Shadows of Bankor

Djanik, feeling astoundingly disillusioned after the meeting that afternoon, found himself in Rygor, in the spaceport.

People watching.

What the hell was he doing?

What difference could he make, if he couldn't even convince people who agreed with him, that there was a need to work as a team, to build towards something bigger than graffiti and petty sabotage.

What use was he?

Eventually pulling himself out of his funk, he realized he recognized some of these people.

That was Carb, from the academy. He'd mustered out after Kamino, lost a leg...

There was Miri, who finished her term and went to become a long distance hauler captain... looks like that didn't work out.

Realizing something, he began to walk the spaceport, looking for old faces, seeing how they had changed. Saying hello sometimes, if it was someone he had been friendly with.

Creating tiny, tentative ties, that he might be able to return to later, getting a feel for who was unhappy with the status quo. Unhappy enough to do something.

Nobody was willing to say much in the moment, busy though they were, but perhaps, in the future, some of them might be, when he had something to show - an actual course of action to offer.

Leadership to find which old spacer friends might want to rebel: 1eP+2eA+2eD 2 failures, 2 advantage


(Advantage to notice some who might be willing to join in later once the rebellion has ships to pilot)

As he went, he realized he was looking for someone in particular.

For her.

But she wouldn't be here. She was still in the Navy, climbing the ranks, excelling.

Rookie... how far will you go? How far are you willing to go... and how brutal?

She’s not an old flyboy but she is looking at some digital ads for pilot work. She looks possibly fresh out of the academy. She hefted her duffel over her shoulder as she checked the ads a bit let down at the mundane nature of them and then checking her datapad and then back up to the ads.

Ads for work.

He could use credits.

So he found himself standing next to the young woman, looking at the bulletin.

After a moment of thought he sighed.

These were all freight contracts.

He really should've picked a different ship.

Glancing at the woman, he inquired, "Looking for something in particular?" in a friendly tone.

"Something better than hauling crate to and fro," she said quietly.

"Unfortunately, people or crates make up the majority of flying, at least, outside the navy."

Glancing at her, he raised an eyebrow. "You a pilot... own your own ship?"

"If I had a ship I wouldn't be here," she said quietly and then looked down and added, "You a pilot?"

"I hear that."

He nodded to her question.

"Djanik. I guess you could call me a freelancer. What brings a bright young lady like you to a planet like Bankor, if you don't mind my asking?"

Gesturing toward the shady corner he normally occupied, with its assorted crates and barrels that made a decent place to sit, out of the heat of the direct sun, he figured she might prefer to set down the bag.

She looked and then back to him and then said, "Trying to find work, guess."

The woman added, "Maxxy, you hiring or stuck here like me trying to find interesting work."

"I've been getting by. Just finished fixing up an old patrol boat - looking for odd jobs."

With a shrug, he inquired "Did you just get out of the academy, Maxxy? Why not join the navy?"

"Washed out actually," she said with embarrassment. "I failed the mission placement psychological evaluation, apparently I... I have a potential profile that is incompatible with Imperial discipline."

"I think that was the explanation," Maxxy said adjusting her glasses.

"Oh? That could mean a lot of things, these days."

Stretching, he added, "I went through the academy myself, on Corellia."

Glancing again at the shade, he could feel a bead of sweat running down the back of his neck. Curse this oven of a planet.

"That was before the Imperial reforms though... so I guess I got lucky. I imagine I'd get the boot myself - too opinionated."

Gesturing toward the posters, he added, "So, you expect to find someone looking to hire a pilot, but not for cargo... you have any plan or just some hope? I imagine most jobs outside of cargo would be smuggling or bounty hunting, and you seem a bit nice for either, frankly."

"I really didn't have much time to plan," she said honestly.

"Did you want to go in the shade?" Maxxy asked cautiously.

He was only partly successful at hiding his relief. "If you don't mind, I don't handle the heat so well."

In true gentlemanly fashion, he nudged a crate into a comfortable spot where she could see the board, in case something new was posted.

"Did you just leave the academy then?"

He was surprised. "Were you in the fighter program or something else?"

She nodded yes at leaving and then said, "I wanted to be a fighter pilot, so yes?"

"Ah."

He smiled faintly, and then asked, conversationally, "Why? It's dangerous work."

"Lots of dangerous jobs," she said looking away. "Just seemed like the right thing to do, serve the Empire and protect people."

Maxxy shrugged and said, "But maybe I should just take these cargo jobs."

"I can say with experience... the Empire might not be the place to go if you want to protect people." That was said in a flat tone, not dramatic, just matter of fact.

"Well, if you choose to do non-cargo jobs... you'll end up smuggling, hunting bounties, or being a pirate."

He tapped his chin.

"Or you could fly for those Rebels I hear about."

With a little shrug, he added, "Of course, I can only speak as an old flyboy who's seen too much action... cargo is safe, but there is something magical about putting a fighter through its paces."

"You look 20, not sure you qualify as old," she responded.

"Also... wait what rebels? is that a company?" she said confused. "I didn't see that on the board."

Djanik chuckled.

"Not a company. Just people crazy enough to fight back when the Empire stepped on them."

With a little shrug, he added, "I may not be so old, but you fly in the Clone Wars... it makes you feel old."

Smiling, he added, "When I graduated I thought I'd be an Admiral by thirty. I thought wars would be quick and clean, over in a few clever moves."

With a small shrug, he gestured at the massive ship looming overhead.

"Instead it often ends up like this. Towns burned down to stamp out disobedience, and the survivors growing ever more radical. I wish it wasn't the case, but here we are. Surely you've felt the tension around town?"

"By thirty?" she looked at him incredulously.

"Optimism was high."

"I was young. I thought I could do anything."

Giving her a thoughtful look, he asked. "So do you know precisely why you failed that test? Or did they just give you some sort of vague non-answer?"

She shrugged and then said, "So you're a rebel or something? You get paid for that?"

"Did I say I was a Rebel?"

He grinned faintly.

"Don't get too far over your repulsorlifts."

Stretching, he added, "If you're just in it for the money, I'd say your safest bet is cargo. If you want to help people and make a difference... it's not without risks."

"Well either you're a Rebel or you recruit for them," she said flatly.

"So which is it?"