Goodbye My Only Friend... Oh. Did You Think I Mean You?

[Charlene Adaska]

Nothing. Charlene knew what it meant to have nothing now. It was actually a very spiritually enlightening. Relying on faith, day after day just to get you through. Praying that you'll get work, so you can afford your next meal.
That Greyson man had left her enough credits to get by- for a time. Not a long time though. Not long enough. And she refused to accept his credits. She had pride. She'd earned all the credits he had given her, earned the ship he 'let' her have. But the thought of eating food bought by his money made her physically sick to her stomach.
She'd been getting sick a lot lately.

Charlene sat on the ramp of her 'one true love'. Binkie was the name of the ship. A fine ship, only ever needing some TLC. Never really hers from the start. She'd been on board, doing repairs for a client when they came along as stole it. Kidnapped her. Kidnapped Binkie. They held her, took her away from home. Made her work for them. It wasn't her idea. Not any of it. But before she knew it, she'd gotten swept up in the plan, the drama! And he was so very... charismatic.

Who knew when Charlene fell for their brave leader? But before she knew it, she was in his bed. Before she knew it, he had taken her home, her job, her freedom, and her sanity. Then he took her heart. Took it straight out of her chest, then he crushed it right in front of her eyes. The image of him kissing that woman right in front of her, like it was nothing, played in her head again and again.

And then he'd blamed her. Told her it was her fault. She still remembered that woman's face, her name. The Storm Trooper who let the rebels in. The traitor to the Empire. She should go turn her in, rat her out. But she... just couldn't bring herself to care now. She was tired, hungry, sick.

On board Binkie, Cyrils old cabin had been roped off, a crime scene in her eyes. Untouched, even by her. She could not go in there again. Not ever again. She passed by it and her heart went tight. It had been the biggest room on the ship. By rights it should be hers, but she still chose to sleep in the engine room, in her little hammock, still had her little makeshift alter set up among the pipes and durasteel panels.

She fell back on binkies ramp, watery eyes watching nothing. Another day. Another reminder. It still hurt. She'd been taken, used, abused and thrown away when she wasn't useful anymore.
And what he'd left her with...

That was a pain that would be there for life.

[member="Adalric Vastor"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Charlene Adaska"]

Ric Vastor, let it be known, wasn't huge on female subtext. He'd been married once; it hadn't panned out, for reasons relevant to his incomprehension of that most elusive dialect. So when he spotted the Mirialan lying on the starship's ramp, his first guess was that she was getting some fresh air.

"Watch it, Cap," murmured Futz -- Futzchag, his Noghri first officer, a gray-skinned humanoid as tall as Vastor's armpit. Futzchag, who could read just about anyone well enough to knife them. "This one smells like broken heart."

"Yeah, well, who doesn't. I didn't get eggs for breakfast; I'm pretty fething brokenhearted." Vastor made his way through the landing field toward the Mirialan on the ramp. Futz shrugged and followed silently.

"Morning," Vastor called as he approached. "You Adaska?"

 

[Charlene Adaska]

Adaska. Oh. That was her still. She hadn't gotten around to caring about herself quite enough to change her name and identity. She propped her head up on her hands.

"Maybe, maybe not. Who's asking?"

This wasn't even her just being snarky. She had to be careful. There was a mad Sith out there looking for Greyson and his crew. He'd seen her with them. That meant that was just one more burden they'd left her alone to deal with. Nice bunch of Rebels. Really working to help the Galaxy by kidnapping mechanics, stealing ships, and ruining lives. All in a days work, she supposed.

[member="Adalric Vastor"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Charlene Adaska"]

"Ric Vastor, captain of the Lor Pelek. I'm in private security and licensed privateering." Mostly. All for a good cause, though. He drew to a halt, thumbs in his belt loops, only experience telling him Futzchag was behind him. The Noghri moved silently, all the dang time. Sometimes that was useful, sometimes unsettling, even if they'd worked together for years.

Some people preferred Wookiees as first officers. Vastor preferred not having to take a lint brush to the ship upholstery twice a week.

"I'm on a long law-and-order gig, and someone said you'd be worth listening to. Experience running your own ship, maintaining it, modding it, and word is you might not be overly fond of the sort of people we clean up. If I've got the right spacer, anyway. You know how word of mouth can get."

 

[Charlene Adaska]

His words caused the girl a moment of panic. He knew! Was he going to arrest her? She stood up quickly, every ounce of fear in her soul begging her to run.
But then she stopped, her little green ears perking up at his words.

"You mean... like Greysons gang?" she asked cautiously, "You think I'd betray them, right?"

She never thought she would be the type to sell out her friends... if they still were her friends and had not entirely treated her like she was disposable. She supposed she had no friends to betray. Except the Cyborg, maybe. She might feel a little guilty about that one, actually...

[member="Adalric Vastor"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Charlene Adaska"]

Vastor's eyebrows rose. "I never got a name for the crew that gave you grief, and I'm not talking about flipping on anyone. Just heard you might be inclined to take the kind of job that would give those sorts of folks a seriously bad day. Sooner or later, anyway.

"I'm a privateer. This is Futzchag, my first officer." He gestured at where the Noghri was probably standing. "He and I are in the business of cleaning up after failed governments and those who make deliberate messes. Law and order, you might say. Baby steps. When organizations talk a big game and leave things in a mess, our role is to slap them for it. Interested?"

 

[Charlene Adaska]

The girl listened. Carefully. Her big mouth. He hadn't said Greysons name. She gave him his name without thinking about it. She really was not good at this rebellion thing. No. Of course she wasn't. She wasn't a rebel. She was a mechanic. A law abiding citizen. And she just happened to get taken by some bad people. It wasn't her fault. They were the ones breaking the law. If she turned them in, she would just be doing her duty as a citizen of the Empire.

"I'm in," she answered, quicker than she thought she might, "I'm in. They ruin lives wherever they go. Cause chaos. I can't just sit by and let them keep doing it. I'll do whatever I have to."

[member="Adalric Vastor"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Charlene Adaska"]

"Now that," said Vastor, "is exactly what I wanted to hear. The little I heard said you were a mechanic -- any other skills I should know about?" He gestured at the ship whose ramp constituted her throne. "And why don't you tell me about your ship. Me, I fly a Privateer-class frigate. A little on the nose, but it does the job. I'm looking for someone who can upgrade her shield generators and patch up battle damage in short order, but if you've got your own ship raid-capable, that's an asset right there."

 

[Charlene Adaska]

Oh? Someone was actually interested in Binkie? Charlene looked her girl up and down like a proud mother, smiling for the first time in a good while. Her little angel, the only good thing to have come from... those people.

"She's a beauty, isn't she? YT-1000 light freighter. She was a little rough when they stole her, but I patched her up. Now she's good as new. Better even! I've been playing with her engines. You should hear her sing. And her weapon systems have all received a drastic overhaul. I mounted new cannons up on her backside, see? And I've found a way to scan local net chatter. She's a smart ship. I tell her what to look for and she can filter the noise out for me. Was useful when I was with..."

She cut herself off. Nah. Better not to go there now. He wanted to see the ship! That was all. She led him up the ramp, motioning for him to follow her inside.

"What you ask for doesn't exactly sound like a big job. Sounds like something any mechanic worth their salt could do easy. I'm working on upgrading Binkies shields right now, actually. It's the cost that's kinda getting in my way. Greyson left me with some credits, but I can't really bring myself to spend any of it. I got my own pride, you know? Don't want their credits."

She hadn't talked this much in months! What happened?

[member="Adalric Vastor"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Charlene Adaska"]

Vastor and Futz followed the suddenly-talkative Mirialan aboard the old boat. "Well, if you can boost my shields in a reliable way," Vastor said to Adaska's back, "I can see your way clear to enough credits to finish your own overhaul. Credits aren't a problem. Not that we're flush by any means," he added, ducking through a bulkhead door, "but our assets and commissions work on a different scale. I'm liking the rearview, the guns -- good hardware for something this quick."

Behind him, Futz cleared his throat. "That filter system sounds interesting," said the Noghri in his gravelly voice. "Could have all kinds of applications. How in-depth was the rig rewiring? Maybe something you could duplicate?"

 

[Charlene Adaska]

The girl led him through the doors into the belly of the ship. Down one hall was the galley, sitting area, down another were the passenger quarters, tiny square shaped rooms, only about three, the biggest of these roped off. Under all this was where the magic really happened. That was where Charlene spent most of her time, where she slept, ate, prayed. She'd go down the hall a little ways, through a door and down the ladder to the engine room. Her safe space.

She led them to the cockpit though, more than happy to show off the set up. Clean, orderly. Perfect. Charlene couldn't take too much credit here though. The ship already had a wonderful set up here when Greyson stole the ship. But Charlene could take credit for the modifications to the communications systems. As well as how spotless it was now. The Rebels were dirty.

"Duplicate?" Charlene thought about it for a moment, then nodded, "Yeah, I think so. It wasn't that hard. Took a few weeks to work out on Binkie here. Your ship might have a slightly different set up, but I'm pretty sure I could work it out."

She ran her hands lovingly over the console. Hers. A ship that was all hers. She'd been saving up to get her own for ages before all this happened. Now she had one.

"If I'm not going to use the credits from Greyson, I have a wonderful idea. You can have them. Really. I'd like to make something good out of this. Your organization sounds like a cause to donate to. Her paid me about... eighty five thousand all together. He's got rich family. Could afford it. Now it's yours."

She smirked. Now she wasn't going to have to stare at that number in her bank account forever at least. A good woman would not use ill-gotten credits anyway. Not for herself. She would donate them to a just cause. The Gods would finally start to smile on her.

[member="Adalric Vastor"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Charlene Adaska"]

He kept his thoughts to himself, not because they were negative but because they could be taken wrong. She'd done a bang-up job of turning an unimpressive antique into both a home and a functional, role-flexible starship. He exchanged a glance with Futzchag, and the Noghri nodded fractionally. Adaska was probably the genuine article.

That train of thought derailed hard as she pledged the better part of a hundred thousand credits to 'the cause,' sight unseen. Caught flat-footed, Vastor could only blink. The cause of Empire worked on a much higher scale than that, but another couple of TIE fighters never hurt. And that was a lot of money to just walk away from. He met Futz's eyes again. The Noghri's nod was slower this time, but definite. Here was someone who prized integrity above money in a serious way. Useful. Possibly a liability, but useful all the same, and more, he could respect that.

"Then we can see to it that your eighty-five thousand friends do some good. All transparent, of course."

 

[Charlene Adaska]

He seemed taken aback. She couldn't really blame him. If someone offered her that much dough for not reason other than supporting a cause, she'd be suspicious too. She smiled.

"I'm a woman of deep faith," she explained, "I prefer to live closer to my gods by giving what I don't need. If you can use it to help these people, then by all means."

[member="Adalric Vastor"]