The last leg of the run inbound towards Coruscant is seeming to be an uneventful one. The engines, hyperdrive and other systems haven’t even been complaining or acting up, which is unusual for the Argyle Dream, and the only thing that keeps this last leg towards the most cosmopolitan of stops uneasy is the crypric message you recieved on the last hyperwave stop point.
From Zeb Abraham, your Special Ops contact for Republic Security (or Repsec at you sometimes call it) you received an unusually terse message giving you a time and date for a meeting with him at the SpecOps headquarters on the Highland Mews Subsector of Coruscant. The time is set for midmorning Coruscant time (roughly 18 hours after your scheduled arrival.)
The buyer for your last load has contacted you and confirmed that your docking bay has been selected and you have been cleared through Coruscant airspace to land on the Devorant Traders Dock directly. This suits you, because the cargo, which contained spices, agricultural goods and some semi-avian species has been difficult to maintain and the constant screeching and smell of Deebock excrement has been nothing short of unbearable.
Coruscant temperatures are noted to be rather temperate for the next galactic week, and no precipitation is expected. Standard rules concerning registration or wearing of weapons are in effect.
The landing is also uneventful, although you do manage to catch two small personal flitter-type craft hit each other and do enough damage to interfere with their grav fields, making a fiery mass that plunged downwards into the fog that surrounds the inner heart of the world. It seems a strange omen of things to come.