Early morning, two days after the successful mission to Dateen, and a carefully selected group of individuals are summoned to Defiance Base's Briefing Room.  To the members of the recent expedition, one thing that becomes obvious is that not all of them have been called in for this briefing.  The ones who weren't part of that particular job are, of course, blissfully unaware of the missing members of the team.

Most of the people in the room have hot beverages, and some have even brought part of the breakfast with them.

Now it's just a matter of waiting to see what the briefing will be about it.  As yet, though, there is no sign of any of the senior Alliance personnel from the base.

OOC: Get to know each other a little, IC.  Colonel Kourene will probably be along shortly to give you work to do...

"Great.  New crew, probably new ship," Shard mutters as she wanders into the room, hot beverage steaming in her hand, her head throbbing.  Having managed a whopping one day of sobriety before breaking down, she's still suffering from her excess of the night before.  It doesn't help that her body aches along with her head; a day and a half of heavy exercise doesn't pay off in the short run (nor, if not continued, the long) except in pain.

So much for that leaf, but she'll find another to turn over.  When it's really needed.  Next time.

But she's also honest enough with herself to call that a lie.

"Morning," she mumbles.  It's waaaay too early for it to be 'good'.  Her eyes rove around the new arrivals, and the obvious stick-out is the Wookie.  So we traded in Narf, Mogg and Shisskurr for him.  The men in the group have probably gone into paroxyms of despair.  Plopping down in a seat, she leans back, rocking slightly on the chair's rear legs.  "Shard.  Pleased to meet you all."

It doesn't sound pleased; rather, Shard seems concerned.

Juragga entered, holding a steaming mug that others would call a bowl in one shaggy paw, and the broiled leg of some unfortunate mega-bird in the other.  His long shaggy hair was disheveled, and fell across his blue-green eyes.  Finding a seat, he plopped down heavily - causing other seats nearby to jump with the impact.

He growled a muffled rumble of apology, then took a draught of his steaming drink.  The scent of mulled wine wafted from the mug.  Just the thing to take the edge off his hangover.  He'd dreamed again last night, and only the hot wine had chased the ghosts away.  Now, he was paying the price - which is why he tried not to do that too often.  Fortunately, his massive constitution and Wookiee physique hid any tell-tale signs from the small furless ones around him - he hoped.  He didn't want to make a bad impression.

Smiling a fanged grin at Shard, he responded with a Wookiee warble of greeting.  Canting his furred head, he looked at the entryway, wondering when Haarmon would join them.  While wondering, he tore a massive chunk out of the giant bird leg and wolfed it down.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:18, Mon 11 Apr 2011.

The door opens and a short, skinny, slightly-funny looking kid comes in with a showy walk that's just a hair's width shy of a full-on strut. He wears some off-the-shelf brand name clothes that are probably his version of 'slumming it.' At his hip is an ornate gunslinger's holster with an Aurturean Blaster Mk XVII (Limited Anniversary Edition). The gold filigree shines and winks under the lighting from across the room.

"This where the meeting's at?" he calls out to no one in particular, "Hey! Ragga! There you are!"

He grabs a hot mug of coffee, adds enough sugar and cream to make it a lukewarm mug of latte and flops down next to the Wookie. He looks around, his nose wrinkled up just a little, like something smells bad.

Noticing Shard, he offers her a wink and a nod so exaggerated that either he's suavely self-satirical, or he's never kissed a girl.

K'thar joined the small group, entering with a walk that clearly made him pompous.  He strode over to the coffee and grabbed a cup of it, drinking it straight.  A long duelling sword hangs from one hip and he wears a many-colored, jury-rigged, mismatched pile of armor.

"Good morning, my new friends!"  K'thar made eye contact with Shard.  "It is indeed a pleasure to meet you as well."

Juragga nods and hoists his steaming mug of mulled wine at Haarmon's entrance, caterwauling a greeting.  Still chewing his birdzilla leg, he cants his head to one side and warbles hello to K'thar.

This was quite a collection of hairless monkeys he'd thrown in with.  Haarmon was a full-time job by himself, but the kid had saved him - and might yet help find his children.  Besides, a life-debt was a life-debt... and he wouldn't have it any other way.

He washed down the broiled bird-meat with a deep draught from his bowl-sized mug and smacked his lips.

Shard's eyes briefly unfocus as the Wookie warbles, and she blinks several times, struggling against the throbbing in her head.  "Argh," the older woman mutters as she waves back at Juragga - certainly their new squad-mate is enthusiastic, and she'd take that over 'surly'.

One eyebrow shoots up as she offers Haarmon a hesitant wave, then the second rises to join it as K'thar jovially storms the room (if that's not too much of a contradiction).  "Argh," she quietly repeats.  Enough.  Her patience already exhausted, Shard acts.

Burnished metal flashes in her hand as it slips out from under robe, and her finger flicks a small catch, freeing the safety.  Her thumb touches a button, something snaps as the smooth, steely device activates...

*glug*

...recapping the flask, Shard slips it back beneath her cloak and sips at her steaming mug, now fortified with a shot of possibly the worst Frenzie brandy she has ever tasted.

It was cheap.

"So," she rasps, coughing once.  "I guess we're in this next one together, then."  It's not a question.  "I do support - that is, I talk with people, help other people look for things, shoot lousy, and generally try to keep everyone alive, even though I'm not a medic."  Shard shrugs; she doesn't actually have much of a speciality, though given a moment to think things over she usually does decently at most things.

"What about you lot?"  She motions in the direction of the 'new people', about to become 'the group' in her head.  All she needs are names and places to slot them.

"My name is K'thar... and I am a Jedi.  I prefer to use my trusty sword here," he pats the longblade at his side, "to do battle with my villanous foes." K'thar squints his eyes at the words 'villanous foes' for emphasis.

Juragga took in Shard's wince, and his blue-green eyes noticed the deft use of the silver flask.  He nodded silently and smiled a wry, Wookiee grin.  Then, softly out of respect for Shard's, ah, condition, he rumbled his introduction.

"RawwGUHhhhrrAWWWuhhn," he said.  "Juragga ruhhhrr AWWWwww.  Ruuuu awWAaaan."

Or, loosely translated... "My name is Juragga.  I break things and I fix things.  It depends on what needs doing."

At K'thar's introduction, though, his teal eyes opened wide and he sputtered a bit of hot wine down his chin.  "WAAaaaaaaaaugh," he hooted, clearly Wookiee laughter.

Shard snorts at Juragga's amusement, even if she doesn't understand his words(yet - she used to know some Wookie, and with a little concentration might be able to bring it back).  She raises her cup in salute, then wiggles the flask inquiringly, perfectly willing to share.  She has more back at her locker, after all.

Again...cheap.

But her face falls at K'thar's explanation and she pops the top of the flask again, this time taking a long swig of the straight liquid.  Oh, stupid...it's horrid.  Coughing, Shard shakes her head.  At least the foul liquor gives her a reason to look disgusted.  "K'thar," she greets the 'Jedi' hoarsely.

We're doomed, I swear we're doomed.  The Colonel's punishing me, I know it....

At least the Wookie finds it amusing.  It makes Shard want to beat her head against the table.

Rhijans had stood, silently, off to one side.  He didn't do small talk, generally...he could, when the situation called for it.  That was what had led them to Zaerd.

Instead of talking, he turned a calculating gaze on the group.  Shard was...well, back to the condition she'd been in before the run to Ker Zaineer.  The Wookiee...Rhijans shrugged, inwardly.  It was early for wine, but he wasn't familiar with Wookiees--maybe mulled wine was a breakfast drink for them.  He doubted it...but he was willing to give the hairy beast the benefit of the doubt and assume he could take care of himself.

The...kid...that was the only word that came to mind...walked in, and Rhijans carefully avoided overtly rolling his eyes or snickering.  Too much flash and flair, wanting to be taken seriously without knowing how to really get it done.  Yep...their wannabe-sharpshooter was definitely going to take some watching.  Steady hands on the reins, a firm voice telling him to sit down and shut up before he got them all killed...  If the kid stayed with them for three months...and survived it...he might actually be half as dangerous as he looked like he wanted people to think he was.

But Rhijans couldn't help himself, though, when K'thar made his introduction.  An audible snort of disdain escaped, followed by a couple of coughs and a few mild curses in various languages as the hot coffee spilled on his hand.  A Jedi?  He'd had his doubts about Dawl...but at least she carried a lightsaber.

He spoke, his voice carefully neutral.  "Colonel Kourene hates us," he said, to Shard and Jacobs.  It was the only explanation that made any sense to him.

"I shouldn't have been so insistent about that last reimbursement, I guess..."

When Mark heard the comment of being a Jedi, he turned his head to look K'thar over. He didn't snort after Rhijans' comment, but waited and watch the man with mismatched pieces of tin over his body.

"Nice bit of armor you got there." Mark smiled as he commented on K'thar's appearance. "Very subtle, and effective I'm sure."

Mark gave the Wookiee a nod. He didn't give any indication if he understood Juragga or not.

Mark didn't bother to introduce himself, yet.



rolled 10 using 3 dice with the WEG Classic system with rolls of 4,{Wild}4,2. Alien Species understand Wookiee.

K'thar grinned broadly, "Why thank you, I did make it myself... you know.  I'm glad someone has a sense of taste, at least.  It has been quite effective in my previous trials, yes indeed.  Quite the observant one, you are."

Rhijans' expression looked remarkably similar to a man who had discovered a pet's 'present' on the bedroom floor, the hard way.  The kid had been bad enough...but the 'Jedi'?  He wasn't even good enough to fake being a Jedi convincingly.  And for all the faith that Rhijans utterly lacked in Jedi, the one thing that could have pleased him less than having one was having someone who claimed to be one, but had none of the skills. The only good thing he could see coming out of this was that, maybe, the kid would recognize what kind of a buffoon the 'Jedi' was and develop some common sense.  Maybe.

He said nothing, shaking the spilled coffee from his hand, and looked around for a towel or dishcloth to clean up the spill.  Shoulda stayed in bed, he mused.  For that matter, I shoulda stayed in Ker Zaineer.  Hell, I shoulda never come to this sector of space to begin with.

Juragga beamed at Shard's proferred offer of whiskey.  Nodding, he warbled an affirmative, and then offered up his own massive flagon of warm wine - a swap, or sharing, as it were.

He chortled something under his breath and took a swig of the rotgut.  His reaction was to stop, blink... and then smile in a broad Wookiee grin.

He nodded to Mark, and took note of the grim figure of Rhijans... both of which seemed to be engaged in discussion with the 'Jedi'.

"The Colonel isn't a big fan of me," Shard points out to Rhijans.  "But he's fair.  There's a reason.  Just...keep that in mind."  Shifting to a seat close enough to allow the exchange, she accepts the heavy cup in both hands and takes a small, careful drink.  It's for a Wookie - her tolerance is impressive, but not that developed.  But the drink turns out to be a warm, spiced wine, surprising this early in the morning.  Surprising for me...maybe not a Wookie.  She reflects further, eyeing the flask as the Wookie drinks.  Huh.  To be honest, maybe not for me, either...amazing, he likes the stuff.

She'll have to stock up if she has a drinking partner.  Not on the mission, Shard, not on the mission.

Not in the briefing, either.

"Doesn't go down easy," she murmurs, taking back the flask, "but you're welcome to it." Her eyes find the 'Jedi', deep in discussion with Jacobs regarding the relative merits of the armor.  Armor and a sword.  Just hope he has a blaster in there...waitaminute.

"Hang on, hang on," Shard says, more loudly than she intends.  Ah, well...it was meant to get attention.  "Last mission we got in a bit of trouble that wasn't helped by everyone's tendency to cart around hand cannons and popguns - no offense, Rhijans, yours beat mine.  Now, I try to avoid shootouts, but they happen.  So I figure I ought to ask - what's everyone's loadout?  Are we still all short-range workers?  Or does anyone carry a regulation pistol, or even a carbine?"

She slaps her hold-out on the table.  "I have this...piece of junk."  Shard eyes the little toy with some exasperation.  "Figure on requisitioning a standard blaster from the Colonel."

At Shard's question a smile spread across Haarmon's face, almost like he'd been sitting there waiting for just that question. And to be asked by the hot chick with questionable judgment and visible self-destructive tendencies? Perfect.

He shoots to his feet and stands, hip turned slightly sideways so everyone can see both the blaster and its elabourate holster.

"You go ahed and keep your standard Blaster, sweets. What I have here, lady and gents, is the Aurturean Legacy, Mark XVII. Anniversary Edition." At this he pulls leather, like a streak of blue summer lightning his hand flies to the grip and quicker than a gundar blinks the long, slim, ornate blaster is in his hand.

"Less than ten thousand were made. Single deadliest blaster in the Galaxy. Pin-point accuracy. Easy-pull smart trigger. Over 50% more efficient than the Baen Sureshot." Anyone who's been in a public place recently would recognize the ad copy, lifted almost verbatim from the high-rotation commercials that filled the nets about a year ago.

He turns it from side to side and spins it in his hands in a series of complex movements, holsters it in one fluid motion and draws again.

"Cuz the artist is only as good as his tools, am I right, Rags?" He holsters the pistol and sits back down again, his posture much more of a 'lounge' now. He favours Shard with a suggestive look. Or, at least, some sort of half-baked adventure-cast attempt at a suggestive look.

Rhijans listened to Dak's recitation of the merits of his sidearm, and suppressed a chuckle.  The kid would learn...

"You've seen my load-out, but for the sake of the new kids..."  He smiled thinly, a gesture that may, possibly, have been intended to mask the resignation that colored his voice--but instead, nuanced it dangerously close to disdain.

"I carry a heavy blaster pistol.  Yes, it's the same model they issue to Imperial troops.  Yes, I carry it legally.  No, I have not yet seen a replacement for it on the market that even vaguely interests me.  It does the job, does it well, and has never failed me.  I'll take proven reliability over high-concept marketing drivel, any day."  He finished wiping the coffee off his hand, soaked as much out of his shirt as he could, and dropped the dish towel on the floor to soak up his spill there, nudging it around with his boot.  He hardly glanced down, as he moved it around.

Juragga swapped drinks back with Shard and nodded, the Wookiee ritual of drink-swapping complete.  Happily, he downed the rest of the mulled wine, setting the empty mug down next to his chair, at his feet.

Discussion turned to weaponry.  Before the massive Wookiee could warble a reply, Haarmon stood up and preened, showing off the shiny blaster he wore on his hip.  Juragga shook his head and let out a single "MuUUUrrrghh!" of mild disagreement.  In his experience, the tools were only as good as the artist, to use Haarmon's terminology.

Of course, that didn't mean it hurt to have really big tools - something Rhijans seemed to grasp as he displayed his heavy blaster pistol.

With little flourish and in a matter-of-fact manner, he reached behind his back and produced a massive Wookiee bowcaster, its bow folded for storage.  He gobbled an assessment of the weapon before sliding it back into place on his back, never deploying the arms.  It wasn't fancy.  It wasn't shiny.  But it was durable, weather-resistant, powerful, and he knew how to use it well.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:33, Tue 12 Apr 2011.

Rhijans quirked an eyebrow.  He'd heard of bowcasters...had never actually seen one, but he'd heard very interesting things about them.  He'd be curious to see if the reality lived up to the stories he'd been told.  He suspected not...he had yet to see a weapon that would shoot around corners while slicing and buttering your bread for you, which was about the same degree of implausible he'd been told.  But the thing didn't have to live up to every story told about it to be a remarkable weapon.

He was, however, very glad the Wookiee was carrying it.  The thing was way too big to be comfortably used, by his own standards.

Okay...the Wookiee, at least, seems to know what he's doing.  There might be hope for us, yet... he revised his opinion of the new additions to the group.  The Wookiee was, debatably, at least competent, unless the wear and tear on the bowcaster were the result of someone else's use of the weapon.  The kid?  Well, he could, perhaps, learn enough to not be a total loss...if he learned how to stop acting like a holo-character in a bad gangster film.

The 'Jedi'?  Well...Rhijans didn't hold out much hope for them ever turning that guy into a competent operator.

Shard listens to the advertisement with a small smile on her face, taking the occasional sip of her loaded drink.  The young man displays some practice with his weapon...practice playing with it, in any case.  The spinning display is quite impressive, but whether or not he can actually hit the broadside of a barn is open to debate.  Finally Haarmon finishes up, and she cocks her head to the side, raising an eyebrow at the sobriquet he bestows upon her.  There are so many innuendo-filled comebacks she could fire, but her head hurts and she's not interested in witty repartee.  Instead..."Okay, I'll buy that.  But can it shoot far?" she inquires.

It's completely plausible that this one has gone for punch over distance.  More than plausible, she considers.

Rhijans explains his own choice, one Shard knows quite well at this point.  Blunt, as always.  Her mouth twitches as he sops up the coffee spill, then her eyes turn to the Wookie as he brings out his preferred tool.  Shard has seen a bowcaster - once - but never seen one fired.  Archaic didn't mean 'weak', and hopefully the weapon has some distance to its shots.

She takes another sip of her drink.  'Rags'.  Her eyebrow rises again as she glances down at her clothing.  Maybe so.

"I've requested a rifle or a carbine." Mark added as the group discussed various weaponry. "But I haven't received approval. But if I can get my hands on a DL6H Heavy blaster pistol for obvious reasons."

"As long as we have something that can hit - accurately - out past fifty meters, I'm happy," Shard mutters.  "I don't like shootouts, but in this line of work they're inevitable."

So far, so good.  Better to have a good mix of blasters than everyone loaded down with two - the handcannons most people carried gave the group solid firepower in the short ranges at which most of their altercations would occur, and having at least two or three longer guns (even standard pistols!) would allow for more accurate discouragement at greater distances.

Could have used a couple of pistols firing at those swoops she considers.  It would have been better to have engaged them at a decent range - she'd lay odds that was the kind of 'target shooting' best for Haarmon and his fancy blaster.

And if things got too close?

K'thar is probably decent with that sword of his.  He'd better be, unless the Colonel is planning a milk run or five.  Rhijans looks competent enough, so I expect he can handle the close-in work.  Same with Jacobs, and even odds one of them has a vibroblade.  Hard-edged described them, the sort of people who might carry a backup weapon.  Her eyes turned toward the seven feet of muscle and fur currently displaying the bowcaster.

He's a trump card.

The conversation is interrupted as Colonel Kourene enters the room, accompanied by two other men dressed in flight suits.  Kourene takes his position at the lectern, while the two pilots grab themselves chairs.  As the buzz of conversation dies down, the Colonel clears his throat.

"Good morning."

"We've recently received some information regarding an Imperial facility in the Alrirkr system.  Up until a few months ago, the Imperials were running a relatively small-scale mining operation there, extracting low- to medium-grade metal ores and crystals.  The planet was of little importance."

Kourene shakes his head gravely, "This is no longer the case.  Three months ago the Imperials discovered a rich deposit of Nergon-14, which is, as you may know, a major component in a number of explosive devices, including proton torpedoes.  The Imperials are currently in the process of repurposing the mining facility to extract Nergon-14."

The rebel officer smiles, "This is where you come in.  Your mission will be to go to Alrirkr, steal any Nergon-14 currently being stored there, and bring it back here for our use."

He pauses then, checking around the room to see if anybody has any questions so far.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:58, Thu 14 Apr 2011.

Rhijans followed the briefing with quick thought, analyzing the data and the potential ramifications.  When questions were opened, he spoke up.

"Yes, Colonel, I have a question.  Do you want us to try and leave the facility mostly intact so we can hit them again in the future, or do you want us to see about sabotaging it, as well?  Purely as a secondary objective..."  It would make a difference, in terms of what he requested from the quartermaster before they shipped out.

Haarmon nods to himself throughout the Colonel's speech, as though he knew all this already and was just waiting for the others to catch up. As soon as the officer pauses, though, his hand shoots up and wiggles back and forth for about half a second before he himself shoots to his feet.

"So what are we looking at here, Cap?" he says, "Is what we got here a civilian or a military operation? Are we looking to pull a snatch-and-grab from some union schlubs trying to pay the rent or a full-out guns-blazing commando raid?"

So saying, he sits and shuts up. Perhaps mercifully.

Shard sits up a little straighter when the Colonel comes in, quickly finishing off her now-tepid drink.  She narrows her eyes at the men in flight suits as their officer begins his briefing, slotting them into potential places for their mission.  Escort?  Or...

Rhijans snatches up the first question - a logical one, though Shard suspects she knows what the answer will be.  Getting back in a second time will be exponentially more difficult than the first, if they leave anything worthwhile behind.  Herself, she feels the Colonel will request destruction, assuming it won't cost workers their lives.

Maybe it's a mine operated by droids.  That would be better.

"Have a question of my own, Colonel." Shard makes a motion of her hands, indicating size.  "How much Ner...gon are we talking about?" she stumbles, having never heard of the stuff before.  "Seems to me if it's rich and being mined, we're looking at a pretty big chunk.  I'm thinking we can't just grab it and fly off in a regular ship.  Are you figuring us on stealing an imperial transport, and is there a way to load the darned thing with all we can grab?"

K'thar nods at the Colonel as the briefing ensues.  It seemed like a reasonable task, other than the fact that he thought taking the mines would be the better option.  Defending it might not be a task that the Rebellion leaders were up to.  The others had all asked good questions and he was certain that detruction of the mining base would be the answer.  Such a shame, at least they could take what they could get.  K'thar seemed strangely quiet as the others asked their questions.

Juragga sat attentively, barely munching his bird leg as the Colonel laid out their objective for them.  When he took questions, the Wookiee let the others speak up, and then chimed in himself.

Yoweling a long string of gutterels and hoots, the massive behemoth inquired if there were any known slaves being used to labor in the mines, or if they had any intel thereupon.

All the questions everyone else was coming up with reminded Rhijans of the poor intel they had on the last mission.  He really hoped that the intel this time was better...

Haarmon cocks his head to the side in an overtly sagacous fashion while Juragga speaks. When the Wookie is done he nods. "Good call, Rags." He looks back up at the Colonal, but his voice is clearly meant to be heard by everyone.

"Rags wants to know about who's working the mines. Secondary objectives. Should we be looking to minimize collateral damage? And maybe tacking a rescue mission to the whole thing? Personally, I think Hot-Lips over there has it right on. We go in tech-ninja quiet. Fix the Nets to make it look like we belong there. In. Out. Like kissing a bantak."

Mark Jacobs sat back. He didn't have anything more to add to the initial series of questions. He hoped the intel was good enough to shed more light on what they already knew about the facilities.

"As far as we know, they have not started mining in earnest yet." the Colonel explains, "Equipment and slaves are still being moved in, with the goal of increasing production within the next week or so.  For the moment, our information is that they haven't mined more than a couple of hundred kilos of Nergon-14 yet.  Captain Lund's YT-1300 should be able to manage that."

A brief pause while he considers the other questions, then, "Sabotage and freeing slaves will slow down progress on that goal, so those are both valid secondary objectives, if they can be achieved."  He gestures towards the two men in orange flight overalls, "To that end, a squadron of Z-95s will escort you to Alrirkr and lend assistance if needed.  Blue Squadron will also bomb the mine site with concussion missiles if more subtle forms of sabotage fail."

"How you handle your entry into the complex is up to you.  You are, after all, the people who will have to do this, so select whatever method suits you best."

There is a click, and a holographic map of a planet appears next to Kourene.  One point on the surface flashes red.  "This is Alrirkr.  As you can see, it's a glaciated world, so pack warm clothing.  This marker is the location of the mine facility..."  The view zooms in, the mine site expanding until it is a couple of metres across.  Buildings flash red as Kourene explains, "This is the administrative centre.  Storage and warehousing is here.  The minehead here... and equipment stores there and there.  This cluster of buildings is, as far as we know slave barracks, only about half of them are in use according to our latest intelligence.  That will change as more slaves are shipped in."

Mark rubbed his chin. Finally he asked, "Do we have any information on resupply schedule? If we can take that craft, we can crew the supply ship and enter the facility. Any other transport entering the area would alert the mining facility. We don't want that."

Slaves.

Shard's lips thin.  They just became her number one priority, even over the Nergon.  "We're going to need a big ship," she murmurs, nodding approvingly toward Mark as he inquires about the supply transport.  If they have slaves, they need to feed them.  That many slaves will require a lot of nutrients, or lots of equipment to produce said nutrients.  Which means regular supply transports.

Perfect.  Just need to ambush a supply transport...where?  Just outside of its hyperspace drop-point?  Going to be tricky, that.  They'll need the interceptors after all.  But that might prove impossible, so....

"If actually commandeering the ship isn't good," she states, "we could get into the mine area while there's a supply ship and use it to get away with the goods.  And slaves."

Better to get that out on the table, so to speak.

"I disagree that the slaves are a secondary objective.  We're not going to beat the Empire through force of arms.  We need to turn the galaxy against them, completely - to get more popular support." She closes her eyes a moment, fights against the fogginess in her head.  "We need...if we liberate the slaves, every one of them becomes a supporter.  They have families.  They have stories.  There are people out there who probably don't even think about slavery, but if word gets out that the Empire not only condones it, but there's evidence showing the Empire traffics in slaves, that might make more people sit up and think."

She opens her eyes. "And that's setting aside the most important thing - that we're saving lives.  I'd say that's at least as important as concussion missiles."

Her voice drops.  "But if we bomb the mine site with the slaves in it...how are we any better than the Empire?"
This message was last edited by the player at 21:18, Mon 18 Apr 2011.

Juragga caterwauled his agreement to Shard's commentary.  Obviously, the original goal was important - getting the Nergon would be a boon for the Rebellion - but the slaves were important too.

"GRRrrrrruuuUUUUHN.  WaaaaaaaaHHHHR," he rumbled.  There was no reason the goals were mutually exclusive, he said.  With planning, bravery and luck, the Wookiee knew they could accomplish both.  And leave a big mess behind when they left.

He yowled that the Imperials no doubt had transport craft that could help in both evacuating the slaves and the material.  Then with a low "UhhhhHHHR?" of query, he wondered how many of the team could fly a transport... or if they'd need extra pilots.  While it was always possible some of the slaves had piloting skills - it wasn't best to count on it.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Juragga hoped there were Wookiees there - and that he could help free them.

Mark Jacobs heard the Wookiee. He shook his head as he failed to understand the big creature. "Sir." Mark added after he got the Colonel's attention. "How are we supposed to work with the Wookiee, if we can't communicate with him?"


rolled 7 using 3 dice with the WEG Classic system with rolls of 2,3,{Wild}2. Alien species to understand wookiee. Probably a failure again :)

Completely oblivious of the Wookiee's intention, K'thar just smiled at him.  "I second the motion.  Freeing the slaves is our primary objective, detonating the unmined Nergon should be secondary."

Rhijans grimaced.  This was going to be a long mission, no doubt about it.  "Colonel...how difficult would it be to set up a secondary drop point, where we could get the slaves vetted and make sure they're actually safe to release...or to recruit?"  His mind showed him flashes of hardened criminals that had been turned into slaves...and the kind of chaos that would ensue if such got turned free on an unsuspecting galaxy.

"And how much of a military presence do they have there?  If it's just a caretaker operation, overseeing the mining and keeping the slaves in line, sneaking in will be a lot easier than if it's garrisoned and defended."  He contemplated the challenge of trying to hijack one of the transports...there were a frightening number of variables that came to mind.

"Unless we know, for certain, of a civilian transport that's going in there, I think we're better off trying to infiltrate the base through other means.  That, however, means we need a specialist in glacier operations, because I don't think I've spent more than a handful of days anywhere that it got cold enough to even snow, much less create glaciers."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:44, Wed 20 Apr 2011.

Juragga howled in frustration and gestured to Haarmon, hoping his partner would translate for him.

Haarmon's face pulls up into the guilty expression of a boy caught sleeping in class. But he catches himself and it morphs into a scowl. "What?" he says to the wookie, "It's not enough I gotta watch your back now I gotta be your secretary too?"

And then the scowl softens and he shrugs. "Sorry." He looks up to the Colonal. "Rags says that we should to do both. Slaves and Nergon. And he's asking about who can pilot a transport."

He takes a moment to consider. "As much as I hate agreeing with the walking toupee over there, I think he's got the right of it. We slice a transport and sneak our way in. Once we're in, how hard can it be to wire the Nets so we're picking up the Nergon and the slaves? A slice is a slice. And once you grab the Empire by the balls you might as well keep squeezing. Am I right, Rags?"

His voice is a little over-friendly, trying to make amends perhaps for his failure to be there for what just might be his only friend.

Juragga hooted his agreement.  The kid might be a pain, and write checks with his mouth that required Juragga to cash with his fists - but he was a true friend, and 'Ragga owed him.

Rhijans was trying not to roll his eyes, when suddenly, something the kid said actually made sense...kind of.  "Y'know...maybe we're going about this the hard way," he cut in.  "I mean, if we're going to do all this slicing..." he paused and looked at Haarmon, and added, "and I assume, since you brought it up, you're at least passing familiar with computers, because I couldn't slice my way into a forgery charge..."

He turned his attention back to the group and continued, "We've already got a transport.  Granted, it's only a YT-1300.  But we can theoretically slice a clearance for it to land with some kind of cargo they'd need, and then once we're on the ground, we can take care of the rest on the fly."  He shot Dak another look, and said, "Somehow, I don't think we'd fool anyone there with sliced orders to ship the slaves out to somewhere else...if they just barely sent them in there, turning around and shipping them out again is likely to get someone calling to verify the order, and that's the supernova in our flight path all over again.  Routine and innocuous...until we're ready to turn out the lights on the place, and then we send everything off the rails in one shot.  Just need to time our departure to the arrival of a larger transport...preferably, one that's primarily automated.

AND, we need a pilot for the second transport.  I might be able to fake it, as long as nothing goes wrong...but I'd hate to be betting all our lives on my ability to fly a transport ship."

Haarmon makes a kind of a one-shoulder shrug at Rijanis' comment. "Computers I got. No problems there." He considers the rest for a moment or two. "See, I figure guys on the ground, they do what they're told. And almost everyone believes what the computer says is so, no matter if it don't make sense and no matter if they know it ain't right. You're the guy in charge of checking transport manifests, right? And the datapad says some guy with a title bigger than your pension wants the slaves? And you know they just got there? What do you do? Call him up and ask what the hell he's thinking? Or do you load the ship and go home and watch Twi'leck dancing-girl holos before bedtime? You think they send the smart ones to watch landing pads on gas mines? Am I right?"

He shurgs again, both shoulders this time.

"But you guys been at this thing longer'n me. Maybe you got it right. But whichever, I can get us in."

Rhijans nodded.  "True, ninety percent of the time.  I'm just trying to come up with something as close to foolproof as possible.  There's always an occasional officer out there who has a little initiative and thinks to question his orders if they disagree with everything he's been getting for the past several weeks...not to mention the projected long-term plans of the assignment.  We're already planning on making trouble once we hit the ground...no need to broadcast those intentions any further than necessary."

If the kid was half as good as he seemed to think he was, the computer part of the problem was covered.  If the Imperials hadn't gotten around to putting a full garrison in place yet, he wasn't too worried about handling stuff on the ground.  He looked over at the Colonel again, and repeated, "What's the status of security forces on the ground there?"

Maybe it's the booze - that Wookie wine held quite a kick.  Maybe it's the different people, all talking.  Maybe it's just her relief that people haven't shouted down her idea that the slaves were a high priority.

Shard can't figure out what the heck 'Rags' is trying to say.

At least she has worked her way through the nickname issue, and no longer considers wreaking horrible vengeance on the young hotshot.  Approval grows as he goes through his own feelings on the matter - the back and forth between he and Rhijans indicates some pretty honed minds at work.  Shard settles back and tries to mentally pick holes in the proposed plan.  So far, it's not happening - most of the time, they come up with the same questions as she does and answer them quite astutely.

If they can get in without trekking along under the radar, through ice and snow....

"Need uniforms," she mutters.  "Or do they contract out for their 'supply runs'?"

Admittedly, the plan was crazy.  But then, so was the whole thing to begin with.

"We have no details of their supply schedule." Kourene says, with a shake of his head, "The mining operation is in the process of being upgraded, and they don't have a regular schedule for incoming supplies at the moment."

"They have, however, used civilian contractors in the past to ship out ore and crystals which were never considered valuable enough to warrant military transportation."

On the map, an area near the west of the facility blinks red, "There is a landing field here, just outside the mining complexes perimeter fence, close to the gate which gives access to the warehouses.  The fact that they've used civilian transports in the past, for non-priority cargoes, should give Captain Lund an opening to land there."

The Colonel listens to the comments being made regarding slaves, and nods, "Releasing any slaves would be good.  However, you will need to obtain transport for them from the facility."

"I'll put 'obtaining transport' on my list, then," Shard notes.  If she has to go full guerilla and stay behind, that's her primary concern.  I really should have gotten off the sauce, the woman dolefully considers.  Maybe if she stops now and starts working out...

...tomorrow.  Definitely tomorrow.

"How about requisitioning equipment?" she asks.  "We got through the last mission with the bare minimum - understandable, given it was supposed to be a milk run.  But if we're going on this one, could we at least pick up some appropriate gear?"

Rhijans nodded.  "Yeah, if this is going to turn into a potential guerilla assault, we're definitely going to need better firepower.  Blaster carbines, for most of us...they'd be a toy, for the Wookie, but a full-on blaster rifle wouldn't hurt him any."  Transportation, they could secure...unless the place was crawling with white armor.  Then it would be more problematic.  A problem to be solved when they were on the ground, there, though...and he was good with that.  While he liked accurate intel, he'd learned that the best plans usually ended up being the ones made on the fly.

"And explosives...or at least grenades.  Something that can easily do a lot of collateral property damage."  Thermal detonators would be ideal, but the suckers were temperamental beasts and he wasn't sure everyone else wanted to risk on cooking off before its time.  "Unless we've got a demolitions expert available, something that will make a big enough bang to take down buildings or make them structurally compromised, without needing pinpoint placement.  And the more foolproof, the better."  It was another skill he'd told himself he wanted to pick up...some day.  Hadn't had much need for it, yet...he'd always needed more precision and less damage.  But life was changing.

"You'll be able to requisition demolition charges, thermal detonators and blaster carbines from the Quartermaster." Kourene confirms, "I'd recommend not taking too much though.  If there is a heavy Imperial presence there, then the success of this mission may depend on looking more like the crew of a civilian transport than a squad of heavily-armed rebels."

"We don't have a demolition expert who can go with you on this mission, which is why Blue Squadron are being assigned to perform a bombing run, if necessary."

One of the fighter pilots interrupts, "Colonel, the Z-95 doesn't have a hyperdrive... how are we going to get a squadron of them to Alrirkr?"

"You'll use landing claws to secure yourselves to the hull of the Captain Lund's ship, and ride with it through hyperspace.  We know this will slow things a little, but it can't be helped."

Rhijans had started making a mental list of requisitions, which was interrupted when he heard the plan for delivering the Headhunters to the right system.  Well, now...THAT'S a solution I'd have never thought of...  It was dangerous, ill-advised, and totally outside any design specs for either ship model involved, as far as he knew.  In other words, it had all the hallmarks of classic Rebel strategy.  Which meant that it just might work...

Blaster carbines...he figured two, maybe three.  He'd take one, for sure, and he didn't see Jacobs saying no to one.  The Wookiee would probably prefer his bowcaster, and Rhijans wasn't sure whether Shard or the kid, Dak, would want one.  He was pretty sure K'thar wouldn't want one, and truth be told, he didn't know if he'd trust K'thar with one.

A couple of thermal detonators, maybe ten kilos of detonite, with countdown timers...and a remote detonator, just in case...they should be able to conceal that much in an innocuous-looking cargo box that wouldn't attract any attention, tucked in a stray corner of the engine room among the spare parts.

They might just be able to pull this off, after all...

Lund had been sitting quietly through the briefing, letting others ask the questions while keeping a mental note of what hadn't been asked so that he could ask it himself at the end of the meeting.  So far he's been pretty relaxed, just listening to what Kourene has to say.

Now though, he's suddenly got something that really needs to be asked.

"Wait now.  You're talking about clamping fighters on to the my ship, like she was some sort of tug?  How many fighters are we looking at, Colonel?"

Rhijans looks ready to turn this infiltration into a full-blown assault.  Shard hopes it doesn't come to that, but she keeps her mouth shut for now - the Colonel seems to have made the point for her.  Blaster pistol...check.  That'll do for her, and she doubts anyone will look twice at it or the modifications she plans for the weapon.

Then their pilot speaks up, with understandable concerns for his ship.  Cocking an eyebrow, Shard waits for a reply.

There really isn't much more for her to do at the moment.

Juragga nodded and leaned back in his seat with a satisfied growl.  He folded his arms behind his head and let the others talk about the ship issues.  He had his bowcaster; while they were offering up laser carbines, he preferred his tribal weapon.  He was a better shot with it, anyway, even if the more 'modern' weapon did have longer range, and he yoweled as much to Haarmon.

"RRrraaaaWWWWWGH!" he commented, asking about the possibility of a protocol droid being assigned to them.

Mark looked over at the Wookiee. He nodded his head as if he understood. "Right, I think he wants to know when we eat."

Mark shook his head. He was guessing the intent of what Juragga said, but he would never be sure.


rolled 7 using 3 dice with the WEG Classic system with rolls of 2,{Wild}4,1. Alien Species to understand Wookiee.

Juragga let out a pitiful "WaaaaaaaaaHHHHHHRRRRuuuuuhhhhlll!", shook his head in exasperation and buried his face in his hands.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:35, Wed 27 Apr 2011.

Shard rubs her head.  Either the alcohol was lubricating the right brain cells, or she was remembering more of her Wookie than she previously thought.  "Actually...I think he was saying something about wanting to stick with his bowcaster.  More experience with it.  And maybe...  Hatrack swings from vines?  No, wait!  ...getting a protocol droid?"

That phrase was an odd one in Wookie, but she had heard it often enough in the past to be able to recognize it.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:43, Wed 27 Apr 2011.

Haarmon raises one eyebrow at Shard's efficient translation. "So you're not just a dynamite set of lips, eh? Nice." He turns to the rest of the room. "So, why doesn't someone point me at a nice computer terminal, huh? Something hooked into the Feeds and the Nets and such. Let me see what I can dig up so far as schedules and shipping lanes and garrison rotations and all that. You could all make some better plans if you had some better info. You can only shoot the bad guys if you know where they are, am I right? Rags? Back me up on this one."

As if to demonstrate, Haarmon pulls another lightning fast draw, does another fancy spin, holsters his weapon and sits back, and offers Shard a wink, looking rather pleased with himself the whole time.

Rhijans watched the quick-draw demonstration again, once again avoiding rolling his eyes.  It dawned on him that he just might have to take the blaster away from the kid, for his own sake...if he pulled that thing like that in the wrong company, he'd be ventilated eight or nine different ways.  It was a holo-vid draw...fast, flashy...and almost guaranteed to totally screw up any accurate shooting, whatsoever.

There was a chance...a slim chance, but a chance...the kid had actually practiced drawing AND firing.  At a target.  If that was the case, he might be okay.  There was, unfortunately, only one way to find out for sure, and that was to see how the kid did under fire.  He must've done something right, somewhere along the line, to win the Wookiee over, so there could be more there than what was seen on the surface.

"Lack of intel is the biggest obstacle to any operation, kid," he stated.  "Anything you can dig up before we have to leave will be an improvement...just be damn sure it can't be traced back here."  He waited to see if the Colonel countermanded that, and wondered, for a moment, what a YT-1300 would look like with a squadron of Z-95s clamped onto its hull.  Contemplating Lund's reluctant expression, he tried to figure out just where on the spectrum the 'captain' fell, between 'unwilling participant' and 'rebel zealot'.

"We're talking about four Z-95s." Kourene explains, "According to our tech experts, a YT-1300 should be able to handle them.  They'll attach themselves once you're out of the atmosphere, so there'll be no drag.  They'll also be running their drives while you're in hyperspace, which will counteract the extra mass."

He regards the wookiee for a moment, "If we get access to a protocol droid at some point, we'll certainly consider an assignment to this group, at least on a part-time basis."

"It will take some time to make final preparations for the mission." the Colonel responds to Haarmon Dak, "Probably at least an hour for your team-mates to requisition gear, and for us to load supplies and equipment onto Captain Lund's ship.  We can arrange for you to have access to a terminal."

Kourene looks around the room in the silence which follows.  Finally he says, "If there are no further questions, let's get to work on this."

With some amusement, Shard pulls herself to her feet. "Absolutely, Colonel."  A small smile twitches the corners of her mouth as she paces toward the door, pausing beside Haarmon's chair.  One of her hands falls on his shoulder - the shoulder of his gun arm.

"I haven't been a dynamite set of lips in years," she quietly notes.  The smile grows slightly, and her hand rises to touch his cheek. "But...thank you.  Let us know what you snag about the base."  One of her eyebrows cocks.  "And keep your pistol holstered, sport."

With that, she strides from the room, intent on finding the quartermaster.  There's a blaster to pick up, at the least; probably some cold weather clothing, just in case, along with ropes and climbing gear.  It just makes sense.  With all of that bouncing around her aching mind, it's a surprise to Shard that her amusement remains.

That boy...

It has been years since anyone bothered flirting with her so outrageously. Is it serious or is this is manner with everyone?  Could be both, even.  But by heaven, she can't help but take it as a compliment.

Possibly without realizing it, Haarmon has just made Shard's day.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:44, Mon 02 May 2011.

Four fighters.  Four fighters clamped onto the hull of the Gambit.

Vekkis does the calculations in his head.  He THINKS "Bold Gambit" can take it, as long as he doesn't have to fly her into combat with the things attached.

Which gives him pause for thought.  He looks at the self-proclaimed hotshot computer wizaed, where he stands talking to the weather-beaten woman, and calls out to him, "See if you can find out anything about Imperial fleet deployment in the system.  I don't want to be flying my ship into a war with a bunch of snub fighters slowing her down."

When the Colonel announced that the briefing was over, Rhijans sat down and finalized his list...a carbine, extra power packs, an extra pack for his pistol, a pair of thermal detonators, and ten kilos of detonite, with a pair of detonators so he had options for either a timer or a remote.  Until they knew more about how they were going in, he had cold-weather gear on a 'maybe' list.

Then he followed in Shard's tracks, down to the QM, to requisition what he needed.  While he was there, he gave them a heads-up that he might be back for the arctic gear, but he'd be back, for sure, to pick up the explosives before they left.  He was pretty sure nobody wanted him walking around the base with a bunch of bombs in hand...it went way beyond 'unsafe' into the realm of 'pure stupidity.'  He took a trip past the hangars and grabbed an empty parts box to store the explosives in, then swung back to the briefing room with the empty box, until he heard the final details on how they were going in, and whether or not he'd need the extreme climate gear.

It's probably a good thing that the briefing broke up right around then. Good for Haarmon anyway. His face flushed visibly at Shard's gentle touch and words. And his face went slack with surprise and his mouth hung open in a very non-badass manner.

As she left he shot to his feet and tried speaking once, twice, and managed only a couple of indeterminate grunts. He then tried on a smile or two and failed at that too. There followed a full moment of very uncharacteristic silence before he managed to utter one word, "Computer" at Juragga. Nodded. And all but fled the room, on the hunt for some kind of decent network terminal. Or at least the space to take a couple of deep breaths.

Juragga tilted his head and watched as Shard talked to Haarmon and then left.  His partner then proceeded to get very flustered, mentioning a need for a computer before leaving.

"UuuuuuRRRUHHHmmmph," Juragga growled lightly, expressing his understanding.

There was more going on with these hairless monkeys than met the eye.  He only hoped his friends would make it through... all of it.

One by one, people leave the briefing room.  Some head for their quarters to collect items they believe will be useful on the mission.  Others go to the Quartermaster to requisition items which are just as useful, but which they don't possess themselves.

The Quartemaster, one Darucha Kain is a short tempered man, who wants paperwork, correctly filled in, for every item, and repeats a number of times that all of the equipment must be fully accounted for upon the rebels' return from the mission.

Haarmon Dak, unlike the others, is led to a place where he can use the best computer on Defiance Base to search for intel on the mission objective.

Mark made his way to the quartermaster. There he requested several items: Cold weather gear, blaster carbine, extra powerpacks, armored vest, and a few grenades.

"I think this list of equipment is necessary. Let me know if you having anything special that might help me out."

Close by, Shard pours over her own paperwork.  Climbing gear.  Never know.  Blaster pistol with a couple of packs.  Cold weather gear.  What else could I need?  It seems like a lot to her.  And oh, a medipack.  Can't forget that.

With a moue of irritation, she finishes filling out the forms and passes them across to Kain.  "There you go.  All done." Cocking an eyebrow, she leans against the desk.  "Now...can I go back and grab my gear?" 

A short time later (assuming all goes well), Shard heads for the docking bay in search of their ship, a duffel bag of gear (and a bottle of spirits) over her shoulder.

Juragga wanders to the quartermaster somewhat downcast, expecting failure with the one and only piece of equipment he wants.  But, he figures, the only way to be SURE he can't get it, is not to ask.

"GRRRRRRRRROOOOOWWWrrrrr?" he inquires.  While the Colonel explained a Protocol Droid wasn't yet available, he was hoping something of a more limited translation device might be - strictly 'Wookiee to Standard', nothing fancy.  While Haarmon understood him, and could translate, he didn't want his trusted friend to be distracted playing translator when he should be working his magic on the enemy computers.

Vekkis heads straight back to the "Bold Gambit".  Most of the gear he'll need is already aboard, in the storage lockers.  But he does want to check, just to make sure he does have everything.  Apart from that he wants to prep the ship for launch, take delivery of any equipment which needs to be stowed in the hold, and check the best route to Alrirkr.  There's nothing like looking professional, in his opinion.

Fortunately, the ship looks to be in good condition just now.

As soon as he sits at the computer, Haarmon undergoes a subtle but pervasive transformation. His mouth loses its perpetual smirk and becomes a tight line. His hands and feet stop their relentless twitching. His shoulders relax. His eyes grow bright and his face tightens.

He mutters to himelf as he works, but this isn't the faux-quiet stage whispering mutter of a man looking for attention. This is the absent-minded vocalizing of someone so completey involved in his work that nothing, not the Rebellion, the Empire, not the quivering jittery residue of Shard's touch and words, not even himself, really. When Haarmon hits the Nets, there's really only his mind and the game. Just the work.

Requisition forms are turned in, and the quartermaster starts gathering equipment from shelves and storage bins.  It is noticeable, to even a casual observer, that those shelves and bins aren't exactly filled to capacity...

Within a relatively short time, everybody has what they were hoping for, or a close approximation thereof.  All of which, it's again made very clear, should be returned to the store after the mission so that other teams can get some use from them. 

As their requirements are filled, team members make their way to the docking bays, some of them collecting more gear from their quarters.  Eventually all find their way to Bold Gambit, where a consignment of explosives is currently being delivered...

Haarmon saunters into the loading bay. Off the computer now, his strut has returned, along with his smirk. He looks around to see who's arrived. He was anxious to relate what he'd learned to the others, especially Rhijans, who was already starting to cast a shadow across Haarmon's view of how a real badass ought to act and behave. Juragga would always be El Basass Numero Uno of course, but there was something very compelling about the way the pale man commanded respect without ever looking like he was trying. Or even cared.

And Shard, too of course. He was especially anxious to look useful in front of her.

"Well," he says to Vekkis, "I can't tell you a whole lot about troop movements and garrisons. They keep that info locked up tighter than Kessel. But I can tell you the whole shipping situation is such an administrative mess that we could practically park the whole Rebel Fleet in orbit and call it a rush delivery."

Rhijans was deep in conversation with the ordnance delivery group, getting safety tips on the best ways to ship the explosives and detonation equipment.  "Never put the detonators in the same package as the detonite until it's actually time to use it, stay away from the thermal detonators unless you're already leaving the area, and there's really no good, safe, way to ship explosives and detonators together," he repeated back, in summary.  He glanced down at the containers...the detonite was loaded in a cargo box labelled "INVERTOR CROSSOVERS", the timers and remote detonators were in another marked "SWITCH-OVER RELAYS"...and the thermal detonators were in a third, well-padded container marked "INDUCTION VALVES".  All three boxes were scarred up, scuffed, and well-worn...with the lids on, they looked exactly like something you'd expect to find in the parts locker of a tramp freighter.

Rhijans nodded in satisfaction.  "Button 'em up and ask Lund where he wants them...but make sure he knows they are NOT parts."  He hitched up the sling of the blaster carbine, and shifted his grip on the bundle of cold-weather clothing that he hadn't thought to requisition until the QM had asked what kind of tough-guy the gray-skinned man thought he was, since he was the only person who had requested gear for the mission that hadn't asked for exposure gear.

Juragga came sauntering into the bay with a 'cat-ate-the-cream' grin on his big furry face.  In addition to his bowcaster and a heavy duffel, the Wookiee held a silver-plated doo-hickey in his mitts.

"GrrrRRRAAAAAAAAAAAWWWwwwr," he caterwauled.

"Is good talk-disc, yes?" the disc translated for him.

Obscured nearly completely by the bulk of the Wookiee, Shard slips into the bay behind him, padding along on cat's feet.  She's prepared...well, probably not.  She knows the truth - everything falls apart the moment one starts bumping into the enemy's plans, because it's pretty certain they're not made to accomodate one's own.

But she can at least try to bring along the proper gear to play the game of Cover Your Rear.

Ducking out from Juragga's shadow (now knowing his name, having run a quick check on the quartermaster's list of people cleared to requisition for this mission), she raises an inquiring eyebrow at the small translater disk.  "Handy, that," the older woman admits, nodding.  "I can think of a few places one of those would have been useful...smart work."

She glances out across the bay.  Rhijans is, as usual, keeping things moving.  Haarmon appears to be in earnest conversation with Vekkis.  So far, so good; professional and clear of confusion.

She wonders how long that will last.

Mark Jacobs carried a duffel. "Ready and loaded." He seemed calm as if he enjoyed these missions.

Haarmon snorted at Juragga's translation disk. "Funny thing is, that's almost exactly what he said."

He watches the arrival of the other team members with some mounting alarm. They all had bags and cases of things with them. He didn't have anything. I mean, some of it was clearly 'war gear' and he didn't want or need anything like that. But he was certain he saw some cold weather equipment in there too. Should he have some too? Should he ask?

He didn't want to look like an idiot. But then he didn't want to freeze his pistol off when they got there too.

Torn by indecision (which one will get me laughed at the least?) he sort of sauntered over to Juragga, at a moment when he was far enough away from Rhijans and Shard that if the whole thing went bad he wouldn't look like a nerf-herder in front of either of them. He didn't want to look like a nerf-herder in front of Rags either. But at least he'd keep it quiet. And no one could understand him anyway.

"So," he started, voice low and pitched to be audible just to the two of them. "I was... you know... down in the command room on the computer terminal, right? Digging stuff up and getting things done? And I... um. Sort of didn't have time to get down to the requisition room, like. Is... um... that gonna be a problem? You think I should get down there now? Get some stuff, like?"

There. That should do it. His voice had some of its swagger, but nowhere near as much as it did in the briefing room. He kind of braced himself for the reaction.

The cargo of explosives, cunningly disguised as nondescript ship components, are loaded, carefully, aboard Bold Gambit, as the team start to gather again in preparation for lift-off.

Four men in hi-vis flight suits drop by and confirm to Vekkis Lund that their ships are prepped and ready to follow Bold Gambit up to orbit, just as soon as he's ready to go.  By the looks of the loading process, that shouldn't be much more than fifteen or twenty minutes away now.

Mark waited for everybody to arrive. When Haarmon got to the ship, Mark noticed that he didn't have a duffel. "Hey Haarmon, where's your gear?"

Anyone watching Haarmon at that very moment sees all the colour drain from his face and and his mouth hang open and his eyes go wide in fear. But to his credit it only lasts a second before he gives his head a shake and his face twists up in a dismissive smile and he shrugs in an overly-dramatic fashion, his eyes darting from Shard to Rhijans to Juragga in quick succession to see if anyone saw anything.

"Gear? Who's got time for gear? Who just spent the last few hours digging up the Emperor's last proctology exam, huh?" He kinds of steps away from Juragga as he talks, lest it look like he was soliciting advice from the Wookie, "Least someone could have done was pick me up some gear. Am I right?"

And with that he looks around at the men all over the ship, trying to decide if he has time to go down to the requisition room or not. But he doesn't know from loading procedures, and he's competely at a loss.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:55, Mon 16 May 2011.

Juragga was still fiddling with his new contraption when Haarmon walked up.  He made to reply when Jacobs asked where Dak's gear was, flustering the young man.

The Wookiee replied with a soft half-snarl that the translator latched onto.

"I have gear yes?" it said.

Shutting the doohickey down for the moment, Juragga rumbled aside to Haarmon in Wookiee.

Rhijans shrugged to himself.  He already knew the kid was new.  Holo-vid heroes aside, nobody who was as good as the kid claimed to be actually talked much about it.

But the kid had been busy.  Rhijans couldn't fault him for that.  He dropped his bundle at the base of the ship's ramp.  "Don't take off without me, okay?" he said, in the general direction of Shard and Jacobs, then turned to the kid.

"It's gonna be cold down there...let's go get you some gear.  Shouldn't take long, provided the quartermaster isn't too argumentative about it."  His tone was distant...but not unfriendly.  He gestured in the direction of the quartermaster's section of the base.

Shard keeps her face neutral as the men banter back and forth regarding gear, without accusing glances or - worse - laughter.  It happens, and from the sound of it, Haarmon has kept himself busy all the way up to lift-off.  No shame in that, no shame in missing experience, but she suspects he wouldn't see it that way if she pointed it out.

"Somebody always forgets the gear," she murmurs, not-quite-quietly.  "At least this time it wasn't me."  She glances up at the small knot of men, one eyebrow cocked.  "Two missions ago, missed half the briefing and ended up in the launch bay dressed like this.  We had to infiltrate a baron's estate on Raurtise, and it turns out I should have been dressed like a servant."  Standing, she waves a hand at her clothes.

"I ended up in the stables."

Now the hand waves to Rhijans.  "We have time - you two go grab what you need, I'll sit on the gangplank until you get back."

Now he was good and stuck. Not only did Shard and Rhijans both know he screwed up the gear thing (which was precisely the thing he was trying to avoid) and not only were they being nice about it (which was somehow even more humiliating that laughter), but he had to refuse their offers of help, thereby complicating the whole thing that much more.

He tried on a dismissive sneer, found it didn't quite fit. Tried a smarmy smile. No good. So he just sort of shrugged. "No, it's all good," he said, "Rags got me covered. He says he got me some stuff when he was down there. It's how we roll. Yeah? We're good for take-off. Or launch. Or whatever you call it. Thanks though."

And with that he takes a step back toward Juragga, almost as if to hide behind him. He sighed to himself. This was all so much easier with computers.

Rhijans shrugged.  "Good enough, kid.  If you're set, then let's get going.  The longer we wait, the more likely they are to get the place fully garrisoned."

He didn't fully buy the story that the Wookiee had gotten everything...but if they got down there and it proved to be that Rhijans was right, then Dak would likely be stuck on sentry duty with the ship, based on estimates of what the weather was like.  It was an Imperial installation, however, so there was a chance they'd gotten the whole thing to a climate-controlled state and all the harsh-weather gear everyone had picked up would be needless.  The Empire was big on extravagant measures...

He turned and walked back to the ship, grabbing his gear bundle and starting up the ramp.

Juragga rumbled softly, his translator still off, to Haarmon - next time, don't say anything, I got you covered, was the gist.

'Ragga was used to picking up after Dak, and if it was going to be like that, the kid might as well not suffer humiliation every time.  For Juragga, it gave him some peace to have someone to look after... his family taken by the Empire as it was.

Shard sighs - inwardly.  Outwardly, she gives Haarmon a nod.  "Fair enough."   Pride.  It trips them all up, herself included.  She doesn't have much left, but what she does fits like a well-worn glove.

Her knees ache when she stands.  Hefting her own bag of gear, Shard pads after Rhijan, already hurting for the flask inside her cloak.  Just a sip, just enough to get her out of orbit...but no.  She'll wait until they're out of orbit.  That long, no more.  Cutting back seems wise.

But in her heart, she knows that weaning herself off the bottle never works.