Circumtore System
Ian stood up on his speeder bike as it drifted along the halls of the crowded spaceport at a walking pace. His duffle bag, containing his carbine, spare ammo, and extra clothes, hung from his shoulder. "Bay 42, bay 42." Ian mumbled to himself as he maneuvered the bike through the crowd. "He said bay 42, didn't he? Aha!" he exclaimed.
Written above a large bay door were the words "HANGER BAY 42" in fat yellow font. "Bingo." Ian said, and brought the bike up to the door. He dismounted and knocked his fist against it four times. Over the rabble of the crowd, he only barely heard a "Come in!" from the other side. He grabbed the bottom of the door and pulled. It took a surprising amount of force, but the door slide up.
Ian was immediately assaulted by the smell of burnt oil and hydraulic fluid. His nose barely cringed though; it was a smell he'd grown used too. A Duro dressed in a blue jumpsuit approached Ian as he lead his bike into the hanger and closed the door behind him. "Hey there." the alien said in slightly accented basic. "You must be the guy Les was talkin' about. What's your name, friend?"
"Mart Camin." Ian said. The Duro seemed friendly enough, but wiser men than he had been duped by such an act. No need to trust these guys yet. "Who're you?"
"Regiomi Othi, pleased to meet you." he responded, and shook Ian's hand. "But most people call me Regi. That's Baxter Tartam, our engineer, and Dem Tamic, the navigator." Regi said, pointing to a pair of human males by their ship's ramp. "All together, we make a pretty good crew. But we're always looking for an extra pair of hands. What can you bring to the table, Mart? That bike of your has caught my eye. You can ride it, right?"
"Yes sir, best in the galaxy." Ian answered, and put on a face that said he could back that claim up. He'd spent a few credits this morning on extra armor plates to hide the blaster cannons better, and as far as he could tell it was working. Regi didn't seem the least bit suspicious. "I'm a good shot too. Fought in the war and still got the carbine I used. I'm not to bad with machines either."
A smile spread across Regi's face. "Sounds like you're over-qualified for what we need. We've been looking for someone who can move fast when we need him to. That bike of yours will do the job just fine, and the fact that you can defend yourself only makes it better." He looked back at his crew mates, who both gave him a crisp nod. "Welcome aboard, Mart."
"Oh, uh, thank you." Ian said. He hadn't expected things to be that simple, but he'd take it. "I guess I'll set my stuff down and get to helping you guys prepare."
"Sounds good. Dem can lead you to your new room. We have to leave in two hours, so don't take your time."
Ian stood up on his speeder bike as it drifted along the halls of the crowded spaceport at a walking pace. His duffle bag, containing his carbine, spare ammo, and extra clothes, hung from his shoulder. "Bay 42, bay 42." Ian mumbled to himself as he maneuvered the bike through the crowd. "He said bay 42, didn't he? Aha!" he exclaimed.
Written above a large bay door were the words "HANGER BAY 42" in fat yellow font. "Bingo." Ian said, and brought the bike up to the door. He dismounted and knocked his fist against it four times. Over the rabble of the crowd, he only barely heard a "Come in!" from the other side. He grabbed the bottom of the door and pulled. It took a surprising amount of force, but the door slide up.
Ian was immediately assaulted by the smell of burnt oil and hydraulic fluid. His nose barely cringed though; it was a smell he'd grown used too. A Duro dressed in a blue jumpsuit approached Ian as he lead his bike into the hanger and closed the door behind him. "Hey there." the alien said in slightly accented basic. "You must be the guy Les was talkin' about. What's your name, friend?"
"Mart Camin." Ian said. The Duro seemed friendly enough, but wiser men than he had been duped by such an act. No need to trust these guys yet. "Who're you?"
"Regiomi Othi, pleased to meet you." he responded, and shook Ian's hand. "But most people call me Regi. That's Baxter Tartam, our engineer, and Dem Tamic, the navigator." Regi said, pointing to a pair of human males by their ship's ramp. "All together, we make a pretty good crew. But we're always looking for an extra pair of hands. What can you bring to the table, Mart? That bike of your has caught my eye. You can ride it, right?"
"Yes sir, best in the galaxy." Ian answered, and put on a face that said he could back that claim up. He'd spent a few credits this morning on extra armor plates to hide the blaster cannons better, and as far as he could tell it was working. Regi didn't seem the least bit suspicious. "I'm a good shot too. Fought in the war and still got the carbine I used. I'm not to bad with machines either."
A smile spread across Regi's face. "Sounds like you're over-qualified for what we need. We've been looking for someone who can move fast when we need him to. That bike of yours will do the job just fine, and the fact that you can defend yourself only makes it better." He looked back at his crew mates, who both gave him a crisp nod. "Welcome aboard, Mart."
"Oh, uh, thank you." Ian said. He hadn't expected things to be that simple, but he'd take it. "I guess I'll set my stuff down and get to helping you guys prepare."
"Sounds good. Dem can lead you to your new room. We have to leave in two hours, so don't take your time."