I was awoke by the sound of an alarm and the horrifying noise of metal on metal. Air rushing through the decks and flashing lights. The ship was tearing itself apart.
I pulled myself together and pulled myself from my bunk. I needed to get the others and get them off the ship.
How did I get here? Drinking at a bar on a space station on the mid-rim, With little more than the clothes on my back. I checked the date. Two weeks? I've been here two weeks? At least no one knows me here, except maybe the bartender. What am I doing here? At least I'm still alive, suppose I should celebrate that. I signal to the bar tender for another and he shakes his head and mutters something about owing him. Ignorant cretin, his loss if he doesn't want my custom, I'll just take it elsewhere. I stand up from my stool, I begin to feel the world spin around me. What was in that last drink? Did the bartender poison me? How much have I had?
Flashes of green landscapes and blue skies flash before me, creatures signing as the dusk creeps in. Slowly the voices begin to silence and darks takes over. I'm alone, cold and alone. Is this it? Is this finally the end?
A unknown voice speaks from the darkness, the surprise makes me jump and I find myself back in the cantina with a Bothan woman standing in front of me. "I said, I hear you know how to fly a ship."
"Sure" I hastily answer as I am unaware as to how long she has been with me. Yes? Fly a ship? I can handle it a bit but then who can't these days, we are on a space station after all. I ain't a fighter pilot or can naviagate an asteroid field, my skills lie in other areas. However I had a feeling that this might be a business opportunity and I wasn't exactly rolling in credits.
"What did you have in mind?" I replied, straighten myself out, trying to make my drunken self look a little more respectable.
"Well I'm planning a job and am in dire need of a crew, I was recommended that you would be perfect and needed some work"
Now the sensible thing to do would have been to probe further and find out more about this business proposition. What type of job are we talking about? What happened to your original crew? Who recommended me? After the stories I've told in this cantina I wouldn't be surprised if everyone recommended me, after all to them I'm te best smuggler, worst villian or in this case smoothest pilot in the sector. I don't know if it was the searing headache that was beginning to pound my skull or the fact that I'd just spent my last coin on poison that caused it but I wasn't thinking straight.
"Nate Draan, what's my cut?"
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