"I'm glad it's you that throws yourself into these situations, and not me." The voice of Klennu rang in his ear, as if standing right over his shoulder.
"You might be suited to one of these expeditions." Gaan Toru replied.
"No thanks, I'll stick to eying the prizes and feeding their value back to you, my steel clad friend. Besides, watching the ship would be a tad boring for the likes of you." Klennu spoke distantly and once he finished speaking he let the silence hang.
Gaan Toru stepped into the dimly lit bar. It was cool inside, which was a nice change for the searing heat outdoors. While he was used to cooking under the sun of Scoosha, he could never feel comfortable in the blinding light. The rays seemed to reflect on the sand and bleached stone, disrupting from below as above.
The bar was alive with people. They were the denizens one could only expect on a lawless rock, far from civilized space. The ones unlucky enough to be born on an outer world were just that, unlucky. The ones, however, who traveled here to settle down, done so for a reason.
Hiding out. Flying under the radar. Smuggling. Recruitment drives. Low-lifers. People in debt. Murders, or worse. War criminals. Exiled gang members. Even some warlords found their way nowhere in order to rebuild.
There really was no end to the amount of money there was sipping drinks in a bar on one of the many outer-worlds. Not every one was worth the hassle of bringing them in alive, living bounties, while harder, were certainly more valuable and worth the risk.
"Your kind is welcome here!" Piercing over the sound of the busy bar was the croaky gruff voice of a cantankerous old man.
Gaan looked around to see one of the petrons, back bent from years of labor, skin cracked and leathery. He wore what seemed to be a heavily worn uniform of some sort, all insignias long worn away.
"Annoying the locals already," the voice of Klennu came through clear. "Maintain visual. Give me one second."
"Me?" Gaan asked.
The bar had gone silent by this stage as the drunken dregs of Scoosha stared at the entertainment. Some laughter was heard. "You're in for it now," one voice called out. "The captain is angry," another yelled after.
"Ahh, I have him. Captain T. Scert, Jex militia. Dishonored during the battle of Besk where he disobeyed an order leading to the loss of a capital ship. He fled. No bounty. Not even his family are looking for him." Klennu said. "From what I've seen so far, most of the people here are ghosts or fossils."
"You heard the man. I don't want any law enforcement riling up my patrons." The bar man shouted, breaking through the noise of merry crowd.
"I'm not law enforcement. I'm just looking for a drink." Gaan replied.
"There's a wash pool down the street, you're welcome to drink your fill, stranger." The captain replied, standing as straight as he could, he even lifted his hand from the bar to stand unaided.
"Interesting." Klennu said over the commotion. "That bar man. Jiik Suntari, he owed a lot of money to a local of New Trisk, strange place for a Human to hang out."
"Owed?" Gaan asked under his breath as he stepped backward and began to leave.
"Yeah, Rotchi don't have much of a life span. Since he set up shop here, 3 generations have passed on New Trisk. Good strategy to be fair."
"I'm going to try the next town over, this place is a ghost town." Gaan said as he walked toward the door, ignoring the shouts and taunts from the locals.
As he reached the doorway, someone staggered in, a Triskani, blue and green scales, some missing, heavily scared, wearing a beaten up long leather jacket, military trousers and a torn old sun bleached shirt. They collided.
"Watch where you're going, Human." The Triskani said as they took a step back to stop their wobbling. Staring slowly up and down, he met Gaan's eyes. "What? Gonna say something?"
"Hello," Klennu said excitedly. "I think we have one,"
The Triskani moved around Gaan and walked into the bar disappearing into the crowd. Gaan continued to walk outside, and while on the street awaited for Klennu to continue.
