"Hot sparking VOID," Haarmon spat as the alarm sounded. And then he winced.

Sorry, kid, I'll watch my mouth.

He keyed the communicator as he opened the ramp.

+ Guys, we got Imps leaving orbit. Star Destroyer just entered hyperspace. +
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:01, Sun 23 June 2019.

Leaving?

+ Got it, Haarmon.  Thanks! +

It's Shard's turn to wince, now; with the Imperials heading out of town, there's less reason to runrunrun.  Less reason to run means more time to stick around in the hope of finding something that passes for redress.  And she's not much one for revenge.  Messy, complicated, 'dig two graves' etc...and it changes people.  The older woman has seen it, felt it; once someone takes hold of it once, it can become an addiction, and every wrong needs to be 'righted', every scale balanced with blood.

But she promised to back Jalt's.

"Call it, Jalt," she states without any of this entering her voice.  Instead, Shard scans the area, hunting for snipers.  "It's your play."

Whatever they do, it'll need to be quick; word will get out, now, and next time anyone showing up will be better prepared.  And there will most certainly be a next time.

Rhijans didn't share Jalt's grin, but there was a gleam in his eye that could be recognized as amusement.  His blaster's muzzle prodded the back of the man's head.

"Not sure how Barsh expected to score points with Dargo by killing Jalt before he could pay back what he owes...but Barsh isn't exactly the epitome of forethought in action."

He looked up at Jalt, continuing in a clinically detached tone, "Leaving a dead body in the Hangar could send Barsh a message...if he survived having to explain to Dargo how it happened.  Not that Dargo has any particular reason to care whether you live or die, Jalt...but crime lords get twitchy when their subordinates start showing too much initiative.  It's a short hop from 'If I kill this guy and steal his ship' to 'if I kill the guy in charge', when it comes to trying to get ahead.  Hutts don't like worrying about the loyalty of their minions...it's easier to kill 'em off and find someone equally competent and less ambitious."  He gave Jalt a ghost of a smile.  They'd managed to cast doubt on Barsh's rival...no reason not to do the same for Barsh...

For some reason, the thug seems oddly talkative and helpful.  "Jalt's ship is worth more than his debt.  Barsh probably figured that he'd give it to Dargo as a gift, and come up with a good reason for offing Jalt before letting Dargo know about it."

"Oh well, I guess that's another one to go on the list.  Damned thing is getting pretty long - I need to start clearing some slots."

The news about the star destroyer gives Jalt pause for thought.  "Wonder why they left - they haven't blasted the whole planet from orbit yet.  Must have gotten orders to go somewhere else."

The prisoner, meanwhile, has had a little time to consider some parts of the discussion.

"Don't give me to Dargo.  Let me go, and I'll go straight to him and tell him about Barsh.  It'll be rough, but better than being tortured."

"I don't know..." Rhijans responded, skeptically.  " That's asking us to have faith in a guy who was just trying to kill us, in a place full of liars, thieves, and killers.  It'd be safer to just shoot him and be done with it." Rhijans spoke to Jalt as if the would-be thief wasn't even there...but the glint in his eye was becoming obviously amused.

Still watching the area for a potential sniper, Shard pays only peripheral attention to the conversation.  Sometimes, it's difficult to understand if Rhijans is joking; that's part of his...charm, she supposes.  Also handy when bluffing, something she's fairly certain he has needed to do in his long and undoubtably successful career.

Rather, convincing, as Rhijans, she doubts, only rarely chooses 'bluff'.

"He'll do whatever he thinks is best to save his hide," she clinically notes.  "If that is, in fact, tell Drogo, that'll be it.  If it's 'keep his mouth shut', that'll be it.  If it's 'run, run as far as he can and hope he's not important enough for Drogo to know his name', that'll be it."

There's no judgement in her tone; she'd do the same, in his place; that is to say 'lie and do what she felt she needs to do', not 'shoot people for money'.

Jalt sighs theatrically and squats next to the man, "Right.  Here's the deal... what is your name anyway?"

"Zelva Cornis."

"Here's the deal Zelva... I can call you Zelva, right?  We are going to let you go, and you will run, just as fast as your legs will carry you, straight to Dargo, and you'll tell him that Barsh hired you to off me and take my ship.  I'll be back here in a couple of months, tops, and if I don't hear that you told Dargo all about this... incident... then I'll tell him myself, and I'll be sure to mention your name as an accomplice.  The only reason I'm not going straight to him myself is I don't have time just now."

"So... is that clear?"

"Yes, yes, I'll tell Dargo all about Barsh.  Abso-absolutely." Cornis is almost laughing with relief.

Behind Shard the ramp unlocks and drops open...

Rhijans allowed himself a moment of inner satisfaction...almost a smirk, though it never showed on his face.  Some things were better accomplished through the threat of violence...and while he couldn't beat, say, an angry Wookiee for sheer presence, he made up for it in focus.

"Get moving, before he changes his mind," Rhijans prompted the man, giving him a nudge with the blaster for encouragement.

Shard nods appreciatively.  "Nice."  She means Jalt's choice, mind; it's neat, it wraps everything up with a bow, and it's clean.  "Couple of months, 'tops', indeed," she mutters.  "We're clear -- for now -- so let's get on the ship."

Their visitor has some running to do, it seems.

"Just as glad we didn't take him with us," she continues once the man has left the premises.  "We're running out of room on the ship."  Her gaze flicks to Jalt, who is likely still processing the loss of his brother.  It might hit even harder, soon.  "Do we take off first, then do repairs?  Or is it necessary to be grounded, Jalt?"

Haarmon hears the ramp drop and he bolts out of the cockpit and grabs up the baby (carefully) and runs over to the ramp.

"Everyone okay? Everyone make it? What did you guys do in there?"

He's not surprised. This sort of thing seems to happen a lot whenever this group comes to town. But he wanted to know what was up, and what was next.

The group board the ship with the components, Jalt last.  He takes a quick look around before he mounts the ramp. his face set in a grim scowl.  As he enters the Bantha, he slaps the control to seal the ship up.  "One of the others can fill you in Haarmon."

"I plan to head back to that cave and do the repairs there.  Shouldn't take long - just a matter of switching out the damaged parts.  Then we can get off this rock."

He drops into his seat and starts readying the ship for take off.

"And we still need to decide what to do with our Imperial guest, before we get home, assuming You-Why hasn't killed him while we wer out visiting."

Rhijans shrugged.  "I was under the impression the Colonel had someplace he could put the guy..."  He gestured for Jalt to head for the cockpit and turned to Haarmon.

"All things considered, not too exciting.  Got the parts we needed from Barsh...he offered us a discount if we did something about one of his rivals, so we dropped a rumor with one of Jalt's acquaintances that the rival was part of a Rodian gang trying to muscle in on the Hutts.  Then Barsh decided he didn't like the discount he offered, and wanted to ingratiate himself with Dargo, so he sent those guys to ambush us and take the ship.  The last one took off at a run, promising to go to Dargo about Barsh overstepping his bounds...so we should leave a fairly chaotic mess in our wake, depending on just how much Dargo actually trusts Barsh."  Rhijans paused, an almost-grin flickering across his face.

"If Dargo trusted him that much, the rival wouldn't have been an issue, so I'm pretty sure Barsh is gonna have to do some fast talking."  He shrugged, as if it was all no big deal, and just another day's business.

Hands twitching nervously, Shard hurries aboard the ship, hissing a sigh of relief once everyone is through the hatch and it's locked down.  Safe.  Again.  That's enough for her, for now, and the tremors in her hands slow.

Rhijans and Jalt handle the short version of events; she waits for them to finish before speaking.  "Which brings up the question, how have things been with you, Haarmon?  And our little guest?"  There is some curiosity in the older woman about the baby, despite her lack of interest in children in general.

After Jalt exits, her voice drops.  "Jalt is somewhat...on edge.  Can't blame him, really, given the situation with the cursed Hutt and his brother."  They should keep an eye on him, but she doesn't say it; it smacks too much of 'suspicion'.  It's not that at all; instead, Shard worries.

As always, but now moreso.

The Bantha lifts, and Jalt heads back out across the desert at the minimum altitude consistent with safety.  As the ship hurtles over the sand, Jalt says thoughtfully, "You know, an awful lot of people seem to suspect that Haarmon's new little friend was really some sort of Republic equipment.  Nobody suspected that Nuq Clade were trying to smuggle a person off-world.  Sort of makes me wonder if there are a lot of Republic wrecks out in the desert.  Or at least enough to make people think of them first when word gets around that somebody has a secret to hide."

"I don't think there's a backwater world in the Galaxy that doesn't have rumours of Clone War wrecks." Kourene says from the doorway, with a snort.  "All nonsense of course.  A planet is big, but a downed star destroyer or cruiser is noticeable from orbit by anything with half-decent sensors, and spilled coolant and leaking radiation tend to contaminate the surface over a pretty big area, which is even easier to spot."

The Bantha slides over the edge of the canyon, drops, and starts weaving its way towards the cave...

Rhijans listened thoughtfully, nodding with Kourene's response.  "That's not to mention that not every world was a battleground, or at least a battleground of any note.  The Empire's kind of stuck themselves with that problem, though...with as much effort as they seem to have gone to in eradicating any public faith in the Jedi, they can't exactly have people referencing Jedi artifacts as such...creates more myth and mysticism and legitimizes a group they've tried really hard to erase from the public consciousness.  But since the Jedi were, pretty much, the tools of the Republic, it's easy to call anything like that a 'Republic artifact.'  Gets the message across without bringing up unwanted memories in the public consciousness."

He gave a dry laugh, of sorts...more of a soft snort, really...and added, "Of course, there have been a helluva lot of battles fought over tiny backwater worlds...some of them even predate the Republic.  Go far enough back in history, and all those telltale reactor spills and radiation leaks are just background noise, but there's no knowing how many of those old stories have any reality behind them.  Everybody likes to have their planet be special..."

'Tools of the Republic.'  Indeed.  Shard ponders that phrase as she listens to the three of them speak. Not any more, she considers.  There's something sad in that thought, but also something liberating.  Oh, not that she's a Jedi -- she's not -- but the freedom comes in the idea that the Jedi are gone.

Perhaps something quieter can take their place; and perhaps the place, itself, was artificial, and nothing needs to do so.

"People are more important than any ruin," she murmurs, flopping down into a seat.  "Mostly."  There are some 'people' not worthy of the name, but Shard isn't going to be the one making that choice.  "I'm just happy we got off that planet in one piece...Haarmon?" That last a call-out to wherever the young man sits.  "That girl have any idea where she wants or needs to go?"

Her smile is wry as she turns to the colonel.  "I know we've got a baby care facility at the base, right colonel?"

"Funnily enough... " Kourene says, "We did once have a request for a creche.  Lasted about five minutes... roughly up until I pointed out that there was no guarantee that Imperial troops invading the base would tip-toe past the sleeping infants instead of just starting a battle in the room."

Jalt slips the Bantha into the cave, sets her down, and kills the drive.  "Well, we aren't off the planet yet, but we are still in one piece.  Plus we're a lot closer to getting away."

Kourene smiles, tight-lipped.  "Assuming the components aren't just scrap"

"I don't think so, Colonel.  Too much risk that we might inspect them in front of Barse and notice they were useless. And a fight in the store would have a good chance of damaging his stock, and might tip us off that he was up to no good."

Jalt calls in R2-O0, and the two of them start work, assisted by anybody who feels they can help.  It doesn't take long, an hour perhaps, to sort the components, run diagnostics on them, and position them on the deck adjacent to the ones that they will replace.

Then it's just a matter of going through the ship an switching them out, one by one.  The old components are dropped into bins to keep them from getting mixed with the new, and as each component is replaced the access hatch is closed and marked with a strip of tape.

Three hours to replace all of the parts.

Then another hour to test the systems.  Not thorough tests, those can wait until the Bantha is back at base, just enough to ensure that nothing will burn out the first time it is put under strain.

And finally, after five hours of work, the Dancing Bantha leaves the cave and hurtles towards the edge of the atmosphere...

Jalt gives a satisfied smile.  "Now we're off Yakusant."

Rhijans provided what help he could during the process...which consisted mostly of carrying parts and tools and making sure their Imperial 'guest' was still alive and stayed out of the way.  He'd learned a little bit about flying...he was a semi-comptent pilot, in a pinch...but fixing them was something he'd never had reason to learn.

Shard, similarly to Rhijans, spends her time moving parts as directed (more likely 'aiding Juragga move parts'), nothing more.  They want the Bantha fixed, not damaged further.  She does bring up one concern at the beginning of the process, that Barsh had more than enough time to, for example, plant a beacon on those parts.  Just in case his little plan fell through.

They really should get everything checked upon arrival at the base.

Finally finished and hurtling toward the edge of the atmosphere, she grits her teeth as Jalt breathes his sigh of relief.  "No, we're not," the older woman mutters.  "Not yet."  They'll be 'off' this planet in truth once the stars stretch out before them, in the blurred lines of hypertravel.

"Haarmon!" she shouts over her shoulder.  "Anything from the child?  Feelings?"  An urge to make a diaper change joke seizes her, but she resists.

"We can scan the whole ship for trackers, just to be safe, but I don't think we'll find anything." Jalt say, as he starts entering a course plot into the navcomp, "Barse thought he was going to be presenting the Bantha to Dargo, and Dargo would have definitely had her checked over.  Finding a newly installed tracker would not make Dargo happy."

"And Dargo doesn't handle unhappiness well."

"Kinda betting on that, with the whole rumor of Rodian gangs muscling in and Barsh getting overambitious...but I'm not holding my breath for anyone's sudden demise, either."  Rhijans' tone was crisp, business-like.

"Let's get moving, before You-Why decides to figure out if he's got a physical torture subroutine buried in his programming..."

He didn't sound like he was joking...

Jalt pushes a trio of sliders forward, and beyond the cockpit canopy the stars elongate before transmuting into the swirling energy patterns of hyperspace.

"I've laid in a course for Cireddalbryrlir.  Slight detour from home, just for safety's sake.  Plus it'll give us a chance to work out what to do with the prisoner."

"I already know that." Kourene interjects, "At least I think I do."

"My plan is to take him back to base, without telling him where that is, then shut him in a store room, while an engineering crew construct a prison cell for him.  Way I see it, we can interrogate him at leisure.  He's a tech, so he might have information about Imperial equipment."

Rhijans shrugged.  He'd made his suggestion a long time ago, to send the man to some other sector of space to be interrogated, removing him from any familiar areas and minimizing his chances of being able to engineer some kind of call for assistance.  He wasn't in command, and Kourene had made his decision.

"The detour is a good idea...gives us a chance to double-check for any kind of tracking.  The sooner we get him off the ship, the better, though...let's not prolong this any more than we have to, beyond that."

"More humane than leaving him with You-Why," Shard muses, tacitly agreeing with Rhijans.  You-Why has become somewhat disturbing in some ways of late.  Overly...enthusiastic; better to remove temptation from his grasp.  "Whatever works, colonel; I'm just happy these are decisions you get to make, not me."

And it hits her: they've made it off-world and into hyperspace.  The older woman's fingers begin to tremble, and she slowly sinks into whatever seat is closest; failing that, she has a seat on the deck.  Safe, and everyone made it out once more.  This is when, Shard muses, she would start the drinking in earnest, to drown the roar of escaping tension.  She doesn't have that option any more; she won't take that option any more.

"Time to maybe relax," she mutters.  "Let Haarmon play with the kid.  Poke around for trackers at leisure.  Eat something.  Or is there more pressing business?"