greed is my lever Who: Captain Phasma & Kaz Brekker. What: Kaz makes good on his promise of a firearms delivery. When: Following this holonet post. Where: Neutral space. Rating: G.
The Hands hovered at the exact coordinates he'd been given by the First Order. He had left the comfort of his pilot's chair to oversee the handful of crew members making the shipment boxes ready; there were twenty in all. Each had been painstakingly counted before loading, and checked again during transport. Now they were being placed closer to the docking area, in preparation of offloading.
Kaz wasn't sure what sort of ship to expect, but he checked his watch again to note the time. He was early, as was his prerogative; he enjoyed scouting locations and ensuring there were no traps set. Aside from a cluster of dust and meteors, the space they currently occupied held no interest and was far outside most transport lines. It was unlikely that they would find help if they needed it, but Kaz didn't believe in miracles or needing assistance.
A crewman popped his head out from the cockpit. "Long range sensor's picking something up, boss. Think it's our contact."
Turning to walk back to his seat, cane tapping out the rhythm of his steps, Kaz nodded. "Let's have a look, then."
The ship that came into visual was a light cruiser, Guardian-334 class, which usually held a crew of no more than five. It was an older model, used more often during the days of the Empire, but this ship looked well-maintained and showed no indications outwardly of its allegiance. Once it was within communications range, a message beeped through the channel.
The voice was modulated and slightly tinny, but clearly female, as it spoke, “This is the Squall IV, picking up a transport. Captain Brekker, please report.”
Kaz leaned into the speaker on his console, tapping a button to open a reply channel. "Captain Brekker here. This is the Dirty Hands. I assume you're the one we've been waiting for."
“I am Captain Phasma,” came the metallic reply. “I have my orders to rendezvous with you at these coordinates, sir. Is your ship prepared for docking?”
"Indeed it is. Please move your ship into position." He leaned up off the console, gesturing to his crew to ready connectors so that the Hands and Squall IV could be docked. Others were moving into position near the cargo, weapons on their hips at the ready. Kaz wouldn't have any of them draw off the bat, but he was certainly a believer in being safe rather than sorry.
There was no confirmation reply, but the Squall IV moved to the designated dock position, easily and efficiently. Whoever was piloting had done this many times before. The docking rings locked, and there was the telltale hiss of atmospheric equilibrium as oxygen rushed into the joint dock. There was a pause as the systems verified all locks were secure and the pressure was sufficient, before the doors slid open with little sound, showing well-oiled mechanisms.
In the open dock bay, Phasma stood, her chrome armor without blemish, and the black cape arranged over her shoulder. Although she also held a blaster, it was not aimed at the other ship but merely secured against her side. There were two stormtroopers with her in traditional white; she was taller than both by several inches. The appeared to wait on her command, standing at attention, but they also gave no indication of aggression, just calm.
“Captain Brekker.” She inclined her head. “If you please, I would inspect the cargo,” she spoke, the sound amplified through the helmet. Although it was phrased diplomatically, something suggested it was not exactly a request.
Cane in hand, Kaz gestured with his free appendage. The motion was theatrical. "By all means. I would be surprised if you didn't."
He turned, waving two of his men away from the closest box. Taking a step back, he folded both hands onto the crow's head that topped his cane, feet spread as wide as his shoulders. He eyed the stormtroopers, but was far more interested in the chrome soldier that took the lead in this operation. He'd heard stories of her, this Captain Phasma. It was difficult to go unnoticed with an appearance like that, and he assumed it was not without cause.
Although she could have sent one of the troopers, Phasma herself moved over with ease, her bearing precise but clearly comfortable. Her helmet gave the impression she was watching him before she lowered her gaze to the cargo box, effortlessly lifting the lid to reveal the array of weapons. With a sure grip, she pulled out a Blas-Tech repeating blaster, regarding it with a critical air. Her fingers moved nimbly over the armament, clearly familiar with the components, as she examined the cooling shroud, the stand, the clip. “Are you very familiar with weapons, Captain Brekker?” she asked, sounding conversational. “These are quite satisfactory...Blas-Tech, of course, is restricted by trade law from producing Empire-era repeaters, so they created their own subsidiary to get around that, but the temptation is too great to put aside a solid design like this. Impressive.” She set it back inside the case, looking at the armor slotted next to it.
Kaz shrugged. "I'm as familiar as I need to be, and I like to show that I can meet my customer's needs. My trade isn't in warfare, captain, but who am I to stand in the way of those who make it theirs?
"Anything I don't know is easily obtained. In this line of work, you get around enough -- you learn a little about everything. I assume you're satisfied with your purchase, then?"
“I am. The Bha’lir have never disappointed.” If she was bothered at all by his disinclination to discuss the weaponry, it did not show. It was her forte, her interest, and if he did not share it, she was unconcerned. With a quick movement, she indicated that the loading onto her ship could commence, and the two troopers came forward to assist. Kaz's men followed at a nod from him, though he kept his attention on their commander. “I specialize in all small armament, and piloting,” she continued, to Kaz. “If someone in my employ uses it, I will be familiar with it.”
He nodded. "A wise decision for the leader of an army. I specialize in people; as long as they know what they're doing, and they're loyal to me, the job gets done.
"Piloting, though, is an interest of mine. Did you fly the Squall?"
“I did,” Phasma confirmed, her helmet turning to watch the cargo being moved before she looked back to Brekker. “I specialized in starfighter combat, but I can pilot any small cruiser currently in commission.” It did not sound like bragging; it was more a statement of fact the way she presented it. “The Squall IV is standard design….I would be surprised if your ship did not hold a host of modifications, however.”
"A necessary addition to this model," he confirmed. "It's virtually impossible to find original parts for the Firespray-31, but the beauty of it is it's moldability. If you're looking for modifications for your own vessel, there are a number I can suggest."
“I am afraid my duties leave me very little time to pursue outside interests,” Phasma replied, although she did not sound offended in any way, “however, there may be ships that we do wish to modify in the future. If you are willing to offer your services again, I will recommend such to the General for his staff.”
"By all means, please do." He glanced over at the men who were making quick work of moving the boxes from one ship to another. In short order, there were only a handful left. "And I trust you'll be satisfied completely with this delivery. If there's anything else I can do for you or the Order in the future, don't hesitate to contact me." He looked back to Phasma, but did not extend a hand or any other gesture of good faith. Some might have found it offputting, but Kaz did not care.
Phasma likewise did not reach out, nor did she seem disposed to. Instead, she merely gave a small nod of thanks. “I shall let the General know of your offer,” she assured him. “And I may have some requests, if you are as good a pilot as you seem.” It sounded dryly humored, just as one professional might say to another, as she gestured for her troopers to take the last crates to the ship. Turning on her heel, she moved to her ship’s dock. “Captain Brekker,” she said, as a farewell as she inclined her head.
"I wait with bated breath," Kaz replied. "Captain Phasma." He returned her nod with the same degree. His men moved back onto the Hands, taking up comfortable positions to watch their customers disembark.
It clearly amused her, his response, from the duck of her head, but she otherwise simply stood at attention as the doors closed on each docking area. The locks detached, and the telltale sound of air escaping a vacuum indicated the ships had separated. In moments, the Squall had transmitted confirmation of the detachment, and the ships were on their way.