ALWAYS OPEN [IC] Halo - Empty Throne: The Human Outer Colonies

[Apothecary Bruce]

The men in the suits nodded with both thanks. They clearly weren't the unprofessional types, or the standoffish. Curt, businesslike, but ultimately human. "Payment for one, and we can do split. Anyhow, I'm surprised none of you lot didn't ask my name. Willing to risk yourselves on a planet like Venezia without asking even the simple questions?" the man laughed a little bit. "We'll make great pals. But, like I said, cards and tables - you may call me 'Rodger.' It's not my real name, but I use it plenty and you'll need to know it, when you go pick up my things."

It was a gamble really, choosing to play the game unaligned.

They worked for everyone— anyone, regardless of faction —with enough credits, gekz, rubles, or goods worth taking on. Made things dangerous, sure, but it kept the jobs coming, kept them fed... And yet there was safety in numbers, in a flock with the same kindness and colors. Collins swallowed nervously, not exactly excited to deal with Nor Fel again. The nervous energy morphed into nausea when Rodger proposed a paint change. He cleared his throat.

"Privacy, yours and ours, is important to us," Collins replied after awhile, taking the pin and affixing it to his collar for safe keeping. "Your generosity is bar none, b—"

"But we'll show you it's not for naught." Leshe cut in.

Collins felt himself nodding even though it stung like a betrayal to his past self, to the woman who showed him how to traverse the stars. But, ah, a little rebranding couldn't deny the fact he'd been besmirching her memory for the past four years.

"Got it." Collins promised, reaching out to shake Rodger's hand. "We'll get you your package. Let your people know we're on the way. A clean IFF will definitely go a long way, thank you, Rodger."

Rodger smiled, genuinely and excited. "You're welcome. I treat my employees and associates well, so long as they perform their jobs adequately. Which I'm sure you will. You can leave how you came, I've had a few of my boys ensure no one comes tampering with your ride. Don't take too long, though. Slipspace will be a long ride as it is..."

Again, the goons let Rodger's new smuggler group through the doors, holding them open like gentlemen, responding to thanks with nods of acceptance. It was perhaps the nicest group of criminals Collins had ever met, but they were still criminals, and he knew he'd do well not to forget it. Criminals hurt others and stole from others for easy money and success. No criminal was a saint, not entirely.

The walk back came without issue, though the harsh glaring at Leshe did not let up. One had to wonder if this planet would ever recover, physically and emotionally, from the Covenant's siege.
The tug was guarded by two men in similar suits to Rodger's guards, each of them holding M6C pistols. Though contextless pictures might color the M6C magnum as a small gun, and its shape didn't help that case, in truth they seemed bulky even in the large men's hands. Even Leshe wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of the pistol, even with a combat harness.

One of the men, tall and well built like the others, dark skin and suit making him stand out even more in the snow-covered landing pad and blizzard horizon, stepped forward towards Collins, Leshe and Song. He handed over a slim matte black data-chip to Collins, twenty-fifth century but still compatible with modern hardware, due to ubiquity. "This is a spare set of coordinates, listing both Venezia and Concord. The boss expects you already have a full slipspace nav-suite, but the Banished have made travel to Venezia a damn hard thing," he explained. "No one touched your ship, you're cleared to leave. Good luck."