[ WP ] The hillside sloped away , the bottom hidden by the fog .

# # # # # # [ ] ( # dropcap ) 
 
 Tomess Ghast went through the *Red Wake's* landing procedure, toggling the primary power generators down to standby mode and disabling the shields, his fingers flipping through the banks of switches by muscle memory. To him, it was as effortless as breathing. 
 
 The final action was to lower the boarding ramp, the pistons hissing and coolant vapor spilling out as it clanged against the tarmac. With that he undid the crash harness strapping him into the pilot's seat and rose, turning towards the stern of his ship. Claustrophobic, that was the only way to describe the interior of a Banshee-V2. The narrow hallway was scarcely wide enough for two people to squeeze past one another, the few bulkheads and hatches even tighter. The armory directly opposite the captain's quarters was the size of a narrow closet, the tiny workbench tucked away against the forward bulkhead. 
 
 There was little for him to grab. He already had his Merr-Sonn Model 53 `` Quicktrigger'' blaster pistol strapped to his thigh and wore a flexible blast vest over his kit. Ghast just grabbed a scattergun off its rack, slinging it over his shoulder with its strap before making his way to the exit ramp. 
 
 His feet rung on the metal grating as he scanned the horizon around him, observing the few scattered ships loading or unloading cargo as dockers shifted about pallets and crates, a few hover transports taking their loads away to be distributed elsewhere. The air was painfully thin, and his breath fogged as he labored to breathe. Ghast glanced at his crono, the built-in altimeter reading nearly five kilometers. To most beings it would seem strange to build a major spaceport on top of a major mountain, but there was a reason for that on the world of Naalol. 
 
 Parked near the edge of the tarmac, it only took a few short steps to see the reason why. A thin barrier was all that seperated him and a shear kilometer drop that dissolved into grey nothingness. He leaned down to pick up a loose bolt and tossed it over the fence, watching as the fog swallowed it whole. No doubt he'd never see it again. 
 
 When he first received the job over he did his research, pouring over the old Imperial and even older Republic records of the world of Naalol. A primarily mountainous planet, it had been colonized sometime in the last two thousand years by humans and other species, coming to the world for its rich ores. In any other case it would have been a garden world, but one detail made it a difficult world to settle; The Fog. 
 
 Curiously, it was not made up of water or even methane vapor but rather a biological microorganism rather like a plankton which gave off bursts of radiation similar to a weapons grade EMP. Unless properly shielded vehicles and droids could not function and so a state of enforced primitive technology existed for anything want to live at sea level, in essence driving beings back twenty-five thousand years in advances. 
 
 The whir of a shuttle-bus caught his attention and he turned from the precipice, patting the stock of the scattergun slung at his side. He had a feeling he'd be needing it.
