Memories

—Outter Rim, Hutt Space, Tatooine 3ABY—

A man in his early twenties stumbled up to the full mirror to admire his own stupor for several more minutes. How could one ever wake up so early with the Cantina brew pounding ever so fresh in his veins?

Along the walls of his claustrophobic apartment were wanted posters and protection request that he had tactically acquired from the local spaceports. The bar stains and ash marks along his carpeting added to the legacy of the rooms greatness. His patchwork Beskar'gam armor rested in pieces from his doorstep to his sofa seat. The worst of it all was the fresh morning dew of bile he left himself late at night.

Reaching for a refreshment he backed away from the mirror and raised his helmet to his head. He could not help but to wonder how he managed to fall so low over the years since the Galactic Civil War climaxed at Yavin. Had this been what awaited his kind after the establishment of "Peace" in the world, or was it his own failures that had lead him to here? For obvious reasons the leaders of these mighty factions are the only ones that can be blamed in his time of crisis.

With another swig of 'Bothan Juice' he rallied himself into his day-wear and proceeded to find himself yet another spacer seeking protection from pirates.

Brevick holstered his D20 blasterpistols to his side and grabbed his heavy rifle before tripping down the hallway and back to Mos Conbaria Space Port to start his contract with the client. On the approach to the port he lost himself to a few dancers in the more urbanized districts.

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The automatic door slide open as Brevick inched along the walls of the hanger and to the YT2400 transport known as the "Kashyyyk Moon". A bumbley fellow walked down the access ramp of the spaceship and presented himself to the man in Super Commando armor. His hair was slicked back and he wore a Jumper's vest over a worn utility uniform. He almost resembled one of the Hero's from the Rebellion, but something was astray.

With a cheerful yet bitterly spoken voice the man spoke up a little louder to catch Brevik's attention. "-so when the pirate's come swooping in and kill us booth, you can go ahead and tell my lovely Doll back in Coruscant that it was all because you wanted to piss away your funds on some holovideos and liqueur!" The spacer said as he gave Brevick a gentle nudge backwards.

Brevick tried to catch himself but only by the grace of luck did he snag himself a hard landing onto a local passer-by. "Ah yeah, uh thank you. Anyways, if we both die then know one has to know am I right?" Brevick tried to make light of the matter but in yet another stupor he only made the client upset.

Breathing in a heavy sigh the spacer slung the armored Mandalorian around his shoulder and assisted him up the ramp and onto the ship. "If I had more time I would fire you and hire that love-bot assassin from belt, at least then I could have a bang for my buck. For now you better sober up because I am going to need your help in about four hours."

Brevick nodded. "Just wait until you need me to shoo the spacemen. I can out gun an Imperial scout any day of the week you know."

The man simply dropped his support and the Mandalorian crashed onto the deck of the craft's lounge. "Yeah yeah, and I am one of those space wizards ready to fly across the galaxy with mind trick's. Get it together." The man walked towards the cockpit but stared at the pile of rubish on his deck once more. He could only wonder what had happened to the man to put him into this situation. He pitied him.

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Four hours later, near wild space...

A head splitting migraine stimulated Brevick off the floor. Where was he and what happened to the holodancers? He braced himself upwards and felt his way around until he recalled that he was on a mission. Passing by he stumbled into the cockpit wear he noticed a contingent of RAT droids who had painted whiskers all over them. The spacer looked at him and gestured for him to have a seat.

After several nauseating minutes of silence the man began his interrogation. "Day drinking isn't very common for the working class you know?" Brevick twitched a little as the words jabbed deeply.

"You can say that, but neither is hiring a single mercenary for an urgent run into wild space."

"Well I had an offer to transport a few hundred decommissioned blasters to some makeshift fleet out around this sector," he said as he pointed randomly at a map on the ship's console. "...and I really hate splitting large payouts. Besides, who would ever suspect a drunkard to be smuggling munitions in the first place?"

As the hatred peaked to an all time high, Brevick clarified, "For the record I could be a great smuggler if I wasn't so good at killing cut throats and bandits!"

The man let out another heavy sigh and chuckled to himself. "The name is Pash and for the record I am the greatest smuggler, which is why I owe several wealthy merchants a few hundred kilos of spice!"

Stunned, Brevick could only stare at Pash in bewilderment.

"Look kid, I am joking." He assured Brevick.

"So why did you need to contract a drunkard like me aboard, really?" The Mandalorian eased forward and rested his arms onto his knees as he awaited the Spacer's reply.

Pash entered a few more commands onto the console before he returned the question. "Let's just say that aside from a few good friends I have yet to put any faith in this New Republic. For now just make yourself useful and watch the radar."

Well Pash owed Brevick nothing but no reply would be far better than a fool hardy tale. He tuned into the system and relaxed himself for a little while, maybe a little more than he should have.