Dor-Tennia is a gleaming blue and green jewel of a world.  Forested land masses dot an extensive ocean.  Much of the world is wilderness, with only a single major city surrounding the planet's space port.  Smaller settlements are spread across the same large island, but beyond that, the planet is home only to its native fauna.

The city, Mos Dursa sits on the eastern coast of the largest island on the planet, and where the city meets the ocean, an extensive zone of factories and power generators supports Dor-Tennia's primary industry - extracting minerals and metal salts from the ocean water for export.

Roughly 150,000 people live in Mos Dursa.  One of them is Kaer Paxlo, who apparently works at the port as maintenance technician in the traffic control centre.

Reldan Jalt, at the controls of the Dancing Bantha, calls in for directions, listens to the instructions carefully, then angles the Corellian YT-2400 transport down towards Docking Bay 94...

"It looks really nice here." he announces, "Temperate climate, oceans, beaches, not too many people.  Not many Impy's.  I vote we just put down and never leave again.

"Then again, the Colonel would probably send a bunch of his best people after us.  Still, I could keep it in mind for my retirement."

The ship levels out, then drops the last few metres into the bay,  "Here we go.  Wonder how far we'll have to drag those crates of equipment to the shuttle."

The howl of the thrusters starts to fade as Reldan shuts them down...

Sitting in the back of the transport, Shard slaps her gloves against her thigh.  Again.  She's nervous, and sans her flask for a change.  It makes her irritable, exceedingly so.

Of course, that might be the proper mask to wear.

The clothes doesn't help her mood.  Bloody Imperials and their tight uniforms, she wryly considers.  Her own is stiffly made and tailored close, and she's not precisely curvy these days.  Not that she ever was, but at least she had a certain athletic appeal.  'Lithe', as one man once put to her, which might have suited the clothes in the past.    Not any more; 'lean' is about the best compliment she might receive.

Even that might assist the disguise.  An ISB agent who over-indulged might have the look of one who would let things slide.  Her?  Less likely.  So she hopes.

And the jackboots pinch her toes, curse it all.  The quartermaster swore they'd adjust, stretch slightly in time.  Shard has her doubts.  What, in a month?  She checks the name on her forged ID again, going over the background.  One hand rises to touch her hair, the white-threaded charcoal pulled up and back for a change.  It then drops to run over her belt.  Blaster on one side, a leather tube-case on the other.

Hot.  Void.

"All right," she whispers, glancing around the cabin at the others.

Ready.

Reldan leaves the cockpit and steps into the passenger lounge, "So... first things first, I guess, is tracking down Kaer Paxlo so we can get the shuttle and get out of here."  He glances at Shard, already wearing her ISB uniform.  "I think I'll leave putting on my 'trooper suit until we get closer to Osmur.  Probably won't be comfortable for flying in anyway."

The pilot frowns, then says, "I suppose the easiest way to find him would be to try a public terminal... see if we can track down where he works, or lives, or something.  Or we can personally visit all the bars in town."  A grin hints that this last suggestion might be a joke...

Juragga grins wolfishly, then lets out a Wookiee chortle.  "GrrrAAAAAAuuuuuurUNNhh," he commented.  The kid can handle the terminals.  I call dibs on the bars!

Rising enthusiastically, it is not altogether clear if he is joking.