The small civillian transport shuttered a little as it enter the atmospher of Mon Calamari. Phate walked out onto the docking pad to view his surroundings, carrying nothing more than his personal blaster pistol, what little credits he had, and some rations for emergencies. He straightened his tunic and made way to where ever the Rebel Alliance held their recruitment centre.
As he strode among a crowd of Mon Calamarins and other races, he softly whistled an old Naboo tune to himself. Taking in his surroundings and keeping a good eye out....