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Post by Nigel on Jun 26, 2010 16:57:41 GMT -5
Nigel sat back as the desert planet Tattooine came up through the viewports of the Terrorpin, news feeds scrolling past on a small data screen in engineering.
"No survivors...blast!"
The herglic slammed a meaty fist into a metal panel. This meant the ship he'd been using was effectively impounded. Sure, it was a piece of crap and broke down every two months (or more often, when it felt like it), but dammit, it was his ship! To top it off, he was dead....officially. His name rattled past on the news feed along with a dozen others.
Now...he turned to a crate next to him. Inside was his share of the haul. What to do...the New Republic would ask too many questions, and it would just get awkward and end up with him "helping with inquiries" for weeks, maybe months.
One of the binary stars came up over the horizon, and the large fellow shifted away from the window. Light caught the crystals, sending a spray of colors across the dusty, grey deck of the ship's passenger area.
What to do, indeed...
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