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This should really be a simple job. All recon, and while Pamarthe isn't the easiest place to visit, what with its Imperial leanings and occasional massive storms, so many traders passed through its ports that it was simple enough to stay inconspicuous. The risks, all things considered, were low compared to the kind of jobs they sometimes pulled. If they could shut up, keeping their heads down and their eyes open.

Which –

"You're really making too big a deal of this."

They're still about thirty minutes out, the white-blue blur of hyperspace gliding along beyond the ship. Hera is leaning over the controls, authoring a mask for the Ghost's signature. Chopper blats from the cockpit doorway, and Hera rolls her eyes. "You don't have anything else to be doing right now?"

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"We disagree about what a thief is."

Hera still hasn't looked up from her console.

Kanan does not clap delightedly, but somewhere in his soul he really, really wants to.

"Which of you has a stricter definition? It's the Pamarthens, isn't it."

Between him and Chopper, Hera might never hear the end of this.

Ever.

Hera finishes the signature mask. She leans back in the pilot's chair, letting out a breath.

"All right, you've been to Pamarthe, right? Didn't you see it?"

"Maybe we don't travel in the same circles in Pamarthe."

Kanan has his arms propped behind his head, posture studiedly casual.

He's probably going to regret that in a minute.

"I'm not as good at shady as I used to be."

"Kanan..."

If Hera didn't know him so well, Hera might take vindictive pleasure in deflating him. But she feels nothing like that, and when she speaks again, her voice is almost gentle.

"Every kind of trade runs through there. Everything."

Edited 2017-12-07 03:09 (UTC)

It's not quite like crashing through ice into frozen water, but still --

The animation fades from Kanan's face.

Ah.

"How many did you get free? And are we going to try that again on our way out of here this time?"

Edited 2017-12-07 03:10 (UTC)

"We have a mission."

Hera leans forward, looking over the ship's controls again. "But I've never been good about walking away from that."

Chopper blats again from the door, and Hera calls, without looking back, "Nobody asked you."

"I'm good for multitasking," Kanan puts in, sitting up straight in his chair.

"If that's what we decide to do. After the mission, of course."

"We'll see what comes up."

She glances up to him, with a small smile. "But you know it means you might end up getting thrown off Pamarthe, too."

He smiles back, small and a little cautious, given how he was laughing just a minute ago.

"I guess I'll just have to come up with a dashing undercover name next time we come back here, huh?"

Hera groans. "Don't bother. I'm telling you, they're not organized enough to actually ban anyone. You just have to give them long enough to forget the whole thing, which doesn't take long."

Not between the heavy crowds of traders that pass through Pamarthe and, of course, the drinking.

So much drinking.

The drinking is definitely the one part of Pamarthe that Kanan remembers.

"Is that also why we're pulling this job here? Because no one'll be able to remember our faces in a couple of days?"

"It doesn't hurt," she says.

"Pamarthe is a pretty big recruitment center for the Imperial navy. It's worth learning what we can about that, in case we want to try placing someone in an academy in the future."

Hera glances back at the controls. "And seeing what kind of trade the Empire's involved in there."

"Figuring out which ships are carrying which . . . carrying what, and who -- that'd be good for everybody, yeah."

He exhales, fingers twitching to fiddle with something. But since he's up here in the copilot's seat, there really isn't anything.

"You know if we want to place someone, we're going to have to look for people more, uh, fresh-faced than we are."

"You think you don't look seventeen anymore?"

Hera gins at him, but then nods. "No, this is for the future."

And maybe not just for them, but she leaves that unsaid.

"Maybe if I shaved my chin . . . "

But probably not.

"The future, huh? Guess that means we'll have to get away clean, this time. Well, mostly clean."

"Not getting tagged for anti-Imperial activity would be preferable."

And that's... all she's going to say on it.

"Five minutes until we drop out of hyperspace."

"Noted," Kanan says, tipping off a faint but not mocking salute.

"Where do you need me for arrival?"

"I'm not exactly expecting any engagement."

Hera curls her hands around the ship's controls. "But I haven't been back in a while. You might want to check over the ship in case any Imperials want to search it once we've landed."

She sounds doubtful. There's usually just too much going on in a Pamarthe port for that to be feasible. But it was just as well to be prepared.

"I'm pretty sure we don't have much contraband, but I'll double check."

He slides out of his seat, heading back for the cargo hold and the cabins.

"Back in a minute."

Chopper starts beeping again as Kanan passes, and Hera calls back -

"Maybe you could find something useful for him to do!"

"Right, like that's possible," Kanan calls back, but he does attempt to get Chopper to go through their fuel stores and make sure the number's right.

It's something?

Hera counts down the seconds until they drop out of hyperspace. Her fingers tap around the ship's controls, ready to move at once if necessary.

But, as she predicted, their arrival in Pamarthe is relatively uneventful. There are plenty of other ships in the area, even a TIE patrol, but no one seems particularly interested in them. Though mostly ocean, the planet appears a steel gray from a distance, the inhabited island chains barely visible from space. A storm is brewing in the southwest quadrant, but it's far from where they'll be landing, and unlikely to cause problems for them. Hera joins the planet-bound traffic, responding to the local authorities' identifier requests without incident.

Not long after, they've secured the Ghost inside their chosen spaceport, leaving Chopper to watch the ship. Though the sky is clear, there's a strong, whipping wind off the ocean, and Hera pulls on a gray cloak before stepping outside. The sun glares bright off the water, and she tilts her hood forward, trying to keep the light out of her eyes.

"See?" she murmurs, as they step into the crowds of traders and travelers. "Just like I said, no problem."

"Yet," Kanan says, a little edgy.

"Sorry, I'm . . . I get suspicious when things feel too easy. There's nothing -- "

Nothing in the Force, is what he doesn't say.

"Believe me, Kanan, the Pamarthens don't like traps. They only like a fair fight."

Which Hera could admire more, if not for the tolerance for slavers.