choice of locations,” said Smythe. “I could tell in the way she talked,” he explained.
“I do allow folks to have their preconceived notions about what my agenda truly is,” explained the older Jonez. “I am not certain how they knew, but I suspect they were thinking I would keep our friend at New Zeltros. That was the trap that I think they had in mind,” he continued. “Ya see, we store our friend there, and maybe he has other friends who spring him, and then he is in a great shape to capture his prey. He seemed to be fixed on her staying in New Zeltros.”
Smythe and Jonez, sat back and waited. Jonez, broke the seal on his helmet, pulled a flask from his utility belt and took a long drink, offering it to Smythe. Smythe refused, then stood up and started pacing. The young man was clearly excited, and so he seemed to demonstrate his intensity by staying on his feet, demonstrating his constant readiness. The older man seemed rather relaxed as he drank from his flask.
He got back to his feet and resealed his helmet, then nodded to the younger man. “I reckon we could check on our boy now, if ya like?” said the old man, storing his flask in an ammo pouch.
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Both men looked stunned as the door opened to reveal an Ithorian holding a blaster in one hand and a thermal detonator in the other.
“Put your guns down,” said Ghaal in Huttese.
“What did he say?” asked Smythe. "I bet its not good."
“While I am no a walking lexicon of Hutt language, I have been around long enough to know what ‘put your guns on the floor’ means,” he explained as he keyed his mic, allowing the personnel back on Naboo to hear what was happening in the room.
“what are we gonna do?” asked Smythe as he slowly reached to take his weapon out of its holster to lay on the ground.
“Shoot him,” said the old man as he quickly drew his blaster and fired at the Ithorian, knocking him back into the other room.
“Get the hell out of here!” yelled the old man as he shoved Smythe toward the doorway. Ghaal came back out the back room, firing, and hitting Jonez as the two dived out of the building.
Jonez hit the ground and rolled up onto his knees, firing back into the building, knocking holes in the walls and pushing Ghaal back under cover. Smythe fire into the room to cover Jonez as he got to his feet.
Ghaal then charged out of the building, between shots, but was caught by Jonez, getting shouldered up against the wall by the old man in the powered suit.
“Crap!” yelled the old man as his punch then hit the wall, missing the Ithorian and hitting the wall, knocking a hole in it. Smythe tried to get a shot, but was blocked by Jonez, who swung and missed with an uppercut, that eluded the odd shaped head of the Ithorian. Ghaal then kneed Jonez in the gut and dove off the platform, and rolling as he hit the sand, coming up with the thermal detonator in his hand. Activating the timer switch, he threw the explosive at the two men.
“Hit the deck!” Yelled the old man as he dived off the entryway platform and onto the Ithorian. The explosive bounced off Jonez then exploded, in a fashion that was significantly less than intended, though knocking the wind out of the old man.
Jonez, undeterred by the smallish explosion, landed atop Ghaal, knocking the wind out of the larger Ithorian. The two combatants rolled on the sand, trading blows while Smythe tried to line up a shot. Ghaal rolled to his feet and fired a couple shots into the old man, then started to run. Smythe then stepped around the corner and fired a couple shots into the fleeing Ghaal, sending him sprawling to the ground where he laid unmoving.
“Dino?” asked Aimi, concern in her voice. “Dino? “asked Destia, also in a voice filled with concern. “Dammit Dino!” Mina frowned and looked down to the floor, in exasperation.
“We better get over there,” said Fou-darr, immediately leaving the room.
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Re: "Weekend at Demi's" part1
A man in a black suit of armor, with a black helmet dismounted his swoop and approached #2 Sunset Lane, in the desert town of Destalon. He sighed as he walked purposefully toward the house, noticing bits of shrapnel and a trail of blood on the sand, not yet swept away by the desert breeze. As he rounded the building and walked up the ramp of the entry he noticed more carbon scoring on the walls and a couple holes. The tall man was greeted by a shorter armored figure.
“Glad you made it, Jonez is still out cold and Ghaal is about dead,” explained Smythe.
“Jonez?” asked the armored man. “Is that what he is going by these days?”
“Yeah, um uh what are you going by these days?” asked Smythe, having never heard about Adversarius “Doc” Mortis, getting involved in these matters before.
“Dr Black, will do for the now, Smythe, is it?” he asked the other man. “I better get started then,” he said, walking past Smythe, noticing the room as he entered, seeing Ghaal restrained on the floor with signs that rudimentary first aid had been attempted. On the other side of the room was another man in full suit laying curled up, his helmet still on.
Dr, Black sighed as he looked down at his friend, then immediately began to work on the Ithorian, pulling out his med scanner and reading the results of the tests on his datapad. He then got right to work applying the stims and antibiotics, and healing agents that were compatible with the Ithorian physiology.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” asked Smythe who seemed to linger over the shoulder of the “Doc” while he remained focused on his patient.
“Start cleaning if you wanna live through this, Smythe, while I keep these two from dying,” explained the Doc, curtly. “Timewise, from the moment the detonator went off til now...hmmm, well by my internal calculations gives us mere moments before someone comes by and wonders what the hell happened here,” he continued to explain while he worked, before stopping and looking at his chronometer. “In 5 to ten minutes, my son, Mr. Green will be covering us with a special sniper rifle designed to tranquilize the curious beings who wish to know more about what’s going on in their community, which, fortunately is nothing.”
“Geez, Doc, you sound pretty official about all this,” said Smythe. “No “good job keeping them alive til you got here?” or no “Glad you are ok?”
The Doctor stopped moving for a moment. The sound of a sigh escaped the helmet’s vent system and was the only audible sound in the room. He turned his head and looked at Smythe. “Good job keeping them alive, and I am glad you are ok,” he said flatly. “I can give you a hug or a big sloppy kiss later if you like, but my curtness is a means of staying focused on the task at hand that needs to be dealt with quickly if lives are to be saved. I actually know Demi’s wife and she is not as reasonable about these things as he is,” Dr. Black explained. “I actually saw Syn shove her spear through a man for getting fresh, so, in the interest of all of our lives, lets get to work. I’ll save these beings, and you can save the house, and by doing so, us”
The Doc continued applying dressings to the various wounds, making certain the internal bleeding had stopped before injecting the Ithorian with a tracking chip. He then finished cleaning him up and re applying the restraints, before moving on to Mr Jonez, who had suffered less severe injuries, but life threatening, if untreated. Cursing slightly under his helmet about his friend diving head first into the crapper, Dr Black repaired the chest wound in Mr. Jonez. He then stood up and looked around the room and marveled at the efforts Smythe put into “cleaning” things up.
“Smythe,” said the Doc. “Go outside and have Mr. Green come down and help you get Mr. Jonez into the shuttle for Eisley. My ship is berthed there, and he can rest while I finish matters here,” he said. “Oh, and thank you, I appreciate your work and I am certain the Krayt does as well.”
The man referred to as “Mr Green” appeared in the doorway and helped Smythe carry Jonez out and away to the place they had discussed. Dr. Black, then returned his focus to the datapad whereby he monitored the progress of the healing additives he had recently applied.
After a few hours, the Ithorian known as Ghaal started to stir awake. “What happens now?” asked Ghaal, in Huttese, the guttural language of the Hutts.
The Doc looked up at his patient, smiling under his helmet then looking down at his datapad. “Now, Ghaal we discuss your future,” said the doc.
“What do you think that is?” the Ithorian asked.
“It could be bright and promising, or it could be over,” replied Dr. Black. “Life, as I am sure you understand is full of choices,” he explained.
“State your conditions, then, and let’s get on with this,” said Ghaal, clearly not happy with his less than ideal circumstance.
“You end your pursuit of the human woman, Aldara, and come work for us,” stated the Doctor, clinically. “I have the contract right here, and a sample of your DNA to make it official should that be your choice.
“What’s gonna stop me from going after her anyway,” stated Ghaal flatly, the Huttese language not conveying any emotion, as it went through the Doc’s translator.
“Glad you asked, Ghaal. Through the course of your treatment,” Dr. Black began to explain. “I injected a tracker into your body, that will give me your location.”
“I strongly dislike people putting things into my body,” Ghaal stated flatly, with a slightly menacing edge.
“I did actually decide, on behalf of the Krayt, to save your life,” explained the Doctor. “In time, as our relationship grows, and wisdom replaces resentment, then we can discuss removing it.”
The doctor then placed a device in the hand of his captive, that had a button, resting against a digit of the Ithorian’s hand. He then packed up his gear except an injector that he held in his hand, looking down at the restrained Ithorian.
“Perhaps, after this ordeal you need even more time to think this over,” said the Doc. “I am authorized by the Krayt to give you a day to contemplate the path before you, as he said to me. I will be back to get an answer, but should you decide beforehand, that button will send me a signal and I can come back an hear your decision. I am a busy man and can’t sit here all day while you figure it all out. But I will be close. This is a sedative that is compatible with your anatomy. Sometimes our answers come to us in dreams,” said Black. “Mine did a long time ago.”
The Doctor turned and left the building.
The next day the Doctor walked up to the building, noting that the wind and sand had returned the balance to the neighborhood. No more signs of shrapnel or blood on the sand. The Doctor got to the doorway and wave up the hill to a figure likely hidden behind a rock or in the sand itself.
Entering the room, the man currently known as Dr Black, looked down at the Ithorian.
“Decision time,” he stated, looking down at his captive.
“I accept,” said Ghaal. “What happens now?”
The doctor pulled a small device out of his pocket, pressing a button. The restraints fell away, allowing him his full freedom.
“Now you go get that friend who left you here,” said Dr. Black. “I would,” he finished. He then set a datachip on the ground next to the Ithorian.
“We’ll be in touch,” he said then started to walk away. “Your things are in this room,” said the Doc, as he left the building and motioned for his son to go with him
“Glad you made it, Jonez is still out cold and Ghaal is about dead,” explained Smythe.
“Jonez?” asked the armored man. “Is that what he is going by these days?”
“Yeah, um uh what are you going by these days?” asked Smythe, having never heard about Adversarius “Doc” Mortis, getting involved in these matters before.
“Dr Black, will do for the now, Smythe, is it?” he asked the other man. “I better get started then,” he said, walking past Smythe, noticing the room as he entered, seeing Ghaal restrained on the floor with signs that rudimentary first aid had been attempted. On the other side of the room was another man in full suit laying curled up, his helmet still on.
Dr, Black sighed as he looked down at his friend, then immediately began to work on the Ithorian, pulling out his med scanner and reading the results of the tests on his datapad. He then got right to work applying the stims and antibiotics, and healing agents that were compatible with the Ithorian physiology.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” asked Smythe who seemed to linger over the shoulder of the “Doc” while he remained focused on his patient.
“Start cleaning if you wanna live through this, Smythe, while I keep these two from dying,” explained the Doc, curtly. “Timewise, from the moment the detonator went off til now...hmmm, well by my internal calculations gives us mere moments before someone comes by and wonders what the hell happened here,” he continued to explain while he worked, before stopping and looking at his chronometer. “In 5 to ten minutes, my son, Mr. Green will be covering us with a special sniper rifle designed to tranquilize the curious beings who wish to know more about what’s going on in their community, which, fortunately is nothing.”
“Geez, Doc, you sound pretty official about all this,” said Smythe. “No “good job keeping them alive til you got here?” or no “Glad you are ok?”
The Doctor stopped moving for a moment. The sound of a sigh escaped the helmet’s vent system and was the only audible sound in the room. He turned his head and looked at Smythe. “Good job keeping them alive, and I am glad you are ok,” he said flatly. “I can give you a hug or a big sloppy kiss later if you like, but my curtness is a means of staying focused on the task at hand that needs to be dealt with quickly if lives are to be saved. I actually know Demi’s wife and she is not as reasonable about these things as he is,” Dr. Black explained. “I actually saw Syn shove her spear through a man for getting fresh, so, in the interest of all of our lives, lets get to work. I’ll save these beings, and you can save the house, and by doing so, us”
The Doc continued applying dressings to the various wounds, making certain the internal bleeding had stopped before injecting the Ithorian with a tracking chip. He then finished cleaning him up and re applying the restraints, before moving on to Mr Jonez, who had suffered less severe injuries, but life threatening, if untreated. Cursing slightly under his helmet about his friend diving head first into the crapper, Dr Black repaired the chest wound in Mr. Jonez. He then stood up and looked around the room and marveled at the efforts Smythe put into “cleaning” things up.
“Smythe,” said the Doc. “Go outside and have Mr. Green come down and help you get Mr. Jonez into the shuttle for Eisley. My ship is berthed there, and he can rest while I finish matters here,” he said. “Oh, and thank you, I appreciate your work and I am certain the Krayt does as well.”
The man referred to as “Mr Green” appeared in the doorway and helped Smythe carry Jonez out and away to the place they had discussed. Dr. Black, then returned his focus to the datapad whereby he monitored the progress of the healing additives he had recently applied.
After a few hours, the Ithorian known as Ghaal started to stir awake. “What happens now?” asked Ghaal, in Huttese, the guttural language of the Hutts.
The Doc looked up at his patient, smiling under his helmet then looking down at his datapad. “Now, Ghaal we discuss your future,” said the doc.
“What do you think that is?” the Ithorian asked.
“It could be bright and promising, or it could be over,” replied Dr. Black. “Life, as I am sure you understand is full of choices,” he explained.
“State your conditions, then, and let’s get on with this,” said Ghaal, clearly not happy with his less than ideal circumstance.
“You end your pursuit of the human woman, Aldara, and come work for us,” stated the Doctor, clinically. “I have the contract right here, and a sample of your DNA to make it official should that be your choice.
“What’s gonna stop me from going after her anyway,” stated Ghaal flatly, the Huttese language not conveying any emotion, as it went through the Doc’s translator.
“Glad you asked, Ghaal. Through the course of your treatment,” Dr. Black began to explain. “I injected a tracker into your body, that will give me your location.”
“I strongly dislike people putting things into my body,” Ghaal stated flatly, with a slightly menacing edge.
“I did actually decide, on behalf of the Krayt, to save your life,” explained the Doctor. “In time, as our relationship grows, and wisdom replaces resentment, then we can discuss removing it.”
The doctor then placed a device in the hand of his captive, that had a button, resting against a digit of the Ithorian’s hand. He then packed up his gear except an injector that he held in his hand, looking down at the restrained Ithorian.
“Perhaps, after this ordeal you need even more time to think this over,” said the Doc. “I am authorized by the Krayt to give you a day to contemplate the path before you, as he said to me. I will be back to get an answer, but should you decide beforehand, that button will send me a signal and I can come back an hear your decision. I am a busy man and can’t sit here all day while you figure it all out. But I will be close. This is a sedative that is compatible with your anatomy. Sometimes our answers come to us in dreams,” said Black. “Mine did a long time ago.”
The Doctor turned and left the building.
The next day the Doctor walked up to the building, noting that the wind and sand had returned the balance to the neighborhood. No more signs of shrapnel or blood on the sand. The Doctor got to the doorway and wave up the hill to a figure likely hidden behind a rock or in the sand itself.
Entering the room, the man currently known as Dr Black, looked down at the Ithorian.
“Decision time,” he stated, looking down at his captive.
“I accept,” said Ghaal. “What happens now?”
The doctor pulled a small device out of his pocket, pressing a button. The restraints fell away, allowing him his full freedom.
“Now you go get that friend who left you here,” said Dr. Black. “I would,” he finished. He then set a datachip on the ground next to the Ithorian.
“We’ll be in touch,” he said then started to walk away. “Your things are in this room,” said the Doc, as he left the building and motioned for his son to go with him