"Textbook," Rex replies. As senior (for a certain value of 'senior') operative, he's the one with the ship registration info and transfer codes for this station. The 'clear to land' message comes back without incident. "Ship's clean for now."
The cargo's another matter. They're meant to pick up badly needed medical supplies in exchange for arming a local unaffiliated cell. There are plenty of splinters out there who don't want to deal with the Alliance, but who don't like the Empire up in their business either.
The enemy of my enemy, etc etc.
First they have to get past Imperial Customs agents. Some of the crates are mocked up with droid salvage, but Rex has his doubts that even that jumble of metal will hide the blaster parts mixed in. Supposedly his partner's an old hand at getting Customs to look the other way, whatever that's meant to mean.
"Here we go," he adds, perhaps unnecessarily, as he docks the shuttle with a small shudder and unkeys the airlock.
no subject
The cargo's another matter. They're meant to pick up badly needed medical supplies in exchange for arming a local unaffiliated cell. There are plenty of splinters out there who don't want to deal with the Alliance, but who don't like the Empire up in their business either.
The enemy of my enemy, etc etc.
First they have to get past Imperial Customs agents. Some of the crates are mocked up with droid salvage, but Rex has his doubts that even that jumble of metal will hide the blaster parts mixed in. Supposedly his partner's an old hand at getting Customs to look the other way, whatever that's meant to mean.
"Here we go," he adds, perhaps unnecessarily, as he docks the shuttle with a small shudder and unkeys the airlock.