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?"