Finadien
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Mar 9, 2006
- Posts
- 1,126
Grem Barol looked at the sun that was slowly appearing over the horizon of Anurob V as he guided his Fondor Haulcraft – the “Swift Kaadu” - gently down on a trajectory that led him to the agreed upon coordinates. The ship was one of the two things his father had left him, the other being his piloting skill which had helped him tremendously during the last 5 years of his smuggling career. Grem had grown up bustling shipyards on Fondor where his father had helped build ships for the galactic empire. Dort Barol never had been a loyalist, he just tried to get along somehow and be his son a good father after his wife had died. Grem had learned to fly and started to work in a local factory in the design department where he helped refine ship systems.
And then the New Republic attacked. His father’s death was more of an accident since he was nowhere important enough to be targeted and Grem had left been alone with nothing more then an old ship and a growing hatred for the New Republic. Yes, the empire was repressive, but the New Republic had cost him his father and so he wanted nothing to do with them as well. All that was left was to run and try to earn some money on his own and so he had turned to smuggling.
Business was slow after the fall of the empire. The New Republic was barley able to keep the peace and couldn’t spend many resources to catch smugglers, so bidding for the lowest prices had begun. But Grem always had been an exceptionally good pilot and could take higher risk jobs for better rewards. This finally brought him here. His contact at “The Hub” gave him these coordinates and the promise of a huge payout.
He scanned the strange foliage of Anurob V and finally saw the spot the coordinates indicated. It was a small clearing in that blue stuff that they called trees here, barley big enough for his ship.
With a flick of his finger the landing gear descended and an expert touch on the controls lowered the “Kaadu” gently between the trees and down on the ground. He looked out of the cockpit but couldn’t see anyone in the vicinity, but his view was very restricted and so he switched off all systems except for the security, stood up and walked towards the exit and grabbed the belt with his blaster, better save then sorry.
He stepped out of his ship and looked around. Shouldn’t he be expected? The foliage was pretty dense so he couldn’t look far, perhaps they were watching him? He brushed back a stand of his unruly brown hair and scratched at the stubble that was growing on his chin. Should he have shaved? Where they – whoever they were – concerned with appearance? What was his job here anyway? His contact had been pretty trustworthy the past 5 years and so he hadn’t asked that many question but now he was wondering of that had been a good idea.
And then the New Republic attacked. His father’s death was more of an accident since he was nowhere important enough to be targeted and Grem had left been alone with nothing more then an old ship and a growing hatred for the New Republic. Yes, the empire was repressive, but the New Republic had cost him his father and so he wanted nothing to do with them as well. All that was left was to run and try to earn some money on his own and so he had turned to smuggling.
Business was slow after the fall of the empire. The New Republic was barley able to keep the peace and couldn’t spend many resources to catch smugglers, so bidding for the lowest prices had begun. But Grem always had been an exceptionally good pilot and could take higher risk jobs for better rewards. This finally brought him here. His contact at “The Hub” gave him these coordinates and the promise of a huge payout.
He scanned the strange foliage of Anurob V and finally saw the spot the coordinates indicated. It was a small clearing in that blue stuff that they called trees here, barley big enough for his ship.
With a flick of his finger the landing gear descended and an expert touch on the controls lowered the “Kaadu” gently between the trees and down on the ground. He looked out of the cockpit but couldn’t see anyone in the vicinity, but his view was very restricted and so he switched off all systems except for the security, stood up and walked towards the exit and grabbed the belt with his blaster, better save then sorry.
He stepped out of his ship and looked around. Shouldn’t he be expected? The foliage was pretty dense so he couldn’t look far, perhaps they were watching him? He brushed back a stand of his unruly brown hair and scratched at the stubble that was growing on his chin. Should he have shaved? Where they – whoever they were – concerned with appearance? What was his job here anyway? His contact had been pretty trustworthy the past 5 years and so he hadn’t asked that many question but now he was wondering of that had been a good idea.
