Private Rychel Rendezvous

[Rance Draysom]

Rychel, Great Silt Sea

The Verge Flotilla had officially overstayed its welcome over Revyia. The problem was, it was stuck.

After weeks of holding position in the peaceful neutral system, the fleet had caused enough disruption to be asked to move on. Refugees were buying up all the local food, clogging the spaceports and markets. Brawls were breaking out in the streets of once-tranquil Revwien cities. Even empathy, meditation, and the guidance of the Tyia philosophy weren't enough to buy the Flotilla another week's toleration. Unfortunately, the Tears of Taloraan had chosen that precise week to have a major hyperdrive breakdown, stranding the core of the fleet - and its over 300,000 passengers, a small city in space - in a system where it was emphatically unwanted.

As chief supply officer, in charge of coordinating repairs and keeping everything running smoothly, it fell to Rance Draysom to figure out how to solve that little issue. Unfortunately, brand new hyperdrive parts for a supermassive bulk freighter weren't easy to come by at the furthest edge of the galaxy. Rance had called in a few favors, sending out feelers to find out if anyone local had an angle on the specialized components they needed. He'd gotten an answer, but not one he was enthusiastic about. One of the stoop gangs of Rychel's Great Silt Sea had salvaged a bulk freighter a few months earlier, and they were willing to trade for them.

Large chunks of Rychel had never really become civilized again after the Yuuzhan Vong had leveled its population centers some eight hundred years before. Swoop gangs like the Sable Reeks, Rance's potential business partners, clashed in the wilderness, using blasters and vibroblades to decide territory and salvage rights. They thrived on casual violence, taking whatever they could get with maximum force in order to survive the harsh wasteland. Rance had known he would need reliable company on this run, someone he could trust to get the job done. So he'd asked Delila Castillon to come with him, and been somewhat surprised when she said yes.

Delila was a veteran of the galactic frontier, someone who had fought in the wars that had wracked the fringe years ago - and someone who had drifted with a mobile city-fleet before. Rance had a million questions to ask her; she had the experience to know how to keep the Flotilla alive, experience that - despite his authority - he had yet to build. He'd kept pretty quiet so far, though. He couldn't deny that she intimidated him a little. Her confident, "don't waste my time" air made him reluctant to pester her with petty matters he knew he ought to be able to figure out by himself. He looked up to her, and wanted her to see him as more than just some flailing novice leader.

Rance had offered to let Delila fly this one, as she had an impressive ship of her own. Their goal was to get to Rychel, find the rendezvous site in the Great Silt Sea, and make whatever deal they had to in order to secure the hyperdrive parts. For his own part, Rance hoped that he'd be able to prove himself to Delila. If she saw him as competent, she might be willing to open up and share her valuable experience. Besides, he wanted her to stay on and help keep the fleet together, and the best way to do that was to make her feel valued - and needed. Now all he had to do was somehow not screw this up. Delila was known for being slow to trust; given her past, she had good reason.

 

[Delila Castillon]

Only her ship wasn't so impressive. The Saegassum was essentially stolen, but Delila liked to say repurposed. It gave more of an air of legitimacy to the entire operation, made it seem as if most of what transpired as legal. For the most part what herself and Xin did throughout the galaxy was legal but they key phrase was most. The Saegassum alone was evidence - taken after the Crimson Dahlia tragically met its end during battle. Delila had loved the Dahlia but the Saegassum was beginning to grow on her despite being more of a clunky cargo hauler and not a sleep get away driver she had loved.

After much seat adjusting on her part since Xin was typically the pilot she was off with a spacer named Rance Draysom . Dells didn't know much beyond the fact he was a supply officer and was with the Fleet full-time as opposed to her drifting in-and-out status. Most of the Fleet was made up of refugees and she assumed the man was most likely one as well.

Saegassum slid effortlessly through the atmosphere as her green gaze kept flicking between the viewscreen and the vessel's scanners.

"You know we'll probably be shot at, right? Did you bring a blaster?"

 

[Rance Draysom]

"Always," Rance replied, shooting Delila a half-smile. He pulled his heavy blaster, an old Arkanian model, out of his boot and casually twirled it around one finger before putting it back. "I haven't been working supply for the Flotilla long - hell, we haven't been around long yet - but I've been out here on the fringe long enough to know the number one rule of any deal like this: expect that whatever can go wrong, will." That'd been a hard earned lesson, and he had plenty of scars and bad memories from the process of learning it.

Still, Rance held out some hope that he wouldn't have to shoot anybody. He had wounded and killed in self-defense before, and he was sure he would do it again, especially now that he was responsible for protecting more people than just himself. But he wasn't one of the gunslingers, bounty hunters, or pirate aces who seemed to crave the excitement of a firefight, or who took pride in dropping the most opponents in a battle. He was all too conscious that everyone he killed had a story, one just as complicated as his own. Bringing that to an end was a heavy feeling.

The Saegassum descended through Rychel's dry atmosphere, scattering the scant wisps of cloud drifting between the desert sands and the harsh sun above. The rendezvous point was in the shadow of a huge rock jutting out of the dunes, one of the few constant points in the ever-shifting Great Silt Sea. They would have to be careful where they landed, or the ship would sink through the soft dunes and drown in dryness. That certainly wouldn't make a good impression on the Sable Reeks, and who knew how far it was to the nearest outpost.

Rance watched the monitors, the kilometers falling away as they sped toward the meeting site. "So," he began, glancing at Delila, "you were with the first fleet, right? The Vagrant Fleet?" He watched her carefully, wondering what kind of emotions dredging up that history would bring out in her. He still knew very little about her, beyond the basics of her service record. "I'm still finding my feet in all of this, and I'd appreciate any advice you could give. Anything I ought to know to keep us safe and mobile. Y'know, if you're up for sharing."

Delila Castillon ​

 

[Delila Castillon]

"Good. I assume most moving with the Flotilla would be wise to stay prepared but you never know. I've met a few green kids in my short time here, so I don't think its wise to just leave these things to chance."

Delila could see the sands shifting as they flew lower to the ground. Landing could be an issue and it was possible they would have to look for more of a rocky area and hike to the rendezvous point. It seemed Rance was also keeping an eye on the monitors from the co-pilots chair and she appreciated the backup support while flying over the desert. Keeping an eye on the landscape was tricky enough but add in monitoring for threats and it could get downright difficult.

"I believe the Vagrant Fleet I was a part of was the second iteration but I could be wrong. I was in the Protectorate for the longest so galactic current events weren't exactly on my radar at that moment in time."

Brows furrowed as she thought, drawing much of a blank at his request for information. Delila didn't mind sharing her experiences or knowledge in the slightest but she wasn't so certain if she was the right person to ask. There weren't many older spacer types in their group, even less with experience in a Flotilla or floating collation setting.

"This is something I will have to think upon. I can say with just my general knowledge or experience is when something like this falls apart or fails, try not to blame yourself too much. A lot of moving parts. A lot of personalities to try to contain and unify."

 

[Rance Draysom]

Rance nodded as Delila spoke, listening carefully to her every word. Whatever words of wisdom he could soak up would no doubt be important as he helped make his future decisions, decisions that would shape the fate of the hundreds of thousands of people who called the Flotilla home. "The Protectorate," he mused, casting his mind back to what he'd heard and seen back then. "Feels like a long time ago already, doesn't it? Things have changed so fast since the Darkness ended. Nothing seems to last except war and instability."

Rance didn't hold it against her that she didn't have any immediate advice; he was sure that he would learn plenty just by watching her operate. Besides, there was only so much advice anyone could give about an undertaking like this. As far as he knew, no previous attempt at an independent, nomadic fleet had managed to hold together for long. Independent captains butted heads or got impatient, and the tenuous bonds holding them all together had quickly frayed. He was going to have to find some way to keep that from happening.

At least, keep it from happening for as long as possible, for the sake of the refugees. As he'd said, nothing seemed to last, and Delila seemed to echo that. "I know," he replied quietly. "But it's my responsibility to keep things together for as long as I can. There are a lot of people counting on us, on me, because they've got nowhere else to go. Maybe I can't hold all these folks together by force of will alone, but feth me if I'm not going to try." He shrugged. Despite her advice, he knew he would take it hard if all this collapsed.

Beyond the Saegassum's cockpit glass, Rance suddenly saw the meeting point come into view: a huge red-brown hunk of stone rising out of the pale tan dunes. They might have to set down on top of it to avoid sinking, he reflected, though he was sure Delila had already thought of that. As he looked down, scoping out the desert, the Fleet Marshal spotted a dozen long, thick trails of dust. They were on the move, headed straight for the rock. "Looks like our swoop gang is right on time," Rance said, pointing down at them. Here goes nothing.

Delila Castillon ​

 

[Delila Castillon]

"Everything seems like a long time ago until the aches and pains remind me otherwise. Still, in the grand scheme of the 'verse it was quite an age ago. Things change but in reality it doesn't appear much does - still war, still refugees, still destruction. It gets quite tiring if you ask me but apparently some crave this style of life."

Delila took the Saegassum closer as Rance pointed out the swoop gang. Keen green eyes were searching out more stable landing area. She had spotted one a bit away from the biker gang and thought it would be perfect. It would give them an opportunity to move in closer while observing the surroundings. Just in case of an ambush. Rance had pointed to the red-brown stone and she was currently gently lowering the large freighter down upon it.

"Of course we have to try. It would be immoral not to.I am speaking more when those feel it is time to leave - don't feel bad if you can't always hold things together."

Saegassum landed and Delila shut down the vessel except for a few key functions. Leaving in a hurry was a good option to keep on the table and any moment they could save could mean the difference between life and death. Checking her blaster, they both started to amble out towards the ramp to get a move on. Personally she had a horrible feeling about the entire situation but was letting the kid take the reigns, he was in charge after all.

Rance Draysom

 

[Rance Draysom]

Rance nodded as Delila mentioned her old pains. He hadn't been through nearly as much conflict as she had, and he already had his share of scars, visible and otherwise. There were the old injuries that you could point to - the long gash up his arm from a salvaging accident, defensive knife wounds on his palms, a chip in his thigh from where he'd hit a durasteel panel while being blown out an airlock. And then there was the weight of fear, stress, and hard work. You couldn't show someone where it hurt; it was just an overall exhaustion, a persistent ache.

Vaguely, Rance wondered if he would even survive facing as much as Delila had. Most people in her situation didn't.

As they set down, Delila choosing their landing point carefully so that they could observe the situation before diving in, Rance nodded again. "Good advice," he said, "and I'll try to take it. I just... I want this to mean something. I want to get this right, for all those people. I don't want to have to walk away. But the galaxy doesn't really care how bad we want something, does it?" He shrugged. He would fight with everything he had for the fleet, and it would fall apart only over his cooling corpse, but it might well come to that... and soon.

Down at the meeting point, the Sable Reeks were milling around, having parked their swoop bikes in the shade. They'd brought the hyperdrive parts with them; the components sat on a cargo pallet. There were a lot of swoopers - fifteen, maybe? It was far more than they needed to make the trade, and that made Rance nervous. He would have brought more backup if he could have spared any, but the other Marshals were needed back at the fleet, or fetching other supplies. The food situation was getting bad already, and all hands were needed to lock it down.

"Okay," Rance said, blowing out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "I've dealt with local farmers and traders before, but not these guys. They're the only folks in the sector who have what we need at a price we can afford, though, so our hands are kinda tied. You ready? Any advice before we head down there?" He'd moved his blaster from his boot to his sleeve, ready to slide it into his hand as soon as something went wrong. He wasn't sure how much good it'd do them against these numbers, but he'd fight if it came to it.

Delila Castillon​

 

[Delila Castillon]

"Don't let them bully you. The price will certainly fluctuate as we start the talks. I imagine you might have a little wiggle room built in but we can't let them push too far in one direction. Looks weak, means they will target the fleet once again. If the shooting starts be careful of crossfire. I shouldn't hit you but I'd like the same courtesy."

Delila made sure the safety was off on her blaster before sliding it back into her thigh holster. As they descended down the ramp, Dells wrapped a protective scarf around her head. Didn't need to freckle any more than she had been - redheads and blazing sun typically didn't mix. Dry heat broiled up to meet them, making the pair feel as if they were in an oven.

"Bit warm out today."

Rance Draysom

 

[Rance Draysom]

Rance listened carefully to Delila's advice, turning it over and over in his mind. He knew how to haggle - he'd been involved in galactic trade since he was seven years old, listening to his parents negotiate the markets of the Outer Rim as they struggled to earn enough to feed him and his sister. He knew how to shoot, too, though the reminder to watch her positioning didn't hurt; he'd usually been alone in the firefights of his past, with no need to worry about hitting an ally simply because everyone else involved had been trying to kill him.

"Got it," he replied with a nod, and set off down the sloped side of the rock face. Rance grinned at Delila's understatement about the weather. He'd been on tropical worlds before that would show equal temperature readings, but Rychel was different. The planet was so dry it seemed to leech the moisture right out of you; the air felt harsh on his lungs, as if lightly sandpapering them with each breath. This place was an oven, and it wasn't even midday yet. He shuddered to imagine the conditions when the sun was at its highest.

The swoop gangers were spread out around the little camp they'd made - Rance counted ten bikes plus the two-driver hovertruck they'd used to haul the pallet of parts, so his estimate of fifteen hadn't been far off. It was certainly true that he and Delila were pretty seriously outnumbered. The gangers were all dressed for the conditions - layers of loose clothing, tans and light browns mostly, and heavy-duty goggles. None of them had so much as an inch of skin exposed; it was impossible to tell their species, much less their genders.

None of them stepped forward, so Rance cleared his throat. "Glad you could make it. Let's finish our deal. May I take a look at the parts?" There was a long, awkward silence that set Rance's teeth on edge. He was keenly aware that everyone there was armed; there was a wide array of heavy blasters, sawn-off scatterguns, slugthrower rifles, and vicious-looking barbed clubs. Finally he just shrugged and walked over to the parts, ignoring the way their masked eyes followed him. Everything looked to be in good condition, thankfully.

"Is good deal," one of the swoopers finally barked out... but he was talking to Delila, not Rance. "You take parts, we take him." The Fleet Marshal's eyes widened; what were they talking about? "The deal was 10,000 credits..." he began, but the swooper cut him off. "Hush now. We take him. He know parts. He fix swoops. Useful. More useful without tongue, not so much noise." The other swoopers guffawed, their brawny shoulders shaking. Everyone had a hand on their weapons; they didn't plan to take no for an answer.

Rance swallowed hard, fingering his own blaster, and glanced over at Delila Castillon with wide eyes.

 

[Delila Castillon]

Delila by contrast appeared relatively cool and collected as the haggling was being conducted. She had been involved in a few types of these situations and she was almost certain it would end in blaster fire. Prolonging the blaster fire and buying a bit of time to survey the landscape, weapons and mull over the possibilities was important. When push came to shove, well, she would be ready to shoot.

She reached out and grabbed Rance Draysom by the bicep, moving him around a bit, jostling the man. Green eyes squinted in the overly bright sun as she visibly looked the man up and down more than once. There was something akin to a scoff or snort that escaped her. Fingers dug into Rance's bicep as she turned her attention back to the gang in front of her.

"Why do you dare to insult me? Ten thousand credits for this man? Are you aware how long it took to train him and how valuable his services are? You think someone who can fix swoops and vessels is worth some rusty,greasy parts? I'm not from the inner core worlds, you can't fool me. Your offer is weak, try again."