The planning discussion can be found here.


Tatooine.

An insignificant backwater planet on the outer rim of the galaxy.

Kilometer after kilometer of desert, dunes baked daily by twin yellow suns.

A place romantically familiar with the words "wretched hive of scum and villainy."

Here, there is danger.  Here, there is adventure.  Here, there is death.

And here, on a sail barge one day out of Mos Eisley, is a door being blasted open.


The door exploded in a shower of smoke and noise, two figures rushing through, blasters unholstered.  A shot greets the horrified and surprised passengers, red light disappearing into the roof above.

"Reach for the ceiling!" the smaller of the two shouted, his face covered by a kerchief.

Everyone stared in confused silence.

"I think," the taller man said.  His face was also hidden by a similar kerchief. "I think that statement wasn't quite what we were looking for."

"What d'ya mean?" Drongo replied.  "Look at them!  They are struck silent in fear."

"I… don't think that is fear," Yuri said.  He leveled his blaster with a man's forehead.

"Okay, ladies and… sentients, this is a robbery.  Hand over your money, jewels, valuables, anything, or me and my furry little friend here are going to shoot at you and take everything anyway," Yuri nudged Drongo.  "Just go around with the bag."

"Uh… bag?"

"Sack, bag, bucket, doesn't matter.  Just go around and collect."

"Well, y'see boss," Drongo stared guiltily at his feet, "I actually don't have any of those.  Just my blaster and these kerchiefs we're wearing."

"What happened to the one I gave you before we even got on this barge?"

"Where do you think the kerchiefs came from?"

Yuri groaned, unknowingly firing off his blaster.  The shot hit the wall, waking a small elderly man enough for him to say, "Eh, what what?" and doze off again.

"Well, I do have my underpants," Drongo, always innovative, pointed at his head.

"We'll use my hat," Yuri said quickly, handing Drongo the wide-brimmed brown hat he was wearing.  Somehow, it felt like it fit the part.

"But my underpants are just fi-"

"We'll use my hat," Yuri said again, firmly.

"Fine, fine," Drongo grabbed the hat, a bit more roughly than was needed, and went around the barge, "collecting" the passenger's valuables.  They complied not so much out of fear of the two bandits, but out of a certain mass need to get whoever they were off the barge as quickly as they could.  By the time Drongo made it to the last seat, they were throwing anything everything they had at him.

"We'd like to thank you kind peoples for the generosity," Yuri said and made for the doorway.  He rebounded of a seemingly solid wall of flesh.

"What's going on down here?" The wall asked.

Yuri waved his blaster, "Robbery."

"Oh, an actual robbery!" the captain said excitedly.  "I haven't had one of those in months.  Why, you remind me of the one time-"

Yuri fired a shot into the mans knee, sending him tumbling down the stairs.

"Cor!" Drongo said.  "I thought we weren't supposed to shoot anyone."

"It's okay, I shot him in the kneecaps.  Kneecaps are a sort of grey area."

"… Oh."



"That went well."  They were standing on the deck of the ship, the barge's cargo thoroughly searched and thoroughly robbed.  The passengers had applauded when they finally left.  It certainly wasn't what Yuri was hoping for, but it was enough to keep him satisfied.  At least for a day.  Maybe two.

"Definitely.  It's a good haul," Drongo said. "'Cept, well, one thing…"

"What?"

"How the frell do we get off this thing?"

Re: Sands of Gold

There are habitable worlds, and there are uninhabitable worlds. There are also worlds that can be rendered marginally habitable, but never should be. Foremost among the latter was a hellish, geologically barren, planetary body of unremarkable size and appearance whose astronomical designation no one bothered to repeat because it had long since been written off as a barren wasteland where only cut-throats, smugglers, and criminals occupied in this backwater sector of the Outer Rim Territories.

Tatooine.

This is where Han Antilles, retired member of Rogue Squadron, had decided to make his stop as the <I>Sobriety</i>'s transponder was cleared by the port authority and was authorized to land at Mos Eisley's spaceport. The YKL-37R Nova Courier– a low slung, handsome, contemporary construction manufactured by the Corellian Engineering Corp, landed on Docking Bay sixty-nine. Adaptable and tough, it was exactly the kind of versatile transport a pack of smugglers, misfits, and mercs would utilize, if they could afford it. Doubtless it would cost a pretty credit or two, but with the pension received from the Rogues, Han used it all toward its purchase so he can hire himself out for runs out here in the Outer Rim. After countless battles with the Empire, the Rogue pilot decided to call it quits and began to make a living out here.

The <I>Sobriety</I> was a maneuverable vessel equipped for carrying smaller cargos through safe and hazardous space, and it possessed a nominal ability to defend itself. Intended to be crewed by just a handful, almost all systems were made to be accessible and maintainable by a small crew with light tools. In the hands of Rebel pilots, the Nova Couriers have developed a reputation for being adept at ducking into asteroid belts to avoid pursuers, fighting off individual TIE patrol ships, and generally becoming masters of smuggling weapons, information, and personnel past Imperial blockades.

Clearing its electronic throat, the ship's comm system snapped to life as Han chirped orders from the cockpit. "Okay ladies, time to get moving here. We got a ton of crates to unload and a pissy client to deal with. Once the credits is in our hands, we can get the frell off this dustball." A glance at the ship's instrumentation showed they needed repairs as well. "Oh, and we need parts too…"

The comm chirped again. "If anyone needs me, I'm going to see about payday over at that cantina place in Mos Eisley. You know… the one Solo vaped the Rodian. If anyone wants to join me after unloading, I could use the muscle."

Pulling on a ragged, tan poncho, the blond Corellian palmed the button to the boarding ramp and strapped on his utility belt, with his trusted DL-44 snugly holstered on his lower hip. A warm blast of air hit his face as he descended down the ramp as the binary suns blared down upon the spaceport.

Re: Sands of Gold

Mos Eisley, Tatooine

Kutac sat slouched on a bantha, a black hat shading his face from the Tatooine as it walked slowly down one of the side streets of Mos Eisley. Puffs of dust floated from under the bantha’s feet as Kutac guided it toward the center of town, paying little attention to a group of three thugs standing against a hitching rail.

The three unshaven thugs began to shout insults at him, about his bantha and Kutac paid them little mind as the faithful bantha kept up its plodding gait.

One of the thugs drew a blaster, then the other two followed suit. They took aim, and began to fire bolts of energy at the feet of Kutac’s bantha. The bantha took off, cantering as fast as it could, its rapid gait causing its hooves to kick up more dust. Kutac was too busy looking for the source of the shots, and he failed to notice a sign, advertising a cantina, that failure cost him a sudden landing in the street, where a man was standing in the door, watching him bemusedly.

Kutac stood up and dusted himself off, then nodded to the stranger in the door. “Hello.”

The stranger looked at him and nodded, and with a somewhat jaunty combination of half wave, half salute and replied, “Saludo.”

Kutac slowly unfastened the safety strap that held his blaster pistol in its holster, and began to walk up the street. The three thugs were laughing so hard at the shots that they had fired a Jerva’s bantha that they failed to notice his approach.

They failed to notice, until he spoke that is. “It ain’t nice you laughing. See, it makes my bantha unhappy when you laugh. He done got real riled up when you went and fired those shots at his feet, now if you apologize, like I suggest you do, I might just let it go.”

The thug that seemed to be charge looked at him. “Hey, hombre, leave us alone, or we’ll shoot your feet, and we won’t miss like we did for your bantha.”

Kutac looked at the ground, the brim of the black hat the he wore shielding the rage in his eyes. “Well friends, I suggest you apologize to my bantha.”

The lead thug looked at him again and just laughed.

Kutac’s right hand darted down to the blaster on his hip, and a he drew it. Once. Twice. Three times it spoke. When it had finished, three thugs slumped across the hitching rail, each with a blaster burn to the area of the heart. Kutac spun his blaster pistol back into its holster as the tang of ozone washed across the area from the brief gunfight.

Kutac turned around his hand darting to his blaster as the stranger from the cantina approached him.

Re: Sands of Gold

"Can someone please tell me what the frell I am doing on Tatooine?" Cyan Madine grumbled for the umpteenth time in a dive famous for a Han Solo kill years and years ago, back before anyone knew who Luke Skywalker was and when Vader and Palpatine still had a strong hold over the galaxy.  Jabbing at her drink with the stirring stick, she murmured a few more choice words before casting a baleful look at her co-captain.  "What?"

Ilia Nee raised her hands and shook her head.  "I didn't say a thing."

"Yeah, well, it better stay that way."  About an hour earlier Nee's off-handed comment about it being Cyan's idea to take a break from piloting life and join her on a simple transport run had nearly earned her a tongue-lashing that rivaled the intense radiation from Tatooine's twin suns.  Between the loss of their cargo and the damage done to the Blue Fire's cargo hold door, this had not been her day.

Nee sighed.  She couldn't help but wonder if this vacation was doing Cyan the good she needed after all the things she'd gone through with the Rogues.  Among other things.  The recent falling out Cyan had had with Cal wasn't helping matters ei–

"Yo, bartender!  Get me another one of these… whatever the 'ell they are," Cyan's voice rang out loud and moderately clear through the haze and noise of the cantina.

The Twi'lek sighed again.  Glancing around the dimly lit room, Ilia Nee slowly took in her surroundings while she attempted - futilely - to avoid inhaling the multicolored smoke in the air.  A grunt from beside her turned Nee's attention back to her partner.  The vexation and dejectedness apparent in every line of Cyan's face caused Nee to look for any shred of an idea to get her attention off their surroundings.  "Hey, isn't this where you met the co-pilot you had before me?"

"Eh?"

"What was her name… Edra Nain?"

"Oh yeah, uh huh, that was her.  I met her… uh… over thataways.  Not in this cantina, oh, no.  Definitely… somewhere else."  Cyan slowly explained, a but of a slur entering her speech as she waved randomly toward the door.

One eyebrow shot up.  With warning signs flashing all over the place, Nee intercepted the drink Cyan had ordered and decidedly placed it very close to her own side of the table.  Then, through the haze, Nee spotted a familiar figure.  "Hey, Cyan, don't we know that guy?"

Re: Sands of Gold

Mos Eisley, Tatooine

Howldan the Wookie was a sheriff on Tatooine. That's not to say that's what he ALWAYS was…just when he happened to land on this lawless, back-water planet. He had a thousand other professions…hunter, bouncer, sty-cleaner…but this job was th worse by far. It was about as appealing as a bantha's backside.

Which, by a matter of strange coincidence, was what he was looking at. All he remebered was riding the creature, the thing seeing something invisible and scary, and next thing he knew, he was looking at the designated exit of a particularilly gassy pack animal.

Howldan moaned. Why was he here? He had a family, a wife and a kid. He should be on Kashykk, not here. He should be in the kitchen with his wife or teaching his child to shoot a bowcaster properly (which, oddly enough, happened to be almost not at all. That is, if you shoot a bowcaster properly, you only have to shoot once…not like some weapons). But NOOOOOO, he was not granted even that privilage.

Now it was the bantha's turn to moan, but not from the front side. The Wookie was in exactly the wrong place and was litterally knocked back. He needed a good, strong drink.

Howldan stood shakily and boarded his gaseous steed. Fortunately, he knew the perfect cantina just around the corner. He always came here when he winded up on this perfectly miserable planet. He always tried to get the famous (or infamous, from your point of veiw) seat where Han Solo killed the Rodian. Wouldn't it be amazing to sit where his hero, Chewbacca, had once sat.

No such luck, he was forced to sit at the bar. He ordered a drink…he didn't care what it was, so long as it wasn't poisonous and got him good and drunk. This, if you have ever met a Wookie, is a bad idea. A wookie on alcohol is like a mass murderer with a case of extreme paranoia and twitchiness…not good for the people around him.

As he waited, he listened to the talk around him. Just two seats down, a drunk human male was hitting on a pretty Twi'lek. "Heard about the barge robberies?" He was saying, "Pretty nasty, eh?"

"Yes," the Twi'lek answered, "now I have some business to attend to."

She got up and tried to walk away but her arm was caught in the grasp of the man. "The only business you have to attend to is with me and a bed."

"Please let me go, sir." The twi'lek muttered. Her arm was already bruising around the man's hand.

"No," The man answered, "I want you. And I always get what I want. Alwa-"

The man was interuptted when Howldan's paw landed on his shoulder. As the drunk's eyes travelled up the arm and to the hairy face, fear came into his eyes. Then the man bolted.

"Thank you, sheriff," The Twi'lek nodded.

"Just doin' my job," Howldan roared and went back to his seat.

Now he had two things to do. 1) Get drunk and 2) get to the bottom of the freighter robberies…in that order.

Re: Sands of Gold

Val Navin stood off to one side of the cargo hold, hands at the small of her back and stretched her slightly sore muscles before rotating her neck, wincing at the minute creaks and pops this action produced.  She and the rest of the crew of the Sobrietyhad just finished prepping the crates of cargo for unloading once the Captain had their payment in hand.  

Like Captain Antilles, Val'kia was also a retired veteran of the New Republic, but of a different branch of service.  They had met through mutual friends and when he offered her a job aboard his newly acquired ship as second in command she accepted.  With her skills and experience gained with her years in the army then with intelligence she could have easily found a choice of positions hiring herself out as a bounty hunter or a member of some wealthy employer's private security staff.  But she'd had enough of that type of work and Han, as well as most of the Sobriety's crew, was easy enough to get along with and Val hadn't had a reason yet to regret the choice she'd made.

Tatooine was oppressively hot and even the Courier's well-maintained environmental controls were having a hard time dealing with the demands the planet's climate was putting on them.  Unzipping the sleeveless brown nerfskin vest she was wearing just a bit provided a small amount of relief as did pinning up the long red braid that hung to her mid back.  

Picking up her cut down slugthrower off the top of the crate next to her, Val stuck it in the holster on her right hip. Han had first laughed about her using the "old-fashioned" weapon,  until he saw it in action against that crew of wannabe pirates who tried to rob them of their cargo on Ord Mandell.

Looking around at her crewmates who appeared to be wilting as well, Val asked, "Who wants to head to that cantina with me to see how the Captain's making out with our payment?"

The Greenhorn enters

“Can I come with you, Miss Navin?” 19 years old Corran Antilles asked. He was a young man, who had worked on the Sobriety to pay for his passage to Tatooine. It was the first time that he was away from his homeplanet Corellia and he wasn’t sure if the academy had prepared him really for a place like Mos Eisley. The heavy blaster pistol felt still strange at his side, but he had trained with it while the whole journey. Often ignoring the jokes the other crewmembers, he had tried to become quicker with it.

Val looked at the lanky boy and nodded. “Sure, Kid.” “Thanks, Miss.” He gave her a wide smile, grabbing his jacket, that looked still too new. As they walked down the ramp, both of them blinked against the bright light. “Wow, this is hot.” Corran murmured as they walked through the streets of the space port. “This is why they call it a desert planet.” Val answered amused. “So why did a boy like you wanted to go to Tatooine? Isn’t Corellia a nicer place?” Corran’s face darkened. “Seven years ago my parents and my younger sister visited here, while I stayed on Corellia with my grandparents. My father rented a speeder to drive to one of the moisture farms close to the Jundland Wastes. They were attacked by Tusken Raiders. As their speeder was found, my mother was dead and my father was dying. But my little sister was gone. My father’s last words were that the sandpeople had taken Sam with them. I swore to find her.” Val frowned. “And you think that she’s still alive?” Corran sighed deeply. “I have to find out.”

As they entered the cantina, a place that was famous for cheap drinks and no questions asked, Corran welcomed the cool air of the building, even when it was filled with smoke and different smells he couldn’t identify. As his eyes got used of the dim light, he looked around curiously, counting the different lifeforms.

Re: Sands of Gold

The cantina was a hive of activity. The Bith band had arrived to strike up tunes, and the place was alive with chatter and music. An incredible variety of species was packed into the large room, and Han had a little difficulty threading his way through the jocular crowd toward the bar counter. Han noticed, though, that there was an almost frantic air to the festivities, as though the revelers were celebrating some event. <I>Did the Boonta Eve Pod Race happen today?</i> The ex-Rogue also noticed the sign out front <I>still</I> did not allow droids into the cantina. <I>Some things never change I guess…</I>
 
He managed to squeeze his way past a large wookiee and a Twil'lek who sat next to him as he finally found a spot to order a drink from Wuher, the now fairly-aged bartender who had been working there since Han Solo made his famed execution at a nearby booth. As he placed his order and waited for his Eyeblaster to be served, he noticed his contact across the way. The client was seated in a booth and was not alone. Seated next to him was a human male, and opposite them both was a very muscular Gamorrean. <I>Probably his hired muscle.</I>

They were both obviously in the throes of a heated discussion– a very private one. His client stopped arguing when he spotted Han, and the Corellian sensed that some agreement had been reached between them. The human stood up and glanced at the ex-Rogue with a cursory, appraising eye, then turned back to his contact.

The Eyeblaster was served and Han took a sip of the fizzing liquid. <I>Gah!</i> It tasted like rocket fuel. His eyes flicked over the counter and observed the patrons until his gaze landed on a Twil'lek, who nudged a blonde woman who was clearly five sheets to the wind, then nodded at him. Han cocked his head in acknowledgement, clearly recognizing who they were, and wondered why there were out here in the Outer Rim of all places. He pulled himself off his stool and sauntered his way over to the pair, raising a quizzical eyebrow to Cyan, who now eyed him in surprise.

"Cyan?" he blurted. "Cyan Madine? What the frell are you doing out here on Tatooine of all places?" He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Are the Rogues on some undercover mission out here?"

Han suddenly drew his attention to the entrance as he heard some familiar commotion. Val'kia and the greenhorn, Corran, had made their way inside the cantina.

<I>Good! Backup has arrived…</i> he thought, although Corran would have to get used to this place fairly quick before some alien thug started bragging to him he's wanted in several systems and picks a fight.

So before that happened, Han waved them over to join him and the familiar face he encountered.

Reacquainting themselves

Cyan shot a dangerous look at Han Antilles after he returned his attention to her.  "You dun wanna know," she said, her speech slurring slightly.

Han's left eyebrow shot up.  "Oh?"

When Cyan didn't respond immediately, Ilia Nee shook her head to caution him, her two lekku twitching.  "She's had a bad day, Captain."

He was about to ask why when the two figures he had motioned over walked up.  "Hey."

"Who are ya?"  Cyan asked the newcomers rather bluntly.

Han and Nee both shot her dirty looks before the former said, "Val, Corran, this is Cyan Madine, a Rogue who I used to work with and who has seen better days, and the co-captain of her private ship, Ilia Nee.  Cyan, Nee, this is Val Navin and Corran Antilles, two members of my ship's crew."

"Nice to meet you," Nee said as Cyan just nodded.

Corran's eyes were wide.  "A real Rogue pilot?"

"Yeah, kid.  I'm not usually drunk, though."  Apparently Cyan's good sense was finally getting through the haze of alcohol in her blood.  "Where'd you pick him up, Han?"

"He's a good kid - fresh off Corellia.  Looking for his sister who disappeared here some years ago."

"Sad story."

"Say, Cyan, you never said why you were here."

She glowered at him and refused to answer.

Nee hastily jumped in.  "So… she and Cal had a fight and she decided to–"

Han coughed.  "I thought she was adapting well to married life?"

"Hey, every relationship has its ups and downs.  Theirs hadn't had a down for a while, so I guess they were due for one.  Anyway, I was on Coruscant to pick up cargo and Cyan decided to take a short break from the Rogues and hook up with me for a simple cargo run to this planet - moisture farm equipment and repair supplies.  Sounds easy, right?  Well, guess they've been hard up for such things in this area recently and caught wind of our cargo content, so we were robbed.  Not only that, but the Fire sustained some damage in the process.  It all added up to too much for Cyan here and, well…"  Nee glanced at her co-captain, whose current condition spoke volumes.

"Wow.  How long is she off?"

"Least two weeks or so.  Everything's pretty quiet out there right now and Wraith Squadron's at full staff now so if something happened the two squads could go together and not have too much trouble.  That and she hasn't had a vacation for almost two years now."

"Looks like her vacation isn't going as planned."

"Definitely not."

Val coughed.

"Sorry, Val.  What's up?"

"Don't we have someone to meet here?"

"Right."  He glanced at Cyan and Nee.  "You know, if you can sober her up, Nee, I could use you two to help make some repairs on my ship and make it worth your while - enough to get the Fire back into good shape, at least."

Cyan's bright blue eyes sparkled.  "I'll do that, Han.  Thanks.  I appreciate the offer."  She glanced up at Val and Corran, then back to Han.  "I'm sure you're here for business - I'll let you get back to that while I knock some sense back into myself with Nee's help."

Re: Sands of Gold

Blake stood upright as he placed down his last crate and heard Val ask if anyone wanted to go with her to the Cantina to check up on Han.

"Yo Red, right here." He responded as he found his shirt and used it to both dry off the sweat as well as cover himself again.

He'd only been on this detail a few months now after he'd fufilled his requirements for his court appointed NRI sentence. Thus far, save the Ord Mantell incident, it had been fairly mundane, but mundane was basically what he needed in life now.

About the same time he stepped forward, so did the younger Antilles, Corran to be exact. Blake shook his head and rubbed his hand across his scraggly beard. Saying nothing he fell in line and accompanied the group to the cantina. Once there Han spotted them quickly and waved them over to where he was talking to a blonde woman. Blake didn't much bother for learning names, he didn't think they mattered much.

Quietly he sat at the table and ordered an ale, glad to be off cargo detail finally.

Re: Sands of Gold

"Good to meet you both", Val said to Cyan and her co-pilot.  It would be nice to have the Sobriety in better working order, but Val looked doubtfully at the blonde, wondering if she was going to be sober enough to properly repair the ship any time soon.   

Even more importantly, she wondered if their contact had brought along the credits that were owed them for the job so they could actually buy the parts that Cyan and Nee would require

The Gamorrean seated with the contact looked in their direction, grunting something in whatever passed for the form of language used by his species.  It seemed his grunt and accompanying glower were targeted specifically toward Corran who, Val noticed, was staring curiously back in that unknowingly insulting fashion that only the truly innocent seem to have.  Goddess, had she ever been that picture of naiveté herself, Val didn’t think so.

"Hey, kid." She heard Isul say to Corran.  "I think he likes you.  Why don’t you go on over and say hi”.

”Blake!” Val said sharply. “Leave the kid alone.”

“Aww, Red”  The bearded man said with a grin.”  I’m just trying to expand the kid’s experiences and education. He hasn’t lived until he’s gotten into a knock down drag out brawl with one of the green guys.  Remember the fight that time on Raaltir in that one cantina?  Best time you ever had with your clothes on.  Admit it” Blake said with a wink.
 
“Don’t forget, Isul. ” The redhead said sweetly.  “I can kill you with my pinky.”

Isul had been under her command of sorts while he’d served as a kind of “indentured servant assassin” for NRI.  Navin had retired from active duty right around the time Blake’s sentence was up.  Knowing he was more than capable of handling himself in a fight, as well as being useful as hired muscle Val had suggested to Captain Antilles that he hire the man on.  

Han had teased her about wanting him on board to have something nice to look at.  Although she could admit that he’d been partly right, she’d never admit it aloud.  Besides, the man tended to annoy her more than anything else.  Something Blake truly delighted in doing whenever the opportunity presented itself.  Val guessed she deserved it for all the times she’s joked about “owning” him back when she was his NRI Handler.

“And do you think next time you can  try NOT wearing the same shirt you used as  towel off with.  I think you’re giving that Gamorrean competition in the body odor department.”  Val said, wrinkling her nose slightly.

“Sorry, Red.  I just thought you’d appreciate the male pheromones I was giving off.  That maybe it’d would make you declare your true feelings for me.”  Blake shot back.

“In your dreams, convict.”  Val said with disdain, but an uncontrolable blush crept into her face just the same.  “And stop calling me Red.”

Blake nudged a wide-eyed Corran with his elbow. “I must have hit a nerve with her, huh kid?”  

“I suppose so, Mr. Isul,” the young Mr. Antilles replied with a shy lopsided grin.

“So what’s the deal with this job exactly?”  Blake asked more seriously.  “We are going to get payed this time, right Captain?

Re: Sands of Gold

Han scratched the stubble forming on his cheek then ran his hands through his unruly hair. "Well, that's the plan, Blake," he answered, with a lopsided grin. "At least we'll make sure <I>this</I> time." He gave a steady glare to Val, who instantly sensed he was choosing his words very carefully.

"Our job is simple," he glared upward to Blake. "As soon as our client is done chattering with his customer, we sit down and discuss payment. We have his stuff, so he better have our stuff. If not, no stuff."

A hot breeze carried across the cantina and some of Corran's hair blew across his face. Gently, he brushed away the offending strands away from his eyes. He turned to see the client's customer had left the cantina abruptly through the doorway. Their client was unoccupied now.

"Showtime everyone," Han announced, shaking loose the DL-44 in his holster, then getting up. Their client was probably going to underestimate them just like everyone else did. Well, he was in for a surprise if he tried to pull anything on them.

"Val… Blake… follow me," he told them, then quickly eyed Corran. "Oh, and you–" he jerked a thumb to Cyan and Nee, "–you keep them company until she sobers up. We're going to need them two to fix up the <I>Sobriety</i>."

"What if she wants more drinks?" he asked, as they moved away from the table.

"Buy'er one," Han told him as swatted a rather large fly away from his face.

Han and company walked around the cantina toward a seating area in the back. Reclining on a seat inside the large booth, was the person they were looking for. Han walked over, and Val'kia followed close behind with Blake eyeing their surroundings.

Although he was sitting, he estimated he was at least two meters tall. What Han could see of his blue, hairless body was heavily rippled with muscle. He had pronounced brow ridges that cast strange shadows over his red eyes, wearing bits and pieces of armor carefully placed. He carried two blasters at his hips and at least one armband of additional ammunition. The Chiss sat effortlessly enough, drinking what looked like Vasarian brandy from a large mug and nodding in time to the Bith band.

When he saw Han, a slow smile of recognition crossed his face. Val noticed that it did not reach his eyes, however. They glowed a deadly crimson. The Gamorrean next to him emitted a low growl of recognition.

"Han," he said easily, "I see you made it finally." He cast an appraising eye over Val'kia, but in a discreet way. "And in better company than the last time I saw you." He motioned for them to sit and join him at his table.

Han motioned Blake to stand and keep watch, while he took a seat. Val got herself a chair and waited for Han to start talking. She found, however, that she had a hard time diverting her gaze from the Gamorrean. He was an impressive size and the vibroaxe he kept near, made him intimidating.

"Chom, this is Val," Han nodded to his partner, then jerked a thumb over his shoulder, "and this is Blake. He'll be dealing with your Gamorrean if things go sour."

Chom regarded them shrewdly for a long moment then laughed with a deep, throaty bellow. When he straightened his head, he nodded in acknowledgment to Han.

"You always had a funny sense of humor, ooman." He grinned. "Now that you've brightened up an otherwise boring afternoon, I take you have my goods?" There was no kindess in the question.

"We do if you have our payment," Han told him straight out. "Otherwise, we walk and you're out of a good shipment."

Chom leaned back and stroked his chin for a moment. "Well, I would pay you if I had the credits. My men are transporting your payment via sail barge across the Dune Sea," he explained. "But I have not heard from them all morning. I am getting a little impatient to say the least."

Han cast a sidelong glance at Val, then faced him. "Well, I suppose that answers my question, unless you know an alternative to paying us?"

Re: Sands of Gold

Kutac stared down at the stranger, from where he sat mounted on his bantha, having recovered it after the fight. He raised an eyebrow. “You want to buy me a drink and discuss a business proposition?”

The man nodded. “Si. I wish to share with you the location of valuables. Very valuables. They are worth many credits.”

Kutac looked around from his perch atop his bantha then slid off to confront the man. “You’ll tell me where them valuables is now, or something unpleasant is liable to happen.”

The man shook his head. “No, friend. I’ll buy you a drink and then we’ll discuss how to find the treasure.”


Kutac sat in the booth in the cantina, his back to the wall, where he could easily keep an eye on the door. He hadn’t been paying too much attention to what the man had said, until he’d slid a datapad across the table.

Kutac looked at the datapad. He frowned and looked at it again. “So, where’s the treasure,” he demanded.

The man across the table leaned over and began to trace a route on the datapad with a stylus that he had produced from somewhere. He began to whisper directions to Jerva, who slouched closer to listen. “You head out of Mos Eisley, and follow this sail barge route out past here, he moved the stylus to indicate a spot, and then used it to scribe an X, here, you turn off the main trail, and head by this canyon. I’ve heard rumors that there are two tribes of Tusken raiders fighting in this area, so we’ll have to be on our guard. He used the stylus to scribe another X. Here is the entrance to the Tusken raider cemetery, where the credits are buried. Of course, there’s still more, but I’ll tell you once we’re closing to the cemetery, so you’d best keep me alive.”

Kutac smiled at him and grabbed the datapad. “You can count on that. But, what’s this you said about credits?”

“Friend, we’d best not talk about that in here, so now that you’ve heard my proposal, and bought a drink, we should depart.”

Kutac looked around at the various patrons of the bar, noticing a spacer with several days of stubble, and a drunken woman. He grabbed the man’s collar and whispered, “Not a word of this to anyone else. You hear?”

The man nodded and Kutac let him go, and then stood up to leave. “Lets get then.”

Re: Sands of Gold

Approximately half a kilometer distant, the small group of Uli-ah crouched at the bottom of a sand dune, talking quietly together as they formed their plan.  Occasionally, one would expertly scramble to the top of the dune and peer at their target, a large sail barge, with a weather-worn pair of electrobinoculars.  To anyone who might be watching, they appeared equally as dangerous and wild as fully matured Sand People, instead of the adolescents they actually were: this trio was undergoing their adulthood trials.  Only recently had they been bonded with their very own banthas; these trials were the final step before being paired off with those with whom they would spend the rest of their lives.

What two of the three didn’t know was that one of them was a female.

Ta’uru – little sandcat in the language of her people – grunted a short acknowledgement of her hearth-sibling’s report on the movement of the barge.  Although she knew without a doubt that the three of them could take the barge easily, she appeared more nervous than the others, though neither of them could guess why.

She gripped her slugthrower tightly in her thickly gloved hands; Ta'uru was the designated sniper and would provide covering fire for her two hearth-siblings, Ork and Yuma, when they stormed the barge.  She would pick off as many as she could before entering the fray herself.  They checked the positions of the suns once again; they would move in when both were at their backs, serving to conceal their procession over the sand.

Yuma hooted an offensive remark and hit Ta’uru in the side of her head with his gaderffi – hard.  She howled an equally harsh invective in response and returned his blow with like fervor with her rifle before both were broken up by Ork, the eldest of the trio, who struck them both to the sand.  Still growling to herself, she halfheartedly rearranged the hardened, sand-caked  wrappings – the only thing that kept her skull from cracking most times – about her head, more securely around one of the metal filters protruding from within.  Without the filters, they would literally roast in the suns’ heat.

And without the wrappings, she’d have been discovered for what she truly was long ago.  Again she wondered why her parents had done such a thing to her, but they had died long ago without revealing their reasons.  She’d kept up the pretense as best she could, though she knew that Ork sometimes paused while looking at her as though he knew.  He had been particularly cruel while growing up.

Another blow to the back of her head brought her attention back to the present.

It’s time, grunted Ork in the Tusken language.  Together, they silently and invisibly made their way over the dunes, closer to the sail barge, ready and eager to kill as many offworlders as possible.

Re: Sands of Gold

A little lost Corran stood next to the two strange women, Cyan and Nee if he remembered the names correctly, as the Captain and the other crewmembers disappeared in another part of the dim cantina. The young Corellian sighed. He didn’t know much about women, not to mention drunken ones. Nor to sober somebody. “Maybe some water will help?” He asked helpfully with an innocent smile. “Hey, send this kid home to his Mommy. You can have a real man.” A rough abrasive voice sounded behind them. As Corran turned around he saw an almost two meters tall guy, who was at least twice as big as the boy and as ugly as his voice. His face looked as if a surgeon, who had been as drunken as Cyan, had reconstructed it. “Egad!” slipped out of Corran’s mouth. He knew immediately that it had been a mistake. An evil anger appeared in the piggy eyes of the man. “Ex…excuse me, S-Sir…” Corran started to stutter. “But the ladies here don’t need any company. I’m sure that an imposing figure like you will find a fitting and willing female companion among the other customers.” The more he talked he more the anger in the guy’s eyes flared up.

Cyan and Nee turned around now too. “Oh-uh…” Nee whispered, while Cyan chuckled. “Show him, Kid.” Nervous now that he had audience, Corran cleared his throat. “Sir, I have to insist that you leave us alone now.” The huge guy stared down to Corran and said suddenly: “I like your jacket.” Corran blinked surprised. “Well, thank you, Sir, but…” “I want that jacket.” Corran moved one step backwards. “I’m afraid, it’s not your size. Maybe a store in town will have…” Before he could finish his sentence the guy grabbed him by the collar and introduced him into flying without ship.

Corran crashed hard on a table three meters away, that was crashing under his weight and speed. The customers, whose glasses were shattered too, started to protest loudly. Corran tried to pull himself up again, murmuring apologies. The huge guy stood laughing not far away. “Nice flight, Shrimp.”

Growling Corran moved towards his opponent, faster than the ugly or he himself had thought it was possible. Using the advantage of the moment the young Corellian was placing his right fist against the guy’s chin.

Re: Sands of Gold

Blake was following Han when he heard the crash come from the other chamber of the cantina. Never one to miss a good brawl, he stopped the crew.

"Think something fun has popped up in the back guys, better go make sure I have a dance partner before everyone's card is full." Blake said with a smile as he turned an bolted back towards the area where the commotion sounded like it was coming from.

To his surprise it was the young Corran who was planted firmly at the center of the ruckus, but with a much larger man. Blake was never one to back down from a scrape, but he'd sure have had second thoughts about getting into a tussle with a giant like that. That lead him to the quick conclusion that Corran must be in this battle against his better judgement.

"Oh frak, stupid kid. Can't keep himself out of trouble even when he's babysitting two drunk chicks." Blake did his best impression of a hero from the holo-vids he watched as a kid and went blazing towards the center of the circle that had enveloped Corran and the attacker. Before he could provide much help though he felt a sharp crack of a wooden chair smash firmly across the back of his head. Rushing up to meet him he saw the floor, dirty and dusty. His chin met with a loud thud and he felt his tongue begin to bleed a little as he tried to look around and see who had hit him. It wasn't hard to garner that bit of information as the assailant stood over him with the splintered back of the chair in his hand.

"How's that taste pretty boy?" The man said. He looked a little on the old side, but certainly not frail, and obviously crafty.

"You tell me!" Blake said as he let his leg slide out into a sweeping motion hitting the man firmly in the knee and bringing him crashing down right next to Blake.

Quickly Isul scrambled to his feet, the circle expanded and now housed both Corran and his foe, and Blake and this man. Blake began to bounce on the balls of his feet, his fists curled into balls ready to strike out. Glancing to his left he looked at Corran to find the young man trading blows with the giant.

He nodded and said, "Nice one kid." as Corran landed a strong blow to the jaw of his foe. "Want to explain what we're doing here?" He added.

Before the kid could answer, there were 2 other men and a woman who joined the fray, none on Blake and Corran's side.

"Oh great." Blake said before taking a swing at the nearest person not on his crew. "This just got interesting."

Re: Sands of Gold

Waiting.  It was one of those things that would always be at the bottom of the list of things Val enjoyed doing.  That went double when it came to waiting for payment on a job and especially in a place like this.  Glancing at Han, she could see his impatience was slowly, but steadily growing as well.  

The Chiss across the table tried making small talk, but Navin like Han and Blake, wasn’t interested in hearing anything other than that the payoff had been delivered and they could beat it off this dustball of a planet.

She was about to make a comment regarding these exact thoughts when a crashing commotion caught the attention of the occupants of the table. Val turned around just in time to see Blake headed into the middle of a knot of cantina-goers gathered to watch the most common type of informal entertainment in an establishment of this type.  A brawl.

Looking at Han and rolling her eyes Navin said mildly, “Why must things always be interesting with this crew?”  

“Because you’d get really bored if things went perfectly fine and normal all the time.”  Han replied with a wink, pushing his chair back and standing up as Val did the same.  “Shall we?” He added with a sweep of his hand in the direction of the fight.

“You know me, never could say no to a good time, Sir.”  Navin smiled at her boss and the two of them waded into the fray swinging away at the goons attacking the other members of Sobriety’s crew.   The woman, who’d been ready to jump on Blake’s back, turned instead on Val as she walked past, grabbing a handful of her ponytail and pulling hard before Navin managed an elbow deep into her assailant’s gut.  The other woman made a whoofing sound as the wind was knocked out of her and Val immediately shot a punch to her jaw that dropped her where she stood.

Wheeling around she saw Han was going to head to head with what she took to be a buddy of Corran’s attacker, bouncing the guy off the nearest wall and handing the situation quite well.  Seeing the no help was needed there, she made her way toward another thug who appeared ready to assist the walking slab of bantha meat sparring with Corran.

His back was to Val and she walked up behind him, snapping out her right foot behind the man’s knees hard and he fell back with a shout of surprise.  She dropped knees first onto his chest, drew back her right arm and hit him straight in the nose with one fist as he reached up trying to knock her off.  Once he shook off the effects of her punch, he did just that.  Knocking the redhead off his wide chest and flat on her back, he rolled over and put his hands around her neck and she reached up trying to claw at his face as fuzzy redness began creeping into her peripheral vision.

Getting sober fast

Cyan stared at where Corran had fallen.  He had tried to defend her and Nee, poor kid.  She mentally berated herself for her drunken state.

Nee helped by hissing in her ear.  "Snap out of it, Cyan!  Now!"  Then she entered the fight herself.

She nodded fiercely and reached out to the Force to briefly clear her mind so she could cleanse her blood of the alcohol coursing through it.  It took her a minute, during which a man jumped into the fray – Blake, was it? – and was shortly followed by three of the giant's pals.  Having forced all of the drug to her stomach, Cyan rushed to a nearby, small window and vomited.  That is so disgusting… why the hell did I ever ask Skywalker how to deal with substances back then?  Oh, right, to get rid of the frelling stuff.  Still… I hate throwing up.  She hoped everyone around thought she had just done it because she was drunk.

As Cyan clambered down from standing on the bench in the booth she realized that Han and Val had begun throwing punches as well.  Thankfully Nee had rushed to Corran's aid, so she didn't have to worry about that right away.  Then she watched the man Val sparred with gain the upper hand and begin to strangle her.  Head fully clear, she marched up behind the man and said, melodramatically, "Let go of her now, big man."

The man turned, Val still struggling in his grasp, and sneered at Cyan.  "You are drunk, little lady.  I'll take care of you in a mi–"

His voice was silenced with a very sound punch to the jaw, one strong enough to dislodge a few teeth.  With a cry of pain he dropped the redhead and covered his mouth with his hands, moaning.  "You frelling bitch!" he mumbled.  Well, at least that's what Cyan thought he said.

"Shut up," she replied, kicking him in the stomach and sending him backward into an nearby table, upset drinks falling into their respective owners' laps.  So she had cheated a little – not all the power that had gone into that kick was from her muscles.  The man was obviously stronger physically than she was.  Why shouldn't she have done that?

"You okay?" Cyan asked, offering a hand to Val, who took it reluctantly.

"Weren't you drunk a minute ago?" she asked, one eyebrow arched.

"Oh, that?  It was mostly an act.  Guess the fact that the Sobriety's crew stopped by snapped me out of it," she quipped.

Val groaned, completely unconvinced.  "Right."

Cyan's head snapped up when motion caught her eye.  Nee had just been sent to the ground trying to block a punch sent toward a bloodied, rather unsteadily-footed Corran.  She shot a glance at Val.  "Shall we?"

She nodded.  "Let's."  Immediately the two woman dashed to the kid and the Twi'lek's aid.

Re: Sands of Gold

Kutac held the datapad containing the map to the cemetery in his hand as he’d stood up to leave the cantina, given the fact that a healthy brawl seemed to be developing.  He spared a glance behind him for his new friend that had just bought him a drink, and then he staggered as one of the heavies in the bar bumped into him, thrusting out his arms to maintain his balance, and in the process, dropping the datapad, and sending it skittering across the floor.

He sucker punched the heavy in the gut, and then started trying to shove his way through a throng of people heading for the door. He managed to shove his way backwards in the bar, and watched as someone kicked the datapad under a table. Kutac smiled and dove in after it, triumphantly seizing it, and then he shoved it into his pocket. He glanced out from his hiding place, and noticed that the brawl seemed to be centered around a kid.

Now would be an excellent time for us to leave, Kutac thought, glancing around the bar for his new friend.  He looked around again, still failing to spot the guy, and cursed under his breath as he hid under the table, relatively safe from the brawlers, and hoping his friend had the chance to do the same.

Re: Sands of Gold

There were about twenty or so customers inside the cantina when Han entered with his crew. Of those twenty, about two-thirds were now engaged in the rumble that began when the large brute tossed one of the Corellian's passengers, a young greenhorn named Corran, across the room. As Han and his crewmate, Blake, decked two more brawlers, the blonde captain noticed that Chom and his Gamorrean friend were making their way out the back door.

<I>Frak! They're getting away!</i>

"Hey!" Han shouted, pointing in their direction. "We had a deal!"

The Chiss turned, narrowed his glowing red eyes, and his next words came out in a sinister hiss. "I don't think so now! You bring trouble anywhere you go, so no deal. If you have a problem with that, take it up with him." He nodded to his bodyguard. It was impossible to tell if the piglike snout of the Gamorrean was smiling, but Han was pretty sure it was. The bulky figure charged at them with his vibroaxe, snarling. Han went for his blaster.

The blaster bolt punched through the bodyguard's armored chest plate, seared its way through various internal organs, and exited between the shoulder blades. The Gamorrean dropped to the floor like a sack of meat, which was essentially what he had become.

A shout was heard over the commotion from the bartender. "No blasters! No blasters!"

Chom growled at the loss of his muscle and drew his own blaster and began to fire into the crowd, trying to get a shot at Han, who had leapt out of the way just in time. A scream was suddenly heard, then the blonde captain looked up to see the dealer charge through the back door and vanish.

"Frak! He's getting away!" he shouted to Blake, then almost stumbled over a prone body. Han looked down to see that the shout came from a fallen patron who stepped into the crossfire the Chiss provoked. He was about to step over him to pursue his quarry, until his hand grabbed Han's trouser leg. He looked down to see the patron's dying face.

"Ah.. frell…" Han whispered, then kneeled down. <I>What is he going to tell me? To ship his body to his dear ol mother?</I>

The man took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "The treasure… third row… fifth marker…" His eyes then glazed over and closed, his head lowering to one side as he breathed his last.

<I>Treasure? Third row, fifth marker? What the frell?</i> Han slapped his face lightly. "Hey! Wake up! What treasure?" He knew it was in vain, but it couldn't hurt to try. There was no response.

The brawl finally came to a halt. Wuher, the bartender, began to shout for everyone to leave the cantina.

Blake returned to his side. "Sorry, capt'n, I chased him down but he vanished in some back alley. I don't know where he went." The goateed muscle began to engage in colorful curses, slammed his fist against a table, then added with a groan. "Now we've got a cargo full of goods and no payment!"

Han rose to his feet and glared at him. "Don't worry about it."

"Don't worry?!" Blake exclaimed. "You need to pay your crew, maintain your ship, and keep the business runnin! Without coin, ain't none of that gonna happen!"

"He's right," called Val'kia as she strode over with Cyan, both limping and aching from their brawls. "We really needed that deal to keep the <I>Sobriety</I> running." Corran and Nee slowly approached from the other direction to join them.

Han knew his second in command was right. He'd dealt with the Chiss before and never been double-crossed, until now. <I>This was just stupid! I should had kept my cool and kept an eye on him, instead of jumping into the fight!</i>

But there was no point in self-flagellation. He was out of a deal, and this was a bad situation. Luckily, fate had in mind another destiny for him and his crew. There was a treasure out there to find, unfortunately, he had no idea where it <i>was</i>, just a precise location of where this marker <i>is</I>. As well, Chom did say their payment was aboard a sail barge heading toward Mos Eisley through the Dune Sea.

And that is where they will head for next. They will get paid and keep their cargo after all.

"I know Val, and we will get paid," he replied with a gleam in his eye. "Chom did say our creds are being transported via sail barge across the Dune Sea, right?"

Val understood his meaning as well as the other members of his crew– minus Corran– who was still dusting off splinters from his clothing and complaining.

"So what's the plan, Capt'n?" Blake asked, folding his burly arms.

"I reckon we buzz out of here back to the <I>Sobriety</i>, grab our skiff in her cargo bay, and make a rendezvous with a sail barge. Of course.."– he pulled out a hankerchief from his pocket– "we wear these when we grab our payment."

A glass flew across the room and shattered against a wall. "Get out of here!" the bartender shouted.

Han glared to Wuher, then to his crew. "You heard the tender, let's move like we have a purpose…"

As the blonde captain and his crew began to swagger their way out of the now-closed cantina, he continued to ponder on the last words the dead patron whispered to him. If there was a treasure out there, you can bet he was going to scour the entire Tatooine desert to find it.