Wheel in the Sky Keeps on Turning

[Harland Gates]

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The Wheel​

Mandalorian Space​

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There were undoubtedly worse places to look for work, certainly less hospitable, and far less socially acceptable. The Wheel wasn't the back-birth of the Galaxy, and it had quite a reputation for happy customers. This was one of the places in the Galaxy where the credit showed it's true power. From the game decks, to the arena fights; from the ship repair shops, to the engines themselves that turned this behemoth space station, everything rotated from the almighty credit. While there were other forces in the Galaxy that made it's nebula like shape spin in the vast ocean of stars, it wasn't much else besides credit fueled power that turned this tourist trap. It had been sometime since he had a paying customer barter for his services - and there wasn't much better place to look for one than this pin-wheel in space.

Within the mainstay of the several docking ports on the southeast rim, and second level watering holes, the Wheel's highly praised gaming community scores were lit up on the holo-screens that rested just above the bar, enough to be seen by the seated patrons. A smaller cantina with an open floor-plan that was used to getting its fair share of spacers to come in and stay awhile. Perhaps kick back and relax after jetting around in the black. From the port-side window a section of the station was lit up as it faced the inside axis of the station. Slow ponderous movements gently gave the onlooker the sense of movement with the gravity systems kept them in perfect harmony with the rotation.

Situated in a booth, with both leather boots kicked up in a cross ankle formation, the spacer with the red jacket sat lounging. His drink of choice this time being Corellian ale wasn't even being truly nursed as it had only one ring impression on the napkin below it. His attention and focus lay on the transponder he was currently shuffling around between his digits. The device was in three pieces, and not by design. Some tragedy had befallen the tech that he had fished out of some dumpster on Nar Shaddaa last time he had visited that planet. It was in fairly decent shape, and if he could get the tech up and running again he could make some coin on it he wagered. Hal had never been an engineer or even a junker for that matter - but he had time to waste.

There were really only two reasons anyone stepped into this place - they either needed to wet their whistle in whatever alien manner that required, or they were looking for a way to get off this durasteel ring and get somewhere else. This was a place for contacts to meet, deals to be struck, and pilots to be hired to ferry people small and great across the galaxy. Until someone needed his services (of which he hoped would be soon) he sat here fumbling with the metallic object. Ever so often flicking the power switch off and on, praying that by some kind of ancient sorcery he'd get the thing to jolt on. That was a trick however, not even the force could accomplish - even if he had the sense to use it in the last five years.

 

[Kiyen Korr]

Frak if working on The Wheel wasn't easy. The place was like a kriffing bounty hunter convenience store.

Anywhere the only real law was profit, and especially when the profits came from gambling, people were always getting ripped off. And when someone got ripped off, they got pissed; pissed enough, and they'd post a bounty. Kiyen could probably just set up shop here for the rest of her life, bringing in casino cheaters and data fraudsters, but it wasn't her style. They paid the bills, but she was in this business for the big credits, and even the most egregious of these laserbrains didn't qualify.

So it was time to move on, and for that she needed a pilot. Kiyen had never learned to fly a starship, and she didn't feel any real need or desire to do so; if she was going to spend time improving her skills, she was going to focus on skills that no one else could do for her. Like her fracking job. So she stepped into one of the smaller cantinas, a known spacer hangout, her icy eyes evaluating each of the possibilities in turn. Best to pick someone quiet, efficient, fair, and able to keep his hands to himself.

But sithspit, how many spacers had she ever met that fit those criteria? Somewhere coreward of zero.

The one in the red jacket had good taste in drinks, at least; Kiyen had spent enough time with CorSec to know Corellian Ale from across the room. She caught the barkeep's eye, inclining her head toward the spacer, and got a nod in response; he was looking for work. Good enough for a first try, at least. She walked over to his booth, her unbuttoned jacket swaying loosely around her hips in the cold breeze of the air recyclers, and leaned against the bench seat across from the guy.

"I hope your ship's in better shape," she said, indicating the mangled transponder with a snort.

@[member=Harland Gates]

 

[Harland Gates]

Like some kind of Space Jenga puzzle, the transponder had been relieved and replaced with various elements that all came unhinged in whatever method caused it to be scrapped in the floating dumpster on their way to incineration. However, instead of becoming recycled durasteel mineral scrap, it'd been liberated to find its way into the hands of a spacer trying to wear the daunting hat of an engineer. To showcase just how much he didn't have the skill to repair the device, he'd given it a few hard clashes with the table top between the two booth setting. He'd hit things on his ship harder than that, and seen them spring back to life - it was only logical (though remote) that it might have some sort of internal pressure switch that required a nice hard thud to reset. Sadly it hadn't done much more than make a few lengthy scratches on the brushed durasteel finish of the table and further sour his mood. It was time to drink. The first cool rush of golden hued ale slid down his gullet and broke a sigh to escape between divorced lips, which slightly curled at the pleasant sting rushing down his throat.

"You'd like to think so - cause that'd be one big kick-the-rancor to scouting for passengers." Gates said without even looking up. He'd seen the shadow before he heard the voice, and then saw the leather. Coral eyes shifted to the transponder again after a good long stare at those legs. Turning the device to the right and to the left before he placed it with a firm thud on the table. "Fixed it...flimsi weight." His eyes adjusted upwards, taking in a fetching sight of a fire kissed hair, and the complete lack of a socially acceptable smile. Hard nut to crack - but he'd met harder. What was it about attractive women that needed to don such a caustic and stoic shell? It wasn't hard to answer, all you had to do is visit any dive this side of the Mara Corridor to get your answer. People were karking crude, and most of the time you rarely got any actual play on a respectable level. Gates though wasn't looking for a connect-disconnect, he was looking for credits, and an excuse to get off this station.

Lifting both boots from the corner of the table, and planting them flat on the floor to a more respectable seated position. The Corellian ale was once again tugged in for a second swig before he withdrew a single holo-emitter from his inside jacket pocket and laid it onto the table. A double tap of his index activated the emitter drawing up the default tint of holographic blue to display a HWK-290. The rotating 3D model was an exact duplicate of his vessel, one that would seat six including the pilot plus cargo. Twin ion cannons rested on the underside of the nose, but aside from that the model was stock. Despite it's age in the Galaxy, there was not much of that size and class that could maneuver like it could. One of the biggest selling points to his cause, not to mention the attractive Nyriaanan rogue that you got for a pilot.

"The Wild Goose. Gateway to the stars for them as can pay." Both hands rested on the table, one close enough to his drink that he shifted the glass back and forth while he kept his slightly smug expression resting on a potential client. A few standard hours with a woman of her....talents in a confined space. Not a bad way to spend a Primeday. Gates was a little more cavalier than the next, but he wasn't a two-bit con job, or a skeeze. Besides, all he had to do was take a trek to Zeltros should really need to get rid of that lonely spacer vibe. A few stories, a winning smile and an open tab is all it took on that party planet to get some attention of the soothing sort.

[member="Kiyen Korr"]

 

[Kiyen Korr]

Kiyen followed his gaze as it trekked up her legs without comment; that much was pretty standard. Her estimation of the pilot rose a notch as he actually managed to fix the transponder, and she favored him with a nod of acknowledgement as she mentally raised the amount she was probably going to have to pay. Incompetent pilots with bucket-of-bolts ships were cheap to hire, but in this galaxy you never got more than you paid for, and often even less. Better to steer clear of them.

The spacer brought out a holoemitter, and Kiyen leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table in the space the guy had finally vacated with his feet. Kriffing druk if the ship wasn't an old model, but so far as she could tell it looked to be in pretty good shape, with a few modifications besides. The only visible armaments were ion cannons, and Kiyen wondered if this guy had a problem with killing. In her book, enemies you didn't kill were enemies that came back for revenge.

She made an exception if the client wanted them alive, of course.

"Last I checked," Kiyen muttered dryly, "all starships are gateways to the stars." Her gaze flitted back to the spacer, their faces much closer together now, as she more thoroughly sized him up. That he was attracted to her was fairly clear, but it wasn't necessarily a problem; he was pretty handsome himself, if it came down to it. And he hadn't opened with a sleazy one-liner or commented on her looks, so that brought him up another notch. He clearly had at least a shred of professionalism.

That was good enough for her. "I'm heading Coreward," she told him, straightening to lean against the side of the booth once more. This wasn't secret business; she didn't care if she was overheard, and she might as well get some distance from the guy she'd be sharing a metal can with for Force knew how long while she could. "Only cargo is a footlocker, about two meters by one by a half. Only passenger is me. Don't open the footlocker. Don't try to open me. Destination is Byss, and I pay when I get there; I don't do that 'half upfront' druk."

Kiyen looked him straight in the eyes. "Think you can handle that?"

@[member=Harland Gates]

 

[Harland Gates]

From luxury liners, to bulk transports and back again, ferrying people was an old trade - and while he wasn't signing up to be an intergalactic bus driver, the spacer had favored chartered fare above doing the other odd jobs he could pick up out in the black. Passengers were colorful people however, and more than a few times had made the ride just a bit more interesting than he originally planned for. Still, he set his own hours, he flew his own ship, and he answered to the only person that could rouse his interest -- himself. Gates had an issue with authority; namely he didn't swallow the pretext of anyone having any over him - nor was he one to really hand out that assignment so willingly. Despite this lack luster approach to being under the thumb of anyone - he was a man of business when it came to rendering his services for worthy credits.

"That's their claim, sure as true, but anyone whose been touring the hyperlanes knows it's the pilot and crew that really test a vessel." Gates said, killing the emitter feed with another double tap of his primary digit. The small device was tucked back into his palm and slid into the recesses of his jacket while he took a more reclined approach against the booth's back. The lady was all business, and it showed on that upfront demeanor. Not long after came the terms - something every passenger trying to prove something to a spacer liked to throw in their face. Go through their laundry list of demands, and see how they reacted. Hal's reaction was a mix between aloof and bored. He honestly didn't care what they brought on-board so long as it wasn't breathing. You have one too many run-ins with the Galaxies infamous Gizka, and you quickly find out why they are a spacer's worst nightmare.

"Your upfront, I like that - saves time. I'm not interested in your secrets, just the credits - but the company doesn't hurt either. Byss is in sith-spit space right now, so getting through to land might make this a little more interesting, and a bit more pricey. Eight thousand we don't run into trouble, An even ten if I have to dance around patrols or wind up flagged by the faction." A decade ago he'd of never headed through to space controlled by a Sith faction - and especially not Byss. All Jedi knew about that planet, and the sway it held over the dark side of the Force. Now, Gates barely blinked at the mention and had no issue diving into that nearly mythological planet of paradise. While others would do it at a discount given the graceful features of the redhead before him, Hal knew what he was worth, and he wasn't going to be swayed by flaxen locks, especially when she wasn't flirting with him.

His eyes left her own giving the woman enough time to mull over the deal. Hal didn't expect she'd take long - as her to the point attitude afforded him no illusion that she was one to beat around the proverbial bush. The last shot of Corellian ale sitting in the glass was downed without hesitation and the glass clipped the table as he set it down with barely a drop of golden residue to hug the contours. Gates then mustered will power and resolve and kept his trap shut for once until she either decided to try and wheel and deal, or accept his price.

[member="Kiyen Korr"]

 

[Kiyen Korr]

"Done," Kiyen said. It wasn't exactly a low price, the equivalent of two of the bounties she'd taken on The Wheel, but she recognized necessary expenses. And the pilot was right; dodging Sith was worth a little extra. Kiyen didn't much care for Force-monks of any stripe, though like most sane people she would rather deal with the non-homicidal ones. But wherever there was upheaval there were people out for whatever revenge they dressed up as justice, and that meant credits for her.

She relaxed, if only a micrometer; success on the first try with one of these spacer types wasn't something she expected. That still left the voyage for things to go awry, and since it'd been smooth sailing so far, she was willing to bet something would; fate was a cold schutta like that. But Kiyen was pretty kriffing cold herself; if anything came up, she would handle it, up to and including providing the dashing captain here with a new, carbonized breathing hole in the middle of his forehead.

His mention of company put her a little on edge, but maybe he was being sincere rather than sleazy; Kiyen had spent so long among criminal scum that she tended to assume the worst of everyone, and she was conscious of that. And he'd done nothing so far to set off genuine alarm bells, so maybe he actually was the dashing but honorable rogue that so many independent captains claimed to be. Probably not, but that wasn't so bad, either. Honor could be... boring.

"Kiyen Korr," she said, extending a muscular, calloused hand for a firm shake. "And I don't waste my time with subtlety. I'll be clear and to-the-point with you, and I'll expect the same in return." She pushed away from the booth, casting a glance around at the bar; such scans were second nature in her profession, watching for bounties - or just potential threats. "I can be ready whenever you are, captain. The sooner we arrive, the happier I'll be."

Which wasn't really true; she was never happy. But she was sometimes satisfied, and big payouts were the key.

[member="Harland Gates"]

 

[Harland Gates]

There was an unquestioned fine line between the two shown halves of Gates' personality. While on the one hand, he could be quite the comedian with a mouth that generally led him into more pitfalls than out most of the time, there was however a serious streak running through the pilot. He could shut down and become an unreadable sphinx when he decided the guise was right for the gig. He didn't like being played, or having the bantha wool pulled over his eyes. It made him a hard one to get a real good read on, because just as fast as someone pegged him as an aloof drifter, he'd switch over and prove them utterly wrong - normally at the business end of a blaster. The term most used was wild card, and it was an apt description - as he could be just as unpredictable as the day was long. Pairing that with a cold as ice, and straight to the point bounty hunter - and smooth sailing was probably going to be tossed out of the cockpit at some point in time.

Ejecting himself from the booth, once the terms were taken into account and agreed upon with the single syllable that rang from Kylen's mouth like the chime of a digital deposit. Gates had been a self made man these many years away from the Jedi temple - and the paying gigs he got that could him for a couple of weeks (or months if he pushed it) were of his prime concern. Kylen may have expected less, but she had just bought herself a spacer for as long as the trip took. She was now his concern, as were her effects. True to his word, the pilot wouldn't snoop, but the Force be damned if she wasn't going to arrive on Byss in one piece with her affairs in order. So long as the credits stood muster, she was in good and capable hands. Those hands specifically plucked up the transponder into his right paw, and slid the remaining pieces back into the former crevices. He hadn't fixed the transponder at all, it was simply now a weight to keep flimsis from flying all over the place.

"You don't mince words - so I'll warn you straightway, I tend to drone on from time to time." He offered a somewhat smug smile as he offered a head nod in the direction of the nearest exit. "Captain is a bit too formal, Hal will do fine. I don't outrank my passengers, I'm just the bloke at the yoke." There was no call to impress, no ceremony to stand on the for the spacer, and while he doubted this woman was going to relax in his presence, at least he wanted her to feel at ease around him. He however made it his business, not to be in his passengers affairs unless they decided to lay out their entire sordid story before him. Some people wanted an ear to bend, and someone wanted a zipped lip. The latter rarely got along too well with Gates, but that was the curse of not owning your own craft, you had to rely on people you might not be famously linked with at the hips on every voyage. Force knows he'd had enough of those in his jaunts into the black. Palming the transponder, he shifted to the flank of the red-head and began to head towards the lounge exit on the way to pick up his ship and be on their merry.

"She's parked in 'A' seventeen, if you need to see to fetching that locker you made mention of." Hal admonished as he paused to the fork in the path, the curving corridor to each direction. One way was the storage container lifts for the cargo bay, and the other took patrons to the docking bays where the ships could rest safely in the hangar. Safe as can be on a place like this. Countermeasures were always a must, and he had no shortage of them aboard the Wild Goose. A few greased palms helped as well.

[member="Kiyen Korr"]