RPlog:Chana-001 - A Place in the Universe

Chana is doing an odd job for someone, crouched over a large blaster that might well be used for crowd control - or something less savory. She's expertly taking it apart and presently is giving it a thorough overhaul - cleaning, degreasing, adjusting, and so on. It's a livin'.

Oh dear. The Spacebarn isn't exactly where Johanna had hoped to find the girl, but it's a little late for second thoughts now, as the pilot threads her way through piles of junk and treasure alike, looking for Chana. There is an explosion of cursing from somewhere as an unhappy mechanic accidentally drops something that sounds terribly heavy -- and expensive -- on his foot. It isn't polite to laugh, but Johanna comes close to doing so, fond memories returning to her of her own mishaps with ship repairs and modifications. There was even that one time on Corellia, where... "Looks like you've found yourself a useful occupation," she begins, stopping a few feet short of Chana and appraising her work with a critical eye, "Though I admit it's a little worrisome to find you here. You'll invariably end up pissing off the wrong creature, and then you'll be in a world of trouble."

Chana doesn't look up at Johanna. The Force? No. Still no joy there. Chana pays attention to the place and saw Johanna walking over, and is just playing it cool. "Yeah. Well, you know. It's a livin'. Beats standing all day in the weapons shop on the Rancor. Which is the day job. Welcome to Nar Shadda." She grins. "I somehow doubt you're here to buy a blaster.

There's been much she's bought on Nar Shaddaa, mostly of the very illegal variety. An amused snort escapes Johanna. "No, I'm not here to buy a blaster. I happen to like the ones I own just fine. Wait, why do you ask? Do they have something new here?" It takes a second for her to compose herself again, pushing the thoughts of shiny new hardware aside, difficult though it may be. "I've been looking for you, actually. As far as making a living goes, there are better options to be had than squatting on this forsaken slag heap of place."

Chana expertly reassembles the blaster, and runs it through its dry fire test sequence. She holds up one finger and waves at the owner. Another Corellian looks at the test results and pays Chana a handfull of credits. She stands up and stretches, muscles and whatnot bulging still. She looks at Johanna and cocks her head. "What've you got in mind?"

"You could come crew for me. There's a spot open. It's nothing glamorous -- I just haul freight, you know. Nothing illegal. But it beats mixing in with this lot." The pilot glances about, making doubly sure nobody heard that last bit. She's not in the mood for any trouble. "You would be helping with repairs and doing inventory and such. It's steady pay for honest work. Figured you might be the type to go for that sort of thing." As far as Chana knows, Johanna is just a nice (if slightly crazy) lady with a small but thriving cargo business. "I understand you'd have to give your present employer some advance notice, and that you can't just leave immediately. But the spot is yours if you want it."

Chana shrugs. "I can leave the Rancor pretty much whenever, or I can just take a leave, try it out with you, and if things don't work out, go back. What's the pay scale like?

"Pfff. She gets right to the point, this one," Johanna laughs, "And here I thought I'd have to coax you into it. Well, what are you looking to make? I'm open to negotiation. There's always more responsibility to take on, and the pay goes up accordingly. But I'm happy to make you an offer if you give me an idea of your range." She likes Chana already, the girl's straightforwardness reminding her of herself at that age... added years in hibernation not included. "I'd be interested to know what it is you'd ultimately like to do with yourself. Of course you're free to tell me to mind my own business about it, I won't be offended. I'm just curious."

Chana folds her arms across her chest. "I'm still figuring that out, but the one conclusion I have come to is that whatever it is, it will involve money. I can fly small craft, I can fly fighters, I can speak three languages, I can fix stuff, I'm pretty good with a blaster, and a terror in a bar fight. Why don't you tell me what you need?

It seems Chana really /is/ like Johanna was at that age. The desert woman pats the air, trying to be reassuring. "Your skill set sounds just fine to me. If you can really pilot fighters, perhaps you can fly escort on occasion. There are some poorer regions we travel to where exiting hyperspace means the possibility of pirates. They're becoming better equipped these days, so if it suits your fancy, you can help keep them off our backs." Johanna sighs for a moment, looking at her prospective employee with something between sympathy and uncertainty. She seems like such a hardened character, this strange girl trying to find her place in the galaxy.

Chana perks up. "I could do that. I'm a little behind the times with fighter tech, but I learn pretty fast." She tries to hide the uncertainty. Yeah, last time she flew a fighter she had that little advantage she doesn't talk about. It's a different prospect now. Still. She was pretty good at it then. 'What fighters have you got?

She wants to reassure Chana -- tell the girl that she needn't be uncertain -- but that would probably come off as insulting. Instead, Johanna shrugs. "Well, what's up your alley? I've sunk a lot of money into modifications to my little collection. Something tells me you might appreciate the 'ray. I doubt you want to rattle around in my old ride, may her mechanical innards live long yet." Then, more softly, "... but if you wanted to, you could take her out for a spin now and then." She has never offered the use of her most prized material possession to anyone. What is she thinking? To win Chana over in some way, so she can save the girl from herself? "You can decide when you see the fighters with your own eyes. It's probably best that way. But do tell me what you expect to be earning."

Chana looks at Johanna, and does some mental figuring. Based on heaven knows what. She's never actually been paid in her life except for the weeks she's worked for the Rancor. She frowns, trying to guess what is too high, what is too low, and what a fighter pilot's time is worth. To say nothing of risking her life. She loosk at Johanna, and that uncertainty is written large in her face. "I have no idea, to be honest. I was a soldier, and they covered my expenses and tools. All I had to do is show up. I'm making fifty a week with the Rancor, plus room and board, and I'm making no headway toward a ship or a droid or some place for me in the universe. You make a living here successfully. You could negotiate me out of my boots if you wanted to, but screwing your guard pilots is never a good idea. What does a fighter pilot's time /go/ for?

"Depends on who you work for," Johanna replies evenly, thinking with some bitterness back to the pay she had received while still an officer, "But I'm not the sort to cheat my employees or undervalue their time. You can ask any of them. I'll certainly pay you more than you're currently making. Fifty a week, even with room and board covered, isn't enough to get you anywhere. I can give you ten times that and still say there's more for you to earn should you show yourself to be a good member of my team." Something stern and authoritative colors her tone as she continues, "And please, no thoughts of flying off should things get a little hot out there. I'd hate to have to find you and reclaim my property the hard way."

Chana's eyes narrow a little. "Ma'am, when I commit to a job, I commit blood sweat and tears to it. Body and soul. It's all I know. Don't question my loyalty again. I think we can make a deal. 500 a week is a nice sum. It'd be nice if there was a bonus for hazardous duty - like when folks shoot back - but we can work that out when the hazards show up. My only hard limits are I won't be used as a tool to oppress others. Defend, protect, yes, sure, fine. And I won't shoot at Jedi, should you find one, for any reason. I'm not suicidal.

So those last words about running off stung -- good. Johanna wouldn't have trusted Chana had the girl not been offended and replied as she had. "Oppress others? Heavens. What kind of an outfit do you think I run?" Her mouth pulls into a grin. "As for shooting at Jedi -- well, not all of them can fly a fighter -- you stand a decent chance of landing some hits. Believe me, tales of their powers have been... greatly exaggerated." Or not. But that's not for Chana to worry about right now. "You have a deal, young lady. I won't question your loyalty so long as you continue to grant it freely. You're not my prisoner, and you can leave any time you choose. But I think you knew that part already, or we wouldn't be having this conversation. If the pirates are nastier than anticipated you'll certainly be entitled to a bonus."

You say, "I think a lot of outfits start out with the best of intentions and wind up oppressing when it was the last thing they ever wanted to do. But I mean it. No Jedi targets. I knew a Jedi once. He didn't have to be in a fighter to deal harshly with it. I've seen things that'd curl your hair." Yeah, if Chana knew Johanna's big secret, she'd probably die of embarassment, or flee right about now. But she doesn't. "Okay. I need to go back to the Rancor and tell them I'm quitting, pick up my flight suit, all that stuff. You want to come with? It's pretty swanky."

"My dear, I haul supplies... mechanical parts, ore, whatever. I don't run a slave trade or transport narcotics. And I was joking about the Jedi. I can't imagine that they'd be lurking out in the ass-end of the galaxy, attempting to steal my stuff. You'll be perfectly safe from them," Johanna chuckles, "Perfectly safe indeed." At the mention of boarding the Rancor, her eyes widen. "That ship and I have seen some times! Of course I'll be happy to come with you. I can't guarantee I'll be entirely sober when we leave, though." Then, not wanting to alarm Chana, she adds, "I'm joking."

Chana chuckles. "You show up on that ship not sober, you'll wind up in bed with my old boss." Chana holds out a hand to shake. "Chanera Thorn. And thank you."

"You're most welcome," Johanna replies, meeting Chana's hand with her own and shaking it firmly, "I have the feeling this will work out quite well for us both." Though part of her wants to quit the charade and simply tell Chana the full story, the other part knows that granting her new employee the trust of keeping such information to herself is no mean feat and will take time. She's learned from bitter experience what her secret can cost if told to the wrong person. "Sounds like your old boss is quite a character," she smiles, "You'll be happy to know my crew is refreshingly free of such grabby types."

Chana chuckles. "I didn't say it was a bad thing. She's very sweet." And with that, Chana heads for the lift.