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?"