We commandeered the Indra's Net from an Protectorate Ambassador out in the Fringes. Twitchy fuck with an untoward prediliction for the consumption of stolen chemicals, shameful in such an upstanding member of the community. We decided to make an honest politician out of him and took the price of our product out of his garage. It's a pretty vim little ship, especialy with Grrk wound all through it. Almost worth all the trouble we went through to get it. There's still a shoot-to-kill order on Kath in that system.
I thought a lot about our various criminal escapades over the next two hours, waiting for Tom to show. The first hour wasn't so bad, the fight could have gone long. The fine, upstanding murderers he was dealing with might be having a difference of opinion about shares. Shit happens. Hour number two was harder. That doesn't happen very often. Usually, even if the promoters give him trouble he's either talked his way out or the other thing by now. Tom's stage name is the DisMantler, they call him that because he uses the white hot butcher's knives he keeps folded up in his fingers to literally take his opponents apart. Tom runs with a rough crowd, I'm just glad they keep the high-end mechanics on hand.
By fifteen minutes into hour three we had firmly decided on a "fuck it, we'll improvise" in regards to getting to the ship in favor of using Tom's comm to find his location and calling in some favors with a N*ki-Xilat Elite I know to go in and problem-solve for us. I could still feel the snouts swarming out there, there was no way we'd get to Tom before being detoured into a holding cell.

The End

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