Dor-Tennia is a gleaming blue and green jewel of a world.  Forested land masses dot an extensive ocean.  Much of the world is wilderness, with only a single major city surrounding the planet's space port.  Smaller settlements are spread across the same large island, but beyond that, the planet is home only to its native fauna.

The city, Mos Dursa sits on the eastern coast of the largest island on the planet, and where the city meets the ocean, an extensive zone of factories and power generators supports Dor-Tennia's primary industry - extracting minerals and metal salts from the ocean water for export.

Roughly 150,000 people live in Mos Dursa.  One of them is Kaer Paxlo, who apparently works at the port as maintenance technician in the traffic control centre.

Reldan Jalt, at the controls of the Dancing Bantha, calls in for directions, listens to the instructions carefully, then angles the Corellian YT-2400 transport down towards Docking Bay 94...

"It looks really nice here." he announces, "Temperate climate, oceans, beaches, not too many people.  Not many Impy's.  I vote we just put down and never leave again.

"Then again, the Colonel would probably send a bunch of his best people after us.  Still, I could keep it in mind for my retirement."

The ship levels out, then drops the last few metres into the bay,  "Here we go.  Wonder how far we'll have to drag those crates of equipment to the shuttle."

The howl of the thrusters starts to fade as Reldan shuts them down...

Sitting in the back of the transport, Shard slaps her gloves against her thigh.  Again.  She's nervous, and sans her flask for a change.  It makes her irritable, exceedingly so.

Of course, that might be the proper mask to wear.

The clothes doesn't help her mood.  Bloody Imperials and their tight uniforms, she wryly considers.  Her own is stiffly made and tailored close, and she's not precisely curvy these days.  Not that she ever was, but at least she had a certain athletic appeal.  'Lithe', as one man once put to her, which might have suited the clothes in the past.    Not any more; 'lean' is about the best compliment she might receive.

Even that might assist the disguise.  An ISB agent who over-indulged might have the look of one who would let things slide.  Her?  Less likely.  So she hopes.

And the jackboots pinch her toes, curse it all.  The quartermaster swore they'd adjust, stretch slightly in time.  Shard has her doubts.  What, in a month?  She checks the name on her forged ID again, going over the background.  One hand rises to touch her hair, the white-threaded charcoal pulled up and back for a change.  It then drops to run over her belt.  Blaster on one side, a leather tube-case on the other.

Hot.  Void.

"All right," she whispers, glancing around the cabin at the others.

Ready.

Reldan leaves the cockpit and steps into the passenger lounge, "So... first things first, I guess, is tracking down Kaer Paxlo so we can get the shuttle and get out of here."  He glances at Shard, already wearing her ISB uniform.  "I think I'll leave putting on my 'trooper suit until we get closer to Osmur.  Probably won't be comfortable for flying in anyway."

The pilot frowns, then says, "I suppose the easiest way to find him would be to try a public terminal... see if we can track down where he works, or lives, or something.  Or we can personally visit all the bars in town."  A grin hints that this last suggestion might be a joke...

Juragga grins wolfishly, then lets out a Wookiee chortle.  "GrrrAAAAAAuuuuuurUNNhh," he commented.  The kid can handle the terminals.  I call dibs on the bars!

Rising enthusiastically, it is not altogether clear if he is joking.

Reldan smiles at Juragga, having a fair idea what the Wookiee is saying, "I'd prefer the bars too, but it wouldn't do for all of us to turn up to meet Paxlo too drunk to stand.  Besides, if I'm going to be flying an unfamiliar Imperial crate, I need to be in control of all my faculties.  I'll take the public terminal side of the hunt."

R2-O0 chirps and whistles something, which UY translates, "He says that he will come with you, Sir.  He believes that he can help with the terminal, or simply access a dataport if you can not locate a terminal."

The pilot nods, "Okay!  This is starting to look like a plan."

"I'll stay in the suit," Shard replies to Rhijans' glance.  "Give me some time to 'get into character', as it were." She plucks at the offending garment mournfully.  "I just hope no rebels decide to take a shot at the ISB agent."

Oh, the irony.

"Similarly, it would be better if I stayed far away from those who are out of uniform.  We don't want anyone putting three and three together," she mutters.  "Juragga, watch yourself out there."  It sounds like a warning against danger, but Shard knows that danger comes in many forms.  One of them is a bottle.

At least it is for her.  Either it is for Juragga, and he'll get her warning, or it isn't, and he'll understand the more commonplace idea.

Void, I could use a drink.

But no, not while she's wearing this uniform.  She can't slip up, can't make a mistake.  Not with everything hinging on how these close hang on her lean frame.

"I'll probably find the local imperial garrison, maybe poke my nose in."  She grimaces.  "It's taking a chance, but if word gets around here that there's an ISB agent about, maybe the Imperials where we're going will be a touch less surprised and suspicious of us."

And it would be better for her to mess up now, when it'll only be her head on the line, than later.

Rhijans was in no hurry to get into the stormtrooper uniform, but he didn't like the idea of Shard roaming alone.  "I'd skip dropping in on the garrison," he said, blithely.  "A visit from ISB to a lone outpost looks like ISB is investigating someone there, keeps it a pretty localized problem.  More visits than that, and it starts to look like ISB is investigating on a Sector level, which increases the odds that word gets back to the Moff and the heat gets turned up on us."  And that means I don't have to get dressed up to keep an eye on you while you're out scouting a location that we have no interest in, for this mission, he thought, but didn't say anything further.

He could understand the sensation of needing to do something...with the uniform on, she couldn't even get away with leaving the ship without attracting someone's attention.  Outside of Imperial command bases, you pretty much never saw uniformed ISB, unless there were a bunch of undercover agents around, as well...or, at least, that was the rumor that he'd always heard about them.  He hadn't even known what an ISB uniform looked like until they'd pulled the one for Shard

Gritting her teeth, Shard somehow avoids drumming her fingers, snorting, or any number of other petulant displays.  "Fine," she grates, knowing full-well that Rhijans is correct.  Which places her in a rather irksome situation.  Rising, she paces about the room, shaking the tension out of her hands.  "I'll watch the ship, then," she states in a more easy, if somewhat resigned, tone.  "I can't wander around out there in civvies and risk getting into a situation where an ISB agent wouldn't be caught dead, just in case someone recognizes me later.  It's a tad too risky, given the level of deception we're trying to pull off."

She shoots a quick look at Rhijans from the corner of her eye. "And don't say that I could be an ISB agent undercover right now, if queried about it later.  That'd set off the concern you mentioned about a sector investigation faster'n me turning up in two places." Pausing, she makes a moue of annoyance.  "'Faster than me'," Shard carefully ennunciates.

"Maybe I'll just sit and practice my grammar."

Rhijans gave a tight-lipped grin.  "I think, for this part of the mission, we don't need the full contingent running around.  We're just meeting a contact and picking up a shuttle and any relevant information about how to get the shuttle safely onto the Imperial base...passwords or security codes or whatever he may have.  If Jalt and Juragga can't handle that much, then this mission's got some pretty big problems, right off the mark."

He gave a soft, sardonic chuckle and added, "But, y'know, if you really got bored and felt the need to leave the ship, you could just leave the tunic top off the uniform and go out with a regular blouse.  I don't think ISB is so common that someone would figure out what the uniform is from a pair of pants and the boots."  He shrugged.

"Either way, I don't think it's wise for us to leave single team members anywhere.  Even on the ship.  We might have to end up going solo once we get to the base...but until then, it's a risk I'd rather skip.  So, if you're staying, you're not staying alone."  He didn't say it, but it was clear from his tone that he intended to stay with her, if no one else would.

Juragga deflated somewhat, but then shook his shaggy head. "I'll stay," he rumbled in his Wookiee tongue.  While the prospect of bar-hopping did sound appealing, the truth was, there was way too many ways he could get into trouble, especially if operating alone.  Communication might be an issue, and while powerful, he also stood out like a sore thumb.  Not many free Wookiees roaming around these days.

Rhijans would be better operating outside than he would.  And leaving Shard alone, Jedi or no, wasn't something he'd be keen on.

Shard rolls her eyes, but it's less of irritation and more of frustration with herself.  "Oh, just go.  Both of you."  She waves her hands at Rhijans and Juragga, almost as if shooing them.  "I do appreciate the concern, but this is our ship, locked-down.  If something happens that's serious enough to warrent the person sitting safe in port aboard the ship being in trouble, having two people isn't going to make a difference."

Sitting down in a seat again, she leans her head back against the bulkhead and closes her eyes.  "I'm just a little stressed about this disguise business.  Need to get my head together."  Without alcohol, she reminds herself, not that there's any aboard this time.  "It's not something I'd argue over, but I really would feel more secure about this if everyone went."

Her eyes pop open.  "Because 'just going and getting something' hasn't exactly gone smoothly for us so far.  If...no, when things slip into the void, I'd be happier knowing a team capable of dealing with large problems is on it to make sure everyone gets back to the ship safe."

A sharp-minded, sharp-eyed pro...a dedicated, or even driven powerhouse...and a creative wild card.  It's a good match.

Rhijans, Juragga, Haarmon, Reldan and the droids leave the ship in search of Kaer Paxlo, leaving Shard alone to practice her best soulles, emotionless ISB officer look.

Her first attempts look more like a short-sighted gundark that's eaten something it really shouldn't have, but that soon improves when she stops trying too hard...

"Everybody remember where we parked." Reldan says cheerfully, as the team leave the landing bay.

Mos Dursa city may not be the largest city in the galaxy, but it seems fairly cosmopolitan.  Given their proximity to the space port, and the wide variety of aliens wandering the crowded streets, nobody pays any attention to a group of humanoids, two droids and a Wookiee.  There doesn't seem to be too much of an Imperial presence in the city, though they do spot one stormtrooper patrol in the distance.  The 'troopers are, fortunately, heading away from them, civilians scattering out of their path.

R2-O0 suddenly starts whistling excitedly, and UY explains, "Artoo has spotted a dataport."  The astromech droid rolls over to a panel close to the door they just exited and plugs himself into it.

After a only a few seconds he starts whistling again as a screen above his head lights up.  "He says that he has located the person we are looking for, and is diplaying a map to his location."

Rhijans looked around.  "Definitely a good thing we kept Shard from walking out in uniform.  If the Imperial presence here is this light, a uniformed ISB officer would have attracted all kinds of unwanted attention to us."  He turned his attention back to the droids, waiting to see what the astromech unit was able to retrieve for them.

She looks awful.

Shard pulls away from the mirror with a grimace, shaking her head.  Maybe she should just try to stay herself.  "Myself from twenty...no, ten years ago."  Bitter, angry, but still precise and sharp.

"I've gotten sloppy," she mutters.  "Screwed up.  Too many times I've gotten through by the skin of my teeth."  The older woman doesn't like the sound of that at all.  "Dangerous...for everyone."  It's easy to remember Juragga's look, not so long ago.

"Expectations," she murmurs, pacing the hold.

First things first, then.  Familiarize herself with the ship.  Moving to first the cockpit then what passes for the gunnery area, Shard checks out the systems.  They're mostly beyond her, but if she absolutely must, with a bit of refresher she might be able to get by, assuming someone wants her to take over and fly in a straight line or shoot at a standing target a hundred meters distant.  "Not great," she chuckles. "But it might be enough to blow open a blast door."

Medpacks...where?  Damage control equipment...where?  Once she has them located, Shard commits them to memory.  "Sergeant.  Lieutenant.  Captain - non-starship.  Major.  Colonel."  Up she works as she moves about, reminding herself who outranks whom.

Pistol check.  It's heavier than she's used to, this Imperial monster.  Practice follows - drawing slowly and smoothly, so as not to snag or drop the weapon.  She's not a quickdraw specialist and never will be, but having it in-hand rather than on the ground would be a big advantage.  Aiming; her wrists shake a touch, and her lips press together.

"Going to need to exercise." That comes with another thought.  "Going to need to stay off the booze."

It's a sobering realization on more than one level.

ID check.  Names, background. "Got it, got it." Move to the viewscreen, do a long look out into the docking bay from an angle that conceals her uniform.  Anyone watching now who had been there a half-hour before?

Which brings her to....

"...the bantha in the room," she mutters.  The cylinder of silvery metal flips over as she bounces it on her palm.  "I bet Nimadda practices every day.  Probably against live opponents."  Shard paces in a circle.  If that woman has actual training, if she has kept it up rather than let it die...

"Comes down to it, she'll murder the bunch of us."  Another sobering thought, with nothing to do with alcohol.  "And I'm ten years out of practice."

Tomorrow, she could say.  Tomorrow for the exercises, the practice.  For everything.  But it would be a lie, for tomorrow never comes.

Today is where she lives, as always.

With a sigh, Shard strips off the uniform jacket and blouse, leaving her in a tank top and military slacks.  Then it's into the cockpit to dial down the transparancy of the canopy - it wouldn't do to have flashes of light glaring out into the docking bay.  For a long moment, she studies the wrists of her bared arms and shakes her head. "Only muscle I've got left is from hoisting glasses," she laughs.  It's not quite true, but.

The laughter fades as he studies the silvery cylinder.  "I detest you," the older woman flatly announces.  "Just so we're clear."  As she walks back into the open area, her hands begin the process of unscrewing the back plate, looking to turn down the gain of the device.  "Wouldn't want to leave scars all over the walls and floors."

Dial down.  Plate restored.  Shard wiggles the cylinder in her hand for a moment; it feels wrong, uncomfortably unfamiliar.  Her body is slow, clumsy.  Stupid.  She could smooth that out.  Release herself into mindless -

No.

"Technique first.  Get that back.  Basics," she reminds herself.  And thumbs the switch.

Light flares. There's a pregnant pause.  Then bitter laughter fills the ship.

"Bantha crap." Shaking her head, she carefully turns the weapon around in her hand.  Even dialed down, it could give a nasty burn.  "Good thing it wasn't lined up with my leg...Rhijans would've had a field day with that."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:55, Thu 26 July 2012.

The small screen displays a map.  Multiple layers of detail winking in and out of existence as various levels are displayed.  It looks as though it's part of the space port - multiple circular docking bays, surrounded by blast walls and service buildings, and linked by alleyways and narrow streets - fade - the circles are still there, but now only faint outlines superimposed on a network of tunnels - fade - more tunnels, and some sort of machinery cluster directly below the centre of each of the docking bays - fade - tunnels, and what look to be circular groups of storage rooms and workshops...  One of the workshops contains a slowly blinking symbol, and R2-O0 warbles quietly.

Kaer Paxlo apparently works three levels below ground, and about five hundred metres north of the group's current position.  Unfortunately the nearest entrance to the tunnel system appears to be two hundred metres south of them...

Aboard the Dancing Bantha Shard practices, with mixed success.  Atill, at least she hasn't killed herself or damaged the ship.  Yet...

Rhijans looked down at the astromech droid.  "I hope you've got all that committed to memory..."  He turned to Jalt.

"I think we need to go see maintenance about that troubling catch in your port-side landing strut.  Wouldn't want it to fold up on us when we're landing, one of these times..."  He glanced down at the droid, and added, "Nice thing, having a droid who can look up just who we need to talk to, without having to get the run-around from the whole starport staff."

Haarmon, who'd been remarkably quiet up until now, couldn't quite contain himself at Rhijans' comment. "Pfft," he said, his voice almost dripping with scorn, "Yeah, sure is. Sending a droid to do a human's job. Like getting a gundar to do your taxes." He sniffed. And then watched what the droid was up to, with an air of professional curiosity.

Juragga exited the ship with the group, sparing a last glance of concern to the Jedi - for that was how he thought of her.  Then, with a nod of respect, he went out into this strange new world.

As the group moved through the crowd, he was relieved to see groups of nonhumans, and that his towering, shaggy presence wasn't drawing undue attention.  They went to a dataport and R2 plugged in, miffing Haarmon a tad.

"GrrrrRRRUUUUhhhhhn," he commented.  "WaaaaaaaRRRRRhhh." His original, enthusiastic offer to scour the bars for empty glasses had been part in jest, but was willing to hit the low-life circuit and see what he could hear - if desired.  Or, he could stay with the group and provide muscle - but that seemed unnecessary at the moment.  And of course, Haarmon got a vote; Haarmon always did, with him.

"Oh, definitely.  Faulty landing strut.  Very risky." reldan replies with a smile, "Need to get it looked at."  He takes one last look at the map, turns and points, "That way.  No, wait, that way."

Artoo confirms it with a rude noise, to which You-Why responds, "His navigation skills are that bad?  Oh my."

The astromech droid whistles happily and sets off in the right direction, which just happens to match Reldan's second try.

Reldan pats Haarmon on the back and murmurs, "Don't worry, that was the easy part.  Any nerf-herder could do have done it.  You'll get your chance when we have to do something too complicated for him."

*whistle-chirp-bleep*

"Astromech droids apparently have excellent hearing."

The group make their way through the streets, avoiding collisions with landspeeders and other traffic.

Before long they round a corner and spot another squad of stormtroopers.  These eight are, unfortunately, standing right outside the tunnel entrance that the rebels need to use.  They are currently talking to a couple of Ithorians, while a female Rodian stands nearby with a couple of blasters pointed at her...

"Not our problem, folks," Rhijans muttered softly.  "Walk on by.  We're here on legitimate business, no reason to get flinchy."

Putting his credits where his mouth is, he strode confidently for the tunnel entrance.  It would take him close by the stormtroopers, but not on a direct intercept.

In the back of his mind, the gnawing voice of paranoia cleared its throat, and reminded him that he had no idea who, exactly, they were going to meet.  They had a name...no further ID to speak of.  He REALLY hoped it wasn't the Rodian...

Some of the stormtroopers turn their heads to watch the passing rebels, but they don't say anything.  As they pass, the group hear one of the troopers speaking to the two Ithorians, "You keep saying she stole a bag from you.  But she doesn't have a bag with her."  The Ithorian start to grumble something, which is cut off as the group close the door behind them.

They find themselves in a short corridor runs a few metres to another door.  An open doorway to their left reveals a metal staircase, leading both up, into the higher part of the building, and down, into the service areas below.

To the right is an elevator.  Indicators above the door show that it goes to four floors above this one, and four below.

There are muffled voices, raised voices, from beyond the door at the far end of the corridor...

On the ship, Shard's practice session is interrupted by an annoying repetitive bleeping - three bleeps, a pause, three more bleeps...

Despite his intent to proceed directly to their contact, Rhijans slowed his stride, turning his head slightly to try and hear what was being said behind the doors.  "UY, Juragga?  You've probably both got better hearing than I do...can you tell what they're yelling about in there?  I'd hate to have our contact get fired and sent packing from here while we're on our way down there to see him..."

He'd breathed a sigh of relief when the situation between the stormtroopers and the Ithorians and Rodian outside had apparently been little more than a case of petty theft and potential mistaken identity, but the potential for their contact to have things go awry at any moment was still there, and he didn't have the luxury of a back-up plan, if they did.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:44, Tue 07 Aug 2012.

Sweat.  Lots of it.  Nausea.  She's close to losing her breakfast, whatever it had been.  Something horrid, Shard suspects, from the taste in her mouth.  Or maybe that's just the bile.  Slumping against the wall, listening to the beeping, she wipes her brow with the back of her hand.  "I've...let myself go."

A bitter laugh follows as she pushes her way up.  "More like threw myself away," she mutters, flipping the silvery cylinder in her hand.  Bobbling it, she almost loses the murder-tool before managing to take it out of the air with her left hand. "Hah!"

The triumphant smile fades as she moves out in search of the noise's source.  It's almost like a messaging tone.  Or an alert for an incoming transmission.  She desperately hopes it's not the electronic aid of someone cracking the lock on the ship's hatch.

Haarmon follows Rhijans, quiet for the moment out of pure fear. He tried his best not to look like he's actually hiding behind Juragga. He suspects he's failing, but he tries.

Juragga frowned, then nodded, leaning forward and trying to eavesdrop.  He also stood in front of Haarmon, because it made the kid feel better.

21:41, Today: Juragga rolled 12 using 2 dice with the WEG Classic system with rolls of {Wild}6(+2),4. Perception.

By the elevator the group stop to listen to the muffled angry voices from behind the far door.  You-Why listens for a moment, then says, "Dear me.  I had not realised that people still used some of those words.  Organics say the most disgusting things."

Shard follows the noise to the cockpit, and is confronted by hundreds of controls and their associated indicators.  Then she spots it.  A light on one of the panels is flashing on every time there is a series of bleeps, and off again during the pauses.  There is a microphone and a speaker grille next to the light, and a series of switches and dials below.  One of the switches is marked ON/OFF...

There is a sudden crash from beyond the door.  Not a very loud one.  Possibly consistent with a thrown cup or similar small fragile object striking something solid.  Whatever the argument is about, it seems to have escalated...

"MUUhhhRRrrrrmmmhhhhnnnn," Juragga muttered.  Arguing over money.  Sounds like a foul-mouthed human femme and somebody official. He shrugged.  Then, cocking an eyebrow, added, "It's getting worse."

Oh, lovely.  Shard purses her lips, the picture of a woman who has just bitten into a lemon.  "Great.  Looks like I'm stuck with this.  Can't very well ignore it, can't page everyone else each time a light flashes."

With a sigh, she sits down in front of the offending switch.  First the older woman takes a quick look around to see if there are any viewscreens that might pop on.  It doesn't appear that way, but one never knows, so she ensures her devices are all stowed and checks her 'uniform'.  With the jacket off and stripped down to a tank top, she's relatively neutral.  "Fine," the woman mutters, and reaches for the switch.

Flick.

"Yes?" Again, neutral - perhaps not good comm procedure, but it gives away little, in case this is an error or a fishing expedition for whomever is on the other end of the line.

The disagreement is definitely getting worse.  The voices are getting louder, and there are more noises which sound like stuff being broken.  There is even a loud thump against the door itself.  Then the unmistakeable sound of a single blaster shot, and silence...

The voice on the other end of the channel is whisper quiet, and Shard has to crank the volume up a handful of notches just to hear what's being said.  A man's voice, very nervous sounding, "Hello?  I'm expecting a package today from Mothessh.  Are you the person delivering it?"

Juragga's teal eyes widen and he slowly looks to the others.  "mmmmMRRRnnnn," he warbles. Blaster fire.  Things had gone decidedly wrong in there.  For someone.

Oh, that's just wonderful.  And here she is, alone.  Shard grimaces - again - and her hand hovers over the com-link for a moment.  She purses her lips.

Sometimes you gotta roll the dice, the older woman reminds herself, and hope for the hard nine.

"We're just in from Mothessh," she admits.  "And we're supposed to meet someone here.  You wouldn't happen to be he, would you?"

Gimme something.  Anything.  Even a bit of your name, Kaer Paxlo, if that's you.

Rhijans hesitated at the door.  Odds were good it was none of his business.  People got in debates, and even got shot over them, all the time, especially if there was any sort of shady business involved, and starports were a natural for shady dealings.  They had a mission to accomplish...and if their contact was not one of the people involved, getting involved would just increase the likelihood that their mission would be compromised.

But their contact was involved in some shady dealings...that was the reason they were here.  And that meant there was a chance...possibly a very good chance...that the person they were here to meet was inside the office ahead, either having been shot or having just shot someone.  Losing that contact would scrub the whole operation.

"Brace yourselves...I'm not sure how this is gonna turn out," he murmured, looking back at the others.  He stepped forward and hit the door chime, announcing their presence.  He tried his best to look nonchalant...but there was a tension to his bearing, his weight carried forward on his feet...he was prepared for someone to open the door with a weapon in hand.

He just hoped they answered the door, instead of blindly shooting through it.  Hard to dodge an attack you never saw coming.

Haarmon, grateful for the reassuring bulk of Juragga, nodded at Rhijans' command and did, indeed, try to brace himself. He found his hand drifting again and again to the Blaster at his side. And he kept pulling it away. No use escalating this thing just yet, he told himself. Let Rhijans do his thing.

Juragga moved to both stand before Haarmon and loom behind Rhijans.  He didn't draw a weapon - if things went that bad, that fast, this whole mission was liable to be a botch.  He'd rely on his steadfast brute strength, if it came to that...

There is a moment of silence from beyond the door, and then a sudden flurry of activity.  "Sounds like somebody searching for something." Reldan comments on what seems to be furniture being moved about and objects being knocked over.

And after that brief activity another short silence before the door pops open to reveal a young woman leaning casually against the frame.  "Can I help you?" 

The voice from the comm system speaks again, even more quietly, "This is Kaer.  Do not come to see me.  I have unexpected visitors, and I suspect they would not be pleased to see you.  I'll call again when my guests have gone home."

Rhijans' face was inscrutable, but probably appeared annoyed, as much as anything.  "I hope so.  We're getting a failure indicator light on a port-side landing strut, but we can't turn up anything that's failed.  I was told there might be a technician somewhere along here that could help us...nobody specified an office, just sent us down this hall..."  His voice sounded annoyed and frustrated, equal parts irritation at the fictitious warning light and the fictitious soul that sent them on a wild goose chase.

He kept his stance relaxed...but his weight was still forward, ready to move suddenly.  And he kept his eyes on the woman.  Under different circumstances, he might have been weighing her appearance and attractiveness--right now, he was solely concerned with her potential as a threat.

It gets better and better.  Shard massages her forehead.  "We may have a problem; I'm going to need more information, because you're about to have a few more guests."  Visitors.  Is he currently dealing with them, verbally?  Is he out of his house, and they're there?  She's going to have to comm Rhijans, but...she's operating blind.

Comm unit.  Stepping back out into the hold for a moment - still in hearing reach of the central comm - she snags hers from her uniform pocket and thumbs it on, set to the group's frequency.

"Ship reporting.  Our friend has company; come back another day."  It's all she can say at the moment; hopefully it'll be enough.

"No, there's no techs here.  This is my place." the woman replies, still leaning against the door frame.  "Hope you haven't been waiting too long?  I was busy and didn't hear you were out here until just now."

Suddenly she slaps her left hand against the frame and exclaims, "Techs!  In the sublevels, I think.  The elevator goes down there."  She points towards the elevator door, again using her left hand.

At the back of the group, Reldan is murmuring into his comm, "Thanks.  Any idea how long our friend will be busy?"

The ship's main comm is still speaking, and the voice is still quiet enough that, even with the gain cranked up as far as it can go, Shard can barely hear what the tech is saying, "My guests are looking for some stuff that they think a friend of theirs might have left here.  If he did, then he didn't tell me about it."

"Lovely," Shard mutters.  "Well, if you need a hand helping them poke around, let me know." From the sound of it, their contact might very well be trapped in in his place with them, rather than observing from a distance as Shard first thought.  Not a good thing at all - if they find him, instead of what they're looking for...

Suffice to say it won't just scrub the mission, but likely scrub Kaer to boot.  This, they don't want.

Over to the comlink, and Jalt. "Don't know - he might be stuck with them for a while." It's vague, but hopefully gets the point across. "I'll ask him if he needs an excuse to get away from them; I'll let you know."

Rhijans shrugged.  Part of him had noted Jalt talking into the commlink...if it was important, the pilot would speak up.  For now, he had to extricate them from this situation without getting anybody shot.  "No, actually...we just got in here and realized that all they said out there was the guy we needed to talk to was in here.  This was the first door we came to where somebody answered..."  He shrugged, apologetically.

"Sorry if we're disturbing anything...I was about to walk away again when you answered the door.  Glad you did...we'd have been running around in circles in here trying to find him."  Acknowledge the delay...don't be too conveniently agreeable...the best lies are built on grains of truth, he told himself.

He gestured to the lift, shifting his stance slightly...partly, so he had a better view of the lift, and partly to gauge her reaction when his changed position might risk him seeing more behind the door she was carefully not opening wide.  "You don't happen to know which sublevel, or a compartment number or something, do you?"  He was pushing their luck, slightly...the question was something that anyone who actually lived adjacent to a starport would likely know, if only because they were asked the question so often.  But if the woman was lying about living there, and didn't think quickly on her feet, an 'I don't know' answer would be a pretty big hint that she didn't actually live there.

"Afraid I don't know, no." the woman replies after a brief pause, and an apologetic shake of her head, "I only moved into this unit a little while ago and don't really know my way around yet."

She's either telling the truth, or she's a fairly good liar.

Jalt lowers the commlink and says, "Our friend has problems by the sound of it and wonders if we can delay our visit a little?"

Kaer coughs, "They just showed up, asked me some questions, and then told me to wait, out of the way, while they... "  A long silence, several seconds too long, and then he's back, "Sorry about that, a couple of them just walked past me.  Where was I.  Oh, yeah.  They've got me standing at one side of the workshop while they mooch round the place."

Shard hears a loud crash in the background as several somethings fall over.  "Oh great.  It took me all day yesterday to sort that lot out.  Now it's all mixed up again."

Rhijans shrugged.  The gesture could be read as one of acceptance of her explanation, although it was more a case of resignation.  They were at some stranger's door, with some kind of crime in progress inside...but he wasn't law enforcement, he was on a mission, and drawing undue attention to himself or the group from the authorities could compromise that mission.  Without any further reason to be involved, it was in his best interests to walk away.

"Well, guess we'll just hope it's not a gundark chase, then.  Sorry to disturb you, thanks for the help."  He nodded, and stepped away from the door, gesturing for the others to follow him in the direction of the lift.

The door closes, perhaps a little too hastily, and Rhijans leads the way back to the elevator.  Reldan Jalt runs a hand through his hair, "According to Shard, Kaer Paxlo has got problems of some sort.  She said 'company', which could mean anything from local thugs causing trouble, to an inspection by his boss, all the way up to a visit from Emperor Palpatine wanting to see how a spaceport tech does his job."

"She's suggesting that we wait until we have the all-clear."

The quiet voice from the comm panel  speaks again, "Hello... something going on.  Looks like they're having some sort of meeting."

Rhijans stepped off in the direction of the lift, hoping the others would follow.  "Well, then, we'll have to take our time finding him, I guess...but we can't stand here outside the door waiting.  And if we don't at least look like we're going to look for the tech from our little story, someone on the other side of that door could get the idea that we're waiting to ambush them...and play 'scared citizen' and call the local constabulary...or Imperial law enforcement...to report suspicious people lurking outside their door."  His voice was low, barely carrying a few feet.

"So, let's drift over here to the lift, and take it down...or up, even...but at least make ourselves scarce, until we get some word about where we're supposed to meet Paxlo."

"Some kind of meeting?"  Shard cocks an eyebrow, frowning.  The doubletalk - assuming that's what it is - is getting a little fierce.  Did they actually speak to him?  Is he hiding, or just standing there quietly talking on the com to her while they ransack his place.  "They searching the place by committee?"

Frustrated, she paces over to her locker and begins hunting for less-obvious clothing.  "Where are you?  I have friends right in the neighbourhood.  Maybe they could come over and give a hand."

Nerves just hitting him, Haarmon bounced and fidgeted as they walked away from the door. "Maybe we can find a cantina or whatever near the workshop, yeah? Anything or anywhere public where we can sit a few minutes without setting off the Rebel Alarm, yeah?"

He turns to the astromech droid, "You see anything like that when you were poking around in there?"

"I'm at my workshop.  Well... actually I'm in the supervisor's office, while my guests are searching the workshop.  I can see them from the door.  There's a whole squad of them, and they look like they've either found something interesting to talk about, or are gathering around their commander for new orders."

The elevator door open and several people step out and head for the street exit.  A couple of them look like they might be spacers, wearing high visibility orange jumpsuits with heavy jackets on top of them.  One of them has a patch on his shoulder, with the words, "Lady Luck" on it, and a picture of a YT-1300 transport.  The two possible spacers seem to be involved in an intense discussion, and one of them nearly bumps into Juragga.  The rest of the people are in a variety of civilian outfits - possibly office workers from somewhere in the building.  They are all very carefull to avoid the Wookiee

Reldan intercepts Haarmon's question, "The map made it look like the tech's workshop is a couple of levels underground.  A lot of ports have service tunnels and storage facilities underneath them.  Normally space is at a premium down there, so there isn't generally room for bars and stuff... " R2-O0 interrupts with an excited whistle, "... but in this case there is.  What's he saying, Goldenrod?"

"It appears that there is a restaurant of some description adjacent to one of the service tunnels." You-Why answers, rather smugly*.  "It is, somewhat delightfully, named You Ate It, You Keep It."

Kaer adds to his previous statement, "Yep, looks like new orders.  Lots of pointing going on."


*Smugly: this word has nothing to do with smugglers.

Rhijans shrugged.  He was not enjoying the unexpected wrinkles thrown into the plan...but they were there, and no matter how much he disliked them, he wouldn't be able to change them.  They had to be worked around.

And, since Paxloo was apparently of the opinion that it would be better to wait on someone's departure, rather than try and intervene and try to defuse the situation, work-arounds were limited.

"Well, you've got the map, Artoo.  Lead the way.  If we're gonna have to wait on someone to finish their business and clear out before we can do ours, we just as well wait somewhere that won't make us conspicuous for sitting around."  He gestured toward the lift.

"Maybe their food won't be as bad as the name makes it sound..." he said.  His voice didn't convey much actual hope for that prospect, however.

The ride down in the elevator is much as to be expected - awkward silence for the most part, broken only by Reldan muttering to Shard via the commlink.  Since the rebels have the elevator to themselves, the pilot clearly sees no problem in relaying potentially vital information to the others.

"Our tech friend is using words like 'squad' and 'order' when talking about his unexpected guests.  Sound like anybody we know?"  He shakes his head, "I don't like the sound of...  What?"  More crackling speech from the commlink, "Say again, the reception down here's terrible.  Okay... looks like they couldn't find what they were looking for, and are getting ready to leave."

"Which means, of course, that we might run into them in the tunnels.  Nice."

Rhijans shrugged.  "As long as we're on our way to the restaurant, or bar, or whatever this place calls itself, running into them is no problem.  As long as we look like we're on legitimate business, they shouldn't give us a second glance.  I don't imagine they're in the practice of shaking down everyone they encounter at a space port...pretty inefficient way of collecting intel..."

Of course, the Empire isn't exactly known for its concern about efficiency... he told himself, but said nothing aloud.  "We go in, order a drink or something light to eat, and go ahead a few minutes after we get an all-clear, give them time to get out of the tunnels.  Might want to send just one of us in for the actual meeting...they may be leaving eyes behind to watch the place and it wouldn't do to give them instant knowledge of just how many of us there are here.  Besides, if they do that, and decide to ambush whoever's coming out, we'd want the rest of us on standby to counter the ambush."

He could only hope it would be that simple.  But they could make themselves crazy coming up with some intricate plan that may or may not be needed, and would probably only delay their mission to a critical point.  Simple plans seemed, in his experience, to work out best.

The elevator door opens.

The service tunnels are dirty, hot, dimly lit, damp, filled with clouds of steam, and crawling with vermin.  Despite the conditions, there are quite a few people about.  Very few of them look like they work here, in the bowels of the port.  Some are obviously beggars, others look as though they might be down here on business - ship crews looking for techs or stored cargo.

Droids are fairly numerous too, as the group make their way towards You Ate It, You Keep It, including astromechs and other technical types.  R2-O0 greets each of them cheerfully as they pass, though not all of the replies he gets sounf friendly.  In the end You-Why tells him to stop talking to strange droids, before one of them attacks him.

Finally, a glaring pink holographic sign announces that they have reached You Ate It, You Keep It.

The restaurant is also dirty, hot, dimly lit, damp, filled with clouds of steam, and crawling with vermin, only now most of them have holstered blasters.  Menus above the counter indicate that the establishment serves foods from several different worlds in the Bereneshi Sector, and at reasonable prices.

As the group surveys the room, they come to realise that it is a converted short term storage bay - many of the warning notices prohibiting the storage of explosive, toxic, corrosive and other hazardous materials are still in place on the walls.

There is a loud thump - apparently a couple of the patrons, an Ortolan and a Weequay, have had a disagreement, and the latter is now sitting in a pool of filthy water on the floor...

"Charming..." Rhijans commented drily, his tone clearly conveying that he was anything but charmed.  "Maybe I'll amend that last comment to 'get a drink'...I think that'll be health-risk enough for now."  He'd been in worse dives, while working...but he'd never gone in with the intent to actually consume something.

He stepped in, staying well clear of the unfolding confrontation between the Weequay and Ortolan, looking for either an empty booth or a table that was back out of the way, or several adjacent stools at a bar.  At least the place didn't seem to have any issues with droids being present...

Absently, he wondered if there was a drink list somewhere or if he'd have to resort to asking for a menu and then looking cheap when he didn't order food.

Juragga winced and did his best to retract his nose into his face.  One of the drawback of keen Wookiee senses... the smell was overpowering.  He, too, had been in worse dives, but not usually by choice... or else not sober enough to care.

Now, he was sober enough to care.  And the remedy for that seemed ill-advised at this stage.  Following Rhijans, he glanced around the bar, his looming height making him stand out.

"RAAAAAuuuuuur," he commented wrily. What a lovely smell you've discovered.

Haarmon wrinkled his nose and nodded in agreement with Juragga. "You said it, Rags. This is only the place I been where wetting you down would improve the smell. I hope we don't have to spend too long here."

Haarmon was also keenly aware that this had been his idea. He just hoped no one else would mention it. He looked around the place, seeing if there was anything worth watching.

Or getting involved in.

The dispute between the Ortolan and the Weequay looks to be over already.  The Weequay, in particular, seems to have little interest in continuing.  Instead it simply shifts over to all-fours and crawls towards the exit as fast as it can.

Rhijans leads the way to the back end of the room, looking for a place to sit.  All the seats seem to be taken, but a booth miraculously empties as Juragga approaches.

Music starts to play somewhere, blasting out of a set of speakers hidden somewhere in the darkness which shrouds the ceiling above the booth.  It's loud and discordant, but while it's playing the group can talk (with slightly raised voices) and nobody more than a metre away can hear what they're saying.

There is a list of drinks printed on a sheet of hard plastic fixed to the wall at the back of the booth.  The details are hard to make out - the plastic is scuffed, scratched, and covered with dried stains of indeterminate origin.

The list comprises a half dozen beers and ales, and about twice as many spirits.

From the look of things, more patrons are attracted by the drinks than by the food.

Rhijans split his attention between the ales on the list, trying to decipher whether any of the entries there were recognizable brand names for something Corellian, and keeping an eye on the occupants of the bar, checking to see if anyone happened to be paying undue attention to the group.

Of course, even in a place like this, they WERE an eye-catching group.  Three humans (well, two-humans and an almost-human) running around with two droids and a Wookiee...that was enough to draw some attention.  Still...there was a difference between the mildly surprised stares that they'd draw, naturally, and the calculating gaze of someone who was sizing them up as a security threat.

"Anybody see anything on this list they feel safe in recommending?" he asked, partly out of frustrating with trying to figure out just what was actually printed on the scarred plastic, and partly to distract the group from any tension they might be developing.  They weren't necessarily accustomed to being on 'high alert'.  He didn't want someone trying to examine the room in such a way that they made it obvious that's what they were doing.  It would be excusable, of course...but worrying about whether someone was watching you implied you had something to hide, which would just encourage a potential Imperial spook to pay closer attention.

Haarmon got sick of all the waiting and the sitting around and the nothing going boom or falling over. Nothing being brightly coloured and moving really fast was tough on him.

He took out his terminal and started clickity-clacking through screens and menus. His face screwed up into one of concentration and he started muttering under his breath. Mostly curses.

"Depends on if they water their ale," Juragga hooted.  "Stick with the spirits is probably safer."  Of course this was his own personal preference in any case, but - as long as there wasn't too much wood alchohol in there - they should be safer.

He ordered a Corellian whiskey and hoped for the best.

The drinks are, it turns out, only mildly diluted.  Most of the team have definitely had worse, and none of them are blind, so even the "worse" clearly wasn't that bad.

Apart from the loud music, You Ate It, You Keep It seems to have an amateur cabaret of sorts - in the few minutes they are there they witness no fewer than three brief fights between other customers.  At one point two of them overlap, so that there are actually two distinct brawls going on at the same time, and somehow managing not to get in each-other's way.

Behind the counter, the staff look bored.  Clearly they've seen this sort of activity far too often.

Shortly after the end of the third fight, Reldan pulls the commlink away from his ear, "Drink up, we have the all clear."

Rhijans downed what was left of the Ryll beer that he'd ordered, grimacing at the aftertaste...he'd never really developed a taste for the stuff, and the management here didn't regard it as enough of a commodity to front the money for the quality stuff, so what they had was just close enough to actually bear the name.

"About damned time," he muttered, as they got up and started to move out.  While he could--maybe--relax in a bar, one like that would never allow him to relax...too many bodies, too many people too willing to start a fight, too many options for trouble to come calling unexpectedly.  It didn't escape his notice, the irony that he actually felt more relaxed going into what could potentially be a trap than he felt in what should have been a relatively safe spacer bar.

The walk through the damp, vapour filled tunnels could easily become confusing, but Artoo seems to know the way.  Even the sections where the lights have failed seem to present little difficulty to the droid.  The main hazard seems to be the ever-present danger of tripping over trash, in the limited visibility.  Well, that and the possibility of encountering a particularly unpleasant odour.

Eventually, after about ten minutes' walking, they reach what appears to be a workshop, albeit a very untidy one, where a tech is busy stacking components against one wall.  As soon as he spots the group, he stops what he's doing, wiping his hands on the front of his coverall, "What can I do for you people?  Sorry about the mess... had a visit from some inquisitive stormtroopers and they insisted on moving things about.  Name's Kaer Paxlo, and whatever you need fixing, I'm the man  for the job."

Rhijans grinned faintly.  "Yeah, they'll do that sometimes," he commented in response to the explanation about the stormtroopers.

"A friend of ours recommended you to us, as a source of transportation...say, something in a VIP transport shuttle, perhaps?"  He didn't know if the Imperials had left any agents behind...or surveillance gear.  He wasn't about to come out and admit they were Rebels and looking for a Lambda shuttle.  If Paxloo was above-board, he'd know what they were hinting at.

Of course, if the Imperials DID leave surveillance gear or personnel behind, he couldn't let on that he knew.  But his response would help key them in on just how careful they had to be in here.

Juragga maintained his position near the back of the group, although there was no disguising his size or furry countenance.  Rhijans, he hadn't worked with as closely as Shard and of course Haarmon; now he lifted a shaggy brow over his teal eyes and nodded slightly in appreciation.  The man was sharp.

Surreptitiously, he glanced around, looking for any spot-able 'bugs'.

09:20, Today: Juragga rolled 7 using 2 dice with the WEG Classic system with rolls of 4,{Wild}3. Perception.

Of course... while technically savvy, he was no spy...

Pleased that she's able to relay appropriate information - and actually prove of use, rather than just being stuck in the ship doing nothing but sweating - Shard continues to act the pipeline.  Finally the all-clear comes, and she relaxes into the pilot's chair.  "All right.  My friends are on their way.  Good luck."

Paxlo signs off, leaving her alone again.

"Clean up," she mutters, slipping out of the bridge and heading for the ship-board fresher (such as it is).  After a moment, the older woman ducks back in and grabs her comlink.

It's water resistant, and despite the fresher's limited space, should fit in the shower with her.

She hopes.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:44, Mon 24 Sept 2012.

Kaer Paxlo looks Rhijans up and down, then studies the rest of the group, his eyes finally coming to rest on Juragga (who, it should be said, Paxlo looks a lot more up than down).

"Is that so?" he pulls a comlink from his pocket, "I believe I know who that friend of yours might be.  Let me just check and see if I'm right.  If I am, then I have something really special for you.  Real sweet."

Before activating the comlink, he asks, "Where are you people from, anyhow?  Travelled far?"  And his thumb depresses the stud.

On the ship, the main comm lights up again, just as Shard is about to take a well-deserved shower.  As soon as she answers, Kaer Paxlo's voice comes from the speaker, "Hello again.  I think your friends are here, but I just need you to confirm something for me... "

In the workshop, Paxlo looks at Artoo, then at Juragga, and his face cracks into a broad grin as he continues talking into the comlink "... would one of them be a bit on the short side, and a bit stiff in his movements, while another looks like he forgot to stop growing?"

Rhijans glanced over his shoulder at the team, with a bemused look on his face.  "Well, some of us have been flying a lot farther than others, but our ship just came in from Mothessh.  Miserable place..."  He left it at that.  Really, there wasn't much reason for anyone to stop at Mothessh--not on legitimate business, at least.

"Void," Shard sighs.  Answering the comm, she considers the question.  Short side.  A bit stiff.  Well, Rhijans occasionally acted like he had a...wait, the R2.  Right.

Juragga was even easier to figure out.

"That's them," she confirms.  "Don't let them stay too long, you'll never get them to leave.  They'll eat you out of house and home, all the while complaining about the lack of options."

A moment passes.

"That was a joke," she clarifies, in case he tries to read some code into it.

"I don't know, the tall one looks hungry.  Thanks for your help.  I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing."

Kaer Paxlo deactivates the comlink and drops it back into his pocket.  "Well, it seems that you're who you say you are, so we can talk business."  He leans back, sitting on the edge of a workbench, "About five hundred klicks from here is a nearly dormant volcano.  Hasn't had an honest-to goodness erruption any time in recorded history, just churns out lots of smoke and dust every couple of centuries."

"Pretty dull to be honest.  Not even any scientific interest in it, since the government cut their funding about twenty years ago, saying it was pointless anyway.  But anyway... some people contacted me a year or so back to say that they'd stolen a Lambda class shuttle, brought it to Dor-Tennia, and hidden it in a cave inside the crater.  They figured I could sell it for them, but I never heard from them again after that first call."

"So there it sits, still.  I go up there every few months, just to check on it - people here think I've discovered geology as a hobby, and try to avoid getting into any conversation about rocks."  He grins happily, "Works like a charm.  Nobody ever asks me why I spend so much of my free time poking around a dead volcano."

"Anyway, I recently noticed all the military traffic going to Osmur, and started wondering if the shuttle could be used to check up on it.  Then a few days ago, some Alliance sympathizers passed me a security code which a pilot could use to get the shuttle in to Osmur.  Some sort of priority clearance key.  Emergency access or something."

Haarmon was having a guarded liking for Kaer. He seemed like a cool guy. Like the kind of guy who'd kick back with a drink after rewiring a starship with some wookie hair and a stick and tell you about 'the old days' when stuff was much more awesome than it is now.

But it was a guarded liking. He still felt like this whole mission was a disaster waiting to happen, and he was thinking that maybe Kaer was the one who was gonna bring it all down.

Well-placed contact sells out the good guys? Happens all the time. Could be anything. Empire kidnaps his girlfriend. Forecloses on the family farm. Offers him some cred to move off this rock and retired. Pay off his Geology grad-school tuition. Whatever.

"So about this military traffic, yeah?" he started, "You're close to the source down here, clearly a guy with fingers in pies and all that, what's it all about? Who's going? Why? Any ideas?"
This message was last edited by the player at 16:39, Thu 27 Sept 2012.

Rhijans couldn't quite hide the surprise on his face as he turned to look at Dak.  The kid was asking intelligent, well thought-out questions that were relevant to the situation, without getting carried away with the flamboyant holo-fan-boy embellishments that had been a hallmark of his behavior when he'd first been assigned to the group.  There just might be hope for him yet, he told himself, and turned to look back at Paxloo, raising one eyebrow expectantly.

"That's the problem.  I'm not close to the source on this." Paxlo says with a shrug, "I'm just a tech.  Nobody really tells me anything about the shipping that goes through.  I used to get information from pilots that came down here to buy parts or talk about repairs.  The Imperials never come down here, except when a bunch of their bully boys come to wreck the place."

But a few weeks ago I had to go up to the Main Office to talk about a stack of parts reqs that some stylus pusher was refusing to authorise.  Anyway, the Main Office is in the Traffic Centre, and as I was passing through I noticed on the main display that we had more than a dozen Imperial ships in orbit.  Hello, I thought, that's not normal.

He pauses to catch his breath, then continues, "So I asked one of the controllers what was going on, and he complained like a kicked gundark about how all these Imperial ships were fouling up the traffic lanes, and they weren't even stopping here... they were just passing through on their way to Osmur."

"Now, I know Osmur isn't exactly Coruscant, so it struck me as odd that all these ships, including a couple of star destroyers, would be going there.  Military transports too."

A smile, smug self-satisfaction at his own cleverness perhaps, "So the first chance I got, I planted an audio bug under one of the consoles - don't ask me why I had an audio bug - turns out that in the last three of four weeks, more than a hundred Imperial ships have gone through here, going to Osmur or coming back from there.  Big ships, not just little stuff."

"And the chatter from the traffic controllers is all 'star destroyer this' and 'escort carrier that'.  All these ships should have no interest in Osmur.  They should be defending important targets, and intimidating major worlds, not running back and forwards to some ball of dirt.  I don't know what they're up to, but it must be huge to warrant that volume of shipping."

Rhijans did little to show any alarm, but the set of his jaw shifted and his expression tightened.  If there was that much high priority traffic, they would have to be VERY careful how they proceeded.  It would not be unthinkable that ISB might already have several agents in place to keep an eye on things...if that happened to be the case, they'd have to get in and get out in a hurry, or someone could pass a few questions up the chain of command and blow their cover in a hurry.

He was sure there was a bit more to Paxloo's story than was being told...the quickly-inserted "Don't ask why" about the listening device was a good indicator of that.  But his own personal suspicions leaned toward black market activity...information was extremely valuable in such situations.  And a massive Imperial presence was typically bad for such business.  It made sense to alert Rebel elements...they'd do something that would likely make the Empire focus on them, instead of worrying about the relatively trivial matter of some black marketeers.

Whatever the logic, they had orders, and their superiors had, theoretically, already vetted Paxloo and his information.  "Well, if that's the case, then let's not waste time sitting around here.  The longer we're here, the more Imperials are collecting there, and that just means our job will be that much more difficult."  He turned to Paxloo.

"Do we need to make arrangements to get out to that volcano?  Or is there room enough for another ship to set down there and disappear?  And you better get a copy of that code ready for us."

Juragga rumbled uneasily, not really speaking, just a rumble of disquiet.  This was big information.  Suddenly it seemed important that this info make it back to base.  Every edge in the room seemed a notch more threatening; a subtle shift in tension.

He hooted an agreement of Rhijans' urge for haste.  Then glanced to Dak briefly, and favored the kid with a Wookiee smile.  Haarmon had done well, and he was proud.

"Think there's a way," he asked quietly to Haarmon, aside, "to get that info, un-intercepted, back to people who ought to know it?  Before we return," he clarified.

Scrubbed mostly clean, Shard removes herself from the fresher.  The comlink kept quiet through her cleansing, so either things have gone grossly wrong or they're proceeding apace.  Finished touselling her hair mostly dry, she snatches up the com and clicks it active on the group's frequency.

"Rhijans.  How are things?"

Would be nice to get an update.

The uniform goes back on - probably better to keep it on, get used to how it chafes - and sundry small devices increase its weight by a good pound.  "I bet the trids never consider how much all this garbage weighs," she mutters.  At least if someone shoots her there's a small chance the blast will be deflected by the incidental body armor.

"The cave is pretty big.  Should be room for another ship in there, if it's not something stupidly big like... " Kaer Paxlo starts to explain, only to be interrupted by Reldan Jalt, "Wait... what?  you want me to leave the Bantha parked in a cave inside a volcano?"

"I told you, this volcano hasn't done anything but rumble a bit in recorded history, and it shows no sign of doing even that much in the near future.  Your ship will be safe there.  I guarantee it."  The tech spreads his hands, "It's so boring that even scientists, and I'm volcano fan-boys here, aren't interested in it."

A crackle emerges from Rhijans comlink - Shard asking for an update.

Artoo, meanwhile whistles and chirps, drawing a sour response from You-Why, "Well, I'm glad you think it will be exciting, because I think it will just be dirty and smelly."

Rhijans ignored the commlink for a moment and turned to Jalt.  "You got a better, less obtrusive idea?  You'd prefer to maybe pay docking fees at a starport for an indefinite period and answer questions from officials about why some tramp freighter has tied up one of their docking bays for a week or two?  I know I don't want to pay for the open-ended rental of a local shuttle...not to mention the risk of transferring our gear and the questions that would be asked if the wrong people recognized some of it and wanted to know what we were doing with it..."

He turned away, giving the man time to think about that little wrinkle, and raised the commlink.  "Proceeding smoothly, just have a few minor issues to get resolved and we should be on our way back."  He left the commlink on, but not transmitting...he was fairly sure that Shard wouldn't be satisfied with that summary, even though it was accurate, and he didn't want to be perceived as cutting her off...and looked at Paxloo.

"So...where's this volcano at, and we need that clearance code.  Time's wasting and Osmur isn't getting any closer."  The size of the ships that Paxloo had referenced in talking about noticing the Imperial build-up left Rhijans feeling ill at ease with the whole mission...not any worse than he felt when going after the mining facility with next to no intel whatsoever, but they would really have to watch their steps once they got there.

"Okay... you have a point.  To an extent." Reldan Jalt grumbles, "But if the volcano wakes up, and the Bantha gets damaged, it's going to cost somebody a lot more than a couple of weeks' docking fees, and a rental on some local heap of junk."

Kaer Paxlo hurries away and returns with a scrap of paper with some numbers scribbled on it, and a neatly folded, brightly coloured, sheet of plastic.  "Here you go.  That's the security code.  Don't worry about where it says 'bank pass'... that's just to fool anybody who came searching and found it."  He holds out the scrap of paper, which does, indeed, bear the legend "Bank Pass:", and a twenty digit string of letters and numerals, broken into four blocks of five for ease of use.  "Just reverse the blocks when you use it, so transmit the fourth block first, then the third, second, and finally the first block."

Reldan takes the plastic sheet, unfolds it, and peers at it for a moment, before saying, "This... looks like some sort of tourist map.  It has camp sites and picnic areas marked on it."

"That's exactly what it is.  The volcano is in a national park.  I figured nobody would get suspicious of me if I had a tourist map.  Everybody knows I like to go hiking and climbing in that area, and collecting rock samples around the volcano.  See?  I even marked some of my favourite sampling sites.  By coincidence, if you connect them all up, they form a rough cross, with the cave at the centre." Paxlo explains, looking very pleased with himself.

"Not bad." Jalt chuckles.

Rhijans gave a thin-lipped grin at Jalt's grumbling.  "Send the bill to the Colonel, I'm sure he'll be thrilled to take care of it..." he commented drily after Jalt made a point about potential repairs.  If the volcano awoke, odds would be good that the Bantha would need replacement, not repairs...but he wasn't going to point that out.

Rhijans took the paper and looked at it.  He'd probably have the astromech droid program it in, for safety's sake, but he didn't plan on losing the paper anywhere.  "Transmit the code blocks in reverse order.  Got it."  He slipped the paper into a pocket in his vest, and listened as Jalt discussed the map.

This guy's pretty good, Rhijans observed.  An incredibly dangerous assortment of information on two sheets, all hidden in plain sight in such a way that anybody who didn't know exactly what they were looking at would have no idea what they'd just seen.

"Cave's big enough to fly into easily?" Rhijans asked.  He didn't want to get there and discover they had to shuffle vessels to get the Bantha tucked inside...

Haarmon was getting fidgety and bored. Despite his life-long obsession with action-adventure holovids, he found the minutiae of cloak-and-dagger boring. Sure, sure the code is mislabelled and backwards. Sure, sure, it's a tourist map. Wonderful, so clever. Just obscure enough to fool anyone who wouldn't be interested anyway.

He wanted to get going.

He looked up at Juragga and smiled and nodded. "Good idea, Rags. Next time I get hold of a terminal we'll do just that. Folks gotta know."

He turned back to Paxloo. "Okay, yeah, yeah, yeah the Happy Spacemeal map is a nice touch. But we still gotta log the flight, yeah? And what are the odds the wrong person is gonna take an interest in us moving in and out of the volcano? In differnet ships? Your little field trips are one thing. But with all the Imps all over the place, you gonna tell me no one's watching? And second. A year ago some people dropped it off? What people? I don't want us to get all the way out there and find out someone wants it back. Right? Rags? Am I right?"

Juragga nodded to Haarmon, adding "As long as we transmit before we go in."

Then, regarding the kid's question, he nodded. "RuuuAAAWWwwwwr," he commented wryly.  Let's make sure we're not overcomplicating it.

Shard paces back and forth like a caged animal.  "Dammit, Rhijans.  Stop ignoring the comm."  Frustrated, she finishes dressing in full, right down to Things She'd Rather Not Be Carrying Openly™.  Not that anyone will recognize the murder-tool these days...

Ping.  The comm is answered.

"Proceeding smoothly, just have a few minor issues to get resolved and we should be on our way back."

A pause follows as she waits for more.  Then, "Hot void, Rhijans, that's not a satisfactory summation!"  Growling, she keeps the line open, hearing only muttering and mumbling.  Some questions.  Haarmon talking (huge surprise, that), then Juragga's dulcet tones.  Transmit? she wonders.  And go in where?

If she were a real Jedi, she'd calm herself and sit in silence meditation, studying the lint on her toes.  Were she one of the legendary Sith, no doubt she would storm about the cabin raging.  But Shard is Shard.  So I'll just sit inbetween and stew.  Silently.

Her teeth grind.

Mostly.

"The cave's big enough for one ship to go in and out of, but further in it splits into two.  The shuttle's just at the junction, in the entrance to one of the branches." Paxlo confirms that there'll be no need for switching ships over, "Fly Boy here can go in, drop his ship in the other branch, and you can all walk over to the shuttle.  Easy."

"Anything else I can help you with?"

The tech smiles, and then suddenly thinks of something, "Oh, yes!  Probably better to go over there at night.  It's a tourist area, so lots of people with holocams about in the daytime."

Haarmon crossed his arms, a scowl on his face. "I've got a bad feeling about this," he muttered, mostly to himself. But he knew that, not only was there really no other option, that he was the only one with the bad mojo.

Better to be quiet. And to keep his eyes open.

He wanders around the shop a little while the grown-ups talk.

Rhijans grinned, inwardly, at the kid's obvious annoyance.  "I think we can take it for granted that the original owners of the shuttle want it back...we just need to make sure we don't do anything to draw attention to the fact that this is the one they're missing."  Considering the shuttle was Imperial military property, he felt pretty safe in that assessment.  He set part of his mind working on some plausible explanation for the reappearance of a missing shuttle, in the off-chance that some industrious paper-pusher happened to check their transponder codes against any missing ships' registries...

He looked over at Jalt.  "Sound satisfactory to you?" he asked.  He knew the answer was most likely actually 'no'...but he also figured the pilot wasn't likely to say much unless he actually had some better notion of how to get their gear from the Bantha to the shuttle unobserved.  One question Dak had brought up nagged at him again, and he looked at Paxloo.  "How'd you manage to get the shuttle out there and stowed unobserved?  I take it as a given that you've got at least some organization of your own here, in support, so I'm not worried about how you got back...but the kid's got a point.  A random tramp freighter taking off with no registered destination is gonna raise some questions...almost as many questions as an Imperial shuttle would.  How do you suggest we get around that?"  A few well-placed bribes would probably do the job quite effectively, Rhijans figured, but Paxloo should know exactly who would be most likely to accept a bribe with no questions, and deliver the appropriate blank spots in the records in exchange...or verify a logged destination when no such thing was put in place.  Whichever one would be most likely to result in their arrival and departure being nothing beyond normal spaceport traffic...

Reldan nods to Rhijans.  "Sounds like our only option." he says - not exactly happy, but clearly unable to think of a better plan.

Kaer Paxlo smiles and shakes his head, "I didn't put it in the cave.  Like I said, some people stole it a bit more than a year ago and wanted me to sell it for them.  They're the ones who hid it up there, I'm no pilot.  They just asked me to handle the sale because they figured I see a few pilots, but I never heard from them again after that first contact."  He shrugs, "Maybe they ran into trouble the next time they tried to steal from the Impies.  I dunno...  So it's just been sitting up there gathering dust for a year, and I've gone up there every so often to make sure it's all right.  Nobody's been in looking for it in all that time, so I guess it's been written off as a loss.  One less cup of karlini tea for every Imperial bureaucrat in the sector would probably more than cover the cost of the thing."

Reldan jumps in, "I can handle getting us out there without drawing too much attention.  It's what I do when I'm not piloting stolen shuttles."

Rhijans nodded, at both the explanation of the shuttle's origin and Jalt's reassurance that he could get them to the volcano safely.  "Well, then, I'd say we best be getting ready to go.  This mission isn't gonna get any easier with a few days' waiting, that's certain."  He looked at the other group members, hoping for a consensus, of sorts, even if it might be reluctant.

Paxloo's story for the shuttle wasn't as reassuring as he would like...but he could only hope that the Rebel leaders had vetted this particular contact before entrusting the fate of such a crucial mission to his discretion.  Truth was, they didn't really have much choice...either the man was solid and could be trusted, or they were going to be waving in the wind.  But they needed that shuttle, and they needed the codes he'd given them, and there weren't any options to get either one from someone else.

"Rhijans!"  Shard stalks back and forth in the ship, eyes hard and narrowed.  The waiting, the lack of knowledge, it's driving her batty. "Going to go Nimadda's route if this continues," she hisses, halting her foot just before it (pointlessly) impacts with a chair. "It's the ship.  The ship."

Her foot comes down and, with its sibling, begins the process of taking her to the hatch.  Along the way, she snags her drab travel cloak, tossing it over her uniform.  "Going out," Shard mutters, keeping a tight grip on the comm.  They can page her if they need something, but for now she's going to check the lay of the land.

"You have no patience," her master intones as Shard rubs her aching head.  "But you will."

"Patience," she grumbles, opening the hatch and keying the lock for when it closes.  "How long will that take?"  Ducking her head out, she takes a quick glance around the ship's bay.

Juragga echoed Shard's impatience.  He warbled a rejoinder for the party to get a move on back to the ship.

He hated sitting on important info, was one part of it.  Until Haarmon transmitted that data back to the Colonel, he'd have an itch between his shoulderblades.

It wouldn't do for the intel to die with them, if things went badly...

While Shard gives a less-than-stellar demonstration of controlling her emotions and avoiding a rapid fall to the Dark Side, Rhijans and the others seem to have decided that they have no more questions for Kaer Paxlo.  They say their farewells and head out of the maintenance shop.  Just as he is about to step out of the door, Reldan stops and turns back, "This security code?  Do you have any idea what it would be used for?"

Paxlo nods, "Oh, that's right.  Could be handy to at least have a rough idea in case there are any questions.  The contact who provided it said it's something to do with ISB."

That part, at least, fits with their own plan.  Maybe the Force is with them after all.

They set off back through the festering underbelly of the port, looking for their route back to the surface.

Shard, meanwhile steps out of the ship and into the docking bay.  It seems to be empty, apart from a few cargo containers against one wall which look as though they might have been there for some time.  One of them is open.

Still grumbling, but her emotional turbulence reduced to a small roil rather than a storm, Shard paces out into the docking bay, the door locked behind her.  Pursing her lips, she breathes out slowly and settles herself.  Not empty, no.  Just...calm.  Midpoint between the void and storm.

Balancing act.

She glances over to the containers, then at the various exits.  Noting their positions, the older woman twitches her cloak about herself, muffling her uniform, and paces over to the open container, leaning over for a brief look.  It's probably refuse, but one never knows.

Enroute, Juragga did his best to keep his senses perked whilst not appearing twitchy.  He didn't want to draw any more attention to them than he usually did, being 2 meters tall and shaggy.

Rhijans was too busy thinking to take the time to comm Shard and let her know they were coming back.  He was calculating local time...how soon to sundown...flight time to the volcano and load-out time...

Would they have enough time to make the approach and departure again without being noticed?  And while he was sure that the thought had crossed Jalt's mind, he was also wondering about how to get back and retrieve their own ship again after they were done.

And the security code left him pondering.  ISB...  "When we get there, probably a good idea to have your astromech go over the thing as thoroughly as we can in the time we'll have available.  I'm guessing, if there were tracking devices aboard, someone would have come calling for it already...but you never know."  He spoke, more or less, out of the side of his mouth to Jalt, keeping his eyes up and forward, letting those parts of his mind that weren't chewing on the problems at hand focus on watching out for surprises or someone who might give them trouble.  Caution (some might call it paranoia) dictated that it would be unwise to mention the shuttle aloud...

Haarmon nodded appreciatively at Rhijans' plan. As a computer expert, he always had a bit of a love-hate with astromech droids. Lots of people thought there was little point in a mere meat-stick learning to work the wires when a mobile trashcan could do it twice as good, twice as fast.

But to Haarmon, that was like saying why learn to walk when you had a speeder? Every job had a tool, and every tool has a job. You only got into trouble when you forgot that.

Looking for bugs and such was just the sort of thing an astromech droid was made for. Leave the real Slicing to the meat-sticks.

"Rhijans," he said, "When we get back to the ship, I'm gonna patch into... Head Office, like, and update them on what's what down here. Might even skiff the nets a little, yeah? See if I can see what's what based on what we all been talking about here? I'd do it now, but I don't trust the connections."

Shard peers into the top of the open container and discovers that, as expected, it contains garbage.  Which is surprising - presumably somebody must have run out of space on the floor at some time and started to throw stuff into the first available receptacle.

Also surprising is the fact that something seems to be moving in there, hidden bemeth the trash... 

The rest of the team make their way back to the elevator and ride up to the surface, discussing security concerns along the way.  Reldan Jalt pats Haarmon on the shoulder, "Don't worry.  My ship's got good security.  You should be able to get a secure connection."

The elevator opens, and they step out into the corridor.  The door where they spoke to the woman earlier, and asked for directions, stands wide open.  Something electrical seems to be shorting out inside, random discharges occasionally casting hard edged shadows into the passageway...

"Well, well," Shard mutters, frowning into the trash receptacle.  Her hand drops - first to her blaster, then sliding slowly, unwillingly along her belt to grip smooth metal.  Pursing her lips, she whistles once, then reaches her free hand into the container.

Fingers lightly take hold of the top piece of refuse, and she twitches it out of the way, stepping back in the same motion.

Hope it's not a baby mynok...

Rhijans eased forward, hand dropping to the grip of his blaster smoothly, but not pulling it from the holster yet, and took a look inside the doorway.  He'd figured there would be trouble in there, of some sort...he just hoped it wasn't something that would have stormtroopers double-timing it down the hallway toward them as they were trying to get back to the ship.

His initial instinct was to just walk on by...they weren't here for this.  But if someone was injured inside, and they were caught walking away--well, even if they could prove they weren't responsible, they'd still be asked why they did nothing.  At least, this way, if they knew what was inside, they could use the 'I was going for help' explanation.  And, as far as he knew, his IPKC was still valid...he could stall while the others got back to the ship...he probably had the best odds of getting through a close ID scrutiny without alerts coming up.

Reldan Jalt follows close behind Rhijans, and with just as much caution...

The room beyond the door is a mess.  Furnishings have been knocked over or broken.  Cabinets and drawers stand open.  The flashes are coming from a large wall monitor, which currently has a metal waste bin wedged into the middle of its broken screen, and many of its internal components hanging out, like the guts of a claw cat victim.

Talking of which...

There is a body, a human male, laying face down on the floor.  He isn't moving.  He is wearing a business suit which, even from the back, looks as if it has seen better days.  But not recently.

Shard pulls the piece of trash aside, and she steps back.  A moment later a small scaly animal, about twenty centimetres long, from the tip of its snout to the end of its stubby tail hops up onto the edge of the container, where it perches upright, holding on with its hind feet, while the front two pairs are held in front of its chest.

It watches Shard carefully, trilling musically, while two similar creatures join it on the rim of the container and start serenading her.

Then the first one opens its mouth wide, clearly demonstrating the centimetre long fangs which fold down from its palate.  All three hiss at the woman, brightly coloured fins suddenly unfurling where their ears should be...

Rhijans followed his first impulse...which, oddly enough, was to ignore the body for a moment.  His gaze panned around the room slowly, looking for any sign of a threat that he was fairly certain had already left the area.

Only once he was satisfied that there was nobody in the room that might spring an ambush on them did he take his hand off the blaster pistol and crouch down, looking the body over carefully...for indications that it was actually a body and not a corpse, or indications of any injuries...or that it had been booby-trapped...

"Hot void," Shard mutters as she slowly - very slowly - backs away from the three scavengers.

They're in the middle of a spaceport.  They're probably not dangerous.  What they're doing is probably a display to frighten off predators and other larger beings.

It's working.

Licking her lips, Shard slowly draws the metal cylinder from her belt as she shuffles backward, not wanting to trip.  She'll never, ever hit something as small as they are with a blaster, even at this range.  Krevan used to laugh at me about that, comes the wayward thought.  Offered to teach me.  Always figured he just wanted into my pants.

She misses Krevan, nine years dead now, and suddenly wishes she had taken him up on his offer.  Offers.  Whatever.

Relax, Shard.  Somewhere between placidity and calm, that's where she needs to be right now.  Only...she can't quite make it there.  Too much surprise, too much heart pounding, too little practice recently thanks to too much alcohol.  "Wonderful," the woman murmurs, thumb on the switch of her weapon.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:49, Thu 01 Nov 2012.

Haarmon had seen a few dead (and dead-ish) bodies by now, so it wasn't the shock it might have been. But his sheltered and fantasy-addled mind still reeled at the sight and the smell of dead, roasting, rotting meat. His vision swam for a moment until he bit down on his tongue. No going weak sister, he told himself, not in front of Rhijans.

He took a deep breath and swallowed once or twice. "I'll.. uhh..." he started, trying not to sound as shaky as he felt, "Rhijans? We got time to search the computers? Maybe get some clues or whatever?"

The nausea took the edge off his bravado anyway. Thank the Force for small favours.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:00, Mon 05 Nov 2012.

Rhijans didn't look away as he continued his scrutiny of the room and then the body, answering with an even, business-like tone.  "If you can find an intact terminal, sure...if it's something we've gotta patch together in order to make it functional, better skip it.  If we're in the middle of piecing the computer back together when any authorities arrive, it's gonna be a hard explanation to make as to why we didn't rush off for help."  The last thing they needed right now was an extended detention to answer a lot of questions about a crime that they didn't know anything about.

The trio of animals seem to calm down a little as Shard backs away.  One of them even drops back to its scavenging.  The other two keep watching the woman, though only the first one is still hissing at her, and that only sporadically.  Whatever they are, they seem to only threaten when they feel that they are being threatened.

There is a tearing sound from inside the container, and both remaining animals quickly look to see what it is.  The second hops down to investigate.  The original one looks back at Shard, folding away the coloured head fins.  After a few seconds of simply watching the woman, it gives a disdainful snort and returns to the important business of searching through the trash...

UY-3P0 steps into the room and notices Rhijans examining the body.  "Oh my goodness.  How perfectly barbaric.  This sort of thing is why I will always trust droids over organics."

The man, middle aged and slightly overweight, is probably beyond worrying about his health.  Rhijans and Haarmon can both see that his throat seems to have been cut.

R2-O0 rolls up and bumps against Haarmon's leg, whistling loudly, before backing away.  "He says that he believes he knows where there is a dataport."

The astromech unit starts away towards the farthest corner of the room, carefully avoiding the corpse...

"Just be prepared to cut loose from the system if someone comes investigating.  And make sure any video feeds in the room are deactivated...last thing we need is someone to look at this and wonder who we are and why we came in here poking around."  The last part of the question, he was asking himself...but information was sometimes your best weapon, and they were here now...

He stepped away from the body, back to the doorway.  From here, he should theoretically be able to hear if somebody was coming down the hall, giving him time to burst out of the room as though going for help and thus buying time for Dak and the droids to close up whatever they were working on...

Unlimbering his bowcaster, Juragga moved to cover Rhijans.  This mission had taken a rather rotten turn - literally.

He rumbled a query to Dak over his shoulder.  You okay, kid?

Frowning, Shard relaxes somewhat.  They're just scavangers, opportunistic and ready to defend what they've found.  They'd probably run if she pushed the issue.  Even so, she's not willing to take the chance...

...but a question arises as to what, exactly, they're struggling to defend so arduously.

It's a trash bin, she reasons.  In a spacedock, not outside a pub or restaurant.  What enormous largesse might be found within it that would attract a trio of scavangers, to the point where they're willing to defend it against encroachment?  There must be bins all over this place.

"Yeah," she sighs, focusing her thoughts.  "Gonna need to find out, I guess."

There's a place in between ice and fire, between rage and serenity, between the heart of stars and the void between them.  A place Shard seeks, leery of the cold, emotionless teachings of her mentor and certainly unwilling to chance the slippery slope of the other side of the coin.  Better to no flip and catch the coin; instead, take the hard route of standing it upon its edge.

Find balance.

She thinks she has it - maybe, almost, perhaps, scuttling around within her mental fingers, almost in her grip.  The woman reaches with her mind.  She doesn't try to send words, only ideas.  Concepts.  Feelings.

It's not hard to recall such emotions, when in the past you've spent time running from a Silverslith on a hellworld.

*FEAR.  PREDATOR TOO BIG TO FIGHT.  AN EATING THING COMES*
This message was last edited by the player at 14:51, Wed 07 Nov 2012.

Haarmon shoves aside a toppled chair and finds a dataport behind it, close to the floor.  It's at a nice convenient height for small droid, which means Haarmon will need to squat, or sit on the floor.

Reldan Jalt looks around the room, without touching anything, "Do you suppose that woman did all this?  She did seem a bit edgy when she was talking to us. Maybe she had help, the place looks like it's been well turned over.  I wonder if they were looking for something, or just trying to make a point to somebody."

The open container suddenly gets very quiet, and then there is some quiet chirping from inside.  Three sets of eyes appear over the top edge, looking in different directions... and then the container almost seems to explode as the three animals burst out of it, scattering trash as they do so, and run for a floor level ventilation duct with a broken grille in front of it.  They disappear inside, and all is quiet.

And a moment later there are three sets of eyes gleaming in the darkness of the duct interior...

Rhijans shrugged.  "I'm guessing she wasn't alone...she most likely wouldn't have come to the door when we stopped before, if she was.  I couldn't make out enough of what was being said on the other side of the door to really hazard a guess at whether they were tossing the place in a search, or whether this is a message-killing.  Either way, as soon as Dak gets done, I wanna get out of here.  We may not be racing a deadline to get back to the ship, but the longer we're here, the higher the odds that we've gotta start answering questions...and that could put us in the 'racing a deadline' state in a big hurry."

If it doesn't leave us in the 'held under observation and background check' state, he thought.  He wouldn't say it aloud, however.  He was just superstitious enough to believe one shouldn't tempt Fate with bad suggestions.

He shot a look back in the room.  "Make it quick, kid.  I'd like to be out of here completely before anyone else gets a chance to stumble across this mess..."

Juragga gave a long slow rumble, which roughly translated into "I have a bad feeling about this" and "Let's get out of here", both at once.

Then, glancing to Haarmon, the powerful Wookiee warbled, "GrrRRAAAAAwwwwhhh," asking if Dak had a chance to burst-send that info to the Colonel now...

Haarmon gave Juragga a look and a nod. And then shook  his head. It said that he was, indeed, okay, thanks for asking. And that he didn't trust any uplink he was going to get in this place to send anything too sensitive to Rebel High Command.

And he nodded at Rhijans. "Gotcha skip," he said and plugged in. His entry into the nets was quick and dirty. If anyone decided to, they'd be able to trace it back to this port without a ton of trouble. But unless someone was watching it right this very moment, he figured he had time to peek and skoot.

Less than a minute.  Considerably less.  And Haarmon has information scrolling across the display on his portable terminal. 

You-Why shuffles around the room, studiously avoiding the corpse.  Suddenly he stops and howls softly at Juragga. 

Rhijans and Reldan keep watch on the door, and the corridor beyond.  Reldan shakes his head, "Not liking this one bit."  And at that precise moment, the door at the far end of the corridor, the one leading out into the street, starts to open...

Shard risks another look into the container.  It's about three quarters full, and nothing seems to be moving in there now...

Haarmon shakes his head and hoots a couple of Wookie-curses. Wookies have the best curses. He stood up and unplugged his terminal. "I got nothing. Except that that guy," he points to the body without looking at it, "Ain't the guy who lives here. So there's some serious chicanery going on here. But I don't think we got time to untangle it."

He nods. Ready to leave now.

Rhijans nodded at Dak's report of his results.  "Good to know.  Everybody pack up and be ready to put on your best panic-stricken look...we got company coming."  He nodded and stepped into the hall.

If they were lucky, it was nobody important, just another local who would walk past the door and feel inclined to mind their own business.  If they weren't lucky, it would be Imperials.  No matter who it was, it would be a lot easier to pass off surprise if it looked like they, themselves, had just stumbled across the room and were going in, rather than coming out.

He kept an eye down the hall, waiting to see who was coming through the door, mentally preparing for a few different options in terms of his response and how to sell it to different people.  Without looking down, he made sure his blaster was in its holster...but ready to be drawn, in case this went horribly wrong.

"Right," Shard whispers, rubbing her forehead.  There's a nascent headache floating somewhere around in her brain, but she ignores that for the moment.  Snagging a length of broken pipe, she commences rooting around in the trash, all the while keeping an eye on the trio cowering in the darkness.

"Hadn't actually figured that would work," she mutters to herself, amazed that she managed that much.  "Maybe...maybe being with this group is helping me pull myself together...what were you three looking for in here?  If it's old food, I'm going to be some embarassed."

Shard pokes around in the container, using some of the nearby junk to avoid having to touch anything.  What she finds probably isn't too surprising.  A yellow and red carton, the partly open lid displaying an image of an improbably colourful Whiphid holding a similar carton, is laying among the other trash.  It still contains most of a meal, which probably hadn't looked much more appetising when it hadn't been laying about in a trash container.  Some sort of omelette with a greenish sauce.  The maggots probably weren't part of it originally.  Or maybe they were.  Who knows what Whiphids actually eat?

Agitated chittering sounds come from the air vent...

The group make their way out into the corridor just as a woman comes in from the street, walking backwards and dragging a large box.  She stops to mop her brow and turns toward the elevator, at which point she sees the Rebels standing there.  She's well past elderly, and into ancient, with skin that looks as if it's spent a lot of time exposed to harsh weather.  Her eyes, bleary and half-closed though they are, seem to brighten up as she spots the group.

In a cracked, hoarse voice, she says (between gasping breaths), "Say... you young fellas... look good and strong.  Wanna... help me get this... new cooler up to... my place?  No good driver... just dumped me out... in the street with it.  Useless... nerf herding son... of a gundark."

Perfect, Rhijans thought, bitterly.  And then reconsidered all the factors.

"Hey, Juragga, Dak...there's a lady out here that needs some help carrying something.  Right up your alley.  Just make sure you close the door on the way out of the place, okay?"  That would, hopefully, prevent idle passersby from looking in the room and noticing anything amiss.  He made a mental note of the address...they could send in an anonymous report once they were out of the area.  He was pretty sure the neighbors wouldn't appreciate a dead body laying around unattended for an extended period of time.

He turned and started down the hall toward her.  "I'm sure we can help.  If you think we look strong, wait until you see my friend.  He might be able to move this on his own, even..."  He didn't often engage in friendly banter...but it did come in handy from time to time and this seemed like one of those times, to him.  He never quite made it to flashing a winning smile, however.  That much was just too foreign to him.

Juragga was more than ready to leave, but perhaps this would be a decent cover.  And besides, it WAS right up his alley.

Rumbling under his breath, he padded forward and glanced at the cooler, intent on picking it up, shouldering it, and lugging it up the steps.

"Thank you, Sonny.  My, your friend's a big one, isn't he?" the woman chuckles as she sees Juragga, "My apartment's on the fourth floor, Longshanks.  This thing," she slaps the carton, "is too heavy for me to get into the elevator, 'specially as it probably needs to be stood up to fit in there.  And there's no way I could drag it along the corridor and in through my door."

"Course, none of the neighbours would help, except maybe that nice Mister Chirok, but he's not very strong.  Still, he's always friendly, and he offers to help if he can."  She gestures towards the now closed door to the room with the body, "Maybe I should ask him as well, just in case we need more help."

Artoo warbles, and You-Why helpfully translates, "I'm afraid he... "  The rest of the explanation is muffled as Reldan slaps a hand over the droid's mouth.

"You're right, I suppose.  He's probably busy.  Here, I'll get the elevator."

She reaches past Rhijans to push the call signal, and the door opens immediately.

Rhijans managed to stifle the sigh of relief that wanted to burst forth after Jalt managed to stop the protocol droid from saying anything.  Chirok, huh?  Maybe that bears some looking into, once we're clear and out of this mess...  He hadn't quite been able to stifle the annoyed look that sprang to his face when he realized what UY was about to say...he could only hope that their new, aging friend hadn't noticed the reaction, or hadn't associated anything with the timing.

"I'd be very surprised if we needed any further assistance.  My friend and I," and he gestured at Jalt, "are both very able-bodied individuals...and Fuzzy, here, is worth two or three of either one of us.  The kid's no slouch, either.  We've had tougher deliveries to make, and got it done without extra help."  He actually had no idea what Dak's relative physical strength was...but for the sake of preventing any further inquiries that might make someone open the door here, he was willing to talk them all up.

He did dislike the fact that someone had seen them coming out of the room...and that the same person knew who was supposed to be living there.  They needed an excuse...something to lead suspicions aside if someone started asking the old woman.  "I don't think Mr. Chirok's home, anyway.  We were supposed to drop off some hardware there, but when we arrived, the door was unlocked and nobody was home.  He knew someone was coming, so I guess he left the door open in case we arrived while he was out."  Light on the details and heavy on the half-truths...let her make her own connections... he told himself.  When they happened along, the door WAS unlocked--wide open, actually--and nobody was home--since you couldn't really consider a corpse to be someone living there.  He could only hope the story was plausible enough that she'd cease to notice them as anything noteworthy.  If people started asking around about anything that happened there, he was pretty sure that a group including a Wookiee and a gray-skinned human would stand out, unless there was a good reason for them to be there.

Figures, Shard considers.  And here she thought someone might have dumped a dead body in the trash.  But nope.  "Sorry, you," she murmurs to the trio of eyes and gingerly shifts back from the dumpster.

Best leave them to calm down and return to their meal.

"Curse it, Rhijans," she mutters, stalking away from the trash.  "Call in." It occurs to her to make the call herself, but Shard doesn't want to interrupt any operations currently in-session.  Better to just continue on with her own check of the area.

Striding to the hanger door, she leans in the frame and takes a long look hither and yon, searching for any points of interest within sight, hopefully a crew member taking a breather to any potential watchers.

The old woman nods absently as Rhijans explains why they're there, her attention focussed on the way her new cooler unit is being handled.  Or possibly on all the firm young muscle doing the handling.  "That's right, stand it on end... no, no... the other end.  It should fit in the elevator easier now."

Reldan removes his hand from You-Why's mouth, "You two wait here.  If anybody asks, you're waiting for us, we're helping an old lady move a cooler into her apartment.  Understand?"

"Yes.  I understand."  The droid sounds positively sulky.

Finally the elevator door closes, and it starts its journey up to the fourth floor...

There is an old saying that goes, "As one door closes, another opens."  As if to prove a point, at that very moment Shard opens the door of the docking bay and looks out into the street.  It's crowded out there.  Lots of people, droids and vehicles moving by.  Nobody is paying much attention to her.  Behind her she can hear her new friends emerging from the vent and heading back to their bounty,

She can see a door to another docking bay, a couple of stores, some sort of metal obelisk.  And a cantina, with a sign cycling through a list of attractions, "Drinks, Food, Music, Pazaak, Sabacc, Dancing, Drinks... "

The elevator door opens to reveal a poorly lit corridor, littered with trash.  Most of it looks to have been there for a while...

For his part, the giant Wookiee just did his best to lever the fridge into the elevator as quickly and gently as possible.  The old lady knew the dead guy - that could be bad.

"RaaauUUUURR," he commented to You-Why.  "The trick is, breathing through your mouth," he answered the droid's earlier query of how he stood the smell.

The woman's absent-minded response to his story was as much reassurance as Rhijans felt he was likely to get.  For the moment, all he could do was sit tight and wait for the lift to reach their stop.  He did his best impression of casual boredom, trying to make himself as un-noteworthy as a gray-skinned humanoid could manage, and leaned against the wall of the elevator as it rose.

So far, so good.  Shard shoots a glance at the cantina for a long moment, then shakes her head.  "Not now," she mutters.  "Later."  That settles down any stresses over its presence (and her lack of a drink), and she breathes out a chunk of her stress, letting her shoulders relax.

"All right," the older woman mutters.  "Let's start with that."  She can't go too far from the ship, given everyone expects her to be there, but certainly she can have a look at the obelisk.

As well as trash, the corridor has its fair share of vermin.  Some of those vermin are wearing clothes.  Fortunately the clothed ones seem too tired, or drunk, or both, to cause any trouble.  The group make their way along the corridor, half-carrying and half-dragging the cooler unit.

The woman stops at a door and starts to tap in a code on a brand new keypad, "Here we are.  This will just take a moment."

The door opens and their nostrils are instantly assaulted by an odd melange of smells.  The lights come on to reveal a large amount of laboratory glassware, heating mantles, fractional distillation columns, and other expensive looking equipment, all set up on several benches, and all clearly in use.

"Just put the cooler there." she gestures, "My son will be home in a little while, and he can set it up where he wants it.  It's for his work, you see.  He does Important Pharma... Pharmacup... ah... Important Pharmacuticle Research.  Thank you all for your help.  You're all good boys, your mothers must be so proud of you."  She glances at Juragga and lowers her voice, "Does he have a mother?"

Shard studies the obelisk.  It's hexagonal, about five metres tall and something under a metre in diameter at the base, half that at the top.  It is heavily corroded and looks old, and is covered with pictograms, very stylised images of people walking into a building... no a starship.  There seems to be a Hutt too, outside the ship, in a cage of some sort.  There is writing as well, which looks like an older form of Huttese...

Rhijans smiled, almost grimly.  "We assume he does...I don't ask many questions about parentage, though, as a general rule.  Some people get real touchy about that.  I'm glad we could help."  While his words were friendly enough, his tone was...distracted.  He jerked his head toward the door, and turned to Jalt and Dak.

"We should get back.  The boss is gonna get grumpy if we're too far overdue."  At this point, coming back down in the elevator, they should be able to retrieve the droids and proceed directly to the ship, no questions asked and as innocuous as any bystander could appear.

But Shard had sounded frustrated on her last comm call, and the time was stretching out.  Not everyone in the group was well-suited to waiting patiently for a situation to unfold...and if she ran into the wrong people when she got impatient, things could get really complicated...

Haarmon was breathing heavily and coated in a thin sheen of sweat. Walking around the corridors was about as much physical exercise as he'd gotten in years. Actually lifting something was so foreign to his experience that he was shocked he hadn't broken something. Namely, himself.

"Gotcha.... Bosss...." he heaved in between deep breaths. He was just happy it was over.

Hutt in a cage?

Frowning, Shard leans closer for another look, trying to decipher the language.  No dice; she recognizes it, but figuring out the content is a little beyond her faulty skill. "Void," she mutters, glancing around briefly.

Plenty of choices of passersby...

Searching the crowd for a likely candidate - someone with an open face and an unhurried walk - she picks a citizen out and (politely) accosts them.  "Excuse me."  The older woman tries a smile.  "This statue...what does it represent?"

The man looks from Shard to the obelisk and back again.  "How long's that been there?"  He scratches his head, then lowers his hand and waves a finger at the obelisk, "Yeah, right, I know what this is.  Let's think now... it's been a while since I heard the story."

"The people who live here came from... from somewhere else.  They used to be slaves to the Hutts, and then they were taken to another world to work a mine, or something.  Then they rose up and imprisoned their masters and stole a ship and flew it here."

He snorts, "Which would be stupid, because there's no way Dor-Tennia is far enough away from the Hutts for escaped slaves to be safe from them.  So I think it's just a story.  Anyway, it's supposed to have happened about a thousand years ago."

The group of rebels descend in the elevator, some of them exhausted from the work, others (like Juragga) not so much.

"Well look at that." Reldan says as the doors open, surprised to find the droids exactly where they were left.  At the end of the corridor a Bothan is examining the door, a concerned look on his face.  With barely a glance at the group, he reaches out and pushes the door opem, before stepping in nervously...

Rhijans nodded as the Bothan looked away.  "C'mon...we've got a deadline to beat, no time to stand around here."  The Bothan could report the crime, and if he did, they were safely seen exiting the elevator and therefore wouldn't be implicated.  Hopefully, nobody would think to ask the old lady upstairs before they got a chance to clear out and leave Dor-Tennia in their wake.  This was going to get complicated, very quickly, and he liked to keep things simple, when he could.

"Thanks for waiting for us," he said to UY.  "Didn't seem to make much sense to have you following us around while we were doing some grunt labor for someone else...you would almost certainly have been bored by the whole experience."  He wasn't going to add that the droid's propensity for vocalization could also have led to a slipped comment that would have left them facing some very awkward questions.  Nobody, even droids, liked having flaws or weaknesses discussed in public...most often, not in private, either.  So it made little sense to bring it up.

Juragga frowned as he spied the Bothan, but said nothing.  Nodding at Rhijans' words, he made to beat a hasty exit, pausing to make sure he was bringing up the rear.  UY, especially, he wanted clear.  It wasn't so much that the droid might spill something - he actually had some protective feelings towards the mouthy droid, and besides, he was one of the few that could translate for him.

That goofy translator disc he had gave him a terrible Centuari accent...

"Interesting."  Shard nods her head. "Thank you, Citizen.  Very illuminating."

And it is.

Hutts, Hutts, Hutts.  They've been running into them quite a bit of late, either historically or with second party information.  Shard frowns, wondering if there's a library nearby she can access some data files.  Or maybe Haarmon...

Better check the ship.

Saying her goodbyes, she hurries back to glance into the docking bay.  Hutts.  It wouldn't be the first time the Empire has dealt under the table with criminal elements.  Is it possible that the Hutts are working toward something larger in this particular quadrant of the galaxy?

Rijans leads the group back out to the street, letting the door close behind them.  The Bothan seems oddly quiet considering he must have found the body by now.  Haarmon heaves a sigh, and says, "The owner of that room is listed as a Bothan PI called Padh Chirok.  Maybe he just came home."

Reldan grins, "If Chirok's a PI, then it could be he's used to coming across bodies.  Might explain why there was no screaming when he went in there."

They start back towards the ship, and UY-3P0 asks, "Should we report the death to the authorities?"

Shard also heads back to the ship, but being much closer, she gets there first.

Rhijans glanced back at the protocol droid.  "If you can manage it without leaving the authorities any way of tracing who called or where the call came from, be my guest.  But we can't take a chance of getting the mission side-tracked by having to answer a bunch of questions..."

He thought for a moment...the situation bothered him.  Something about it just didn't sit well, but he really didn't want to get diverted from the task at hand.  There were a lot of lives potentially relying on their intel-gathering and it didn't seem right, to him, to risk those lives over an issue that may only affect three or four lives here.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:14, Tue 04 Dec 2012.

Haarmon had never seen a Bothan before. Not in real life anyway. They were pretty much a staple of adventure vids. Every grizzled hero had to have have a plucky Bothan. It was as du rigueir as the three day's beard (or, in Haarmon's case, three months and counting - and still no luck).

He had to fight the urge not to stare. He won that fight, but only by the skin of his teeth, and only because Rags and Rhijans were watching. "Hey!" He stage-whispered to the dusky-skinned Rebel, "You think maybe that guy in there went to, like, steal the Bothan's secret spy stuff or whatever? And set off some kinda booby-trap? We should ask command if they have any Bothans here. Maybe he's an ally, like. You think?"

He was pretty excited.

Pushing back the pilot's chair in the ship, Shard leans back and crosses her arms behind her head. "Huh." The proximity to Hutt space seems to have created a lot of territorial issues regarding that race, constant crime war being one of them.  Intermittantly constant, mind, if that makes any sense.  "And Oomba the Hutt," she mutters.  Another factor.

Rising, she doffs her jacket again, going back to the tank top and Imperial pants.  It reveals an old burn scar on one shoulder, legacy of a blaster bolt that nearly ended her 'career', such as it is.

Another glare at the comlink.  "Rhijans," she hisses, irked at the silence, still nervous about breaking into what might be a precarious situation.  They'd better either ring or show up soon; if not, she's going to have to go out again, this time on hunt for lost Banthas.

"Probably best to leave asking about that until we get home.  Would be stupid to risk blowing his cover." Reldan Jalt replies to Haarmon.  Then he grins, "Besides, in spite of what you might have seen in vids and cheap action novels, not every Bothan is a spy.  If they were then nobody would ever let a Bothan near their  stuff.  Any Bothan."

The walk back to the ship is much faster than the walk away from it, due mainly to the fact that this time they know exactly where they're supposed to be going.  the droids keep up a steady conversation, and from You-Why's side of it, it's clear that he's concerned about Artoo's navigational skills.  The astromech unit's replies definitely sound ruder and ruder with each exchange.

Reldan glances up at the sky, visible only in narrow strips between the buildings, and broken up by cables, crosswalks and ductwork.  "Looks like it's getting late.  Sun'll probably set soon, which suits us."

They manage to avoid any Imperial entanglements, and make it back to the right docking bay, which prompts You-Why to claim the credit, "You see?  I knew I could find the way back."

Reldan walks up the ramp into the Bantha, calling out, "Hi Honey, I'm home!"

The door hisses open as they hit the ramp, and a fuming Shard beckons them forward.  "Get in here," she hisses.  "You've been out of touch for hours!  Hot void, how was I to know if you needed a rescue, or something equally stupid?"

Turning, she storms back into the ship, irritably tapping her hand against her thigh.  Her head hurts and the fingers of her right hand quiver as she clenches a fist - another wave of Not Having A Drink hit a short time ago, and hasn't helped her mood at all.

"Just...just give me a report, or something," she grouses, running her hand through her hair.

Rhijans resisted a momentary urge to grin at her agitated reaction to their return.  If it had been him stuck on the ship, he would likely have felt much the same.  He wouldn't have displayed it so openly, but he was used to being surrounded by more demonstrative personalities.

"Found our man, got in and out safely, and got the information we needed.  There's a shuttle waiting for us in a dormant volcano not too far from here, Jalt will fly us in after dark and we can cross-load our gear and be gone again while it's still dark.  The clearance code we got was, conveniently, supposed to be an ISB code, so that dovetails with our cover story nicely."  He shrugged.

"Part of the delay was because we stumbled across a fatality on our way back.  Since it was in the same place where we stopped to ask for directions on the way in, we thought it'd be wise to investigate briefly.  The body was not the resident, Dak went in to check on the security footage and see if he could scramble anything that indicated we'd ever been there, and we ended up helping someone move a large parcel to help provide a cover for our appearance in the area, just in case anyone official started asking questions."  He rattled it off with cool efficiency, professional detachment.  As he got to that point, he paused, and looked around at the others.

"Anything I missed?"

"Just the part where we didn't check in to let her know," Juragga offered helpfully.  Then caterwauled an apology to the nice Jedi lady.

He stood by the hatch, unlimbering his bowcaster and keeping a sharp eye until everyone was on board.

Rhijans turned, shooting an inscrutable look at the Wookiee.  There was little mistaking the tone of apology at the end, even if he didn't know enough to make out the words...but the rest of it went right past him...in a quantity large enough for him to puzzle out that the Wookiee had said something more than a mere apology.

Internally, he shrugged.  She'd been given the relevant data and if she had questions, she could ask for clarification.  Whatever Juragga had mentioned couldn't have been that critical, or else the Wookiee would have asked UY to translate it for him--or the droid would have done it on his own.  Having what was an apparently opinionated droid as part of the team was going to throw some unexpected wrinkles in the works.  He still counted UY's addition as unquestionably an advantage--but like anyone else, the droid came with some additional baggage to be handled.

All that flashed behind his eyes in a fraction of a second, and then he was back to looking askance at the rest of the group.  "Anyone else?" he urged, carefully choosing to maintain a neutral tone with regards to any response to Juragga's words.  He didn't understand them, editorializing on them would be dubious, at best, and disastrous, at worst.  Best to stick to what you do know, and improvise from there, he reminded himself.

Reldan raises his hands in a "not me" gesture, and carries on walking.  "I've got to prep for launch.  I'll leave you to handle the debriefing."  He pauses and sniffs the air as he moves away, "Why does my ship smell like the inside of a well-used suit of 'trooper armour?"

R2-O0 whistles a non-committal reply as he follows after the pilot.  A yell comes back along the corridor, "Five minutes and we'll be out of here!  Ten tops!"

UY-3PO feels the need to add his own detail to the story, "We have not reported the crime to the authorities.  I did suggest it, but the idea was rejected."  The droid moves his arms in an approximation of a shrug, "I suspect there is a reason for it, but nobody has thought to explain it to a mere droid."

He shuffles away, following Jalt and Artoo, muttering, "Organics!" as he goes.

Rhijans cleared his throat, and shot the droid's departing back a dark look.  "I DID address why we didn't report it.  We don't want the authorities to know that we're here, or that we've ever been here."

He turned and looked at Shard, a bland expression on his face.  "I also told him that if he could come up with a safe way to guarantee a report would be totally anonymous, I was fine with it being reported.  But the last thing we need is a bunch of Imperial officials delaying the mission to ask us a series of questions...one of which will almost certainly be, "Now, what, exactly, was your business here, again?"  Quiet in, quiet out, whenever possible."  And if you can't get out quiet, make sure you demolish anything that might have records of who you were and what you were doing, so they can't review them and track you down.  That had been the approach he'd opted for in the last mission...though, in his own defense, their orders had been, in fact, to destroy the mine, or at least render it inoperable for a while.  The fact that he'd done a fair part of the job before the fighters ever made their attack run was a secondary consideration.

Shard resists an urge to slap her forehead. "Yes, Juragga.  That."  But she flashes the Wookie a quick smile to let him know the tension in her tone isn't aimed his way.  Rhijans, unsurprisingly, gives a perfectly professional brief, and Shard mulls it over as he seeks further input.  It doesn't sound like the best situation, but it's a start and they have information.

That body, though... I know it's going to come back to haunt us.

She shoots a dirty look at Jalt's retreating back.  Trooper armor...  The older woman resists a sudden urge to sniff her shoulder.  I showered.  And it wasn't THAT bad!  Turning back to Rhijans, she folds her arms and nods along with his explanation.  "He makes a good point, You-Why.  I'm none too sanguine about not letting the authorities in on a murder, but we're on a mission.  Someone else can report it; we can't really stand up to close scrutiny, and don't want anyone sending word ahead about our covers, believed or not."

"All right," the woman relents.  "We'd better get strapped in.  Meantime, I'll just note that, as usual, we have Hutt presence in the area.  From the sounds of it, the people of this planet had to fight their way out from under them."  Ugly thought, that.  Turning away, she heads for a seat.

"I'm just glad you lot all made it back."

There is a sudden jolt, although quite a mild one - not even You-Why is in any danger of falling, and the Dancing Bantha lifts, climbing out of the docking bay and into the darkening sky.

Reldan takes her up, out of the atmosphere at a steep angle, while studying the tourist map and comparing it to a terrain overlay on the main scanner.  A short drift in low orbit, and then he drops her, vertically and with the lowest possible thrust, straight into the crater of the volcano.

The whole trip takes something under three minutes.

The Bantha hovers less than two metres off the ground, moving lightly around the crater.  Reldan's voice carries through the ship's internal PA system, "We're there, but I'm not seeing... ah... there you are.  Found the cave.  I'm going in, if anybody wants to come and watch."

Juragga shrugged at Rhijan's noncommittal look.  Women were one thing.  Jedi another.  A Jedi woman?  Some things you just didn't muck with.

At least, if human women were anything like Wookiee females.

They lifted off, and at Reldan's invite, the shaggy walking carpet moved up to the cockpit to take a gander.

Rhijans smiled thinly in Shard's direction.  "I'm pretty sure, short of someone dropping us into a singularity simultaneously, we'd have managed to let you know if something had gone wrong.  Even if it had been nothing more than leaving a commlink open and hidden while we were getting rousted by the authorities."  The smile faded, into something that could have been akin, perhaps, to fondness...but the naturally-angular features of his face didn't convey kinder emotions very well, so it was hard to tell for sure.

"We're a pretty resourceful lot.  While there's one or two of us that I'd worry about, all alone, it'd take something pretty major to get the drop on a group of us."

He heard Jalt's announcement about finding the cave and shook his head slightly.  He wasn't claustrophobic...but he didn't enjoy the thought of being surrounded by stone and at the mercy of someone else's skills, even someone with Jalt's background.  He'd been responsible for his own fate long enough that leaving it to someone else was a real strain for him.  The last thing he needed was a visual reminder that he was someone else's hair's-breadth away from a disastrous end.  He settled in, facing Shard, to wait out what was left of the ride.

Shard eyes Rhijans askance for a moment.  The sharpness of his smile puts her spine on edge.  But that fades, and she relaxes.  The man's a professional, she reasons.  Questioning him might set his back up, and she's not his mother, no matter how worried she gets when the group is out there alone.  "Wasn't thinking you lot couldn't keep yourselves going," she mutters, rising as Jalt announces their arrival.  "Quite the opposite, in fact.  If it came off as that, apologies."

It's not easy, apologizing.  Just when she thinks she doesn't have any pride left, it bubbles up to claw at her again.

But while Juragga heads into the cockpit, Rhijans opts to remain in place.  Dithering for a few seconds, Shard shrugs, sitting back down.  Counterbalance.

"Let me know when you land," she shouts over her shoulder.

Haarmon was in the rear of the vessel, opting out of the story-telling and snarky commentary for maybe the only thing that could distract him from the change to make an ass out of himself in front of others: computers.

He went to the nicest terminal on the ship, muttered a few bad words about what a shoddy piece of crap it was, and then got to work uploading everything they'd learned to Rebel High Command.

The cave is a lava tube, smooth walled and mostly circular, with plenty of room for a ship.  It decends into the mountain at a steep angle, while veering backwards and forwards.  The Bantha's lights play over the smooth stone, and Reldan notes, "It's dry out there, and the temperature is a bit higher than outside, but steady."

Finally they come to a point where a side tunnel branches off, and the shuttle sits there, like some huge bird, waiting for them with its wings folded.  The lights dance across it, causing shadows to move like living things on the cave walls.

"Looks to be in good shape.  no obvious damage, at any rate.  I'll put the Bantha down a bit further along the main tunnel, so she won't be in the way when I bring the shuttle out."

With their own ship landed and secured, the rebels make their way back up to the Imperial shuttle.  In the light of portable lanterns the shuttle seems to be undamaged, if a little dusty.  Inside as well as out...

Juragga frowned when he saw the shuttle.  Giving it a thorough look-see, he was skeptical.  But it looked decent enough to him.

12:14, Today: Juragga rolled 7 (12 excluding the wild die) using 4 dice and +1 pips with the WEG Classic system with rolls of 4,{Wild}1,5,2. Space Transport Repair.

"RaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAuuuuuhhhhhNNNN," he commented, endorsing it as a viable vehicle.

(OOC: This will only end in tears.)

Haarmon looks like he's thinking real hard for a second and then he nods. "If Rags says it's cool, then it's cool. He knows his stuff."

Rhijans shrugged.  He knew enough about ships to be able to pilot them...if the course was pretty basic.  Repairing and maintaining them was beyond him.  It looked Imperial...and that was all he required from it, as long as it operated.

"Well, no sense standing around.  Let's get our gear loaded aboard and get moving...last thing we need is some stray outdoorsman seeing a Lambda shuttle leaving the volcano in the morning and wondering what else might be down here."

"Sounds good." Shard's knowledge of all things mechanical makes for amusing stories around the table after a mission.  It's less amusing on the mission. "I'm good for stowing and going."    Rhijans' witticism produces a tight grin from her, the tension starting to bite again, and she claps Haarmon on the shoulder as she gets to work.

"I'm with you, Haarmon.  If he likes it, that's enough for me."

OOC: Oh dear...

Perhaps surprisingly, the shuttle's engines actually come to life as soon as Reldan completes the start up sequence.  The pilot moves it slowly through the tunnel and up to the surface, and then makes directly for open space, and a jump to hyperspace...