Meanwhile, back in FF-verse -- a ship is acquired
The trouble with needing to move quickly in acquiring a comparatively serviceable ship is that prices skyrocket, even without the appearance of desperation.
There are several avenues to address that issue, among them thievery, black market auctions, and leverage.
Galadan, who is greatly fond of expedience at the least desperate of times, opts for leverage. Fortunately he has a sizable network of contacts, some of whom owe him favors. One of these conducts his business on Paquin, a low-level hub for information, spare parts, and items of dubious legality, including weaponry.
"Gideon," his contact says, pulling himself up from behind a desk and setting down a datapad before approaching the Wolflord. "You should've waved to say you were coming. To what do I owe this honor?"
There's sweat on his brow and upper lip, which is odd because the weather is not all that warm for this time of year.
Galadan smiles, flashing sharp white teeth.
"You're going to sell me a ship, Cole."
The man brightens.
"A ship? Of course. I've got a line on a lovely little -- "
Galadan's smile does not waver as he looks at Cole. The man clears his throat but remains silent.
"Something currently in stock, rather. I've some pressing matters to attend to."
Cole swallows. "Pressing matters? I'll need at least a week to -- "
"You have today." Galadan's tone is calm, cool. Friendly, even. In its way. Though the faint line between his eyebrows may be sending a somewhat mixed message.
"Ah." Cole gasps, reaching up with one hand to press at his left temple. "Damn this sunlight. I -- mmph." He winces, keeping his eyes shut for a few long moments, as if that will make it better.
Galadan's expression remains composed. The air grows heavy.
"Unless I'm much mistaken, you've a few refurbished vessels taking up space in several docking facilities. One of them is not a cargo ship."
This time his smile is nothing but predatory.
"Make me a reasonable offer."
Cole is white-faced now. Several blood-vessels have broken in his eyes.
"I - I."
He'll stop protesting eventually. Galadan is good at acting as if he has all the time in the world.
Though later he will find cause to be grateful for the autopilot. It is exceedingly difficult to perform even rudimentary navigation with a splitting headache.
Such are the costs of telepathic contact with one who is eminently unsuited for it.
Galadan has, in the past, done far worse.
There are several avenues to address that issue, among them thievery, black market auctions, and leverage.
Galadan, who is greatly fond of expedience at the least desperate of times, opts for leverage. Fortunately he has a sizable network of contacts, some of whom owe him favors. One of these conducts his business on Paquin, a low-level hub for information, spare parts, and items of dubious legality, including weaponry.
"Gideon," his contact says, pulling himself up from behind a desk and setting down a datapad before approaching the Wolflord. "You should've waved to say you were coming. To what do I owe this honor?"
There's sweat on his brow and upper lip, which is odd because the weather is not all that warm for this time of year.
Galadan smiles, flashing sharp white teeth.
"You're going to sell me a ship, Cole."
The man brightens.
"A ship? Of course. I've got a line on a lovely little -- "
Galadan's smile does not waver as he looks at Cole. The man clears his throat but remains silent.
"Something currently in stock, rather. I've some pressing matters to attend to."
Cole swallows. "Pressing matters? I'll need at least a week to -- "
"You have today." Galadan's tone is calm, cool. Friendly, even. In its way. Though the faint line between his eyebrows may be sending a somewhat mixed message.
"Ah." Cole gasps, reaching up with one hand to press at his left temple. "Damn this sunlight. I -- mmph." He winces, keeping his eyes shut for a few long moments, as if that will make it better.
Galadan's expression remains composed. The air grows heavy.
"Unless I'm much mistaken, you've a few refurbished vessels taking up space in several docking facilities. One of them is not a cargo ship."
This time his smile is nothing but predatory.
"Make me a reasonable offer."
Cole is white-faced now. Several blood-vessels have broken in his eyes.
"I - I."
He'll stop protesting eventually. Galadan is good at acting as if he has all the time in the world.
Though later he will find cause to be grateful for the autopilot. It is exceedingly difficult to perform even rudimentary navigation with a splitting headache.
Such are the costs of telepathic contact with one who is eminently unsuited for it.
Galadan has, in the past, done far worse.