WriteHaven

It was early morning in late spring on Mullan's southern hemisphere, which was far better than the eternal frozen dusk of Mygeeto where Mission had spent the last few weeks. Not needing to wear an environmentally sealed body suit was such a novelty by comparison that the young woman had deigned not to even wear her accustomed spacer gear, and instead take her time enjoying the temperate climate. And so it was that the short redhead strode casually down the manicured path of a country plantation in the only sleeveless garment she owned, draped over by a silky scarf that was nearly a poncho. She still presented like a hyperlane traveler of some kind, but perhaps less than immediately distinguishable as one who spent more time surrounded by vacuum than by atmosphere. With pebble gravels crunching under every fall of her boots, Mission left behind the lovely vineyards that surrounded the small private landing pad, and found herself walking in the shade of a copse of trees - a copse that might have qualified as a small forest if it had been composed of anything other than a handful of small transplanted Wroshyr trees from Kashyyyk.

At the head of the path lay the plantation house - more of a mansion - to which Mission was headed. Its white marble walls were cut at just slightly less than perfect angles that allowed it to seem modern and clean without forcing it to stand in more than a tasteful contrast to the Wroshyr trees around it. Windows faced out in every possible direction despite the sturdy design of the house, and a wide, inviting stairway with low elevation steps served as the place of transition between the pebble gravel path and the complex. Down those stairs strode a man in the sunset of his middle aged years, who wore elegantly practical robes and a pleasant smile above his mustacheless beard. As he came to the final platform of the marble steps, he came to a stop and made a welcoming gesture.

"Welcome back, my young adventurer!"

A genuine smile spread across Mission's features as she came to a stop at the foot of the same step. "It's good to be back again, Master Bessell."

"Oh you really mustn't," said Bessell, waving a dismissive hand at her address. "I can't imagine a legendary treasure hunter like yourself calling a smalltime connoisseur like me anything so formal."

The vineyardist was reveling in a degree of nicety that didn't suit Mission, and she could feel that her small attempt at pleasantry had been handled far more as a compliment in his eyes. She fixed him with a knowing smile and waited until he recanted with a small chuckle.

"I trust your journey was within acceptable working conditions?" asked Bessell, shifting back into his pleasant tone as he turned and motioned to her.

"It was," said Mission, joining him as he made his way back up the steps, "but I will say that spending three weeks digging through the detritus of a condemned structure in the middle of an ice age winter make one appreciate... spring, a little more."

Bessell shivered visibly at the suggestion and opened one of the double front doors for Mission with a proper gentlemanly gesture. "Well then allow me to help you make the most of it before you depart. What can I get you to drink?"

"Does your vineyard produce any port strength vintages?"

"Oh certainly! My wife and I just opened a bottle from the five-year rack last night. I'll pour you a glass."

"Thank you!"

While Bessell went and poured wines from his immaculate bar at the far end of the foyer, Mission wandered along one of the display cases, reexamining the artifacts that had caught her eye on her first visit. There was a case filled with pre-imperial Jedi artifacts, ranging from items of utility to decorative pieces salvaged from various sites across the galaxy; at the center of the case was a glass cube upon which rested a functional lightsaber that she knew he had all the permits required to legally own, and standing over it on a custom-shaped pedestal, a Sigil Crystal that was over twice the necessary size to actually focus a saber blade, but Mission could tell from its shape and clarity that the brownish yellow crystal would absolutely function if cut down properly. She was still lost in the depths of its fractals when Bessell appeared at her side.

"For you."

With a small word of thanks, Mission accepted the neckless wine glass and sipped appreciatively at its bittersweet contents.

"See anything you might like instead?"

Mission laughed, glancing back at the modest collection of Jedi trinkets. The centerpiece display was the only portion of any true worth. "I suppose I could be tempted by the Sigil crystal."

The responding bark of laughter would have told Mission the truth even if she hadn't had any empathic senses. "I'm sure you could. I suppose it's best we hold with our original agreement then, before I start making offers I can't uphold."

"Of course," said Mission with a forgiving smile. "After you."

Within the inner layers of the plantation house, different rooms had different features, and many were showcases of various sorts, but some were less accessible than others. The one to which Bessell led Mission was clearly one intended only to shared with well-attended guests. The vineyardist placed the side of his fist against the scanner and once again gestured Mission ahead of his as they stepped into the locked showcase room. The door didn't shut behind them, but Mission suspected that had to do with the little surveillance node in the corner of the ceiling. The room itself was walled in a gentle off-white, with hardwood floors, and a few pieces of hardwood furniture that were upholstered in similar whites to the wall. It was clearly a room-sized conversation piece - meant only for looking - but they weren't there to look that day.

At a round standing table near the middle of the room, Bessell set aside his wine glass and opened a concealed drawer, withdrawing a pair of soft ash-colored gloves. While Mission leaned against the same table, still sipping her port wine, Bessell strode over to a glass case containing an odd mix of broken and intact artifacts. After interacting with a concealed touch-screen for a moment, he put the gloves on and withdrew an object roughly the size and shape of a canteen from the display case that opened. Closing the case back with a delicate put, Bessell returned to the table with the object in hand and placed it down gently before his guest.

"Here you are madame. As promised, one Tioni-Rakatan data vault. And though I have previously mentioned as much, I still feel compelled to remind you once again that its files are corrupted."

Mission nodded long and slow, sympathetic to the man's concerns. She didn't share those concerns, but there was no need to tell him that. "You have previously mentioned this, and as I previously responded, your concerns for my satisfaction are very much appreciated. I might try my hand at the files just for my own curiosity, but I don't have any designs on any information that might or might not have been inside. I am interested in this piece simply because I know it belongs in my own little collection, nothing more."

With a mildly incredulous sigh, Bessell shook his head and motioned to the object. "Astrogation, you said, wasn't it?"

"That's correct," replied Mission. "My collection isn't all that large but that's just because it's young; once you take that into account I think it's actually an impressive bit of curation."

"Well my darling, if there's anything else I can do to help you further your aspirations for the galaxy's more complete collection of Astrogation Artifacts, let me know. From one collector to another, we have to stick together, haven't we?"

"Well," said Mission, teasing with her eyes, "if you happened to learn of someone looking to do an outrageously generous exchange for any of the Rakatan Star Maps, you just let me know. But for now, here is this proof of authenticity, as we agreed."

Now holding Bessell's genuine interest in full, Mission reaching into her shoulder bag and produced a tube which she passed to him. He immediately unscrewed the top and dispensed the contents into his waiting hand. An official document slid out and was unrolled by eager hands.

"The contract title to one Ginivex-class Starfighter, complete with Separatist Writ of Seal... incredible. And you got to see the fighter itself?"

"Yes I did," Mission confirmed. "I even gave it a quick lookover for hardware and software boobytraps per my usual professional courtesies."

"Ah yes, I've heard you handle such things on your own occasionally. Did you find any?"

Mission nodded. "Two, and I haven't touched either of them so the Separatist-era safeguards are still intact, and the authenticity is preserved at one hundred percent accuracy. However, I have catalogued both and tracked down full technical work-arounds for them. Should you ever want to get the fighter up and running for a show or anything, let me know; I think I could have both fail-safes disabled inside a day."

"Absolutely remarkable." said Bessell, shifting his attention between his guest and the document in his hand. "I'll be sure to seek you out when that does become the case. You've gotten me this far for what I... can't help but feel is an unfair bargain. The least I can do is give you preference for future services."

Mission paid the collector a sly wink. "And tell your fellow collectors about me. I'm always eager to deal with new customers."

Starships tended to be cold compared to just abut any planetary environment. Certain worlds like Mygeeto put the proverbial exclamation mark on the fact that there were exceptions to that rule, but it wasn't Mygeeto that Mission had just left, but Mullan. However, despite the swiftness with which the pleasant warmth that had seeped into her bones was receding, Mission made no immediate motion to reach for the woolen jacket that hung behind her copilot seat in the Firespray Cruiser. As the cool slowly replaced the warmth, the diminutive redhead navigated her ship up into orbit, and struck a synchronous pattern adjacent to a communications relay satellite - it was the most sensible place to park while she tried to contact someone on the opposite end of the galaxy. The superluminal relays activated, and Mission's comm pinged the only contact she'd added to the ship's codex before having it retitled to her name.

As the signal reached its destination and the call was accepted, Mission was surprised - not unpleasantly - to find herself looking at the face of a nautolan on her display.

"Yubo!" She cried. "Are they letting you fly the ship now?"

The nautolan laughed aloud, and then transitioned immediately into a comical scowl. ::Ya know I can shut this call down right here an' Huilo won' eva know ya called::

"Okay, okay, you're right. I'm sorry. It's good to see you." Mission huddled over her screen with a charming little smirk.

Yubo chuckled and settled into his seat. ::It's good ta see ya too girl. Ya keepin' it steady out dere?::

"Oh sure, just finished up a nice little job. However, I accepted a barter as payment instead of the tidy little sum I could have been paid for dredging up the contents of a condemned Separatist Contraband vault on Mygeeto::

Yubo shrugged in exaggerated fashion on the little screen. ::I mean... ya do what ya gotta do. I don' suppose ya bartered a whim::

"Nope that's actually what I wanted to talk with Huilo about. Since you all were there when we-"

::Oh hold on, here he comes now - don't say nothin' 'bout my plans for bloody munity alright?::

Mission laughed along with multiple voices on her little screen, and then her display blipped to the opposite side of the other ship's cabin where she could now see Yubo in the copilot seat, and a thin, middle-aged human with scruffy hair and beard grinning at her.

::I fully expect you to be in on it if he ever tries to attempt a munity::

"Well you know, keep it in the family and all that."

::Yes indeed! Now, not to rush you but we are five minutes out from star port on Ord Mantell. And you know how that goes...::

"Oh yes." Mission grimaced at the screen while the two on display nodded their agreement. "Okay I'll be quick, and we can talk more later if you're interested. Do you remember that little museum we got to walk around in Plawal when we went to Belsavis a few years ago?"

Huilo and Yubo glanced at each other curiously, and then back at her. ::I do. It was an Ancient Rakatan exhibit. What of it?::

::Thanks to that little tour I recognized what I was looking at recently, and I just managed to barter for the navigational module from a Tion-Rakatan Star Crosser::

Yubo nodded his satisfaction in the background, being the antiquities aficionado in Huilo's crew, but in this case the captain himself seemed to recognize the terms being used. ::I've heard of people getting their hands on Rakatan starship gear before. It's unusable isn't it? Code's never been cracked or some such::

"Only because most people don't have the key to unlock it," countered Mission. "The Rakata interfaced with and operated their starships with The Force."

The two men on the display exchanged another glance, this time with curiosity piqued in their eyes. Just then a proximity alarm chirped on the dash before them, and Yubo immediately turned to begin addressing Ord Mantell's extensive starport procedures.

Huilo leaned a little closer to the screen. ::You've got my attention. Call me back if you can pull anything useful out of that unit. It's always good to hear from you, Discount::

Mission grinned at the use of her old nickname and winked, clucking her tongue as she reached over to shut off the comms array. She had secured a crew for her next venture into unknown space. Now she just had to make sure she had a venture for her crew.