Led_Astray
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 6, 2008
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The fat human cargo master - his name already forgotten - was sweating in the heat and swearing as he slapped at the ubiquitous swamp-flies that were buzzing around. Saxan Vaal looked down at him with cool superiority - being cold blooded meant the heat didn't bother him at all, and the flies did not seem attracted to his green blood. He ran his clawed fingers through his black hair - pointlessly, of course, as unlike the unfortunate and corpulent human, the Falleen smuggler did not sweat.
"Too good to be true..." Saxan murmured again, adjusting his armoured vest to hang more comfortably. It was an unbelievable situation, an absurd dream, and yet here he was, watching as three thousand tons of Chak-Root liqueur was pumped into the two modular saddle-tanks on the shortened spine of his heavily customised KDY Spacemaster.
Bored with waiting, he stared out over the landscape, but beyond the camouflaged landing pad there was nothing to see except twisted parodies of decent plants growing out of swampland, a mixture of virulent greens and earthy browns. All shrouded in a light mist that did nothing to assuage the heat.
The value of the cargo being loaded was... well, incalculable. More than the ship was worth, for certain. Certainly more than his life was worth, the Falleen grudgingly admitted to himself, no matter that the life of a Falleen was worth ten times that of any other species. He kicked at the gantry rail irritably with his fine nerf-hide boots, then cursed himself for showing emotion, even in front of this fat slug of an inferior human. But if something went wrong on this run...
That the situation had arisen at all was incredible. The recent defeat of the corporations by the clone armies of the Republic - no, the Empire now, he corrected himself - had seen them retreat back to this, the Trilon Arm - and as a result of their increased military presence, the usual small scale but regular smuggling operations had been disrupted. Disrupted for so long that the secret distillery and its small workforce of bots had built up this ridiculous stockpile of Chak Root liquer. But now, fearing that the Empire's authority was beginning to expand towards this area, the owners of this little set up wanted the stockpile gone - and fast.
And so, here he was. Saxan Vaal, a smuggler with a reputation for getting the job done. There was enough money here to bribe the customs officials at both ends of the trip, so it should be a simple matter of getting the cargo from "A" to "B". "A" in this case being the marshes of Erysthes, "B" being Starforge Station.
His ship, The "Winged Serpent", with its ability to accept different modular cargo pods, and its vastly improved range over the stock model, was an ideal choice for this sort of operation, and he grinned as he looked at the brand new bulk liquid tanks that had been carefully roughed up to look ancient and battered. Decals painted on the side declared them to be full of low grade Peragas Fuel. One liquid looked much like another on most scans, and Peragas fuel was toxic, explosive and not worth the hassle of stealing, even if he should run into pirates.
"There!" declared the loadmaster, shifting his bloated carcass around to address the tall (and undeniably handsome, like all of his race) Falleen. Saxan didn't bother controlling his skin-colour shift - there was no way this fool would recognise the pale blue of utter contempt. Look at him, sweating away, as if he had actually loaded the cargo himself, instead of just directing droids with that data pad. "All loaded up and the tanks sealed. Step inside and we'll sort out the false bills of lading."
Saxan looked around. He didn't feel entirely comfortable leaving his ship under the care of just his droid co-pilot, but here? There was supposedly nobody else within 200 klicks. That uncomfortable feeling of being watched that he had must surely just be an expression of his desire to be gone from here as quickly as possible.
"Very well, Loadmaster." he snapped, efficiently. "The sooner the cargo is on its way, the happier we will both be."
"Too good to be true..." Saxan murmured again, adjusting his armoured vest to hang more comfortably. It was an unbelievable situation, an absurd dream, and yet here he was, watching as three thousand tons of Chak-Root liqueur was pumped into the two modular saddle-tanks on the shortened spine of his heavily customised KDY Spacemaster.
Bored with waiting, he stared out over the landscape, but beyond the camouflaged landing pad there was nothing to see except twisted parodies of decent plants growing out of swampland, a mixture of virulent greens and earthy browns. All shrouded in a light mist that did nothing to assuage the heat.
The value of the cargo being loaded was... well, incalculable. More than the ship was worth, for certain. Certainly more than his life was worth, the Falleen grudgingly admitted to himself, no matter that the life of a Falleen was worth ten times that of any other species. He kicked at the gantry rail irritably with his fine nerf-hide boots, then cursed himself for showing emotion, even in front of this fat slug of an inferior human. But if something went wrong on this run...
That the situation had arisen at all was incredible. The recent defeat of the corporations by the clone armies of the Republic - no, the Empire now, he corrected himself - had seen them retreat back to this, the Trilon Arm - and as a result of their increased military presence, the usual small scale but regular smuggling operations had been disrupted. Disrupted for so long that the secret distillery and its small workforce of bots had built up this ridiculous stockpile of Chak Root liquer. But now, fearing that the Empire's authority was beginning to expand towards this area, the owners of this little set up wanted the stockpile gone - and fast.
And so, here he was. Saxan Vaal, a smuggler with a reputation for getting the job done. There was enough money here to bribe the customs officials at both ends of the trip, so it should be a simple matter of getting the cargo from "A" to "B". "A" in this case being the marshes of Erysthes, "B" being Starforge Station.
His ship, The "Winged Serpent", with its ability to accept different modular cargo pods, and its vastly improved range over the stock model, was an ideal choice for this sort of operation, and he grinned as he looked at the brand new bulk liquid tanks that had been carefully roughed up to look ancient and battered. Decals painted on the side declared them to be full of low grade Peragas Fuel. One liquid looked much like another on most scans, and Peragas fuel was toxic, explosive and not worth the hassle of stealing, even if he should run into pirates.
"There!" declared the loadmaster, shifting his bloated carcass around to address the tall (and undeniably handsome, like all of his race) Falleen. Saxan didn't bother controlling his skin-colour shift - there was no way this fool would recognise the pale blue of utter contempt. Look at him, sweating away, as if he had actually loaded the cargo himself, instead of just directing droids with that data pad. "All loaded up and the tanks sealed. Step inside and we'll sort out the false bills of lading."
Saxan looked around. He didn't feel entirely comfortable leaving his ship under the care of just his droid co-pilot, but here? There was supposedly nobody else within 200 klicks. That uncomfortable feeling of being watched that he had must surely just be an expression of his desire to be gone from here as quickly as possible.
"Very well, Loadmaster." he snapped, efficiently. "The sooner the cargo is on its way, the happier we will both be."
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