The Dancing Bantha drops out of hyperspace much closer to a star than usual.  That star is a bloated, blue-white orb.

Reldan Jalt curses under his breath, checking and rechecking the ship's radiation shielding and hull temperature sensors.  "That should do the trick I think.  I don't see our friend surviving a fall into that,"

A light blinks into life and an alarm whistles, causing the pilot to give the panel a solid thump with the heel of his hand.  Both light and alarm drop back into inactivity, and Jalt gives a satisfied grunt.  "That fixed it."

"We'll need to get closer, and we'll have to drop the box real quick.  Can't afford to spend too much time down there."

A display screen shows the layout of the system.  "We're here.  There are two gas giants here and here.  This one is the larger one, and Yakusant itself orbits it.  There's a cluster of asteroids way out here.  And that's about it.  Nothing of value to anybody.  Used to be a mining operation on Yakusant, but it's played out."

Rhijans nodded in apparent satisfaction.  "Should do the job.  Now...how do we send the thing on its way?"  He could think of some rather drastic options...the kind of stuff one would try if there were no other viable choices available.  Before he started suggesting any of them, he wanted to see if there were more viable choices available.

Shard stares out at the appalling sight.  Stars have always filled her with the same feeling: a sense of insignificance bordering upon terror.  On the one hand, it's a good thing that sentient life has a reminder of Something Bigger™.  On the other, it makes her reptile mind gibber.

"We could vent it out the airlock, if we're close enough that it won't assume a stable orbit," she notes.  "It's not a sure thing, but I'm guessing this ship doesn't have a tractor beam."

Her eyes narrow. "If we get some distance and come in hard, we could vent it out in the direction of the star, giving it delta-v directly at the target.  Any thoughts on that?"

"Can't we just... put it in a missile? Kind of?"

Haarmon didn't know much about galactic space ordnance.

Rhijans gave Haarmon a mildly amused glance.  He turned to look at Jalt, asking, "Did you install any kind of rocket/missile/torpedo system?  I'm pretty sure these freighters don't come with anything like that standard...those generally have pretty limited defensive utility, and arming ships with strong offensive capability usually takes them out of the civilian market and makes them military-grade."

He shot a glance at Shard and added, "Oh, there are ways we can accelerate it toward the star.  Some are just safer and more effective than others.  But I'm pretty sure we can manage something at least marginally more effective than merely venting an airlock."  He'd actually suggested an option for that...but he was pretty sure nobody had actually taken it very seriously.  And, considering the relative scales involved, it didn't surprise him.

"No launchers, just lasers." Jalt replies, "So any kind of missile or torpedo is out."

"Artoo has thrusters.  He can fly.  And I'm sure if we asked him nicely he wouldn't mind getting closer to the star with the box in t... Ow!" Behind him the astromech droid retracts its electrical welder arm and whistles angrily.

"It was a joke!"

The pilot stares at the ceiling for a moment, then, "I can bring us to a halt relative to the star, and turn the Bantha so that the airlock points directly at the star.  Then somebody can just throw the box straight out at the star.  Only don't ask me to do it, I was never any good at throwing, and I'd probably miss."

"The other problem with that plan is that, from a safe distance, it'd take a long time for the box to reach the star.  And that means either hanging about to watch, or just trusting that nobody else picks it up in that time."

Rhijans shrugged.  "That was actually about what I expected.  Good news is, it's a really big target and you don't have to be particularly accurate. "  He nodded, as much to himself as to anyone, and said, "I'll do it.  Be a good idea to safety-tether me to the airlock...the magnetic boots should be fine...but getting as close to the star as possible means a pretty narrow margin if something goes wrong."

He didn't consider himself great at throwing things...but he had a better-than-fair natural knack for such things.

Shard purses her lips thoughtfully. "If we're going to do it that way, why not face the star, accelerate toward it, Jalt, and then release the box?  That'll get the box going one heck of a lot faster than we could by throwing it, which will take years to arrive."  She's underestimating the time, given the likely distances.  "This way, you can get up to whatever speed necessary to really get the box moving from a distance, and once we get reasonably close to 'safe distance ends here', we can let the box go and change vectors ourselves."

She sketches that in the air with her hands, clumsily.

"Then the box arrives into the 'unsafe' zone more quickly - lots - we're clear, and we can head out, knowing it'll only be an hour or whatever before it splashes into...that."  Wave of the hand at the view.  "Or incinerate halfway there.  Or whatever.  Am I missing something?  Any reason we can't do it that way?  I'm not a pilot, so..."

Haarmon nodded. He had no real notion as to what all this stuff meant, but he was following along. Sort of. "What happens if we drop it out the hatch in hyperspace?"

Rhijans grimaced.  "Nobody knows for sure...I've never heard of anyone dropping something out of hyperspace and successfully finding it again to assess the results.  Best case scenario, it gets pulled apart and disintegrated.  Worst case scenario, it survives perfectly intact and nobody's sure where it is anymore, which means there's a chance the Empire finds it."  He shook his head.

"We'd be better off if it was in a close stable orbit around the star...it would at least be really difficult to find AND incredibly dangerous to retrieve."  He nodded at Shard and continued, "Throwing it while on a high-speed approach should work...theoretically.  If we go that route, it might be better to actually be out on the hull, rather than in the airlock...but the chances of something damaging the suit become higher.  So does the radiation risk.  Those suits aren't perfect protection...the closer to the star we get, the higher the radiation load.  The longer the exposure, the higher the load.  A ship's hull handles it really well, but vacsuits have their limits..."

He lapsed in thought for a moment, then turned to Jalt.  "Can you accelerate toward the star, yaw the ship sideways so the airlock faces the star and coast so the approach vector doesn't change?  That would give us better velocity to send the thing on its way, and minimize the exposure risk.  Once it's gone, kick in the engines and accelerate into an escape orbit?"  He barely paused before adding, "I know it's risky...if we coast too long, we get caught in the gravity well...then we follow the box, once the engines run out."  This was all at the extreme extent of his understanding of physics and astronomy...he'd never had to learn more about flying towards stars than, "If you get too close, you die."

"That would be almost certain success." Jalt muses.  "We'd have to make sure it wasn't travelling fast enough that it might enter an eccentric stable orbit, or even reach escape velocity, if its course got deflected by tidal shear or solar flares, but I can run some nav calculations, which would be able to tell us that."

"We move in, toss it out the lock at high speed, then accelerate away... "

He slaps Haarmon on the back, "Nice idea kid, but not one I want to trust something this important to.  We could throw it out all right, but we'd have no way of knowing where it would go.  We could dump it, and it could end up anywhere... "

"Void!  The Bith, well, some of them at least, believe that an object in hyperspace is everywhere in the Universe at once."

"Simple is better," Shard muses.  "Most of the time, mind, but not always.  All right, so we have a plan." She chuckles.  "I used to say that simple is always better, but Haarmon has come up with some seriously complicated stuff that saw us through, so...."  She shrugs.  "Let's get to this.  I want that thing gone, and us on our way."

She hates the way it sits there, lurking at the back of her mind.  It's like having a Rimbesman handspider in the room; you can't help but keep staring at it, to make sure it hasn't disappeared when you weren't looking.

"Fire up the engines, Jalt." The older woman throws a lopsided grin toward the colonel. "If that's all right, boss.  Also unless anyone has any objection..."

Haarmon smiled a wry smile at Jalt's banter. He was only about half-serious about the Hyperspace. He knew enough to know that it would be a bad idea for them to open a hatch in hyperspace. Whatever happened to the box after that was almost irrelevant.

"Simple is still best," he said to Shard, "But sometimes a thing is only simple in relation to the problem. Stuff gets complicated, simple gets complicated along with it."

He frowned. He was anxious to be rid of the box and on to whatever came next.

Rhijans nodded.  "Run the numbers and set it up.  I'll take care of throwing it, if nobody has objections..."  He looked around the group for any dissenting votes.  It could be something that any of them could do...but there was still an element of risk involved and he felt most comfortable taking that risk himself.

"Hah," Shard replies to Haarmon, grinning.  "Well-put.  I'll keep that in mind for the next time you come up with something that looks complicated at first glance."  And he will, she knows that for a fact.

Rhijans offers to be the one to lob the accursed box toward the star.  Shard considers objections, and rejects them with a sigh.  "I'm good with you throwing the thing, Rhijans."  Fingers knot about each other for a moment. "If I were better trained, maybe I could do it from the other side of the airlock.  Psychokinesis."  No mysticism here; that kind of thing obfuscates and confuses, and Shard prefers clarity.  "But I never quite grasped it before the training...ended, and besides..."  Her eyes narrow as she stares at the offending box.  "I'm not sure I'd want to touch that thing that way.  Seems like it could be dangerous."

She's a little concerned about Rhijans in that situation, as well; not that he's going to be using the Force to touch the box, but who knows?  When threatened with being tossed into a star, it's possible that the consciousness within might be capable of something.

Jalt nods, "I'll get right on it.  The sooner that thing's off my ship, the better.  Does anybody else get an itchy feeling between the shoulder blades, just from being in the same room as it?  Even when it's sealed in the box?"

Jalt moves back towards the cockpit, never quite turning his back on the box completely.

"I'll work on something that'll give us minimum possible drop time, without putting the Bantha in too much danger."

Haarmon eyed Jalt as he left the room. He didn't have an itchy feeling being in the same room with it. It only bothered him when it was opened. And Shard didn't mention anything like that. And, of them all, you would think it would be one of them would find it the most uncomfortable to be around.

But why Jalt? Paranoia? Certainly that was a smuggler's best friend. Just general heebie-jeebies? But the tone of the question had been a little more intent than that.

And he was all alone with it at least once.

Not really sure what he was thinking or if he was crazy, Haarmon walked toward the cockpit. Keeping an eye on Jalt? If the wily pilot pulled something, it would be over before Haarmon knew it had started. And even if he did notice, what could he do about it, skinny and uncoordinated as he was?

All the same.

"Just, um, just be ready to throw the thing," he said to Rhijans as he passed. "Whatever happens."

He wasn't even quite sure what he meant.

He went and sat down in the co-pilot's chair. He knew a little about flying. And a little about navigating. He tried his best to keep track of what Jalt was up to. Make sure there wasn't anything.... untoward happening.

The massive Wookiee leaned against the bulkhead and folded his arms, lifting a shaggy brow at Haarmon as the kid walked past.

Rhijans quirked an eyebrow in surprise as Haarmon walked past him toward the cockpit.  "Been ready to throw that thing since before we found out what it was," he muttered, largely to himself.  The sentiment wasn't entirely accurate, since they had thought, upon initially retrieving it, that it might be a key to overthrowing the Empire...and if the few Sith legends that he'd ever heard were true, it could be.  But he wanted more freedom, not a bigger, more malevolent version of the Empire.

He was more than ready to throw it, since learning what it was.

"Works for me," Shard murmurs in reply to Rhijans' likely-self-directed comment.  With a thin smile, she watches Haarmon head for the cockpit. Wonder what that's about?  Curious.  Haarmon looked unaccountably serious for someone just going to get a bird's eye view.

"I'd tell you to be careful with that box," she continues, "but I figure it would be redundant."  Urging Rhijans to caution? Might as well tell water to stay wet.  "Maybe you could have Juragga with you," she suggests. "Just to grab hold and make sure we don't have TWO packages heading toward the star, in case that thing pulls some kind of shenanigans."

That thought puts an icicle in her, cold and sharp.  "Wouldn't be an acceptable trade," the older woman mutters.

"Here we go!"

The engines ramp up, and send the ship onto an elliptical track that will swing it past the star and out again.  It's not the fastest run, but it's the one with the best chance of success, according to Jalt's calculations. 

Time passes, and Rhijans prepares to toss out the "trash" as the Bantha moves closer to the Yakusant's star.

And finally, after what seems like an eternity, Jalt's voice calls out, "Three minutes!"

Beyond the bridge viewport, an arcing streamer of plasma can be seen ahead, rising higher than the Bantha, before plunging back down into the photosphere.  The ship passes beneat the arc, and Jalt cuts the engines and rotates the Bantha until the angle is right.

In the 'lock, Rhijans squints as the outer hatch opens and admits a flood of light, and then, a moment later, his suits glare shield drops, protecting his eyes.  Now he is in the unenviable position of hanging suspended an uncomfortably short distance above the star, with a very good view of the inferno below...

Rhijans grimaced at Shard's suggestion.  "Don't think we've got a vac-suit that fits him," he replied, and added, "I intend to be tethered to the airlock interior...falling into a star isn't quite the spectacular end I envision for myself."

Then Jalt called out and the ship was moving, and Rhijans got his tether secured and his vacsuit ready and got the box.  He sealed his helmet, bracing himself as the atmosphere in the airlock vented.  Well, now...there's a helluva sight... he thought, more than a little awestruck at seeing a star this close.  It was one thing to know they were flaming balls of gas...it was another thing to see the flames with a naked eye.

They're also extremely radioactive, he reminded himself, breaking the reverie.  He could feel heat, he thought, even through the suit...which could be his mind tricking him, or could be the suit resisting cosmic rays pouring out of the star.  "Any last-minute do's or don't's to where I'm throwing this thing?"

Standing outside the airlock, pacing back and forth - she can't look at the star through the viewports, all of that endless, mindless hunger gives her nausea - Shard fumbles with the comm-unit on her ear.

"Do's and Dont's?  Make sure your cursed tether is secure!" she barks. "Then throw that thing straight at the other thing!  Then close the hatch!  It's pretty cursed straightforward!"  Tension makes her voice shake, and she snaps off the mic, passing a trembling hand over her brow and shooting a glance at Juragga.  Irritation switches to guilt, and she offers the wookie a wan smile.  "Sorry."

The mic goes on again. "Sorry," she repeats.  "Good luck."

Totally unperturbed, Rhijans' reply came back in a dry tone.  "I was asking the guy that did all the orbital approach mathematics...but thanks for the advice."  There was the briefest of pauses, then, "Jalt?  Any recommendations?  It's getting warm in here..."

"What she said.  And do it fast."  He reaches across and thumps the panel, where an amber light is winking at him.  The light goes out, resulting in a relieved smile.

Which vanishes as an alarm warbles urgently...

"There's a lot of radiation.  Maybe some sort of ion storm brewing up.  I'd like to get moving as soon as possible."  There is a loud crack, and sparks pour from one of the overhead boards.

"Like now!"

Rhijans started winding up on 'said'.  By the time Jalt said 'fast', the box was on its way, thrown like a knife and tumbling end-over-end towards the star.  Between the magnetic boots and the tether, Rhijans wasn't worried about following it, and immediately turned to reach for the controls, to shut the outer door...

A tell-tale on the board signals that the hatch has just been sealed.  Jalt takes the drives up to full power and swings the ship away from the star amid a chorus of screaming alarms...

"Half the controls are fried."  He palms the intercom, "Artoo!  We got hit by an ion storm.  See what you can fix!  Controls first."

Hands fly across the panel, holding the ship to its new course.

The ship starts to fill with the acrid smell of burning insulation...

Rhijans cycled the airlock, starting to fumble with the helmet before it was fully pressurized and the inner door opened.  "Let's not do that again anytime soon," he commented drily.  His skin had taken on an odd, purplish tint beneath the gray, and he was sweating profusely.  "It loses its novelty very quickly..."

Shard reaches for Rhijans with the idea of assisting him, but draws back immediately - he's not the sort for having someone pull him back inside when he can manage it himself.  She winces at the smell in the air, automatically turning toward the cabinet with the fire extinguishers.  "We can try to avoid finding ancient, dangerous Sith relics and tossing them into stars, yes," she shoots over her shoulder, but there's no edge to the words.  "Might be nice to have a change of routine."

Locating the fire extinguishers, she hauls out two.  "You might want to sit - your colour is off, badly, and we should check you for radiation before you do anything.  We've got this."  A half-hysterical smile twitches her lips.  "And...good job.  Something to put on the resumé - 'I've dealt with problems by throwing them into stars'."

Handing an extinguisher to Juragga, she heads off in search of fires...something that has truly become distressingly routine on the Bantha.

Rhijans began peeling himself out of the vac suit...he wasn't surprised to hear he looked a little off, the airlock had effectively served as a reflector to start baking him inside his suit, and getting his body temperature back down would be a good first step to dealing with whatever else it might have done to him.  "Yeah...that will be an interesting change of pace," he mused aloud.  "Normally I deal with problems by shooting them.  Or blowing them up..."

He got the suit open, and stepped out, sighing with relief at the relatively cool air of the ship's interior.  He sat down, letting the heat bleed out of his skin...he'd taken care of the bix, the others could deal with whatever else was burning, for now.  He needed a minute.

The Dancing Bantha lurches and rolls very erratically, as Jalt struggles with the controls.

"I'm heading for Yakusant itself.  We need to set down so I can make repairs.  Looks like the navcomp is burned out anyway, so we can't go anywhere.  At least not if we want to arrive."

"Know anything about fixing computers Haarmon?  Mind taking a look and seeing what needs to be done to get us able to navigate again?  Oh-oh's kinda busy right now.  And I have my hands full getting us to the planet."

Juragga took the proferred fire extinguisher and lumbered off in search of something to vent it on.  At Jalt's query to Haarmon, though, he commented over his shoulder.  "Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!"

I can fix most things on the ship, but for the computer, you want Haarmon.

"Haarmon's your guy, I guess," Shard helpfully puts in - loudly - to translate for Juragga.  She continues hunting for problems, her weapon a fire extinguisher like the one Juragga totes.

Stagger stagger as the ship lurches; she compensates, suddenly glad that her last drink is receding into the more distant past.  As much as I still want one, it's better to not be giving myself a concussion right now.

After Rhijans came back into the ship, Haarmon realized how certain he'd been that something really bad was going to happen. Rhijans turn into an Evil Space Wizard. Box transform into a multi-armed lightsaber-wielding Separatist. Shard get possessed. The star to come and kill them all. Something.

So by the time it was over, and they were all alive, he actually let go a held breath, relaxed his hands and thought to himself, thank Void we only got fried by an ion storm.

"Safety" was a relative thing and his threshold on that score had taken a real beating the past few months.

He pulled an exaggerated uneasy face at Jalt's question. "Ion damage is crazy. I got the know-how but maybe not the means. Set 'er down and I'll see what can be seen."

He paused a moment, looked as though he was about to say something to either Shard, or Rhijans, or Rags. Or all of the above. A moment passed as though he wasn't sure what to say. And then he just nodded sort of to himself and went back to dig into the guts of the Bantha's computer banks.

OOC: Rolled a 16 and then a 22 for Computer Prog/Repair. Maybe one to diagnose and one to repair? Or one for hardware and one for software? Or maybe it's a two-roll job? Let me know if you need MOAR ROLLS!

The Bantha limps towards Yakusant.

On board, Haarmon opens up the computer housing, waits for the smoke to clear, then peers inside...  Jalt glances at him, then goes back holding the ship on something resembling its proper course.

Elsewhere on the ship, Haarmon's team mates are on fire suppression duty.  Gradually the acrid smoke clears.

R2-O0 goes about the business of repairing the ship's control systems and, gradually, the Bantha starts to handle a good deal less erratically.  Just in time, as it turns out.  Jalt noses the ship down towards the fringes of the planet's atmosphere...

Haarmon pulls his head out the housing with sweat leaving streaks on his soot-blackened face...

Haarmon absently wiped his face with a damp cloth. It basically just moved the char from place to place rather than remove any of it, but at least he got some of the sweat off.

"So, I got what you call some good news and bad news."

A pause.

"Good news is that, as far as I can tell, the Evil Space Wizard did not escape his box and possess the ship."

He laughed a little to show that he was joking. But it was a pretty humourless laugh since he had been actually anxious about that very thing. And, in fact, since he didn't really know what diagnostic you run to Detect Evil Space Wizard Possession, he was still more than a little anxious about it.

"Bad news, however, is that we need parts. Lots of parts. All kinds of parts. Parts for the parts and parts of other parts. So assuming we all don't die trying to land half-a-possibly-possessed ship, we'll need to go shopping."

Returning with the fire extinguisher, Shard stops dead at Haarmon's words.  She blinks a few times, letting them sink in.  ...possess the ship.  It had never, ever occurred to her that such might be possible, and her stomach knots.  "Thank void you thought of that, Haarmon," she mutters, face gone pasty white.  "I'll have nightmares for months, but I'm glad someone is on the ball."

Suddenly the young man's odd behavior makes perfect sense.

Still struggling to calm herself, she nods along with Haarmon's continued explanation.  "Right.  Hopefully the Rebellion will reimburse our good pilot for any expenses...I'm kidding.  I have some credits.  Not a lot, but it might help."  A moue of distaste crosses her face. "Unless we're talking LOTS of credits, in which case...are we going salvaging?" 

Rhijans shrugged, his color improving as his body cooled back toward a more normal temperature and the specter of heat prostration grew more remote.  "We'll figure it out as we go."  He gave a soft snort that could have been laughter, and observed, "It's not like we had any sort of cohesive plan when we landed on the Star Destroyer...and look how well that turned out."  Like most, he liked having a concrete plan...but he was getting comfortable with the whole 'making it up as we go' method.  After all, it was hard for an enemy to predict your actions and prepare to counter them when you, yourself, had no idea where you were going next...
This message was last edited by the player at 07:07, Thu 01 Mar 2018.

The Bantha drops into the atmosphere, and Yakusant spreads out below her in shades of ochre and tan, constantly shifting as the wind whips up clouds of dust.  Pitted skeletons of industrial machinery jut up from the dusty surface, lost remnants of Yakusant's hopeful past as a corporate mining colony.

Now the name of the corporation that owned the colony is all but forgotten, and they would like to keep it that way - multi-million credit failures don't make for good reading in a share-holders' report, so Yakusant's past is slowly bring eroded and buried, like ancient mining machines...

But there are still people here.

Jalt flies low over a settlement of some sort - a dozen or so domed structures, barely distinguishable from the desert.  And beyond, the ship settles down onto what looks like a landing field - a busy one.

Closer inspection reveals that the ships on the field, apart from Dancing Bantha, are derelicts...

"True enough," Shard murmurs as they approach Yakusant.  "Haarmon is the cursed King of Seat-Of-The-Pants." Then they're in atmo, and she heads for the cockpit for a look.  "Just relax," she shoots over her shoulder, "and drink lots of fluids."

Out and away before Rhijans can shoot any kind of irritated look.

Staring out the viewport, Shard shakes her head in dismay.  "Great place to live," she murmurs. "I wonder how many people are stuck on this dustball, unable to leave?"  And mostly forgotten, from the look of it; such planets are sadly common in the galaxy.  "What's the word?  Buy first, then salvage?  I think in this kind of place, we need to stick together."  She can practically smell the desperation, and Shard hasn't even left the ship yet.

Haarmon watched the planet as they landed, a frown on his face. You didn't have to be any kind of genius to know that there wasn't much going on down there that they wanted any part of.

He looked up at Shard's comment and the ghost of a smile crossed  his face.

"Pfft. Jester of Seat-of-the-Pants, maybe. I'm a strictly point-and-click sort of operative. You and Rhijans are, what you call it, the administrative wing."

He looked back out the window.

"Anyone know anything about this place? Is it, like anarchy with the warring tribes or whatever? Or is there some kind of government? Are we gonna get swarmed with starving scavengers when we land?"

"Was a mining colony that was looking all kinds of good about fifty or sixty years ago." Jalt offers as he powers down the drive.  "But the ore deposits weren't as extensive, or as pure, as the mining company was led to believe."

"And no, no warring tribes.  And swarming scavengers are right out.  Last I heard there's only 500 or so people on the whole planet, could be even less by now, and most of them live in three settlements that are a thousand kilometres, or more, away from each other."

He peers out of the viewscreen.  "Should wait a few minutes for the dust to settle."

"Anyway, where was I?  Oh yes... when you have a couple of hundred people in a settlement, with about a million square kilometres of territory to share between them.  And the next settlement over is just the same... well, I suppose war doesn't make much sense.  Raiding for resources is sort of a sport though.  Funny thing is, we just increased the resource value of the nearest settlement a hundred times, just by landing a working ship here." Jalt grins.  "Same time, we just made the place too dangerous to raid, because a working ship is a powerful weapon."

"Anyway, I've been here before.  Got a contact right here, in the old traffic control centre.  We speak to him first - it could save us some problems with his people.  There's just one problem... "

Rhijans snorted softly.  "Only ONE problem?" he asked, drily.  "That's good...I would have sworn we had at least seven or eight..."  He shot a look at Jalt.

"What's the problem?"

"Admin?"  Shard rears back her head, like a cat who sniffed a bowl of vinegar. Ugh.  "That hurts, Haarmon; that really hurts."

But Jalt is speaking, explaining the situation of Yakusant; Shard listens up, paying closer attention than she would have, oh, a month ago.  Getting off the drink, she muses, has been painful...but also useful.  She's not a hundred percent there yet, but she's closing in.

"Fantastic," the woman grouses.  "So we might have to deal with a cobbled together army...assuming there's one in range."  If they're that strapped for resources, if a single working ship is an enormous thing, the other settlements are rather far for a serious force to reach here in short order.

If there's a raiding party in range, though...or if there's a group not affiliated with settlements close by....

"Fully armed shore party, definitely with Juragga," she murmurs.  "And at least two people on the ship at all times, keeping it buttoned up and weapons ready."

Beyond that?  It's Rhijans' question that needs answering.

"His name's Dargo.  He's a Hutt." Jalt says, casually, as if it isn't that big a potential problem.  The other shoe comes down...

"The most even-tempered Hutt I ever met.  He has a chip on both shoulders.  So we'll need to tread carefully.  As I said, I've dealt with him before, and he owes me some favours.  But, at the same time, I owe him a few.  We should be okay, if we tread carefully."

Rhijans closed his eyes for a moment, an almost-pained expression crossing his features.  "How well does he get along with other Hutts in this sector?"  It shouldn't come up, but...

"If word's made it around that we liberated a bunch of slaves, are we going to have a problem?"

"I... don't know.  He never mentioned them, and I thought it might be better not to open up potential wounds.  None of his people ever brought it up either."

Rhijans grimaced.  "So dealing with him, if he recognizes any if us, is going to be a gamble..."  He shook his head minutely.

"I'm guessing he's not exactly a favored member of their Syndicate...or else he'd have a nicer location for operations.  That can either play in our favor...or really hurt us.  If he's got a grudge, the fact that we pulled a fast one on someone else could really entertain him.  Or, he could figure that handing us over might buy him favor and get him off this dustball."  He sighed and shrugged.

"Or, he may be remote enough that he's just never heard anything about it.  Or we actually did the job well enough that the Hutts don't care about what we did...they got paid and beyond that, it's not their business..."  He looked around the group, then back at Jalt, with a ghost of a smile.

"Are you sure there was only one problem?"

"Only one, as far as I know.  But a Hutt is a big one." Jalt says glumly.  "Even a friendly and cooperative one is out to get an advantage from any conversation.  I hate to think what life must be like on a Hutt world."

"I mean, even if you're on good terms with a Hutt, he'll still try to take your ship and sell you into slavery given a quarter of an excuse.  It's just the way they think."

The pilot gestures towards the viewport.  "Looks like the dust has settled down enough that breath masks could cope with it."

Rhijans nodded, a thoughtful expression in his eyes.  "Might be best if I stay and watch the ship.  I was the spokesman for the group last time we dealt with a Hutt, if word has gotten around...well, there just aren't that many gray-skinned humanoids in the sector."

He shrugged minutely, and looked around the group.  "I've got precious little experience dealing with Hutts...what do you think?"

"I've never met a Hutt I've liked," Shard states.  "But I'm open to the idea.  From what I'm hearing, I doubt it'll happen here."  Her lips thin, pressing hard against one another.  "We don't have a choice, here.  We'll need to deal with him, so we need to hope there won't be a lot of love lost between this one and the others."

She paces in a circle.  "We didn't do a lot of damage, before.  One interrogation droid killed, one guard and another negotiator saved.  That's all.  But Hutts...hold grudges.  I wouldn't be surprised if we were on a list.  The question is whether or not we're on ALL Hutt lists."

The older woman looks up, studying the faces around her.  "I don't think so," she finally concludes.  "My bet is Oomba wouldn't exactly want it to get out how things went down.  It's one thing to have a bunch of people show up, blast the place to pieces, and manage to escape; other Hutts don't want that to happen to them.  It's another to get...tricked, as it were.  Shows weakness, while the other Hutts can think to themselves 'Well, that wouldn't have happened to ME, what's with Oomba, anyway?  Again, not like we have a choice, but I think we can manage here."

Haarmon shrugged. "All of which isn't to say that Oomba isn't capable of plastering our mugs all over the place attached to some other kind of story. Or a bounty with no story at all. Lots of ways to get to someone without using the truth."

He looked out over the wasteland of ships.

"And, according to what Eddie Exposition over there laid down, we might be the first operational ship that's been seen in these skies for a long time. I'm sure the Hutt's palace is lousy with them, but here? Seems less so."

A moment.

"So I think we're going to have some company. Whether it's flower-wreaths or homemade firebombs I can't say. But someone's gonna come gawking. So maybe we ought to get scavenging while the scavenging it good? If we can't find what we need, and have to deal for it, then we're in a different story no matter what. But if our luck holds out maybe we can in and out before anyone's hackles get raised."

A small chuckle. A small smile.

"Or whatever Hutts have instead of hackles. Wattles, maybe."

"Yeah... somebody should stay here.  Dargo knows me, so I nee to go.  But I'm the only one who does, though I'd appreciate the support."  Jalt smiles nervously.  "But the ship needs to be guarded, so at least one person gets to stay behind and watch the store.  And the prisoner.  And Kourene."

He stands and stretches, before checking the charge meter on his blaster.

"Better to get it over with, I suppose.  Anybody who feels like they ought to tag along can do it." and he heads for the exit...

Rhijans nodded.  "I'll stay.  It's safer if we don't risk Oomba having said anything about me...and, with the exception of Juragga, I'm probably the best option for guard duty, anyway."

He gave Shard a glance.  "Jalt will need someone to watch his back...and you're probably the best choice.  They likely wouldn't expect much from you in the way of offensive capability..."  He gave a tight-lipped grin.  "I mean, until you're holding your lightsaber, you're not exactly a portrait of intimidating stature..."

He looked around at the others.  "Beyond that...stay or go as you feel inclined.  I could probably use an extra set of eyes and possibly an extra gun, but Kourene can help out in a pinch, I'm sure, and if anyone's going to try and give Jalt any trouble, they'll be less likely to do it if he's got a few people with him.  One man alone is an easy target...three or four can be a serious undertaking that requires some real motivation."

Shard sighs, nodding agreement. "As always, point to Haarmon.  Oomba might just have put a nice, fat bounty on our heads without saying why."  She purses her lips.  "I'm not sure why he would, either; a big enough bounty would cost him more than what we did.  But I'm not a Hutt, so maybe I'm missing something cultural, like we stepped on what passes for honor in their society."

"And right again, Haarmon, about getting moving."  Wattles.  Ugh.

A nod to Rhijans. "Thanks...I think."  Shard laughs, short and jagged, the murder-stick in her mind.  "I'm not terribly intimidating with it, either; people used to laugh."  And tell her to put it down before she hurts herself...when they had time.

That was, of course, when she was young, with hair like a shimmering black waterfall; certainly, she had never mastered Rhijans' trick with the unnerving, flat stare.

Adjusting her pistol - using the movement to check the location of said murder-stick - she offers a quick nod for a farewell.  "Hold down the fort, then, and be cursed careful yourselves.  I trust this place about as far as I can throw Juragga."  With Jalt vanishing out the door, some speed seems in order, and she hurries after him.

Jalt leads the way off the ship and across the crumbling, garbage strewn, dust shrouded ferrocrete field.  The group quickly discover they are not alone - some kind of hexapedal vermin, some as much as a half meter long, are scuttling around the mounds of debris and the derelict ships.

Occasionally one of the animals chitters angrily at them, and some of the larger specimens give vent to actual growls.

The traffic control centre is even more decrepit than the ships.  As they enter, they see even more vermin,  These aren't animals though, and one of them, a Keth, speaks.

"De watta chadooth cherboki?"

Jalt smiles, "De cherboki gar Dargo."

The alien waves them on, and goes back to sorting through the components of a wrecked console.

Jalt moves further into the ramshackle structure, passing through a broken, half-open door...

Shard keeps a wary eye on the local wildlife when it comes too close, especially the more aggressive looking, larger ones.  Her hand stays on her blaster; by now, they've probably figured out what that means, or at least what the sound and fury of blaster-fire presages.  It's a strong bet they'll keep their distance, or flee the second someone depresses a trigger stud.

A strong bet, but not a sure thing.

She nods to the Keth, glad to be mostly ignored, and continues to follow Jalt.  Unlike the pilot, though, her time is spent observing her surroundings.  She doesn't see anything out of place (for here, or what she'd expect), but the older woman nevertheless carries a crawling sensation between her shoulderblades.  Intuition - experience-driven - gives her warning.

"Someone's watching us," she quietly states for the others.  "Yeah, big surprise, I know."

She doesn't close her eyes, but Shard's stare becomes a touch more glassy for a long moment as she focuses, seeking that balance between fire and ice.

After some careful consideration, Haarmon decided to go with Shard. With Kourene AND Rhijans aboard, the badass quotient was about filled. And he didn't think he was likely to be able to provide much that they couldn't. Comedic relief maybe. But as for that, Kourene's cynical sarcasm plus Rhijans' straight-face meant they probably had that covered too.

He had a mental image of them both standing over some crisis, taciturnly nodding to each other over and over again. And he smiled.

Plus Shard would need whatever meagre backup he was able to provide. Plus it might provide some time for him to grill her some more about the Force. The Box. The Jedi. All that stuff.

And, although there was a NEARLY zero chance she'd let him hold her lightsaber, on the ship, where she wasn't, it was a zero chance.

Worth it.

All the same, he felt out of his depth almost immediately. His hand kept dropping to the hilt of his gun (even though he knew he wasn't much in a fight) and he tried his best not to look as scared as he felt.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:43, Fri 23 Mar 2018.

Jalt nods and mutters, "Yep.  Dargo has a good sized security team.  Not to mention all the usual low-life scum hanging about, and watching for opportunities to appear.  Mostly looking for chances to make their own deals with strangers - things that will make their position here stronger."

He continues walking along the corridor, rounding a corner which takes him further into the structure, passing several humans and aliens along the way.  He ignores the security scanners that he passes occasionally...

Rhijans closed up the ship after the others left, not ready to risk anyone sneaking aboard.  He checked on their 'guest', still under You-Why's supervision.  "Listen for anyone dropping the ramp," he told the droid.  "If I haven't told you anything about letting people on board, sound the alarm."

He checked with Kourene, saying basically the same thing, then headed for the cockpit, arriving just in time to see the others vanish from view on their way to Dargo's base of operations.  With  barely audible grunt and a nod, he settled into the pilot's seat, and settled his gaze in the landscape...or lack thereof...around them, watching for any potential trouble.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:28, Wed 28 Mar 2018.

Juragga followed along and kept his teal eyes pealed for trouble.  He had his bowcaster slung underneath his poncho.  That was the best he could do at looking non-threatening; he was a Wookiee, after all.

Shard pats Juragga's arm. "It's okay to be big and tough here, Juragga.  Probably a good change for you; we've been asking you to be servile and meek too much, and it just doesn't fit."  She offers a wry smile.  "We don't want any trouble, and bullies are smart enough to stay away from you."  It's one thing to pick on something that LOOKS tough in order to get a rep; it's another to pick on a Wookie with the same idea in mind and end up missing a few critical body parts.

"I'm all right with people trying to make deals with us; we can ignore them," she murmurs back to Jalt. "It's the security, the 'official' group that makes me nervous.  Another good reason to stay out of trouble."

It's hard to miss Haarmon's tension; while the young man does a fine job of not looking scared, he looks ready to shoot the first thing that wanders out of an alley in front of him.  "You feeling anything, Haarmon?" she quietly inquires, half to distract him and half...because he had displayed some pretty impressive talent in the past, and might be picking up on things she misses.  She gives a brief gesture to the walls around them.  "This place is packed with people.  They're living hip to hip, here."

In the cockpit of the Bantha, Rhijans keeps a close watch on the nearer wrecked ships and, more particularly, on the hiding places they provide. 

Jalt stops dead in his tracks.  "There's a security post ahead that never used to be there." he mutters.  A short distance along the hall, a group of men in a motley assortment of armour are clustered around a desk which partly blocks the way, and produces a bottleneck.

The men stop a hooded figure, and seem to be talking to it for a short while, before allowing it to pass...

Rhijans focused on the group, assessing them by the way they moved, trying to determine if they might be a problem...and if they were, whether it was a problem that could be handled with a stern word and a hand on a holstered blaster from the base of the ramp, or whether it might take something more, like powering up the turret and pointing the ship's guns at the group...

Juragga straightened and grinned at Shard's mandate.  "GrrrrrrrrAAAAAAAAAWwwwr," he commented.

About time.

Rising up to his full height, he cast his teal eyes about like spotlights, his posture adopting a distinct promise of menace.

"This isn't good," Shard notes, studying the blockade from the corner of one eye while moving to the side of the thoroughfare. "Jalt, your reading on it?  You know this place better than I - we stand a chance of getting through it, or is it something we should try to avoid?"

OOC - Sorry for the short post, just trying to catch up - thought I had already replied!

Jalt shakes his head.  "This is new.  Dargo has pretty tight security, but there was never a post here before.  I know a few of his people, so we might be all right.  But I don't know why he has extra security, and I don't know what it might mean for us."

Up ahead, a couple of Humans, or near-Humans, pass through the checkpoint...

Rhijans scowled, watching the group approach.  He wasn't ready to go confront them yet, but he made sure the blaster was loose in its holster.  "Colonel...?  Might need you to drop into the bottom turret, just to help shoo away some of the locals..."  He didn't intend to go direct to threats...but it wouldn't hurt to have something that said 'GO AWAY' in unmistakable terms.

"Not much choice, then," Shard states.  "I guess we're going to have to chance it - we need to get your parts, or we're not going anywhere fast." She glances to the others in the group. "Haarmon?  Juragga?  Any ideas, or do we just see what comes up?"

If it's talking, she's confident Haarmon can get them through.  If it's violence, well...Juragga will already be right in their faces.

"GrOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWR," Juragga voted. Let's just bull through.

He sounded almost eager.

"Might be a good time to switch to Plan B." Jalt oppines, with a shrug.  Then, "Interesting.  Nobody coming out is being stopped, only the ones going in."

Rhijans nodded, standing at the back of the cockpit, ready to head for the boarding ramp if they kept approaching.  "If necessary, I'll go out and encourage them to be about their business elsewhere...I'm hoping a civil word or two will be all that's needed, but if not, well...a little fire support goes a long way."

The Rebels approach the checkpoint and, as expected, one of the guards on duty steps forward to block their path, while two more stand behind him, and a little to each side, with blasters very casually pointed almost exactly away from the group.

"What business do you have here?"

Jalt squares up to the man, "That's between me and Dargo."

"Really?  Then it will still be between you and Dargo some time next week."

"Wait!  Wait!  Let's not be hasty.  I'm here to trade for parts for my ship, that's all.  I know Dargo, and figured he'd be most likely to be able to get them.  These are my crew, here to help me carry the stuff if I can get it."

The guard ponders this for a moment, then steps aside.

Jalt leads the way onward, and into Dargo's audience chamber, and stops dead...

There are two Hutts in the room, and they look to be on friendly terms...

"Right...." Rhijans muttered.  He started for the ramp.

"Seems they want to parlay...with a little luck, we actually speak the same language."  He paused, at the top of the ramp, checking that his blaster was deep enough in the holster to not fall as he walked, but loose enough that he could pull it in a hurry.  "Cover me...if this goes ugly, be ready to toast the lot of them."

He walked down the ramp, eyes searching to verify that the group he'd seen approaching was the only group in the area, and walked up to what was the apparent spokesman for the group, without saying anything.  He stopped, about five meters away, and looked at the being analytically, arms loosely held to his sides, ready to move but not conspicuously close to the blaster.

Well, they hadn't needed to bull through...but Shard isn't certainly that wouldn't have been the best choice after all.

Hutts, plural.

Friendly Hutts, plural.

Which means they're probably not from the same clutch, or whatever Hutts call it.  But friendly Hutts, plural, that's probably not a good thing.

I hope that's not Oomba... It's so hard to tell them apart.  "I'm sorry," she says, bowing (and making sure the murder-stick is on a part of her belt hidden by her cloak).  "Perhaps this is not a good time?"  Option two - discarded - was to start by running, but running implies both prey and guilt, and she wants to avoid implanting those ideas if possible.

Jalt shakes his head, "Not Oomba, no.  No scars.  But that doesn't mean it isn't working for Oomba."

The Hutts glance at the newcomers, and one of them actually appears to recognise Jalt.  Then the other one drags him back into their own conversation...  "Da sa porko nopa yoka che Jabba.  Hees niboba murishani koose noleeya Solo.  Chuba stuka, hees wamma chuba porkman, chuba settah."

The one who recognised Jalt, presumably Dargo, starts to laugh... a low, rumbling sound...

Rhijans nodded at the question, and listened to the offer.  "Not the captain.  I'm just keeping it safe while the captain talks to Dargo.  Ask him when he comes back."  He stopped short of asking why they needed to charter a flight...he was pretty sure that was a major breach of what little protocol existed in the world of back-water smugglers.

He did have one question that might be helpful.  "You have something besides Imperial credits?  We can take them...but our captain might prefer some other form of payment."  It was the one question he could think of that might suss out just how Imperial they were, without advertising the crew's decidedly anti-Imperial sentiments.

Haarmon had been following along quietly, watching everything, trying not to look too scared. He found his hand dipping to the butt of his pistol again and again at every noise or sudden movement. He had almost broken himself of that habit but this was all pretty scary.

"Looks like he's real happy to see you," Haarmon muttered, sourly. "Looks like this is going to go easy after all."

He started eyeing exits.

Just in case.

Jalt frowns and gestures to Haarmon to wait while he listens to the conversation, "Near as I can make out, somebody called Solo has done something to upset somebody called Jabba, probably a Hutt, and bounty hunters have been contracted to find him.  It's nothing to do with us.  We just have to wait our turn while the Hutts deal with their own business."

"We should be good.  Hmmm... some of Dargo's people are taking an interest in us."

He's right, at various points around the room, eyes have turned towards the Rebel team, and there seems to be a certain amount of whispering going on...

Haarmon squinted his eyes and leaned in to his compatriots. "I can't follow his syntax. Does he have Imperial credits or does he want Imperial credits? And do we even have any?"

Shard restrains herself from slapping Haarmon's hand away from his pistol; she understands his feelings, all-too-well.  And sympathizes.  Enormously.  "Wouldn't want to be Solo," she murmurs, glad it's less about Jalt and more about whomever this person happens to be.  "Aaaaand...you're right.  We're being watched.  Maybe it's because we're new, maybe it's because...well, someone knows something and word is getting around."

Like, the fact that they have a ship.

"I'm not sure," she whispers in reply to Haarmon.  "I'm not familiar with this language...."  But she does peer at one of the staring personalities.

Find the balance.

Reach out.

Connect.

This message was deleted by the player at 21:50, Fri 27 Apr 2018.

"Chuba nopa koochoo.  Jabba porko lorda.  Soong mo gootu da hees do pateesa."

Dargo grumbles, "Mi stuka da!  Dobrah nopa maja!"

Jalt smiles, "The other Hutt is trying to explain that this Jabba is powerful, and it would be good if he owed Dargo something.  Dargo apparently doesn't like having simple stuff like that explained to him."

Rhijans' face tightened, and he asked, "Is there someone here we should be concerned about seeing us talk to you?"  His voice took on any icy tone.  "We've got a droid aboard who doesn't react well to strangers...we can talk out here, but if we should be aware of someone looking for you, it could impact the asking price for your ride."  His eyes flicked quickly, scanning the wreckage yard/spaceport for anyone that might be watching their discussion, before settling again on the individual in front of him.

Juragga just drew himself up to his full height and folded his arms across his shaggy chest, glowering menacingly.

"Good call, Juragga."  Indirectly intimidating without pushing anyone specific; just the sort of thing to keep people from approaching too close.  Shard stares around the room, looking somewhat unfocused.  Gradually her sidelong gaze settles upon one man - a human, from the look - for a moment longer than the others, then slides away.  Slowly, she breathes out, and her gaze sharpens.

"I'm fairly sure, now, that word is out that there's a new ship," she quietly murmurs.  "One fellow over there knows you, Jalt, and is considering setting up something for a delivery off this world.  I'm betting it's something similar with most, if not all of the others; we're either new faces, or they know you and are looking to get some use out of that."

She elbows the smuggler in the side, but lightly.  "Hey.  You're famous."

On the platform, the Hutts continue their conversation...

Jalt grins at Shard, "I bet I'm not as famous as Solo will be if this Jabba finds him.  By the sound of it, he'll be used as an example."

"A very messy example."

Across the room, the man whose mind Shard had probed stands and starts towards the group.  He's wearing a poncho, which he throws back over his shoulder to reveal the heavy blaster at his right hip.  His hand stays well clear of the weapon though...

Two Ubese follow him across the room...

Rhijans nodded.  "I'll let him know, when he gets back.  You want to leave a name, or should I just tell him there's a possible charter coming?  And I'd get here soon after he gets back, if I were you...there's a good chance he'll be eager to be on his way."  Rhijans delivered it all in the same matter-of-fact tone, as if he bored with such negotiations through their repetition.

Shard recalls a dark room in the prison area of Oomba's fortress, and its floating, spindly-armed occupant.  She shudders. "Messy examples...yes."  Then her eyes narrow as the poncho-wearing individual begins his walk across the space between them.  "Your prospective employer is heading this way, Jalt...but it's those Ubese that worry me."

It's vaguely possible one of them is the same Ubese who took the freed slaves and sold them.  In which case, there's a recognition issue.  Also the issue, Shard grimly considers, that she might open the Ubese up with the murder-stick.

"Let's see what he wants," she suggests.  Makes no sense to tell everyone to stay on their guard; they know their business.

"Jalt." the newcomer says, with nothing in the way of niceties, "I got a job for you."

Jalt peers into the worn. tired looking face, "Sorry Cordes.  It is Cordes, right?  I can't take any jobs just now.  The Bantha took a battering and she's grounded.  Until she's repaired I can't take anything.  Why don't you talk to Harlon?  He's usually looking for work."

Cordes shakes his head, "You not heard?  Dargo had Harlon killed, a piece at a time.  Seems he missed some loan payments.  Dargo took his ship, and had him tortured to death."

Jalt's face goes deathly pale...

"Not going to happen," Shard mutters.  Facing the man, she looks him up and down.  "If you need a job done, I'm sure Jalt will be happy to do it.  We just need to get the Bantha repaired.  The one follows the other; if your job is important -" it will be, to him "- then I'm betting the Bantha getting repaired is your best game in town."

She glances around the room, letting her mind relax, seeking that place between fury and void.  "Not looking for a handout - doesn't make sense for you to lose money getting a job done - but some support might be a good thing.  Stuff to look out for, who to avoid, that kind of thing.  Maybe even a word in the right ear." 

Rhijans nodded.  "I'll pass the message along, when he gets back.  We'll see, from there...we're kind of in the middle of a job right now, so he may not have an option for another charter at the moment.  I leave that stuff up to him...I just keep the ship safe."  He gave another curt nod.  "Nuq Nec Tchoq, of Nuq Clade," and he gestured in the direction of the building.

"I'll make sure he gets the message."

Haarmon lurked behind Jalt and Shard. He didn't anything constructive to add to their conversation. And he also didn't like the look of those Urbese. So he loosened his own overcoat and let his hand linger along the grip of his blaster pistol.

And he did his best to look as menacing as he could. Which was plenty, actually. Haarmon was pretty good at looking menacing.

Deep booming laughter echoes across the room.  Dargo apparently knows some funny jokes, at least they're funny by Hutt standards, which probably means that somebody is getting badly hurt.

Jalt scowls, and his right hand strays towards the blaster at his hip, not quite reaching it.

Cordes opens his mouth to speak.  Closes it again, giving Shard a shrewd look.  Then says, "Maybe I can help with that.  I do know some people.  I might be able to call in a favour or two."

Jalt, meanwhile is still glaring at the Hutts, Dargo in particular...

Rhijans waited and watched them withdraw, his face impassive as always, before he turned and walked back aboard the ship, pausing to close up the hatch behind him...just in case anyone had any ideas about trying to rush the ship.  Apparently functional transports were in short supply in these parts...

"Anybody know anything about Nuq Clade?  I want to know whether to encourage Jalt to talk to them when he gets back, or let him know they want to see him and that he better run the other direction..."

"Then maybe you can help us and we can help you," Shard replies.  She's not going to ferry slaves off this world -- rather, she will, but they won't get where they're going -- or any pharmaceuticals that might harm their users, but...some flexibility with stolen goods or the like might be a good idea.  She glances nervously toward Dargo as his laughter rings out.  "Otherwise, maybe nobody gets what they want."

Haarmon and Juragga seem to be keeping control; she's tad worried about Jalt.  "Stay frosty, Jalt.  We've been in worse situations --" which doesn't make this one positive "-- and we'll all make it out.  All."  Her eyes narrow.  "Seeing something specific you don't like?"

Cordes nods, "I don't think you'll have any issues with this job.  Problems maybe, which is why I need a good pilot, but issues... not as far as I know."

Jalt turns his head to look at Shard, "Frosty... right."  He looks back at Dargo, and growls, "Yeah... you might say I'm seeing something I don't like.  I'm seeing the Hutt who just killed Harlon Jalt."

Kourene replies to Rhijans, "I don't know this Nuq Clade specifically, but I've heard a bit about the Clades.  As I understand it, they're descendants of the original settlers here, before the mining company moved in.  Each Clade is a sort of extended family, and they don't work well together.  A bit of rivalry, that mostly shows as occasional thefts from each other, and sometimes brawls when their interests clash.  They also have the same sort of relationship with the company colonists."

"A sort of subdued hostility."

Rhijans gave a brief 'hrmph', thinking over the information Kourene had shared.  "Why do you imagine one of them would seek a charter flight?" he asked simply.They didn't sound like the types to get caught up in planet-hopping...

"Good to hear," Shard sends back to Cordes before returning her attention to Jalt.  And she's glad she did, because suddenly things start to click in her head.

Jalt hadn't been suddenly worried he would end in pieces due to debts...

He had known this Harlon...

Known him well...

Been related to him...

"Hot void," she hisses. "Jalt, was Harlon your brother?  Or father?" Void help her if Harlon was his son. Tortured to death.  "I'm sorry, Jalt - I didn't realize..." Shard trails off, then grips his arm. "Listen to me.  We need to get those parts to get off this world.  But I don't care who we get them from, in the end."

Her grip tightens. "I will back any play you make, Jalt.  Understand?  If now, then now.  But if you want to make sure...we're better off planning this carefully."

Overhearing Jalt's conversation with Shard, Juragga narrowed his teal eyes at the Hutt and tensed.  If things went south, he would be ready... he slipped his paw under his poncho to his bowcaster.

Haarmon could have slapped himself in the head.

He muttered, "Yeah. Ditto. But look. Lots of way to make someone pay that isn't shooting them, yeah? We do what we have to do, we get out, we jack the from orbit. But, like Shard says, whatever you say, goes."

"He's going to die.  And I'll be responsible.  He's not going to get away with killing my kid brother."

Jalt shakes hs head, "But for now we need parts for the Bantha, and Dargo is the best source.  So we'll deal with him, and then I'll make him pay for what he did to Harlon."

On the platform, the Hutts seem to be winding up their business...

Kourene frowns, "Could be anything.  He talked about salvage, so maybe they found something in one of the wrecks that they'd be happier if none of the other Clades knew about it.  Or something that they've traded, and they need someone to deliver it."

Rhijans nodded, and shrugged.  "Odds are good it's something totally innocuous.  I just got put on guard because he offered to pay in Imperial credits..."  He shrugged.

"Not that being on a Hutt's base-world and unable to leave, and having a high-value passenger on board didn't already have me wary."  The delivery was deadpan...he could have been making a joke about his own mindset.  Or he could merely have been offering commentary on the situation.  The ghost of a tight-lipped grimace as he said it didn't really offer much assistance in deciding which one it was.

The second Hutt slithers further back on the platform and half closes its eyes.

Dargo looks around the room, and pretends to see Jalt for the first time.

" Reldan Jalt!  Mah yuna ulwan!  Fa baa doth bom bom janse!"

"Dargo... yes, it's been a while."

"Haku woy uba gee che mi?"

Jalt shakes his head, "Got nothing for you this time.  Next time I come by I'll have something special for you.  This time... well, the Bantha has problems, I need to get some parts.  I can pay."

Dargo laughs, "Dobra kouzago-ake bai babau da.  Mah coy mee dikea doth mee, che wa tapkaconha duapa cou."

Jalt bows, and as he straightens he mutters, "I have a bad feeling about this.  Dargo never offered anything at a low price before."

Kourene considers Rhijans comment about the Imperial Credits, then, "Unfortunately Credits are the most commonly accepted currency in the Galaxy.  If you want to trade with somebody from another planet, then Credits are the most likely medium of exchange.  These people probably scrape together as many Credits as they can to hire offworld pilots."

"I say we let Jalt deal with the situation.  He knows what's acceptable, and what isn't."

"Works for me, Jalt." Shard has yet to meet a Hutt she has respected, and met far too many that the galaxy could do without.  Dargo seems no different from the latter group.  There's no chance she's going to try to stop Jalt; no, he's team, and they'll work out a way to relieve the bloated, murdering sack of his life.

Sometimes one needs to make justice by slapping its label atop 'revenge'.

There's a parlay back and forth between Dargo and Jalt, ending with a whispered warning. "Hutts never do, no, not any of them," Shard quietly agrees.  "Not unless they feel they'll get more out of it than they're 'losing' by not gouging someone with the price."

Her gut rolls.  The one thing worse than bargaining with a Hutt focused on credits is bargaining with a Hutt focused on something it feels more important than credits.

"I thank you for your generosity Dargo.  I will be sure to repay it, in full, once the Bantha is repaired."

"Fa doth wa dosokai che mah yuna ceuah." and the Hutt starts laughing, generating ripples across his corpulent body.

"Well... we need to get going.  The sooner I can see about those parts, the sooner I'll be flying again." the smuggler starts to turn away.

The laughter stops.  "Bo kacanka... "  Jalt freezes...

Oh, fantastic.

Shard can't really jump in here; she can't follow the language, and doesn't want to create a (worse) problem.  All the woman can do for the moment is watch and wait, and try to see what's coming before it materializes.

Her eyes flick left and right, gauging the reactions of any strongarm types the Hutt has in the room.

Dargo slithers forward on the platform...

"Uba nagey vehpobaee wa jakola.  Gee uba vee nan hhont wa Yih naa Jabba?  Haku woy uba bla vehpobaee jen?"

The second Hutt immediately perks up and stares at Jalt, but the smuggler actually looks quite relieved.

"No, I never heard of him.  I don't think he's as famous as the great and mighty Dargo."

Dargo roars with laughter.  "Pacmuecanka doth fa?  Bolla, yoieu doptkee see wata.  Bolla wepta mee pankpa."

Jalt bows and backs away from the platform, muttering, "Everybody just walk.  We're leaving.  And smile."

Tail measuring contest?  "Really?" Shard mutters through thin lips.  Still, better that than something worse...and she doesn't need to be a judge.  Taking Jalt at his word, she offers a short bow of her own with a small smile -- no show of teeth -- and shuffles backward with their pilot until he turns.  Then she, herself, follows suit, resisting the urge to wipe the sheen from her forehead.

Back out in the corridor, Jalt's smile slips, cracks, and settles into a scowl as he makes his way back towards the entrance to the building.

"We'll head back to the Bantha, I want to run another check.  See if there's anything else it might be worth grabbing while Dargo's feeling generous, apart from the stuff we really need."

"Then, when we lift off, I think I'll open fire on his palace before we leave the area."

Shard cocks an eyebrow at Jalt as they stride away.  When she speaks, she keeps her voice low, but avoids whispering.  "This place is probably armored, and has its own defences.  You want to give him a reason for a new paint job?  Or you want him gone?"

Her lips press together, hard enough to push out what little colour remains.  "Because if you want him gone, I'm good for helping you with that.  It'll take planning, and time, but it's not impossible, Jalt."  One hand rises to touch his shoulder, no more than that.  "You're a good friend and part of the team.  You tell me what you want here, and I'll back it."

Harrmon lurked behind Jalt and Shard. He kept his eyes on the rest of the room, watching for anything dangerous.

Or, you know, more dangerous. More pressingly dangerous.

Jalt sighs.  "You're right." he says glumly, "The Bantha doesn't have the fire power for something like that."  He falls silent as the group head back to the ship.

As the Dancing Bantha comes back into view the pilot stops for a moment, grinning.  "Better plan.  I need to talk to the Colonel."

He starts walking again, though now with more purpose...

"We need to steal a star destroyer... "

Juragga hooted his approval of THAT idea!

Facepalm time, but Shard holds off on it due to the gravity of the situation.  "Keeping in mind that exploding this entire town would kill a lot of..."  She trails off, glancing around.  "...potentially innocent people, maybe we want something a little more precise.  But I'm open to your plan with the Destroyer, assuming we can target effectively."

And capture one, but that's a given.

Juragga, naturally, is all for this plan.  There's that urge to facepalm again, but Shard resists.  It's not quite as farfetched as her first feeling, given they have already successfully infiltrated and escaped from a Star Destroyer.

Wait.  It is, because they'd need to get on board with sufficient crew to FLY the cursed thing, unless they can somehow persuade the Imperials.  "I don't think 'I'm Ghea Nimadda!' is going to work again," she murmurs to herself.

There's always that superweapon, of course....

The team re-enters the Dancing Bantha, to find Rhijans waiting for them.  There is much to explain on both sides...

Jalt starts things, but is less than honest.

"Dargo has agreed to let us use his repair shop, and workers, to fix the Bantha.  How were things here?  Any trouble?"

Rhijans shrugged, and a glimmer in his eye indicated he might, possibly, have been amused by the question.  "Trouble?  Not yet.  but there's a group from Nuq Clade who want to talk to you about chartering the Bantha."  He paused, assessing the reaction, if any, to the information.

Short pause. "I've nothing on them.  Him.  Her."  Shard shrugs.  Could be all three, depending on the species.  Hardly surprising Rhijans has had 'no trouble'; there hasn't been any Star Destroyer crash-landing, for example.

She shoots a glance at Jalt.  "But we have another issue.  Dargo offered parts at a low price, which...Jalt feels doesn't sit right.  Matches with what I...with what everyone knows about Hutts, to boot.  And then there's the final matter."  The older woman cocks an eyebrow. "You want to tell them, Jalt?  I can, otherwise."

Haarmon sits down in a chair off to the side. Less a sit, more a flop. That was pretty exhausting. Acting tough all the time took it out of you. He didn't know how Rags and Rhijans did it.

That's because you were acting tough, he told himself, Rhijans and Rags are tough. They'd get tired acting twitchy and socially nonconstructive.

He chuckled to himself. It was good to have friends.

"You know," he said, mostly to himself, "Stealing a Star Destroyer isn't that hard. Well, you know, it's hard. But not, like, impossible. The hard part is getting it away. It's not like the four of us could just fire it up and woo-hoo off into the stars, yeah? What's the minimum crew compliment on one of those? A bazillion? That's the hard part."

He realized he'd interrupted.

"Sorry. Anyway. Never mind."

Maybe try acting silent sometimes and see how that goes.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 13:02, Fri 22 June 2018.

Rhijans looked at Haarmon for a moment, his expression inscrutable.  "Is that part of the deal for the parts?  That would certainly explain a Hutt being willing to part with something for below market value..."  He thought for a moment, and added,"If you had enough droids with the right programming, you could maybe steal one with fifty people...assuming you could get the Imperials to vacate, and that you didn't need to fight your way out of wherever you were stealing it.  It's a little bigger operation than we're equipped to manage."  His words were analytical...no hint of disbelief.  No hint of worry, either...just an apparent acceptance of the premise and calculations of how to make it work.

"Nuq Clade?  Never heard of them specifically, but the clades tend to have a lot of complicated connections with each other.  Trouble is that could be good or bad, depending on the clade, and what they're trying to get you involved with."

"I'll talk to them though... see what they want."

Then Shard speaks, and Jalt's expression falls.

No sense trying to be coy.  Shard has pretty much told Rhijans that there is a complication, and that it's something to do with me.

Jalt sighs and gives a slow nod.  "I just found out that Dargo is responsible for the death of my brother.  I'm not planning to take it laying down."

Rhijans initial reaction to Jalt's information was visually not noticeably different than hus reaction to Haarmon.  "Do you want him to know where it's coming from, and why?  Or do you just want revenge?"  Again, the words were analytical, non-judgmental...as if it was accepted as a given that something would be done, and the next logical question was whether or not whatever act to be taken should be anonymous.

"Nuq Clade is located in that direction...told them I'd let you know they were asking, but didn't promise anything."  He gave the minutest of shrugs, and added, "Maybe their job can help with the payback.  They obviously don't want to do business with Dargo.  From the sound of things, they have credits enough...but they came here, and they were at least moderately concerned about who may have seen them."  There were plenty of possible reasons for them to have gone to someone besides Dargo...but the most likely options, in Rhijans' mind, were either that they wanted something that Dargo would frown on, or they couldn't afford what Dargo would charge...and under-cutting the Hutt's asking price would, again, be something Dargo didn't want.

Juragga nodded to Jalt, a low warble of Wookiee rumbling following.

I understand honor debts.  If you need to take care of Dargo, we can help or we can stay out of the way, as your honor demands, he said.

As to the other matter...

"GrOOOOOOWwwwwrrr," he commented.

It doesn't have to be one of the new, top-of-the-line Imperial-class ships to be effective.  An older ship, like a Victory, would do almost as well, and might be much easier to obtain.

"Thanks for the support." Jalt smiles, briefly, "Thinking about it, if we're going to grab a star destroyer, or anything else even close to that size, we're going to need more people to help fly it.  Even something like an early model Victory class needs a big crew, even if it's not going to be in a fight."

"So 'just the people in this room' isn't going to cut it.  Probably not enough people at Defiance Base even.  Might need to call in people from other Alliance bases."

He sighs, "I'll go talk to Nuq Clade first, and then I'll speak to the Colonel when I come back."

Rhijans nodded.  "I'll go with you...they've seen me up close, that should help avoid potential misunderstandings as to who you are."  He paused, his lips tightening into something akin to a grimace.  "They seemed concerned about being out in the open, worried someone might take action.  They might be edgy about strangers coming in on them, too..."  He gave a look at the others.

"Pretty sure nobody's going to tangle with a ship that's got a Wookiee on the crew, especially if he's got backup."

Haarmon was more than a little surprised that the conversation about stealing a Star Destroyer went on this long. He figured it half a joke, half an exaggeration. But certainly it seemed a lot more serious now than when they started.

"Hey, we should recruit the Clades. Round up, unify them Chosen One style, lead them to the promised land."

He was kidding.

Maybe.

This had turned out to be a very strange day.

Shard grins.  Unsurprisingly, the others are full of support for Jalt's situation and plans.  Good team....honor debts indeed.  "So we talk to this Clade --" a glance to Rhijans "-- or maybe just you and Rhijans, and Juragga?" It seems Rhijans implies it should be a small group, and Juragga would be a good deterrent.  Better than a broken-down old woman. "I can babysit the Bantha this time," she offers with a shrug.  It wouldn't be the first time.

The smile tightens.  "Then we figure out what to do about that cursed Hutt.  And how Jalt wants to play it."

Dead Hutt?  Or big writing across the sky for him to read, before he becomes dead Hutt?  Either way, Shard considers, it's going to be dead Hutt in the end.

One eyebrow quirks toward Haarmon.  "As usual, Haarmon's idea has some weight.  Might want to figure out where the Clades stand on things."

Rhijans gave a small shrug.  "I was actually thinking Juragga should stay with the ship.  The way our visitor behaved implied there are other groups out there...who might not be interested in a charter arrangement, they might just want the ship.  Pretty sure none of them will want to tangle with an angry Wookiee."  He gave Shard a steady look, one that had no judgment in it.

"But we can take him along.  I don't think Nuq Clade is intending any sort of confrontation...but they may be less likely to argue over the price of the charter with Juragga standing over Jalt's shoulder during negotiations.

Shard lets out a small sigh.  "My misunderstanding.  Well, I'm good either way." Rhijans is the person with the first-hand knowledge of this.  Jalt understands the people and place.  She'll leave it to them to decide who stays and who leaves.

"I'm not terribly imposing, is all," she offers.  Even Haarmon -- with his special rig and pistol -- looks more dangerous, Shard suspects.  And the others?  Jalt is known.  Juragga...well, no questions there.  And sane people would rather stuff their hands into an acadi nest than mess with Rhijans.

"Good idea." Jalt points at Haarmon.

"These Clades live here.  Might have access to stuff that would be useful.  And there might be some that don't really like Dargo much.  I mean, he's a Hutt... it's not like he won't have any enemies."

Considering options, he finally says, "Rhijans... you're a known face.  Nuq Clade see you, and they know that we're from this ship.  Juragga to show we mean business.  And Haarmon, because we might need to slice something, and it'd be embarrassing to have to come back to collect you."

"What do think?  Do we need You-Why for translation?"

Rhijans shrugged.  "They don't speak Basic natively, so it might not be a bad idea.  I wouldn't start off with him translating, though...he might overhear something useful if they think we don't understand what they're saying..."  He'd made his point about leaving Juragga to guard the ship...if he was the only one worried about it, he wouldn't press the point.

Haarmon pulled a sour face. "You know I got into the slicing gig to do cool things from home in my comfy pants watching holo vids and drinking energy drink. I never really accounted for so many places not being wireless. Curse of the Outer Rim I guess."

He shrugged.

"I mean, I'm not tactics here. I'm point-and-click. So whatever your call is, I'll back the play. But by my count that leaves Shard in the ship by her lone, yeah?"

He blushed a little and looked at Shard shyly.

"Which isn't to say that you can't, like, handle yourself. But it's a lot of planet out there. And what's not trying to kill us don't much care if we die."

A shrug.

"I think Shard and Rags watch the ship. The rest of us just look as mean as possible."

He thought they'd miss both of them where they were headed. But someone had to stay back. And Shard and Juragga were the two people the most important to him in the entire galaxy. He'd only ever trust one of them to watch the other.

"Well...not alone, no.  The Colonel's still there.  So's our 'guest'..."  Rhijans had never asked the captured tech's name...honestly, he didn't care.

"That does bring up a potential downside to bringing You-Why...if he's with us, and anything goes wrong, that tech has nobody watching him.  I don't think he'd make a run for it...but he could make problems for us to deal with, later."

"Good point about the tech." Jalt concedes, "And You-Why has been a bit... disturbing... recently.  I might feel better if we don't take him.  As for the rest... I've rethought this with your input."

"Haarmon, I've seen you use a blaster.  You can slice if you need to, and you're useful in a fight, if it comes down to that.  Rhijans, you should come along too.  Again you're good in a fight, and Nuq Clade have met you before."

"Shard and Juragga... you two protect my ship, and the Colonel.  And you try to keep You-Why from going all Butcher of Chrurlsarl on the prisoner.  Three of us should be enough to negotiate with a Clade."

Juragga rumbled uncomfortably and glanced to Shard.  He didn't like letting Haarmon go off without him.  Not that he didn't trust Rhijans, or Jalt...

But if there was going to be head-bashing, that was what he was around for.  All he was good for, really, he thought darkly.

Rhijans gave a grunt and a micro-shrug that could have been agreement, or just acknowledgment of the decision.  He didn't offer any detracting opinion, however...just stood there, ready to go.

Shard grins back at Haarmon, cocking her eyebrow.  "It's fine, Haarmon.  I'm not offended...and like I said, being able to take care of myself doesn't mean that trouble avoids me like it does Juragga or Rhijans."  Juragga being Wookie!, and Rhijans being death walking.  "If the group wants to leave Juragga here to baby-sit me -" the smile makes it a joke, not a bitter denunciation "- I'm not going to argue.  Myself, Juragga, and the colonel will hold down the fort, here, unless Juragga figures otherwise."

But that smile thins.  "Which means you're going to need to be EXTRA careful."  Telling that to Rhijans is like asking a Hutt to be corrupt, so this is more for Jalt (currently mainlining revenge juice) and Haarmon (who tends toward the reckless and dramatic when nervous).  "You're going into a situation that could blow up in your faces: sounding out a group about turning on the local warlord.  So..."

She shoots a glance at Jalt, then leans a touch closer to Haarmon, eyes dark with concern.  "You watch your rears.  Anything looks crooked, leg it.  Got it, student?"

A significant glance at Rhijans follows.  Rhijans being Rhijans, it's redundant to ask him to make sure they all come back.  Shard being Shard, she can't help herself.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:40, Tue 03 July 2018.

Rhijans didn't react visibly to Shard's words...just commented, drily, "We're going to see what this chater is that they wanted to do.  We won't talk about anything riskier than that until we have some idea of how they feel about Dargo."  His dark eyes went form Shard to Haarmon, and came to rest on Jalt as he spoke.  Emotions were high, certainly...he'd have to keep everyone on task, if things started to get out of hand...

Haarmon blinked and looked at Shard and nodded and muttered some form of agreement.

No one had ever called him useful in a fight before. He wasn't sure how to handle it.

Jalt thinks for a moment, before grinning.  "Rhijans... which building did you say this Clade were based out of?"

When Rhijans points it out again, Jalt nods.  "Right.  Easy enough.  We'll take comlinks with us.  If there's any trouble, we'll get out of there and call it in.  If that happens, I want one of you two... " he indicates Shard and Juragga, "to open fire with the dorsal turret.  Take that building down.  Start at the top and work down.  That should give the Clade something to worry about instead of chasing us."

He taps a sequence of keys on a control panel.  "Turret's powered, and unlocked."

Rhijans nodded approval of the plan.  "Not expecting any trouble...unless the Imperial credits they were offering are a little too freshly Imperial."  He gave a ghost of a shrug and continued, "Having contingencies covered makes negotiating a lot easier, though."

Jalt moves to a storage bin.  "Comlinks in here." he explains, and takes one out for himself, "Frequencies are set for the Bantha's comms.  No need to ask if you're armed Rhijans, so let's go visit Nuq Clade and see what they want."

As the team leave the ship, Jalt slaps the locking pad to seal the vessel behind them.  He walks across the decrepit area with a bold swagger, remarking, "Wouldn't do to make them think we're nervous."

The boldness fades a little as they approach the building, and it  becomes clear just how heavily guarded the structure is.  If a window isn't covered over with fairly recent ferrocrete slabs, then it has the muzzles of at least a couple of blasters jutting out of its broken panes.

The entrance itself is a dark cavern, and anybody walking into it would present a nice silhouette against the light outside...

Shard and Juragga watch the approach to the building via a long range viewer in the Bantha's cockpit.

Rhijans slipped into the lead...for a couple of reasons.  They had spoken to him earlier, and he was, visually, pretty distinctive...but he was also more expendable than Jalt.  If the pilot got shot, their chances of getting off-world went WAY down

As they approached the building, he stepped forward further, hands held well clear of his blaster and palms facing forward to show they were empty.  "Your leader wanted to talk to my captain...I've brought him," he said by way of declaring the purpose for their approach.  He consciously chose, however, to not point out whether he was referring to Jalt or Juragga when he said, 'captain'...

Shard, comlink active, sits in the cockpit, watching.  Her fingers nervously twitch, habitually on the hunt for smooth metal...but her flask, she left that back at the base, buried in her locker.  Hopefully to be found by its next user when they clean it out after she expires.

"Juragga," the older woman begins, thoughtfully.  "You have any skill with ships' guns?  Because I'm about as good with them as I am with a blaster."

There comes a long moment of consideration.  "Worse, probably," she admits.  "I mean...give me a few seconds and I can put some shots on target, I guess, but any kind of continuous fire?  I'm probably more dangerous for everyone other than the thing at which I'm aiming."

She cocks an eyebrow at the Wookie. "If you've got any skill that way, maybe you ought to squeeze yourself into that turret." 

Juragga hooted an affirmative.  He was more than familiar with starship gunnery.  Maybe not the best shot ever, but certainly competent.

With a nod, he went about squishing himself into the gun turret, adjusting it as best he could.

There is a lengthy pause, punctuated only by the sounds of movement inside the dark interior of the structure, and indistinct muttering.

And then a tall figure takes a few shuffling steps out into the light.  It's wearing a grey robe under a long brown coat, with a hood pulled low over it's face.  It stops in front of Rhijans, head tilted down to conceal its face.

When it speaks the voice sounds strange... muffled, and almost mechanical...  "Welcome to Nuq Clade's base of operations.  Please, enter before you speak further.  There are prying eyes out here, and ears too.  Not to mention some extremely rude blaster rifles."

From their vantage point on the ship, Juragga and Shard watch the exchange intently.  While they can't really hear what's being said, there doesn't appear to be any danger.  So far...

Rhijans gestured for their 'escort' to show them the way inside...and keyed his commlink.  "Shard, leaving my commlink open.  If we go silent, go with Jalt's backup plan..." he said in a low mutter.  It was a precaution...but the escort sounded far more articulate than the spokesman that had come to the ship.  And while there were several possible explanations for the almost-mechanical sound of the voice, a couple of them had 'bad news' associated with them, in his mind.

Inside the structure, a couple of people hurry forward, heavily wrapped in lengths of mismatched cloth, and help their welcoming committee to divest the robe, cloak and hood.

Underneath the layers of clothing is a droid.  A protocol droid, by the look of it, though it looks somewhat older and more badly treated by existence than You-Why.  It's grey shell is crusted with dust and grime, and covered with dents.  Here and there, scrapes show bare metal beneath the surface layer.

It stands in silence for a few seconds, and then.  "Excuse me.  Wearing garments has an adverse effect on my cooling systems, but it is necessary if I must go outside.  A functioning droid is a valuable commodity here, and other clades would attempt to steal me, if they became aware of my existence."

"I am F-2P0.  I serve Nuq Clade as a translator when they must deal with outsiders.  Nuq Neq Tchoq, the leader of Nuq Clade, informed me of your imminent arrival, and instructed me to greet you and escort you to him.  Do you require refreshments before you see him?"

Rhijans relaxed slightly...but not entirely.  The resemblance to You-Why was a subtle reminder that droids could have programking that didn't necessarily match their exterior...and there were rumors of droids who had developed full autonomy after xtended periods without memory wipes.  Looking at F-2PO, Rhijans was willing to bet it had been several years, and possibly several decades, since the droid had seen regular service.

"Nothing for me, thank you," he responded in a neutral tone, before looking to the other two to see their response.

Some small corner of his mind eased out a sigh of relief.  The mechanical tone they'd noticed was because its source was mechanical, as opposed to just being heavily filtered.  They weren't free and clear yet...but at least the first entity to converse with them wasn't a stormtrooper maquerading as a heavily shrouded Nuq Clade individual.

Haarmon eyed the droid with some interest. He was always interested in ways that their programming could morph and mutate in order for them to adapt to unusual circumstances.

And this is as unusual a circumstance as any protocol droid had to manage.

"Have they got a mechanic in there to watch out for you? Or do you have to fix yourself?"

"A mechanic?" F-2P0 emits the electronic equivalent of a sigh.

"Sometimes, when I am powered down, stray impulses in my cognitive pathways result in something that, I believe, resembles dreams in an organic mind.  These dreams, for want of a better word, are the only place where I have seen a mechanic in the last fifty-three years."

And then the droid is all business again...

"If you will follow me, I will take you to see Nuq Neq Tchoq."  It turns to shuffle away, deeper into gloomy interior of the structure.

Rhijans gave a nod, slipping that mental note in place.  Fifty-three years...  No mechanic meant, most likely, no memory wipes, either, which meant there could be an awful lot more to this droid than met the eye.

For the time being, he followed.  Nobody had done anything suspicious, and once the legitimacy of their visit had been established, nobody had done anything remotely hostile.  That didn't mean they were free and clear, in his mind...but it did kind of establish that they didn't intend any immediate bodily harm.

"Why'd they send out a living emissary, instead of you?" he asked the droid as they started walking.  The question served two purposes...it was a way to gain a little more information about who they were going to deal with, and it also provided Rhijans with a justifiable reason to say something that his commlink would transmit back to the ship, to reassure Shard and Kourene that they hadn't been ambushed, so far...

"I mean, you speak the language far more fluently that the individual I spoke with at the ship..."

Haarmon was always simultaneously fascinated and unsettled when driods went off their programming. On some level, he recognizes that even the most lifelike tendency was just a result of intersecting information pathways and logic statements. But all the same, it always felt to him like, somehow, there was life and sentience in the heart of every program trying to claw its way out. And sometimes it did.

"Fifty three? That's rough. But, listen, we're here to do some business, right? And you're a valuable asset, right? And not to blow my own horn or whatever, these guys can tell you how much I hate doing that, but I'm what you call a dab hand at droid work. So, maybe we can work something out."

And, maybe, he could have a look inside the droid's head, too. Just to see wha'ts to be seen.

"As I understand it, Sir.  They had no intention of sending an emissary.  Nuq Neq Tchoq, along with some subordinates, was planning to attend to other business.  They saw that there was a ship nearby, and realised that it presented an opportunity they had not looked for."

"An opportunity?" Jalt interrupts.

The droid sems happy to explain as it moves further into the structure, and onto a descending ramp.  "Yes Sir.  A chance to talk to a captain who had not, perhaps, been contacted by one of the other clades."

The ramp leads down into a chamber with an entrance some five metres above floor level.  The air is warm, and filled with smoke from the fires burning in a number of cargo containers scattered about the area.

There are many humanoid creatures standing or sitting about the room, most of them apparently engaged in conversation with each other.  All are wrapped in layers of cloth under long coats and hooded cloaks.  Most of the conversations stop as the strangers descend the ramp.

At the foot of the incline a single figure, clad as all the others, sits upon an expensive looking, if somewhat decrepit, chair positioned between two of the fires.  It rises as Rhijans, Haarmon and Jalt step off the ramp, and extends its arms wide.

"Gaartopaq!  Gaartopaq!  It is to welcome, friends!"

"I present to you Nuq Neq Tchoq, the Mighty Leader of Nuq Clade, Greatest of All Clades."

Leaning closer to the viewport out of habit - a few feet aren't going to make a difference -- Shard squints.  "Juragga," she states into the com, "have a look at this vector for the dust cloud." Giving the direction, she switches over to the com-channel for the 'away team'.

++ Heads up, ++Shard quietly begins, hoping not to interrupt anything serious.  ++ We have something moving in the general direction of the Nuq Cade building.  It's still pretty far away, and not quick, but it could be anything from a weather event to a battle-barge.  I'll keep you posted. ++
This message was last edited by the player at 16:00, Mon 23 July 2018.

Rhijans nodded internally in response to Shard's notification.  If the clades were in the state of open hostility that seemed to be indicated, there could be hostiles inbound...but Nuq Clade would also recognize an incoming threat, as opposed to a normal passerby.  Assuming, of course, it wasn't something new...

Still, Shard and Juragga had eyes on it, whatever it was, and would keep them apprised of its progress.  For the time being, Rhijans pushed it to the back of his mind.  Deal with the situation at hand...that had kept him alive thus far.

"You wished to speak with my captain.  I've brought him," Rhijans responded.  Diplomacy wasn't his strong suit.  Caution, however, was...he still didn't point out Jalt as the captain.  If there was some kind of malevolence behind the requwsted meeting, there was still only a fifty-fifty chance it would be aimed at the right individual.

Nuq Neq Tchoq bows his head to Rhijans, "You indeed to did."  Then he gestures to include all three of the visitors.

"You will to forgiving me if I am to speaking own speak so all Nuq Clade can to understanding?  Our droid can to changing my words to you speak.  Chalonga birfato'da?"

"Sirs, he asks if that will be all right."

Juragga grunted and narrowed his teal eyes at the targeting scanners.  This dust was confounding them mightily.  He shifted his grip on the turret's handles and leveled the guns at the cloud, glancing from the scanners to the viewport and back.

Rhijans lifted one eyebrow  slightly.  "No problem for me.  I can't speak for them."  He still avoided any gesture that revealed just who was actually the captain...whether it was just habit, or some nagging instinct drove him to it, was debatable.

"Daigatta chirodo Nuq Vasa nirballa ch'od... " Nuq Neq Tchoq begins...

After a couple of seconds, F-2P0 starts to translate.  "Here is the proposal.  Nuq Clade subsists on the salvage trade.  In common with most Clades, we gather salvage from wherever we can, and sell it to off-world pilots for Imperial Credits.  Sometimes we conduct trade with the Hutt, but that is mostly so that he will not look too closely at our other trade goods.  Recently, though, something has been discovered which means the Clade must change its approach."

"There is a thing that we dare not trade here.  If word were to reach the other Clades that we have it, it might result in their forming an alliance to attack Nuq Clade.  For this reason, we would like to charter a ship to transport the item to another world, where it can be sold quickly, and without attracting attention from the other Clades."

"We will pay a fair price to charter your ship, and there will be a bonus equal to two one hundredth parts of the sale price of the item."

"What is the item?" Jalt asks.

"That can not be revealed until you are away from this world.  It is not dangerous to your ship, or to your Clade.  It is, to the best of our knowledge, not illegal to transport.  We simply wish it to be taken elsewhere before it is stolen from us, or before we are attacked.  A representative of Nuq Clade will travel with the item, and will answer all questions at the appropriate time."

"Where do you want it taken?" Rhijans asked.  There were, after all, a few planets in the sector where they'd become less than welcome...and that didn't include any enemies Jalt may have made before they'd started working together.  And while he wanted to know what the cargo might be...not illegal (or, at least, not obviously illegal), not harmful, and highly desirable, at least here...he didn't know enough about illicit trade to come up with anything that fit those parameters.

But just about anything could be hazardous if they wanted it taken to an Imperial-controlled world.

Shard blinks.  Blinks again.  Then hurries back into the ship. "Macrobinoculars, macrobinoculars...Jalt have those anywhere?"

While she searches, the older woman again keys the comlink to Rhijans, Jalt, and Haarmon.  ++ All right - whatever is coming is big.  And slow.  And by big, I mean Potentially Imperial Walker sized.  I'm not saying that's what it is -- I'm trying for a better look at it, but the dust is hiding it -- but it for-sure could be that large.  I would seriously consider either warning your hosts, picking up the pace, or both.  ++

A suggestion, that, nothing more; Shard isn't the person on the ground, and isn't going to second-guess the team.

OOC - Definitely hunting for macrobinocs.

Juragga's teal eyes narrowed, then widened as he took in the size of the... something... moving in the cloud.  Carefully, as if a sudden movement or noise could cause it to lunge, he thumbed the gun turret 'active'...

"For security reasons, that information will be revealed only after the cargo is off the ground.  The destination is not under the rule of an Imperial Governor.  Nor is it controlled by a Hutt."

F-2P0 pauses as Nuq Neq Tchoq elaborates further.  "Negotiations with the potential buyer are all but concluded.  Delivery seems to be only sticking point.  He will not pay until the cargo is delivered to him, and he insists that he does not have a ship available to collect it."

No Imperial or Hutt control...that narrowed the possible destinations, but not by a whole lot.  Still, those would be the two places that caused him the most concern.

"Is this cargo currently here, or en route?  Because our crew is reporting a large, slow-moving something that is creating a dust cloud, approaching this location.  Just want to know if we need to hurry negotiations along, here."  He shrugged and added, "Sounds like a reasonable deal to me..."  He looked at the other two questioningly.

"Void," Shard hisses, tossing aside the first set of macrobinocs she unearths from the depths of a locker.  "Jalt, we're going to have a talk about your ship and its organization..." Up she springs from the same depths, prize in-hand.

Hopefully; the power light activates on this set, in any case.

Hurrying to the cockpit, she takes up position and raises the binocs, waiting for the autofocus to kick in.  "Anything, Juragga?" Shard calls out, letting her voice carry it through the ship rather than use the intercom.

"WAAAAAAAaaaaaargh," Juragga replied guardedly. Whatever it is, it's alive. 

Being from Kashyyk, he'd seen living terrors before - even Wookies couldn't survive on the ground level of the forests for long, unarmed.  He hoped aloud that this wasn't something similar.

"This whole feels as dodgy as heck," Haarmon muttered to Jalt and Rhijans. He knew they were in a spot, but even a dumb kid like him knew you didn't just take people's word for things like 'not dangerous.'

"I think we should insist they tell us something. Or at least tell them we walk if it's too hinky. I don't want to get too far into this thing only to find it's bad news."

He paused, thinking of what he was just put through the past couple of days.

"Worse news, anyway."

"The cargo is concealed in a secure location, guarded by Nuq Clade's best fighters.  Once the charter has been confirmed, Nuq Neq Tchoq will give you the coordinates, and the passwords to gain entrance to the location."

One more question came to Rhijans' mind...then a second, even larger question.  "Is this time sensitive?" he asked.  "We already have a small item on board that needs to be delivered, and should be, first, if the security of this deal is as important as you're making it sound."  He was, initially, thinking of the Colonel...but their Imperial tech captive needed to be delivered somewhere, as well.  He was sure, should the man return to Imperial hands, that neither Nuq Clade nor their mysterious patron would appreciate having someone who could tell the Empire anything about the deal.

The second, larger question burst to the fore.  "And this is an awful lot of faith to be placing on someone you've never met before...especially someone who met with a Hutt just before coming to see you.  That's pretty much all you know about us, and that doesn't necessarily say a lot about our trustworthy nature.  Why us?"  His voice colored with suspicion as he spoke...he'd never been a smuggler, or even a legitimate free trader, but there were a lot of loose ends on this deal that teased his instincts...all the places where a dishonest crew could just up and take off with the cargo and sell it somewhere else, if it was something they didn't want for themselves...and Nuq Neq Tchoq seemed perfectly content to assume that wouldn't happen.  And that bothered Rhijans, more than any of the concerns Haarmon had raised.  He glanced, side-long, at Jalt, trying to gauge the caprain's reactions to all of it.

F-2P0 relays Rhijan's questions to Nuq Neq Tchoq, and translates the responses.  "Nuq Neq Tchoq says that it is time sensitive, within reason.  While a short delay is acceptable to accommodate the demands of your own schedule, more than thirty days would be too much."

"As for why he approached your ship... it is simply because your ship is unfamiliar.  While he does not know if he can trust your captain, Nuq Neq Tchoq does know that he absolutely does not trust the captains of any other ships that he knows are currently on Yakusant.  There is a saying among the Clades... 'When everybody around you is a thief or a liar, all you can do is hope that the merchant you do not know is an honest man.'"

"GRAAAAAAAAAAAwwwwwwwwrgh," Juragga commented.  It's being hunted, or herded, he concluded.  Towards them?  He tried to tell.

Haarmon frowned. "As, you know, folk wisdom, it's never going to replace waste not-want not, but we get your point. But you understand our reluctance, yeah? This whole thing is dodgy as the cold depths of space. Anything at all you can tell us to make us think this isn't some kind of... not even an elabourate set-up. A simple one."

He shook his head. There was a reason holovids always start like this. Because even the dumbest audience could feel superior that they'd never do something this dumb.

"I've got a bad feeling about this."

Rhijans gave a minute shrug.  The logic made sense, to him, to some extent, and if the payoff was large enough, it was a gamble that could bring a great reward.  After all, it didn't matter how valuable the item was if they couldn't get it to a buyer...

It was, for Nuq Neq Tchoq, a less-than-ideal situation...but if there was nobody local that could be trusted with the job, that left two options...hang onto the item and hope another chance to sell it came along--which meant they still had to come up with a way to get it to the seller--or take a chance on an unfamiliar face.

"What do you think, Jalt?  Can we drop off our cargo safely and have time to deliver this mystery item in under a month?"  Again, he avoided any reference that suggested it was Jalt's ship...and as he had, personally, been doing more of the talking than anyone, it was entirely possible they thought that Rhijans was actually the captain.

Just to add to the ruse, he looked at Haarmon.  "What would make you feel better about it?" he asked.  Something that could have been grim amusement shone in his eyes, but his face maintained the carefully schooled deadpan look that he typically showed.

"Right now, I'm betting on herded, because that would be just our cursed luck," Shard shouts back to Juragga.  Her lips press together hard enough to whiten them as she studies the scene through the binocs.  Then she keys her comlink.

++ Team, you have a... ++ There's a brief pause as Shard considers the possibility of a hallucination, brought on by not enough drinking of late.  They're going to think I'm insane.  ++ ...six-legged, two headed native creature about the size of an Imperial Walker headed your way.  It looks like its being either hunted or herded, as Juragga says.  Better ask your hosts about this.  ++

"I don't know if the guns will do the trick against that thing," she shouts through the ship. "And I'm pretty loathe to shoot something that's just being abused...any thoughts, Juragga?"
 

Haarmon started slightly at Rhijans' rejoinder (Sounds like a techno band, he thought idly). He still wasn't used to being listened to. And he'd just been grousing to himself more than anything.

But now that the question had been asked, it was worth considering. What would make him feel better? And the answer was some assurance, however slim, that Nuq wouldn't just drop a dime on them and get rich on their corpses.

He looked up.

"Let me take the driod with us. I'll give him a once-over. Basic repairs. Run a debug. Update his databases. I'm particularly good at speech impediments. We'll get him back to you, safe and sound, once I've got him tippity top again."

Juragga rumbled in a deep bass.

I don't want to shoot some abused creature, but I'm not letting it eat the team, either.

He paused and then added more.

A few shots in front of it might herd it back the other way, and scatter its herders.  But how will that look to the ones Haarmon and Rhijans are with?

His shaggy paws rested on the controls for the guns...

Jalt shrugs, "I'd say we could easily drop off our cargo, and get to a deliver this cargo in less than a month, unless we have to go to the far side of the Galaxy."  He holds up a hand... "Just a moment."  He listens to his commlink.

"It would be acceptable for me to go with you.  In fact I was to go with you all along, as your guide."

Jalt lowers the commlink, "What do you know about a large creature... I mean really large... that seems to be coming this way?  Possibly not of its own free will."

Nuq Neq Tchoq signals to two of his own people, who run for the exit from the room.  Then he speaks to his protocol droid.  "This is as much a surprise to us as it is to you.  Nuq Neq Tchok has dispatched observers to find out about it."

And at that moment a mournful howl reverberates through the structure...

Rhijans grimaced, inwardly.  An indefinite time period, aboard the ship, with You Why and another protocol droid...what could possibly go wrong?  And would they have to return the droid here?  Would Dargo find out that they'd hired out to a local that didn't trust him?  Would Dargo even care?  Or would he see the move as undermining his control of his part of the Hutt syndicate?

He waited to see what the creature was...glad that Jalt had restated the question he'd obliquely asked a few moments earlier, and making a mental note that oblique references didn't come across clearly with these beings.

"Well, there's some poetic justic, I suppose," Shard murmurs.  Back to the comlink.  "Looks like this isn't all one-sided; the big thing maybe got hurt worse, maybe just had enough, and stomped on some of the 'herders'.  Or 'hunters'.  Not sure what, yet."

She raises her voice for communication within the ship.  "Let's hold off on the shooting, then - like you say, maybe wouldn't look too good for the people Jalt and co. are with.  Might not look too good for the people around us, as well.  But let's keep the 'counter-herding' idea in mind, right?"

The oldeer woman purses her lips in a moue of distaste.  Her tone drops down again, this time for herself, not the com. "Half a mind to go out there and give it a hand, myself."

Juragga agreed in his own caterwauling way.  While hunting was part of the natural order, he didn't much like animal abuse.

The observers return, and one of them reports to Nuq Neq Tchoq, speaking rapidly in their own tongue.

"Apparently the creature is a hvarqos, and it is doubtless being hunted.  It is unusual to see one so close to a population centre, but their meat is plentiful and palatable, at least to the Clades.  The Clade that brings one down will eat well for a long time.  Nuq Neq Tchoq is considering sending a team to steal the kill from the other Clade." F-2P0 explains.

Mindful of his open commlink, Rhijans repeated, carefully, "The Clades hunt hvarqos for meat...but this Clade isn't the one hunting that one?"  It was as much to clarify the situation for himself as for Shard and Juragga.  He stopped short of offering to shoo away members of the other Clade...hiring out to haul a mystery cargo was one thing, but actively setting yourself up as an ally to one group or other was a different matter altogether.  Especially since it sounded like they'd have to come back to deliver their interpreter...

In his very limited experience, tribal societies like the Clades tended to have long memories when someone did something to hurt them.  The last thing they needed was to give someone else on this dustball an active reason to want them dead...it was already risky simply dealing with the Hutt.

Shards hands clench tightly, white-knuckled, as the firing reccomences.  "Go," she whispers.  "Get out of there."
Then it's back to the coms, professional again with only a hint of brittlness in her tone.  ++ The creature is moving off...I think.  It's still under attack, but it has pushed the...maybe-hunters back. ++  But as she speaks, the older woman settles into that curious place between water and fire, between acid and alkyli, her whirling, furious thoughts slowing.

"That is correct." F-2P0 confirms, while Nuq Neq Tchoq continues to speak to a group of his own people.

"A hvarqos is very difficult to kill, unless one has thermal detonators or other explosives.  Nuq Neq Tchoq suspects that the group attacking this one are from Haq Clade.  He is currently discussing with his advisers whether, or not, to mount a raid, after Haq Clade have slain the creature, to claim possession of the carcass.  This creature represents a sizeable resource for whoever possesses it."

Haarmon wasn't following all of this super well, but he got the part where Shard was in danger, and it all seemed very much like a strange coincidence to him.

"Any chance this is some kind of move on their part? Or is this just chance?"

F-2P0 says, "Just a moment." then turns away and politely interrupts Nuq Neq Tchoq.  After a brief conversation the droid turns back, while Nuq Neq Tchoq resumes his discussion.

"Nuq Neq Tchoq says that a hvarqos is like a dust storm.  Nobody can direct it, or control it.  It goes where it will, when it will.  The best somebody can hope for is that they can kill it before it destroys their property."

"He does not believe that this one was brought here deliberately.  While it is unusual for one to come this close, it is not wholly unknown."

"Then it's probably best for us to stay out of it, and let Nuq Clade handle it on their own.  They know these things and have some idea of how to deal with them...it's entirely possible that we could try to help and just make things much worse..."  He was, apparently, reacting to Haarmon's question and the droid's answer...but with the open commlink to the ship, his words were meant for more than the ears (or audio receptors) of those in the room with him.

"We could potentially hurt or frighten it and send it into a frenzy...and who knows what kind of destruction it could cause in that state..."

Irritation spikes in Shard; she quashes it, knowing that in her state of mind it might lead her down an uncomfortable path. ++ Copy that, ++ the older woman replies to Rhijans oblique instructions.  A flick of the finger switches off the 'send' function of her com, and she shouts to Juragga.  "Looks like we're not supposed to get into it, if possible."

Oh, it's sound reasoning all right.  The best choice.  Even so...  "Curse it," Shard murmurs, settling herself down in the seat to at least bear witness.

Then a though occurs to her.

Placing down the macrobinocs, she checks the boards, hunting for any sign that the ship has been breached during their inattention.  Even as Shard does, though, her mind begins its search for the balance point.

The discussion seems to be over, and the advisors move away to tend to whatever tasks, if any, have been assigned them.

Nuq Neq Tchoq studies the group of visitors before him.  Finally he speaks again...

"Nuq Neq Tchoq says that payment for delivering the shipment will be 75,000 Imperial Credits... Is something wrong?"

Jalt appears to be choking.  "No, no." the pilot gasps.

"Would you like a drink of water?"

"No.  I'm all right." Jalt beckons Rhijans and Haarmon over to him.  "We just need to talk."

Juragga resumes watching the (apparently) unsuccessful hunting expedition, while remaining in a state of readiness to provide covering fire to his companions, should things go shi-shok shaped...

Even Rhijans' perpetual facade nearly cracked at the sum.  He nodded when Jalt requested a conference, wondering just what in the world would be that valuable in a quantity small enough to fit on the Bantha.  He was pretty sure that was more than enough to buy a ship, much less fix up the Bantha.

When they had moved aside, he said, in a low growl, "I'd say they're making it sound suspiciously easy for that kind of payment...except we don't know what it is, or where it's going, so there's no knowing how difficult it's gonna be."  He lapsed into a thoughtful silence, pondering the situation as the others made their initial assessments.

"Exactly.  I can't think of a legal cargo that would fetch that big a payment unless it was in a lot big enough to fill the hold." Jalt says quietly.

"Now I get that he has security concerns, so he'd rather not reveal too much, but I really don't like this.  It's supposed to be legal and simple, but that's a void cursed lot of money for a blue milk run.  And the worst of it is that's only our cut of what this is supposed to be worth.  Which makes the 'legal and safe' story seem that little bit more unlikely."

"Not liking this one little bit."

Haarmon nodded.

"And, look, they could have told us 10,000 credits and we'd have nodded and smiled and been on our way. But they didn't. They knew that would waggle our wattles and they said it anyway. So. Probably however this blue milk is gonne be sour enough to stink from another system."

If it was him, he'd say walk away.

But did they have a choice?

Rhijans decided to voice a thought which the other two appeared to be thinking, but didn't say.  "However, them having told us this much means they would likely be highly reluctant to just let us say, 'Sorry, too risky for us,' and walk away."  His voice had a grim edge, which grew even darker as he continued, "They need a ship...desperately, enough to offer an insanely large payment.  We've got one.  And they know, right now, that the crew is down three bodies...they still don't know exactly how many of us there are, but a sharp-eyed observer would know there's still Shard and Juragga aboard."

He paused to glance surreptitiously at the crowd.  "If they're THAT desperate for a ship, who's to say they wouldn't try to take the ship if we reject the offer?  With this many people, there's good odds they've got at least one pilot...maybe not a good one, but again, they're desperate."

He paused to let that all sink in for a moment, before adding, "I'm not saying we should say yes...but we really need to decide, carefully, if we can afford to say no."  His end of the discussion, at least, was audible back at the ship, via the open commlink.  His voice, in the room, was low, something just above a harsh whisper.

Back on the ship, hearing Rhijans' concerns, Juragga kept the turret warmed up and ready.  He gave a low growl of foreboding to Shard.

I have a bad feeling about this.

"Agreed." Shard replies to Juragga.  "Something isn't right here.  The whole deal feels wrong."

Jalt frowns.  "Too many unknowns for me.  Without knowing where we're going I'm not sure I want to take the job.  The Bantha needs repairs before she can go anywhere, and depending on how easy it is to find what she needs, and how far we need to go qith this load, we could end up going over his time limit."

"On the other hand, turning the job down might upset them."

There is a dull thump, and something small and spherical lands in the dust in the middle of the room, right in front of Nuq Neq Tchoq.  There is a whining sound, rising rapidly in pitch...

"My goodness!  A thermal detonator!" exclaims F-2P0...

"Agreed." Shard replies to Juragga.  "Something isn't right here.  The whole deal feels wrong."

Pursing her lips, the older woman considers Rhijans' point...and Juragga's opinion.  "You're right, Juragga...and so is Rhinjas.  We're caught, here.  I'm good with the team's idea of what's up with what's going on, and we need to..."

There comes a pause.

"On that note," Shard states, "we should get ready for people to try to take the ship.  Stay in the guns, Juragga.  I can keep this ship in the air, if we really need it."

Rhijans turned, without a moment's debate or hesitation, and grabbed both Haarmon and Jalt, pushing them down behind cover, with himself between them and the blast just in case the cover wasn't enough.  After they were down, he allowed himself the luxury of debating whether it was smarter to duck and cover, or if he should have gone for the detonator to see if he could deactivate it...

But detonators were notoriously temperamental...it was one of the reasons they weren't military issue--too unpredictable.  And that meant that there was no way of knowing if he'd have had time to switch it off before it spread pieces of him all over Nuq Neq Tchoq's throne room (or whatever he called this space....)

The detonator explodes, filling the room with dust and smoke, and the area immediately around it with fragments of flying debris.  Fortunately Rhijans trained reflexes had managed to reduce the effect of the latter on the party, though the crate they had ducked behind will likely never be useable again.  Hard to be certain though, because visibility is so poor...

The room seems oddly quiet.  You'd expect there to be some cries of pain from the injured... 

Jalt is looking about, slowly clambering to his feet, and shaking his head.  And he appears to be coughing.  Silently...

Shard and Juragga, meanwhile, are still unable to detect any threats to the Bantha...

Rhijans instinctively reached for his blaster as he looked around the room.  There were only a handful of reasons anyone would throw a detonator in the room...and in his mind, the primary reason was to take down as many people as possible and disorient the rest, before coming in to attack.  It's what he would have done...

With his other hand, he first cupped his ear, trying to notice any change in the sound, then rubbed at it.  It wasn't likely to hasten recovery of his hearing, but it seemed to provide some relief from the discomfort.  All the while, his eyes searched the room, lookingfor another attack and making a tactical assessment of the situation.

The room is still thick with smoke, though it is starting to clear, which is more than can be said for the acrid, eye stinging stench.  Flames are faintly visible in the smoky gloom.

Noise is still deadened - muffled and flat sounding. 

Somebody is screaming.  At least two or three people.

Tactically, the situation was terrible.  Too many potential access points, too many unfamiliar people and shapes.  "Go!" Rhijans directed, pushing Jalt and Haarmon toward a doorway...he thought it was the way out, but he was still somewhat disoriented from the blast.  He kept his eyes moving, his blaster ready to draw and fire at any perceived threat.  He could barely hear his own voice, even through the resonance in his own head.

This was, presumably, not their fight, and he had no interest in getting sucked into it.  They hadn't felt good about the offer...this gave them a good way to get clear of the deal with minimal additional risk.  Once they were out, they could re-evaluate.  But right now, he needed to get the other two out...or at least to a more defensible position.

Haarmon kept shaking his head to try and clear the blockage in his ears. And every shake was accompanied by sickening vertigo and his stomach roiling and rumbling. His head felt heavy. It felt like he was thinking through mud. But when Rhijans pushed him, he got the message.

He didn't question. Out in the field, Rhijans (and Shard) were the boss.

He grabbed Jalt and push-pulled him in the direction Rhijans pointed. He hoped it was the way all-the-way-out, but right now he'd even take out-of-this-room.

On the way he kept an eye out for the droid. If he was near-enough to hand, maybe he'd grab him up too. He liked the little guy.

As it turns out, Rhijans is partly right.

Disorientation means that the trio find themselves standing on the edge of a blast crater.  On the plus side, the ramp that they descended to get into this room is close by, and still looks to be intact.

Noises are becoming more distinct now.  The down side of that is that the groans and screams of pain are clearer.

An eddy in the smoke reveals the broken and charred body of Nuq Neq Tchoq slumped on his throne.  Oddly, he appears to still be moving feebly and, presumably, alive.  His condition is hard to assess in more detail, swathed as he is in burnt rags.

The fact that he is moving means that he is probably in better condition than F-2P0.  The droid's shattered torso is in the crater.  Unlike his limbs, his head is still attached...

From somewhere above comes the sound of another explosion, and burning debris falls, casting a lurid reddish light through the smoke...

From the ship, Shard and Juragga see a moderately large explosion suddenly blow out a wall on one of the upper levels of the structure where their companions are currently supposed to be attending a meeting...

"GROWWWWWWWWWRRRR!!!" Juragga cried, alarmed, his teal eyes wide.

Rhijans' expression hardened in an inscrutable mask as he saw what was left of their would-be employer...and his interpreter.  He looked for a moment longer than was strictly necessary...then turned away.

"Well, so much for the job..." The words were barely more than a muddled series of sounds...but at least he could tell it was his own voice.  That much was an improvement.

He turned Jalt and Dak to face him.  "Time to go," he said, speaking slowly and clearly (and hopefully, not too loudly, but he wasn't sure--although he was making a conscious effort to not speak loudly...which could have meant that he was barely making any noise at all, and not realizing it).  He gestured in the direction he thought was the exit.  "Back to the ship!"  He had no idea if his commlink was still operable...considering his hearing, there was likely some kind of overload to it, a burned-out audio sensor or something...but if it was working, his words would give Shard and Juragga a heads-up that they were coming out.

As the trio make their way back up to the exit, the dust in the air gets thicker.  At the same time the air itself gets warmer and brighter.  The cause ot this is easy to find... something is burning down below, so it's probably a good idea that they're heading for what Rhijans thinks is the way out...

But from somewhere ahead there is an ongoing series of bangs - quieter than a thermal detonator, but louder than a firecracker.  Almost like somebody using a hammer to lock down self-sealing stem bolts.  A series of bright flashes can be seen through the dust and smoke... 

Before Shard and Juragga's eyes, a dense plume of dirty grey smoke, streaked with brownish-yellow, is rising from the top of the distant building.  It looks like something is burning up there...

"ROOOOOWWWRRRR!!"  Juragga commented, alarmed. Should we lift off?  Go to the rescue? He asked Shard.  He stayed at his turret, keeping the sights trained on the area, just in case...

Rhijans reached out, recognizing the flashes...even the distinctive 'crack' was recognizalbe through the haze of his hearing.  He grabbed both Jalt and Haarmon by the back of the shirt, pulling on them to slow them down.  "Exit's blocked...they're having some kind of firefight with slugthrowers.  Odds are really good anyone who tries to go through there is going to end up with a few extra holes in them, and probably not anywhere useful."  He scowled, in a rare, genuine show of emotion, as he looked around what he could see of the building.

"We need another exit..."  He looked around, hoping to find an exterior wall that didn't have someone huddled against it...given their unstable nature, he'd been lucky that the blast from the thermal detonator hadn't triggered his...one he carried as a weapon of last resort, more to make sure he didn't end up an Imperial prisoner than anything else.  But right now, it looked like a good way to make an uncontested exit, if they could find an appropriate wall...

Shard's mouth drops open.  Not silently, however; what issues forth is a string of expletives.  "Juragga, if you know any pre-flight checks, better get up here and start 'em!"  After a moment, she reconsiders.  "No, stay in the guns!"

Gritting her teeth, she struggles with a decision.  Go try to help?  Far away, and it would leave the ship unprotected.  Trust the people on the ground; that's her normal watch-word.  Her job, Juragga's job, is to hold the ship.But her mind still wars; if she holds the ship and they die, what use is that?

She triggers the com-link.

++ Rhijans, Harmon, Jalt?  Anyone? ++

Juragga stands up in a rush and bangs his head.  Then turns and smacks himself with the chair as the order to preflight is countermanded.  He sits back in the gunner's chair and jams his toe.

Some days, it sucks to be a Wookiee in a human ship...

Haarmon took the moment that Rhijans was spending looking for another exit to close his eyes and concentrate, to try to find that balancing point Shard was always on about. To reach out through the, well not through the air, but through the thing behind the air. The thing that <i>was </i>the air.

Kinda.

Alive. Not hurt. Coming to you.

And then he started looking for the best exterior wall too.

A passageway leads away from one side of the ramp.  The weapons fire comes from straight ahead, and flashes are occasionally visible through the miasma of dust and smoke.  The passage seems to lead away from the commotion... 

Rhijans leads the way into the passage, which is lit by dim emergency strips, and about twenty metres in, there is a vertical shaft in one wall with a metal ladder running both up and down from this level.

From the ship, a large number of people can be seen exiting the building very rapidly...

There's some odd thumping coming from belowdecks...probably Juragga hammering on the walls in frustration at her waffling opinions.  Fingers opening and closing -- searching for drink, or something sronger, something more lethal -- Shard stands paralyzed for a long moment, heart pounding.  Then...

Haarmon?

"They're alive!" she shouts.  "And I think they're okay!"  Nodding and smiling, why would Haarmon be nodding and smiling?  Alive, yes, but...it only takes a moment.  "And I think Haarmon has a plan!"
First thing that jumped to mind, really.

"Preflight.  Curse it, what does Jalt do?"  No idea, really; unwilling to randomly hit switches, Shard turns away from the panals.  "I'm heading for the boarding ramp; we'll give cover, and whatever else is needed!" And through the ship she goes; it's a short jog, really, and Shard isn't wasting time.  But there are more than enough seconds for her to draw her blaster pistol and pass it to her left hand, before finding a different, more-worn grip for her right.

She despises the cursed thing, but Shard would deal with the void itself to get the team out.

For his part, Juragga kept the gunsights trained and the turret warm.  He was ready to lay down covering or suppressing fire at almost no notice.

Haarmon shook his head. That was... not exactly what he was expecting to happen. It was nothing like that last time he'd managed to do.. whatever it is Jedi called that. Long Distance Brain Talking, or whatever.

Why was she smiling? And nodding? She never really did that. Did it mean she was happy he managed to talk to her? Or that she was happy he was alive? Was that the real Shard he saw, or a hallucination.

Either way, he'd done all he could.

Now they just had to get out of there.

It was a simple choice, really...down meant below ground level, which meant more material to try and get through to get out.  "Up!" he directed simply, pointing in the desired direction to make sure it wasn't misunderstood.  One level up would get them above the conflict...there might be an accessible window they could use for egress, and the drop from one level higher wouldn't be (too) bad.  If the window they found was above some drifted sand, it would be even better.

He pushed Jalt and Haarmon ahead to the ladder, holding his blaster and watching their backs.  The last thing they needed was to get their pilot shot by someone who thought the trio had a side in this conflict...and, well, he wouldn't say it out loud, but he'd never forgive himself if Haarmon got shot when he could do something to prevent it.  So he went into bodyguard mode...and hoped that leaving the conflict at the entrance didn't put them in equal danger wherever they were going.

The next level up is a large room, familiar looking, with the ladder in an alcove in one corner.  And an open door that admits a lot of bright light.  This where they entered the building.  Looks like somebody miscounted how far they'd climbed up.

So it's just a matter of walking out the door.  Cool and casual as you please.  No worries...

And at that moment four armed individuals trot in through the door.  They're dressed like Nuq Clade, wrapped in strips of cloth, but they have dirty yellow sashes slung diagonally across their chests...

Four to three...  In different circumstances, Rhijans would take those odds.  Now, however, he was just worried about getting his teammates out unharmed...and there was a very good chance that, since they were obviously NOT Nuq Clade, the intruders would ignore them...or briefly question them and then let them go.  This seemed to be a territorial struggle, and since they didn't have any territory here to take away, there was, tactically speaking, no reason to engage the trio.

But that assumed rational detachment...and Rhijans had found that not many beings in the galaxy seemed to use detachment in analysis.  So, he made sure his blaster wasn't pointed at the foursome...but it was in a position to be employed quite readily if any one of them looked like they were planning to start shooting.

The four newcomers approach, weapons trained on the trio.  "Djaquag daffult. Nadjoa yertak zidosht.  Haz'zun kjerfar hako noqas?"  It sounds like a question.  "Uba doth tee kouuedahiua.  Doptkahiua koose wa dan maovaka.  Woy uba gee kae waajo?"  So does that, but it also sounds like Na-Huttese.

"They say," murmurs Jalt, "that we're their hostages, and they expect to collect a good ransom from our friends.  And they want us to empty our pockets."

One of the hostage-takers tilts his (its?) head to one side.  "Bay-zik?  I talks bay-zick number one good.  Whats you does here?"

Rhijans gave a grim smile.  "Rejecting a job offer.  And we should probably thank you for giving us a graceful way to get out without having to worry about fighting the whole Clade to do it."  The enemy of my enemy...maybe...  If that thought process didn't win them over, well...he still had a surprise for them if they insisted on everyone emptying their pockets...

There was an Ewok's chance on Coruscant he was emptying his pockets for these jokers. No way he was walking out of a burning Star Destroyer, jettisoning an evil Space Wizard, only to get gut shot by guys without the sense to wash their own sashes.

So he was glad Rhijans had a play. It was a good play.

He sneered and nodded. Kept his mouth shut. He had lots to say. But Rhijans was talking badass to badass.

The self-proclaimed interpreter nods at Rhijans' words, then says something to his own companions.  This followed by some excited discussion, but the weapons never waver...

Then, "You comes with us, then all am number one good.  You is outworlders.  We makes big creds for you.  You has friends with much creds.  All outworlders rich.  We gets more if you lives, less if you deads, but still is big score.  You chooses."

From the ship, Shard and Juragga can see that something seems to be going on.  People coming out of the burning building are now faced by another group which has appeared from among the rubble an wreckage.  The refugees look to be getting herded into small groups and forced to sit on the ground...

Rhijans grimaced, inwardly.  "If we had money, we wouldn't have been interested in the job they offered..."  Thus far, they'd not moved to take anything away from the trio, but Rhijans was sure that wouldn't last.  He eyed the four of them carefully, his weapon still drawn but not pointed at any of them, trying to gauge just how seasoned they were...and if he could maybe get close enough, approaching the door, to grapple with one of them long enough to get shots off at the others.  He started forward, reluctantly, and commented, "This could get complicated..."

"Oh, that's fantastic." She triggers her comm.  "Rhijans?  Haarmon?  Jalt?  Anyone there?" Then, hand over com, she shouts to Juragga.  "We've got a problem!"

Understatement of the year.

"Split the group, this is what we get," she mutters.  "Split it again?  No.  Can't leave the ship alone, though; way things are going, someone will crack it and take off." Still waiting for someone to connect with her over the com, she allows her thoughts to clear.  'Allows' is perhaps the wrong word; it's a struggle to find the balance point, especially now.

But Haarmon is out there somewhere, and she knows Haarmon.  Has touched his mind.  And he has touched hers.

"

"GROWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWR!!!" Juragga suggested.  Can you sense them with your powers?

Should we lift off?

Haarmon put his hands up and walked toward the Basic-talking-leader-looking guy with his head down, defeated.

And then, just as he was about within hand's reach, he took a breath, and moved. Haarmon had never been in a real fight before hooking up with this crew. Had never seen actual violence. Had never really done a thing except talk about the things he had never done. But one thing he HAD done was practice quick drawing his pistol. Hours and hours and hours a day until it was fast and as smooth as a streak of blue summer lightning.

His hands became a blur, one down to his hip, drew and put the pistol to the main guy's head, and the other on the guy's arm, gently pushing his rifle muzzle down and away. And all of it faster than a blink.

"You die first," he said, his voice low and intense. He was shaking inside. Sweating under his clothes like a damn sauna. But he was relieved to hear his voice was steady. "Your friends might get us, but you die first. Yeah? So you tell them to back off. Guns down and walk away. You go your way, we go ours, and nobody dies. Anything besides that goes on? And maybe we die. Maybe. But you die first."

He could have gone on in this vein for some time. But he made himself shut up.

Strings of profanity in a few different languages went through Rhijans' mind as Haarmon drew on the spokes...being, for the others.  Personally, he wasn't willing to gamble on some intense loyalty between the group.  If they were a criminal gang, it might be there...but based on his limited past experience with those beings who spent much time around Hutts, he was guessing there was too much of a mercenary sensibility for them to care if their partner/leader got shot...

He moved.  Fast.  Away from Haarmon--split their focus, make them choose who to concentrate on.  And fired, twice, as he moved to be as far from Haarmon as possible within the space available.

Haarmon took a half-moment to curse inside his head. He was hoping Rhijans should have let the mug play out a few more moments before going full tech-ninja. So long as they were talking they weren't shooting. Get a chance to sow some discord. Create some chaos. Increase the variables. And maybe find a way to talk their way out.

All that went through his head in a flash the moment he saw blaster fire. He pulled the trigger on Mr. Advanced-Basic, and then threw himself toward the nearest piece of cover (however paltry).

He was in it now, and not a computer terminal in sight.

At least he didn't have any more time to be scared.

Three blaster shots, and four bodies hit the floor.  Two of them are screaming, their wrappings smouldering, one is twitching feebly, and the fourth is scrambling for cover behind a freight container (holding a very ornate blaster as if it might bite him)...

The only Clade member still upright turns and runs for the exit... and Reldan Jalt calmly shoots him in the back.  "Couldn't let him fetch help."

Shard closes her eyes...

"Grab their robes.  If they're rounding up offworlders for ransom, we're either gonna have to bluff our way past, or fight our way past, and while we got lucky here, I don't think we could manage a sustained firefight."  He was already putting words into actions, dragging bodies away from the door and peeling off the outer robes.  It wouldn't be pleasant, quite likely, unless their Clade either had a hidden supply of water or some form of personal hygiene that didn't depend on washing.  But their chances were a lot better in disguise.

As soon as it was over, the shakes started. Haarmon was pleased that he acquitted himself as well under pressure, but the come-down was heavy. His stomach felt watery and weak. His head swam. He just nodded at Rhijans, not trusting himself to speak.

He dragged the other bodies out of sight and picked out the least objectionable of the robes and started putting it on.

"And I thought they smelled bad on the outside," he managed, weakly. He paired it with a thumbs up. Because THAT always showed your steely resolve.

Rhijans shrugged into a robe, not terribly concerned about the smell...if they were lucky, the foursome had a reputation for being physically unpleasant and everyone would try to avoid them.  He wasn't about to bet on that, however...they'd been lucky thus far, and luck only got you so far...

He glanced up at Haarmon, from the slugthrower he'd retrieved...he was mildly curious about it, from the standpoint of weapon technology, but he grabbed it to get a more complete look to the outfit.  "Better make sure the blasters are accessible...but not visible.  The shooting may not be over and I don't trust these things for a fight...no idea what their capacity is or how they act when you shoot them, and that's bad news when your life is dependent on solid results." He paused for a moment, gauging Haarmon.  He'd gotten himself out of thinking of Haarmon as a kid...but he was still young, and new to most of this.  He was also doing a solid job of containing the jitters that often accompanied that kind of brief, intense action...

"Hey, Haarmon.  Good work there.  Wasn't what I had in mind, but you adapted to the situation.  Just keep telling yourself that the shooting isn't over yet...we can relax when we're back on the Bantha."  There was almost...almost...a kind of fondness in his voice.  At least, there was something more than the standard detachment his tone normally carried.

Jalt drags on one of the robes and pulls it around him.  "Need to hide the fact that we aren't wearing those bandage things that they're all wrapped in.  So pull the robe tight, and keep your head down when we go out the door."  He pauses, considering the bodies.

Then, "Wait... I hope they don't wear the bandages because they have some kind of disease.  Oh, well... too late to worry about that now.  Make sure you both grab one of the sashes too.  It might be some kind of ID marker."

He snags one up himself, and dons it in a close approximation of how the original owner wore it.

Rhijans nodded at the suggestion, and grabbed a sash, doing his best to don it in the same fashion it had been worn before the shooting started.  He hefted a slugthrower in his off hand, so he could grab for his blaster, if needed, and paused by the doorway.  "Ready?" he asked.  He didn't bother reminding them that the next few minutes would be critical...either tensely quiet, or explosively noisy...

Shard shakes her head.  "I'm sorry, Juragga," she calls back.  "I'm just...I tried.  There's confusion, some screaming, all kinds of things I'd expect from...that." She points at where the group went, knowing he can't see but will get the idea.

Trust the people on the ground.  "Comm lines as still open, I think, but I've gotten nothing from them.  They're busy."  Or dead, but she can't think that.  "I'll try to contact them one more time!  Then we're going to need to go in - maybe with the ship, if you can fly it!" Once more she tries to raise the group with her com-link.

++  Haarmon?  Rhijans?  Jalt?  Is anyone still there? ++

After a few moments in silence, tarting himself up in the latest wasteland-nomad fashion, Haarmon felt a little better. And Rhijans' not getting on his case for messing everything up helped a little too.

He was mildly concerned about how he was going to carry the heavy, unwieldy slug thrower and sill have access to his blaster, but between slinging the pistol under his robe, and holding the larger weapon in his left hand sort of casually, he thought he had it.

He nodded, trying his best to keep his face impassive. "Ready," he said.

And just as they started out, he took a moment and tried to send another message.

Still alive. Still coming.

With his ears no longer overwhelmed by the blast in the 'throne room' (or whatever they called it), Rhijans heard the commlink this time.  Glad she didn't do that thirty seconds later... he thought.  Having to explain a commlink would be awkward, indeed, especially since none of them spoke whatever it was their would-be captors were using for language...

He keyed the commlink.  "Still alive...and working on getting out.  Could get interesting..."  A brief pause, then he continued, "No time for the full story right now, but whatever you do, don't start randomly shooting into the crowd outside the building...we're going to be among them, hopefully looking just like them, and I'd hate to get shot by accident."  Or on purpose, for that matter...  He was just generally opposed to the idea of getting shot...but he'd rather take his chances with the Clades' slugthrowers than with the Bantha's ship's guns.

Rhijans quickly communicates their situation back to the ship, confirming that all of the group are still alive, but that there has been some sort of glitch in the negotiation.

Then the trio head out...

Outside the door, the air is filled with fine, blowing dust.  Individuals from Nuq Clade seem to be getting herded into groups by yellow sashes, and forced, at gun-point, to sit on the ground with their hands on their heads.  All of this is accompanied by a lot of very aggressive sounding yelling in what seems to be the Clade's own language.

A yellow sash seems to grant immunity to this process.  Though not to the yelling.  One yellow sashed individual spots the three and starts yelling at them, while pointing at a group of about a dozen prisoners who are sitting quietly on the ground nearby.  No yellow sashes are near these prisoners...

Rhijans quickly weighed options in his mind...just walking away was guaranteed to draw attention, since they couldn't really explain why they were ignoring the apparent order.  Taking up guard duty would keep them on a low profile...but if the prisoners were in the mood to make a break for it, the trio would be the first ones they'd go after, and while he felt no particular concern for their well-being, Rhijans also didn't feel any particular desire to want to shoot people who weren't an enemy or somehow deserving of getting shot.

Better to play for time and look for an opening, he figured...although how much time was questionable.  Someone was going to find the four they took down, sooner or later.  "Follow my lead," he said in a low mutter, hefting the slugthrower and walking over to the group that they were apparently supposed to be guarding.  As he moved, he looked around to gauge how many other yellow-sashed figures were paying attention to them...and how close they were.  A variety of scenarios played out in his mind...he chose to focus on the ones that ended up with the team making it back to the ship.  He moved closer to the one directing them...he seemed, at the moment, to be the only one really paying attention to them...that increased the chances that he would be a target, and Rhijans wanted to be close enough to do something about that without resorting to weapons-fire.  Because firing a weapon would DEFINITELY attract a lot of attention...

Still dithering over her choices, Shard abruptly freezes where she stands.  A line appears between her brows, drawing down, and for an instant - a barest instant - she closes her eyes, more than a blink.  Then they snap open again.  "They're alive and on the way, Juragga!"

Thank you, Haarmon.

A heartbeat later, Rhijans is on the comm.  Shard fumbles for hers.  ++ You need a lift, or anything, just let us know.  We'll see what we can do.  Juragga is on the guns right now, so you don't need to worry about accuracy. ++  Hefting her own weapon - the pistol, this time - she readies herself.  The moment they're in sight, that ramp needs to be lowered, potentially with cover fire outside of the field of fire of the ship guns.

No point telling Rhijans to exercise caution -- redundant in the extreme -- but she does, anyway.  ++ Please be careful. ++

If Haarmon was sweating before, he was drenched now. This was all the way out into the weeds, deep in the tall grass. As little as he liked shooting his way out of things, he liked not being able to talk his way out even less. He was really only good at two things: slicing and telling lies.

And he couldn't do either of these things.

"How's your knife-work?" he asked Rhijans, under his breath, mostly in jest.

Mostly.

Rhijans grimaced, adding in a quick, quiet mutter, "Doesn't matter.  I don't have a knife."  He thought about adding more...but the fact that most of the yellow-sashed figures in view were yelling made him wary of getting into a conversation in low tones.  If these people didn't speak quietly, doing so would paint them as outsiders as surely as if they started speaking loudly, of just dropped their yellow sashes and ran.

He kept assessing their situation...and the group they were being called over to guard.  If enough factors fell the right way, he had the start of a plan.  If...

The group sitting on the ground look defeated.  Their heads are down, and they don't seem to be paying any attention to what is going on around them.  Except for one... that one appears to be attempting to comfort a somewhat smaller individual, and does not sit hands on head...

One of the yellow sashes is shouting again, thought the monologue seems to be directed at a group clustered around him.  One hand is raised suddenly, a digit pointing at the sky.  The heads of the audience all tilt back to look upwards.

Aboard the Bantha, Juragga uses the gun scope to watch the groups outside the building.  This all looks familiar... 

In the cockpit, Shard keeps watch.  There is a lot of gesticulating, and one of the locals is pointing straight up.  Three others seem to be acting oddly (which is to say, not like most of the others) ...

Rhijans' jaw clenched slightly.  There was a chance he was wrong, that the upward gesture was some kind of invocation of whatever passed for deity here...but to him, this looked suspiciously like a slaving raid.  And in that moment, he stopped looking for the cleanest way out, and started assessing what the odds were that they could take down the yellow-sashed figures.  He keyed his commlink.

"Shard?" he began in a low, controlled tone.  There was an edge to it that was unlike anything he'd used around the group before...but it had the promise of an unpleasant experience for someone lurking in it.  "Can you check the sensors and see if there's anything incoming from overhead?"

If they'd been left alone and let go, there was a chance Rhijans would have put his conscience...yes, he had a conscience, it just didn't react like many expected it to...he would have put it in check and walked away, for the good of the group.  But, unwittingly, they'd tried to make him an accomplice.  And that did not sit well with him...
This message was last edited by the player at 04:03, Sun 11 Nov 2018.

Haarmon couldn't read the situation as well or as quickly as Rhijans was. He saw the gesture and also thought maybe it meant something was coming from the sky. But he didn't know the implications or consequences thereof.

He was glad Rhijans seemed so on top of things. He followed the Big Man, hand on pistol, ready to do whatever needed doing.

Behind the gunsights, Juragga snarled.  He had a strong feeling he knew what was going on here.  His shaggy paws tightened on the controls and he began taking careful aim.

(OOC: Based on his experience, does Juragga think he could reasonably shoot at the yellow-sashed figures with a good chance of NOT hitting the prisoner-types?  Or is the fire too gross and inaccurate at this range and level of fidelity to do so?)

The monologue starts again, punctuated by the raised arm pointing at the sky.  And as it continues individuals start to move away, some hurrying into the smouldering building, while others spread out to surround the whole area.

Rhijans scowled, his face shrouded by the robes.  Spread out created some advantages, and took away others.  More bodies in the building improved their odds a bit, as well.

He gestured Haarmon and Jalt over.  "Look...this looks suspiciously like a slaving raid.  The smart move is to clear out while the yellow sashes are focused on getting more people out of the building and fanning out to cover the area...but I really don't like the fact that they just tried to get us to help them hold prisoners while the slave ship arrives.  Personally, my first impulse is to wait for them to cluster together and throw a thermal detonator in the middle, seeing as they tried that first...but I'm not the only one whose life is on the line, here."

He paused, looking around with eyes like obsidian.  "We have a resposibility to get the Colonel back to Command, and we shouldn't leave Shard and Juragga stuck with it.  I know what I'd prefer to do...but it's probably not what we SHOULD do.  I want your input before I do something that's gonna put us all at risk."  His voice was low, a dangerous growl that barely carried beyond the trio with the background noise of being outside.

Haarmon didn't even have to think about it. "I'm with you, Cap. I'm not much good out here in the world, but I'm behind you."

He tucked his hand under his robe and held it on the grip of his pistol. He felt reassured by its presence.

"What do you say we get on the comm and call in an airstrike, like?"

Cast a Summon Bantha spell. Get some air support.

Rhijans looked at Jalt.  "Your ship, your call. I don't even know if she can lift off again without installing the part you got from the Hutt, much less fly over and provide air cover.  And we don't know what's coming down from overhead, yet...if they're heavily armed pirates, we could be setting the Bantha up for a pounding."

And away she goes to the sensors, relief flooding through her at the sound of Rhijans' voice.  They're alive...all three, from the look of things, Shard having spotted the three in the crowd moving just a tad out of synch with everyone else.  Jubilation filling her, she cries out to Juragga.  "They're fine, we just need to get them out of there..."

The words trail off as she checks the sensors.

A moment later, she hits the comlink again, her voice quiet despite the sudden strain tightening her throat. ++ Rhijans, we have a single, heavy ship in orbit, and a number of smaller ones on their way down. ++  You need to get back here, she could say, but it would be redundant.

Suddenly things aren't quite so rosy, after all.

"Juragga, we've got company coming!" she calls through the empty hallways of the ship.

And with that, an intervention by the Bantha becomes an implausible gesture.  "Multiple incoming small craft, and a single large vessel overhead.  Fighting our way out is looking less viable..."  He looked around again, sizing up how many yellow sashes were outside and where they were located.

"What we need is a way to get the locals here able to fight back...if they rise up to take down the yellow sashes, we can use the noise as a cover to get back to the ship...and they may just be able to get free.  I'm guessing the slavers coming in aren't interested in a fight..."

He paused for a moment, as another thought dawned in his mind, and he keyed the commlink again.  "Shard, can you tell what kind of ships are coming in?  Or, at least, what's overhead?"  He looked at the other two and added, "If they're slavers, they won't be looking for a fight.  If they're Imperial, they won't think twice about it.  And they might be here for whatever we were being pitched to haul out."  That one, they'd have to worry about later.  Right now, they needed to find a way to make some noise, and get the captives ready to fight back.  His eyes kept moving, not only building a tactical assessment but also looking for the captured weapons that would have been taken off the captives.

Juragga roared a reply to Shard, swiveling his scope and shifting his focus skyward with a long Wookiee curse.

"How do you spark an uprising on the fly? Without even speaking the language?"

He looked over the little group of prisoners they were 'guarding.' About a dozen. Pretty rag-tag looking, all in all. But his eye was drawn to the one person looking halfway defiant, comforting a little one.

"Basic?" he called out to them, "Anyone? Here? You? Anyone? Basic?"

Whatever it is they planned to do, they'd want to know how much help they could expect from their 'allies.'

"She'll fly, but she'll be a bit sluggish." Jalt confirms.  "Main power coupling is shot, so she's running on the auxiliary system, which isn't really intended for top performance."

"I can to talking Bazic some."  The figure with the child holds up one hand, two digits held a very short distance apart.  "Little some.  You is no Deqotz Clade?"

Even for Shard, it's not difficult to fiddle with the equipment and get it tuned a little better for seeing 'high'.  She squints at the display, her own eyesight less-than-perfect up close.  After a moment, the woman's face twists as if she has bitten into a particularly bitter (and possibly rotted) lemon.  Of course.

Then it's right back to the com-link.

++ Imperials, ++ she flatly states without any attempt at sarcasm, irony, or even frustration.  There's no time for that, now.  ++ Star Destroyer in orbit.  Lambda class shuttle and TIE escorts on their way down.  I'm getting an ETA now. ++

As she studies the screen, she releases com to shout through the ship. "Juragga!  We're not fighting our way out, it's Imperials on the way." Her jaw sets as her voice drops.  "And we're in no shape to run, either."

Nimadda. 

Now, Shard considers, would be a good time for a patented Thanus & Dak Risky-Yet-Calculated Plan to pull their rears out of the Void.

Juragga let out a roar of defiance.

He had no intention of being taken alive.

He focused the scope on the shuttle, waiting for optimal range.

"Imperials!?" Jalt exclaims, "But how... oh, void!  I bet they're here for the cargo!"  He looks up at the sky, almost convinced that he can see the descending ships.  He drags his blaster out from under his robe, and cradles it alongside the primitive weapon, for the moment.

The time for subtlety might be about to fade into the past...

Juragga and Shard study their respective scopes.  The TIEs are in the lead, spread out to provide some cover from fighters coming up from below.

"We start shooting from the ground," Shard shouts, "we're dead.  We need to get this ship in the air, no matter what shape it's in."  A fixed exmplacement will get annihilated by the TIEs.  She returns her attention to the crowd, where her people mix with others.  "C'mon, you three.  Get over here."

The comm goes back on.  ++ If you can get here, we can get out.  The Imperials won't try to stop every ship lifting off if they'r not here specifically for us. ++

Juragga howled in frustration.  But he knew Shard was right.  He kept his guns trained on the shuttle, but held fire for now.

"ROOOWWWWR!!!" he added.

If we're going to lift off, we better do it soon!

Rhijans focused on the figure that respond.  "No Deqotz Clade," he confirmed, pulling the shroud over his face aside far enough for her (he presumed) to see his face.  There were that many gray-skinned humanoids around...if she'd been in the room, she should recognize who he was.

"We help you fight them, you escape.  Deal?"  He saw two responses likely...one would be potentially fatal for the trio, but it was time for desperate measures.

"Is deal." the figure stands, seeming to unfold until she stands at least a head taller than any of the rebels.  Throwing back her head, she issues a strange ululating cry, then calls out something in the local language.  All across the area, seated figures rise, snatch up items of scrap and wreckage from the ground, and start to attack their captors...

The tall alien picks up the child, holding it close as projectile weapons open fire upon the crowd, which is rapidly becoming a mob...

More of the captives scramble to their feet and join the fight...

Chaos was their best friend. Always has been, always will be. When things started falling apart, and the centre stopped holding, that's where their little band always managed to find a way through.

Haarmon started moving toward the ship, trying to keep behind cover, wreckage, dunes, whatever, as out of sight as he could, and he pulled his pistol and started picking off Clade members. No flashy spins, no quick-draws, just careful pointing and clicking, always moving.

And every few shots, pulling out his slug thrower and blasting a few into the sky. Just to keep things interesting.

Rhijans promptly thrust the slugthrower he was carrying into the hands of one of the Nuq Clade captives...while he understood the basics of it, and could probably use it effectively, he could only fire one weapon at a time, and he was far better acquainted with the blaster.

He turned, throwing the yellow sash to the ground, and snapped off two shots at the first of the yellow sashes he saw...nothing fancy, just center-mass targeting and hoping for enough damage to take them out of the fight.

"Sit tight, Shard, we're on our way shortly!" he called out.  With the Nuq Clade mobbing the others, any fire from the Bantha was almost destined to become a friendly-fire incident...and moving the ship would no doubt attract attention from Imperial eyes overhead.

He figured to hold his ground long enough to help the Nuq Clade get some advantage...then make for the Bantha, after warning them about the incoming Imperials.

++ Right, ++ Shard replies into the mic. Sit tight? she considers.  Tight like her stomach, maybe.  Not like I have choice... Her eyes flick back to the scanner, where she watches the TIE fighters slowly spread out to cover the area as the shuttle continues to fall.  "We're going to have a problem getting out of here," the woman considers.

That said, she turns to another scanner.  "Tological map of the area," Shard hisses.  "C'mon, where are you?  Mountain ranges, lakes, anything we can use to get into a hide?"

If they're slow and wallowing, they might as well BE a Bantha for all that they can escape the TIE's in a straight chase; the ship will get shot to pieces in short order.

OOC - Shard is obviously searching for a map or scan of the nearby surface of the planet.

"GROWWWR!!"

The shuttle's in range... if that's Nimaada on there... I've got a good shot, he said.

Amid the chaos, Haarmon saw Rhijans push the slugthrower into the hands of one of the hostages. That was a void-cursed good idea, and never one too proud to steal someone else's good idea, he did the same.

And as they moved, and shot, and tried not to get shot, he kept an eye on the tall alien with the child. The Queen of Ululation. He wanted to make sure she was safe, or as safe as she could be, given the circumstances.

They had an obligation to her, after all.

The area in front of the burning structure dissolves into chaos.  The yellow sashes are better armed, but they are outnumbered by their prisoners, who seem to have a knack of using almost any piece of scrap as a usable weapon, when they aren't taking one from their captors.

Haarmon looks around and finds the alien woman surprisingly close by, almost as if she were following him...

The rebels, Rhijans, Haarmon, and Reldan Jalt, are all methodically firing at anybody wearing a yellow sash.  It becomes apparent pretty quickly, that they have an even bigger advantage in armament - the locals' weapons seem to have a limited capacity before they need to be reloaded, and also appear to be less powerful than blasters.

Suddenly the alien woman stumbles, falls, twisting as she does so to protect the child from impact with the ground.

She wants to tell Juragga to take the shot.  Nimadda...she'd be free of the fear.  Haarmon would be free of the fear.  But Shard doesn't; she keeps her teeth locked together until she wrestles that fear under control.  "Do we have enough power on the guns to punch through their shields with one burst?  Because that's all we're going to get."

Her lips tighten, now pale and thin.  "And then those TIE fighters will tear us -- and any chance of our people escaping -- to pieces," Shard finishes, closing her eyes. "I don't...I don't think we can chance it, Juragga!  If we do, we might get Nimadda --" assuming the woman is on the ship "-- but then we die.  And so does everyone here." 

Her fist smacks down on a safe area of the control panel.  How she wants Juragga to take that shot, to transform the potential-Nimadda into an eruption of colourful contrails, like fireworks going off above them.

But no; there's too much at stake for her to agree.

"Your call, Juragga, you're on the guns.  But...I don't feel we should."

Haarmnon sees the Tall Mom alien stumble and turns back to help her. He gets her under one arm and tries to lift her up.

Then he sees the wound in her side and the blood (Blood? Did you still call it blood when it was an alien, or was it, like, ichor or something? Anyway...) seeping into her tunic.

"Oh Hot Inscrutable Void," he muttered. This was going to slow them down.

"Can Stand? Walk?" he tried to ask her.

He even reached out to hold her child, if she would let him. He didn't much like not having a gun hand full of gun, but he less liked watching the little thing roll away into the sand.

"Rhijans!" he called out, "Hold up!"

Rhijans stopped, turning to fire at a few more yellow-sashed figures that exited the building that had been home to Nuq Clade.  "This place is going to be covered with TIE fighters in very short order, Haarmon!" he said in response...but he didn't keep moving toward the ship.  He took a knee, cutting his target profile, as he continued firing at the intruders.

"They got a good, close look at the Bantha when we were rescuing the Colonel...odds are good we can't just lie low and hope they ignore us as just another ship on the ground..."  He fired more shots at each pause.  That may be the only option left for us, though... he told himself.  The Bantha's ability to run was severely limited at the moment, and it would take time to swap out whatever part it was Jalt had gotten from the Hutt.  It was time they likely didn't have.

He swept the skies with a glance, searching not only for signs of incoming fighters, but also for signs of fleeing ships from the surface.  Maybe, if enough others all made a break for it, the Imperials would be busy.  And, surely, if it was an unexpected visit, there would be others opting to run...Hutts often had a deal with the Empire, he knew...but their associates weren't always covered by those deals.

"Think no can to stand.  Think dead soon." the alien gasps out, her voice full of wheezes and rasping sounds that sound less than hopeful.  "To take infant now.  She only hope for Nuq Clade.  She cargo you come for.  Go Dateen, find Tfalta Dawl - last we hear, she go Dateen, maybe still there.  She know what do with infant."

A shuddering gasp, and then, "Infant is Nuq Neq Tjar...  She now leader of Nuq Clade."

From somewhere high above, faintly discernible over the sounds of the battle, comes the sound of ship engines...

"We REALLY need to go..." Rhijans said, before snapping off another shot at a yellow-sashed figure that exited the remains of the Nuq Clade stronghold.  Only the emphasis he put on the word revealed just how urgent he felt the situation was.

"This place is going to be crawling with Imperial troops in a matter of minutes...likely to get chewed up by Imperial fighters before that, since the situation on the ground isn't exactly certain.  We don't want to be out in the open when those fighters come overhead."  His voice didn't betray it, but he was mildly perplexed at the utter lack of reaction from the spaceport area.  It left him feeling extremely dubious of their chances, either way...running would attract the attention of the fighters--sitting it out would only work if Dargo didn't have some deal with the Empire that would result in the Hutt selling them out.

"Jalt...if the ship is totally powered down, can the transponders on the engines be traced?  I know they send out a signal constantly when they're in operation..."  He'd used that trick, more than once, to track people down...

"But I don't know if they have their own power supply.  I figure, though, if there's no power signature from the 'graveyard' over there, the Empire's less likely to give it a closer look...and thus, less likely to leave us fighting our way out of here."

Haarmon took the infant and wrapped it up in his dirty robes as best he could. He took one final look at its mother and tried to, well, he didn't really know. Say a prayer to the Force? That was stupid. But he looked. And he memorized her face. So, come what may, as long as Haarmon lived, she wouldn't be forgotten.

She deserved that much.

"Let's get to it," he said, "Whatever other insanity we have waiting for us, we're done here."

His eyes scanned the sky. He did NOT want to be caught in the open.

Did not.

The TIEs spread out and adopt a circling pattern, part of which has them passing overhead.  The Lambda Class shuttle continues on a descent vector that looks like it will put the ship on the ground roughly equidistant from the Bantha and the Nuq Clade building, or perhaps a bit nearer the building, and about 200 metres off the direct line connecting the two...

Jalt fires off a couple more shots, not even aiming.  The blaster bolts don't hit anything, but the yellow sashes duck for cover anyway.

"The transponders are running, but I always switch the codes after I've been in any sort of trouble.  Not strictly legal, so I'd rather you didn't broadcast that."

Harmon, with the child cradle on his left arm and a blaster in his right hand, starts to move towards the Bantha, which looks to be further away every time he glance in that direction...

Juragga is wracked with indecision.  He'll never get a better shot at the Imperial shuttle than the one he has now...

Juragga hesitated a long moment, the wisdom of the Jedi in his ears...

And then he roared a tremendous Wookiee roar and pulled the trigger, his teal eyes narrow and full of anger at the Empire, Nimaada, and the loss of his family.

To hell with it!  He was gonna take out that shuttle if it killed him.

20:19, Today: Juragga rolled 9 using 4 dice with the WEG Classic system with rolls of {Wild}2,2,3,2.  Starship Guns.

Rhijans blinked a couple of times in surprise.  There was a Star Destroyer in orbit overhead...with enough fighters to take on a significant portion of the entire Alliance detachment assigned to the sector...and those fighters were audibly close (and maybe visibly, he wasn't looking up...)

And someone on the Bantha decided it was a good time to try and shoot their way out of the situation, with a wounded vessel and a high-priority passenger on board.  "Well, if we live through this, looks like it's going to be time to change those codes again," he said, grimly.

He was already trying to calculate a course of action that could get them out of the situation...and wasn't coming up with much that inspired any hope.  But he definitely wasn't going to get caught out on the sands, doing nothing.  "We better hurry, before our ride gets blown up and leaves us stuck with no hope at all..." he said, and redoubled his efforts to hurry across the dusty expanse between them and the Bantha.

Shard hates waiting; thus, the situation in which she finds herself is quite close to the worst possible.  Imperials incoming...friends out there in a firefight...Juragga considering firing...and she can do nothing.  Something needs to break the accursed paralysis that has fallen over her.

The ship shudders as the dorsal cannon fires, and Shard feels the Wookie's war-cry in her bones.

"Well, that did the trick," she mutters, praying the shot was good.  "Preflight it is."  Economically, she begins the basic preflight she knows, flipping switches and beginning to power.  "And it's shields first," the older woman grimly announces to the empty cabin.

She's rather hoping to see flaming wreckage fall past the viewport, any second now.

Laser fire streaks up from the Bantha's dorsal turret, aimed at the shuttle... and punches through one of the stabilizers.  The shuttle lurches and drops about ten metres vertically before recovering, and starting to climb sluggishly, trailing black smoke...

Half the TIEs start to climb with.  The remaining four swing around towards the Bantha...

A sound like thunder rolls across the battlefield.  A large explosion somewhere above.  The rebels make the best time they can towards the Bantha, while the locals duck, and run for cover, seemingly expecting the sky to fall on them at any moment...

"Actually..." Shard murmurs, then raises her voice.  "Perfect, Juragga!"  With the shuttle damaged, its presumably precious cargo in danger, it's moving away and taking a chunk of its escorts with it.  "Shields are up!" she shouts, continuing.  "Pre-flight started!"

For whatever good it will do.

They still have the problem that set them down on this Hutt-infested rock.  At best, they have a reprieve...but Shard doubts they will simply 'escape'.   "Dorsal shields...to max," she murmurs, tuning the deflectors to give them the best possible protection while on the ground.

Rhijans didn't bother looking up...it would only delay their race to the ship to do so.  The fading sound of the shuttle's engines and rising howl of the TIE fighters told him everything that was relevant to the current moment.  "Well, that brought us a little time, but focused the fighters.  Let's make the most of it!" he urged the other two...but he carefully made sure that he didn't outpace them.  Especially Haarmon...what was so special about the infant that had been handed to them, he didn't know, but the Empire wanted the kid, and that was reason enough to make sure they didn't get it, in his mind.

Jalt follows along, sticking close to Rhijans and keeping an eye on Haarmon.  But there is something that doesn't seem quite right...

"If the Bantha opened fire on that shuttle, why hasn't the star destroyer blasted this whole area to ash?  That'd be the standard Imperial response."  He squeezes off a couple of shots in the direction of the nearest yellow sashes, not really caring if he hits anything, mainly just wanting to force them to keep their heads down.

He risks a glance towards his ship.  A hundred metres to go...

Juragga was snarling, defiant, expecting death and just hoping to take down the shuttle - which he assumed carried Nimaada - before he died in a fiery blaze of glory.

But the shuttle, though hit, was pulling away, intact.

And half the TIEs had broken off with it, while the other half rang a holding pattern overhead.

Roaring in fury, Juragga realized the play he'd been dealt.  Nonetheless, he laid down suppression fire to scare off any TIEs getting too ballsy.

Rhijans scowled as they scrambled across the desert surface.  "Got a theory on that...we're supposed to take the infant to Tfalta Dawl.  If they're sending their kid to a Jedi, I'm pretty sure Nimadda's interested in it, too...probably won't opt to destroy it unless it becomes apparent that there's no chance they can capture it."  Which meant, quite likely, minimal contact from the TIE fighters as long as the ship was on the ground...and heavy efforts by the Empire to interdict any vessel trying to escape the planet.

"Getting off this dustball planet is gonna be a real trick..." he added, hinting at the thoughts running through his mind.

They're holding back?  THey're holding back!

Which is good...but the pessimist in Shard can't help but realize it means they want something intact.

No matter.  Juragga keeps up the fire, and she has zero complaints about his choices.  Whatever his reasoning, he was right to fire on the shuttle, and if the TIE's are under orders not to blanket the area with laser-fire, he might as well make it hard for them to start with precision shots.

Rhijans and co. should be approaching the ship by now.  Hauling out her blaster, Shard hurries for the main hatch.  "Better put out the welcome matt," she murmurs.  The team is almost back together again.  Almost.

Haarmon ran to keep up. He was glad that he'd had some practice exercising with Shard. Otherwise he'd have been in the dirt long since.

"Do you know this Tfakta Dawl? And they're a...  you know...?" and he wiggled his fingers in a vaguely magical manner.

He just figured they'd wound up bit players in someone else's redemption arc.

But if the infant was a Force-whatever, and Dawl was too.

Well. Then. That was a whole 'nother kettle of lightsabers.

"TIES aren't fighting back either," he notes, "So we got a chance to get gone. I don't know where we're gonna get to though."

A pause.

"I got a bad feeling about this."

Rhijans gave a sniff that might have been a short.  "It would be a very generous description to say we know her.  We've worked with her before...a fair while back.  Not even sure where to find her, now, but I suspect the Colonel has ways of contacting her." There was a momentary pause, and then, almost reluctantly, he said, "And, yes, she's a Jedi.  Or, at least, she trained with them...I got the feeling that she'd argue she didn't get trained enough to claim to be a Jedi, but she's as close to it as you're gonna find."

Even as they approached the Bantha, part of Rhijans' mind marvelled at the fact 5hat he would even admit there was any legitimacy to the stories of Jedi...but unlike most of his people, he'd actually seen it, and he couldn't argue with the evidence of his own experience.

"And you should have a bad feeling...there's still about five hundred ways the Empire could catch or destroy us...and that's assuming we got the right part from the Hutt, and that it's in proper working order...and that nothing else is on the verge of failing..."

The Bantha is spraying laser fire into the sky, which bring a smile to Jalt's face, even if he can't see exactly what she's shooting at.  As a guess, he'd have to say that Juragga is in the turret - somehow the shots seem to have the Wookiee's enthusiasm about them.

"Dawl was on Mothessh when we left.  She has a lot of contacts, and she's been using them to get intel for Kourene."

Fifty metres to go, and the shooting on the ground has stopped...

Twenty-five, and Shard is there, in the hatch, ready to provide covering fire...

And then they are on the ramp... and finally through the hatch themselves.

Jalt cocks his head to one side as he enters the ship.  "You prepped her?"  The question is, of course, directed at Shard.  Even before he has an answer, he's heading for the cockpit.

Haarmon stands there, blaster in one hand, infant cradled in the crook of his other arm...

"Yeah," he said to Rhians, "That's pretty much the feeling I'm talking about."

But feeling or no, he started hoofing it with the others. He, too smiled, at the laser-fire. He'd know some good-old Rags-blasting anywhere. And if there was one thing he loved most about that old Wookie, it was his penchant for taking the direct route.

"Lady said Dateen," he huffed out as he ran. "Last heard Dateen, she said."

And then, once on the ship. He stood there, stupidly. Held up the baby.

"Uh, anyone got a bottle?"

At least the kid was asleep.

Pragmatism, as usual, steered Rhijans' response.  "Go sit down and strap in.  If we're lifting off anytime soon, it's a good bet the Empire's gonna chase us...and while I've got all the faith in the world in your ability to keep yourself from falling and splitting your head open, I don't know how good you'll be when you have your hands full of future-Jedi-baby."

He followed Jalt toward the cockpit, adding, over his shoulder, "We'll worry about feeding the child when it wakes up.  Right now, staying alive is priority number one."

Haarmon made a sour face and went and sat down. Rhijans was maybe the coolest guy he ever met (aside from Rags anyway), but he was absolute beans at dramatic entrances. It's like he'd never even seen a sit-com before.

But sat down. Strapped in. Made sure the baby was as comfortable as was reasonably possible.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:54, Sun 16 Dec 2018.

From the cockpit Jalt calls out, "Juragga, I'll need you to keep those TIEs off us, until I can work out how I'm getting the Bantha out of here."

And there it is... the ship is damaged.  At best she's going to limp away from here, under fire.  And if he tries for orbit, he'll be flying his precious ship towards a star destroyer.

"I have a bad feeling about this."

Shard, meanwhile, can't help but notice that Haarmon is carrying an alien infant - Jedi are justifiably famed for their sharp senses and mental acuity. 

The ship jolts and rattles as it lifts just off the ground...

Juragga howled in agreement, laying down fire with great enthusiasm (if not great accuracy).

14:39, Today: Juragga rolled 4 (10 excluding the wild die) using 4 dice with the WEG Classic system with rolls of 5,{Wild}1,1,3.  Starship Guns.