A dimly lit backalley tapcaf, like so many others on countless backwater worlds. The Talfin Cantina drew its usual customers. Quarren, Mon Cal, Gungans and Chagrians, for the most part sailors and sea folk, descended from the first settlers to Bartyns Landing.
I had no idea what I was doing here, on Lamaredd, the sinkhole of no where. I should be used to it by now...ending up all manner of places, no idea how or why. Well, how isn't really the issue. The Manta Ray is a soild ship. My urges and desires...another issue. I suppose I was bound for the bounty hunting career. What other feild gets you all over the galaxy, easy money, free room to work and no annoying bosses.
That isn't exactly true, it took alot of just that to get me here...in life, not Lamaredd.
Here I was, stepping into this Cantina that reeked of fish and saltwater. Emperors black bones, I hate that smell.
Now I recall. I'm here to collect an aquisition.
What was the file...Oh...It's coming back.
Running it over in my head I walked off towards the bar.
"Wrhat'll yah 'ave spacer?"
Who was it...Part of the file or...
A barkeep. Good. Human. Better...Old salt sailor. Best.
"Yah, sure...Lum, an' don't skimp.", I add a grin, "And some information..."


((OOC: Lamaredd is a backwater planet off of the Corellian Run. A fishing/mining world with a sordid past. This takes place during the verge of the Rebellion Era. Info available in SWG (star wars gamer) vol. 2 no. 1 ))

It didn't take long. It never does with me, I work fast, faster when I'm stuck on backrim worlds like Lamaredd. With a few fast words here, a handgesture and touch of credits, my aquisition was within hands reach. Temporarly stuck at the landing,the target had left a few loose ends untired. I had learned that beyond being a minor spice runner planetside, the mark, a Quarren female, had amassed a number of outstanding debts in the neighbouring systems. It was more then likely because of this that the mark based her operations out of Little Mon Cal, a small island on the backside of the planet.

A cresent shaped island, Little Mon Cal had been set aside long ago for the water-dwelling aliens that had helped settle this out-of-the-way system. Mon Calamari, Chagarians, Gungans and Quarren, to say the least, plus a few other random species who had by some way found themselves eeking out a living on Lamaredd. I had to give her credit, she delt with humans and drylanders off planet, anyone who would be going far out of their way to come collecting. Anyone who would stand out like a sore thumb in the crowd and populus of the island.

The way I figured it, I'd have aproximatly 48 hours, standard time, before she hopped a troller or skybus back to Little Mon, then things would be more complicated.

The dossier had included some vague information on the marks onplanet operations, but with the help of Hal, I was able to fill in the gaps. A few storehouses, a beach front estate, and an entourage of thugs who do without asking.

Perfect, I thought to myself while on the way to check my next source, No complications when the job's done and I'm off this rock.

------ (short posting. more to come) -----

"I'm lookin' fer Liddle," I had to yell for the second time, trying to beat out the din of the processor droids, "Said he were down 'ere!"

The salty old Mon Cal gave me an incredulous look, as if his job of yelling randomly at slacking plant workers were the only thing that mattered in the whole of the universe. "The Chief. Yeah, just got here. Down in blue." he snapped roughly, then turned back to his clipboard.

Blue. Green. Red. Why do places like this always code up by color, numbers would be so much more direct. Turbolift Blue one. Stepping out of the tubolift was like being abruptly snapped back to reality, starting with the icy sting of sea water and strong winds.

Blue, was apparently the loading sector, and Blue one, among the few small decaying docks of Kuk wood.

This was where I found Liddell, the security Chief for Bartyns landing. Maybe Oro, who knows. Old as the sea though, Mon Cal don't tend to age gracefully. He was clad in a long poncho to keep out the biting rain and surf, a beaten old blaster carbine slung over his shoulder.

I moved up his left flank, fairly sure the wind and rain would cover my approach. It didn't.

I got within about 3 meters before he turned.

A flash, "Kill him." slipped through my head, but to no avail.

A smile, despite the blowing weather, "Chief Mix Liddell?", one arm reaching out to greet him, the other in plain sight across my chest.

"That'd be me," the Mon Cal twitched his tendrils, "you're the bounty hunter?"

Surprising. Liddell really knew his small town, strangers were his job. Don't show it, cool as ice. "Somethin' like that. The name's..."

"Pike, I know." he smiled and shook my hand as he rose to his feet, "I have to know these things, I know a few people."

"It seems ta me that darn near everyone knows someone," I grin and lean closer, "so, yah've somethin' ta show me?"

"Over here." He nods with his head and moves toward the edge of the dock, "I think this is for you..." slipping something from under his poncho and handing it to me, "It was...In her mouth."

"Her mouth," still cool as ice, it'll try and be something shocking, "What'cha mean?"

A shake of his head, then he leaned partway over the edge and pointed down..

Down there, hanging by tinsiline noose, was the acquisition. Dangling by her neck 20 feet above the turbulent waters with two words written carved neatly on the quarrens' head...
"Bounty Hunter"