Space... a sheet of black velvet strewn with a billion fiery gems.  Hanging against this background is a small, red star, long past its glory days and well into the long slow decline which will burn up all of its remaining fuel.  Desperately it seems to cling to its light and heat, in the most miserly fashion.

The few worlds which orbit it are close in, - a couple of airless, barren pebbles, and one world which shines blue and green in the dim light.  That world is a gas giant, dragging a cluster of moons around its orbit.  One of those moons is Alrirkr, glittering white in its cocoon of ice and gleaming whorls of cloud.

Suddenly there is a new object in the system, much smaller than most of the others.  Bold Gambit has arrived, dropping out of hyperspace and slowing rapidly, even as a quartet of fighters disengage themselves from the transport's hull and angle away, setting course for a much smaller moon whose highly eccentric orbit currently places it within twenty thousand kilometres of Alrirkr.

Their goal is to take up position close to the tiny, irregularly-shaped moon (which the pilots have dubbed "Junior") and wait for a signal that they are needed to bomb the mine.  If no such signal is sent, they are to wait to escort Bold Gambit away from Alrirkr, docking with the transport again just before she makes the jump to lightspeed.

The transport itself vectors towards the icy world where the Imperials have their mining operation...

Rhijans was still.  It was a deceptive stillness...his reposed exterior masked a thought process that raced over possible scenarios and the best responses to them.  He didn't like to be caught unprepared, and it was habit for him to try and anticipate hiccups in a plan.

He was still adjusting to the concept of working as part of a team, so it had surprised him, mildly, when it was his plan that was settled upon.  There were a few dozen nuances to it that he hadn't envisioned...part of that whole 'team' thing again...and he honestly didn't expect anything to go anywhere near as smoothly as the plan suggested.

But, for him, plans were really only a map to get into the situation.  Little or nothing he'd ever done in the past had gone according to plan--although the situation usually didn't depart from the plan as abruptly and precipitously as their last mission--the plan had made it to 'arrive in-system' before things started going wrong.  Improvise and carry on, he mused.  The others had proven adept enough at that process--last time around.  There were new faces in the crew this time...only time would tell how well they could do the same.

"So we're all good with the plan?  Recap time."  Shard strides into the hold.  She's tense and jittery, left hand flexing for the flask (stowed in her cloak), right hand hanging limp and loose at her side, fingers slightly curled.  "Get in there with a work order to pick up...I don't know, 'unspecified goods', like the Imperials tell their sub-contractors much.  That way they can just dump whatever off on us, and we can't complain.  They bitch and moan we're not on time or we're early, or we're the wrong ship.  We through 'bureaucracy' back in their faces."

Her eyes sweep the compartment, waiting for any corrections.  Then the older woman continues, pacing in a tight circle.

"We fake some kind of technical error.  While that's being 'repaired', we go hang at the cafeteria, rub shoulders with off-duty troopers, shoot the breeze with Impy techs.  Find out where the Nergon and the slaves are.  Figure out alternate transportation, if we need it."

Her mouth tightens to a slash in her thin features.  "That's when things get interesting."

Turning to face the crew, Shui spreads her arms wide.  "Thoughts?  Additions?  Addendums?"

Rhijans spoke up.  "If possible, I'm sure Captain Lund would prefer that we avoid drawing excessive attention to his ship in the process.  It'd be handy to not have to forge a new ship's registration as part of the follow-up on the mission."  He had no idea if that would be an option or not...too many unknowns on the ground.

But at least this time they weren't coming out of hyperspace right into an Imperial blockade.  That was a step in the right direction.

Juragga tilted his shaggy head to one side and wuffed a low warbling interrogative.  He wondered how a Wookiee would fit in with this, since most of his kind were kept as slaves by the Imperials.  He was 'muscle' for the trip, but would he remain on the ship at first?

"I'm picking up the landing beacon." Vekkis Lund announces to anybody who's listening.

"And there are a couple of dozen ships in orbit, at least as far as I can see."  He starts to fiddle with the sensor controls, recalibrating them.  "Let's check if there's anybody here that we might recognise.  Imperial star destroyers, for instance."

Vekkis frowns at the display screen.


OOC: Vekkis Lund rolled 21 using 5 dice and +2 pips with the WEG Classic system with rolls of 5,3,6,3,{Wild}2. Sensor scans.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:21, Mon 23 May 2011.

Vekkis Lund swings Bold Gambit towards Alrirkr, then starts checking the neighbourhood for Imperial military shipping.  The latter job is made more difficult by the spectacular displays of lightning in the atmosphere of the gas giant (the charts name it Cordosin) which are playing havoc with the ships long range sensors.

And then, as they get closer to Alrirkr itself, the moons own magnetic field begins to shield them from the effects of the distant massive electrical discharges, and the sensors start to give the required information.

As the ship wanders its way into orbit, Haarmon perks up at Shard's plan, "That's a great idea! Listen. If it's delays and confusion you want, why don't we just screw the whole day's operation down there? I hit the Nets and rip the whole back end of the data-trail, yeah? Make sure nothing anywhere matches anything else. Switch manifests, times, schedules, ship makes and models, erase shipment numbers and purchase orders."

He pauses. Looks around, as though wondering if anyone was even listening.

"It's always easier to wreck something on the nets than it is to build. Give me two hours and I can have the whole moon chasing its tail. And we can set down, just one more piece of trash in the heap, and have our wander while the Imp's try to work it all out. Maybe the best way to look like we belong is to make sure no one else belongs either? Am I right?"

He pauses again.

"Also, Rags wants to make sure we don't leave him on the ship. He knows he's a little conspicuous, but he wants to come too. Maybe he can pretend like he's carrying our bags or something, yeah? And then, when it gets hairy, he can be all RRrRRrRaAAAAwwwrrrwwwrrwAAAAA," Haarmon busts out a surprisingly effective Wookie imitation, "With the Bowcaster, like. Am I right Rags?"

"All civilian transports." reports Vekkis Lund, "Not so much as a TIE in orbit, at least not that I can find."

He laughs, and when he speaks again, he sounds distinctly optimistic, "I do believe this is going to be a nice straight forward job.  Oops!  Might have spoke too soon there.  The beacon's broadcasting a standard 'welcome to Alrirkr' recorded message, but part of it says we have to report in before we land.  They want a ship name, manifest number for the shipment we're collecting, and the shipping destination."

Rhijans took in Dak's suggestion, followed by Lund's observation about the demand for landing info.  "How much time do you need to shuffle their whole operation?  And can you do it from the ship, or do you need access to an actual data station planet-side?"

He had the inklings of a plan, at least for getting to the planet, but it all hinged on how fast Dak could completely overgrow the paper trails in their manifest system...

Haarmon gives Rhijans' an uncustomary amount of thought. His lips move as he makes a few mental calculations and nods to himself. "I can do it from here. As for time? I can get it done in a rush by the time we hit dry dock. Or if you all can think of a reason to slow down a little without looking like Rebels troops or whatever, I can take my time and get it done right."

He looks around, his face filling up with a very excited grin.

"Shall I?"

And with that he heads to the cockpit to hook his portable computer unit into the ship's comms.

Rhijans followed Dak forward.  "First off, make sure there's a departure order for us...but no arrival orders...then, several of the ships that are down there?  Make sure there's no departures to go with their arrivals.  Shuffle some names...basically, just give 'em a lot of contradictory and incomplete information."

He turned to Lund.  "Got a favorite alias for this can?"  He gave a tight-lipped, not-quite-humorless grin.  "I'd offer a name, but a lot of the captains I've worked with are kind of superstitious about stuff like that."  He nodded at Dak, and explained, "Superslicer here needs a name to insert into the system, though, so if you don't have one, we'll make one up real quick."  The nickname was said without derision...almost like the use of a military call-sign, maybe with just a hint of joking to it, though the joke never made it into his expression.

It didn't appear to even dawn on him that he might be stepping on toes.  He saw action that needed taking, and he was accustomed to being the only one available to take it...
This message was last edited by the player at 15:22, Wed 25 May 2011.

Shard leans against a wall of the ship, frowning her way through Haarmon's ideas.  Thoughtfully.  She nods once or twice, content to let the man finish, though one corner of her mouth quirks up in a lop-sided smile at his shockingly realistic Wookie 'battlecry'.

"Leaving Juragga behind isn't on the menu," she notes.  "Agreed on that."  They can find some kind of story the imperials will buy.  Pursing her lips, she considers the rest of the idea as Haarmon finishes and Rhijans adds his own question.

It's good.  It's actually really good.  Instead of being 'something wrong', they're just one more symptom of a larger problem that will have the imperials cursing, tired, and frustrated.  A symptom they are far more likely to shuffle out of the way than scrutinize.   "It's carabondium solid," she finally says.  "I say do it."

Rhijans jumps in with specifics and Shard slips back, content to allow the planners to plot.  They're far better at it than she, to be sure.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:49, Wed 25 May 2011.

Juragga hooted his appreciation of Haarmon's translation, impression, and support.  Then he beamed a Wookiee grin as Shard endorsed it.  He knew on sight he'd liked the human woman.  There was something about her that resonated.

His grin turned feral as they proceeded with their plans and Haarmon hooked his magic slicer to the ship.  For all his bluster, the Wookiee knew the kid was REALLY good.

"GuuuuhhHRRRRRuuuuhn," he commented, inquiring how people were doing in their Wookiee language studies.

Reaching into his duffle, he produced a golden, somewhat battered translator disc and turned it on.  He warbled another comment, and this time the disc lit up and translated for him.

Sort of.

"Is neatly translator wheel, yes?  For when Haarmon not here.  Still best to live Wookiee speak in case lost or break.  Yes?"

Juragga looked at the disc and frowned.

Haarmon starts sort of bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet and his hands start tapping against the side of his legs. He listens to Rhijans, nodding, nodding. At Shard's endorsements he actually blushes the tinest litte bit and then gets a little more manic.

"No arrival for us. Got it. No departure for them. Yeah. And don't you worry about the rest, Cap. Confusing and contradictory is what I do best. And I say we call the ship the Needle. As in, the haystack, like?"

And, sparing a single snorting laugh for the 'quality' of Juragga's translation disk, he bolted from the room, top speed, toward the cockpit.

With some focus, Shard manages to pick up a fair chunk of Juragga's question. "Working on it," she mutters, but her quick smile, there and gone, takes any edge out of the words.  It's frustrating.  She used to know more, but that went years ago.  Lack of practice, the woman supposes.

And, quite likely, the booze.

She lets out an amused snort as Juragga's translator disc proves both its value (considerable) and the value of actually learning Wookie (considerably more).  "I just need to get the hang of it again, Juragga," Shard assures him, rubbing her aching forehead.  Out of the corner of her eye, she notes Haarmon's change of shade and reviews the young man's rapid-fire speech in her head.  Both eyebrows go up this time.  Can't be.  He...no.  I must be mistaken.

She'd better be; Shard isn't sure if the possibility amuses her, charms her, or frightens her.  I'm worn-out, cynical, and just plain nasty at times, she reminds herself.  That kid needs someone his age with stars in her eyes.

Suddenly tired, she sits down in a nearby chair, stuffing her hands into the opposite sleeves.

Haarmon Dak goes to work, even as Vekkis Lund drops the ship towards the snowball.  By the time they are in the region that local traffic control designates as "High Orbit", the pilot is able to provide a name, a shipment number, and a destination for that shipment.

There is a brief pause, during which the freighter, currently operating under the name Needle is put into a holding pattern.  And then...

And then there is an apology from the mine's civilian operated traffic control... "Apologies for the delay, Needle, we seem to be having a lot of computer problems today.  Please proceed to Landing Pad 27 and await loading."

Needle begins her final approach, and touches down on the designated pad just a few minutes later...

Juragga woofs a quick note of foreboding.  Things were going well, but it wouldn't do to be overconfident.

Rummaging in his duffle, he came out with a weathered old poncho and pulled it on over his head.  His fur was thick enough to protect him from most weather, but this made him look more like a worker or laborer.

At least, he thought it did.

Mark Jacobs sat in his seat. He closed his eyes. Gotta make it through this. This time it'll be different. "Let's do this." Mark replied to nobody in particular.

Vekkis grins at Haarmon Dak, "Very nice work, kid.", then activates the comms, "I hope your computer problems aren't going to delay Me too much, Control.  I have deadlines to meet, and not just with your consignment.  I've got two more cargoes to pick up after this one, and one of them is perishable."

He releases the switch, "There.  They'd think it was strange if I didn't complain about their mess."

"There's the right pad, just over there."

The landing, when it happens, is a little heavier than Vekkis would have liked, but at least it isn't "erupting in a ball of flaming plasma" heavy.  The pilot, looks over his shoulder, and says, sheepishly, "Oops."

OOC: Vekkis Lund rolled 4 (8 excluding the wild die) using 4 dice and +2 pips with the WEG Classic system with rolls of 5,1,1,{Wild}1. Landing.

Mark winced at the rough landing. "I hope your landing isn't an indication of what's to come. But you got us here, that's important. I just hope you can fly us out of here without trouble."

Shard feels a surge of something unfamiliar as the confirmation comes in - positivity.  The plan actually appears to be working for the moment.

Sadly, some of that optimism goes away as they bounce into place on the ground.  Wincing, she releases her white-knuckled grip on the safety bar and stretches her jounced back.  "A little warning, eh?"  Checking to ensure her gear is in place under her travelling cloak, she shakes her head.  "Don't worry about it, Vekkis.  Maybe we can pass it off as their beacon screwing us up.  That would fit with the mess they're in right now."

Rough landings were an inevitability, but this one was rougher than most.  Rhijans bit back any commentary...he'd learned, long ago, from others' bad experience, that antagonizing your pilot was a good way to be left behind in hostile territory.

"Better double-check the landing gear once we're out...we won't need it to take off again, but if anything got damaged, it will be good to know before we try landing again."

He looked around at the crew.  Another person would have probably smiled and made a joke of it, but he was deadly earnest.  "Everyone try to look official.  Should be easy...as far as they know, we're just another tramp freighter, independently contracted.  But does anyone have any ideas of what cargo we're supposed to be picking up, as a cover story?"

That was the problem with making the plan up on the fly...gaps in the plan would pop up at the most inconvenient moments...

Mark pointed at Haarmon, "The kid ought to have the best idea."

"What do you say. Shall we go with power converters. Seems that everybody these days needs a power convertor or two."

Outside the ship, the gusting wind sends flurries of snow and hail whipping across the open landing field, the latter rattling against the cockpit canopy.  The lights of the mine complex can be seen in the distance, though they are occasionally obscured by the weather.  It's only an illusion, of course, but the interior of Bold Gambit starts to feel a little chilly.

There are ground vehicles, crawlers of some sort, moving about out there, but details are impossible to make out in the poor visibility.  Their headlights wink in and out of sight with every lull and gust of wind.

A large shape looms in the middle distance, visible in the gaps between the blowing veils of snow and ice particles.  According to the intel, that would be the storage warehouse, with the landing field's control tower attached.  Beyond it, lost in the  white blur, are barracks, equipment sheds, and the minehead itself...

Shard peers out the window.  "We don't need to know what cargo," she notes.  "'Unspecified materials'.  Imperials are bastards like that - hire some poor independants to transport around the crap cargo they don't want to deal with.  Waste ores that might contain useful materials, hazardous chemicals, cheap crystals, whatever; it's not like someone willing to pick up that kind of thing is going to argue about a vague manifest."

The intermittant flicker of lights through the sheets of snow is mesmerizing.

"So that's all we say.  We're here to pick up 'unspecified materials', Manifest number X-whatever, or however they make up their manifest numbers."  Haarmon can tell them that.  She tears her eyes away from the swirling vista and turns back to the interior of the hold.  "They don't have anything of the sort on their records, which are currently getting scrambled to high orbit, so they crab at us about upper management never telling them anything or giving them the correct information.  In return, we crab at them about upper management never giving us enough to go on, and how last time we shipped something from somewhere it ended up being a kilotonne of hydrogen sulfide emmitting ore.  They nod sagely and sadly, we nod sagely and sadly."

"Everyone's happy."

She looks back out the window.  "Cold weather suits, everyone.  Doesn't look like we're getting much of a ride - fallout from our cover, I expect, with everyone scrambling."
This message was last edited by the player at 12:34, Mon 30 May 2011.

Nodding vacantly, Haarmon stares out of the cockpit window, his thoughts lost in the blowing wind and snow. Just for a moment he's hit with how very, very far he's come from everything he's ever known. Just for a moment he was struck with the reality that this is all really happening. It's a heavy thought. Especially for a kid like him.

But he shakes his head and turns around at Mark and Rhijans' questions. He slips his sneer and his strut back on like a pair of comfortable shoes and saunters over to the console. "I got our order all printed out right here." He picks up a sheaf of papers and immediately starts rolling them and unrolling them, twisting the corners and shuffling them. "Shard's got it all the way right. We're picking up some... vanadite? I think. Some crystal or another that they mine here." He grabs a nearby cup of coffee and spills some on some of the pages. "But it doesn't really matter. Just remember, we're just mooks, right? We're sheep. We're supposed to look like we have no idea what we're doing." He looks at the rest of the crew, Rhijans in particular. "Highly skilled Rebel operatives always have their poodoo on a hook, right? Know all the numebrs? All the angles? Yeah? But independant transport drivers? They're just paying the rent. So don't freak if the man asks a question and no one knows the answer. No one ever knows the answers."

He shuffles through the sheaf of transport papers, now wrinkled and worn and stained, staples them in mulitple places, sticks them in a clipboard and hands them to Mark.

"We act too smart and they might offer us job, huh? Am I right?"
This message was last edited by the player at 12:38, Mon 30 May 2011.

Rhijans managed to keep the snicker suppressed to a tight-lipped grin, when Dak made the claim that Rebel operatives always had their act together.  He held his tongue, however, until the kid had finished talking.

"Actually, in my experience, independent operators are usually a helluva lot more organized than any Rebel operation I've been privy to.  But as long as we've got a line to hand them, I'm not particular about what it is.  I just wanted to make sure nobody asked what cargo we were here to pick up and we suddenly started looking at each other and asking, 'Yeah, just what were we supposed to pick up, anyway?'  I can go with the unspecified cargo option, or the vanadite, or whatever...just making sure we've got an answer to the question."

He grabbed his cold-weather gear and started suiting up.  The weather could be a benefit to them...especially if they could get one or two people in Imperial exposure suits.  It was so bad out there that people would assume anyone who was out in the weather was there because they HAD to be...wouldn't be likely to be questioned about it.

Juragga caterwauled in assent, ready to go outside.  With his heavy fur, even without the poncho he now wore, he figured he'd be okay.  It was when things got... interesting... that he figured he'd be needed most.

Mark threw on his cold weather gear. A fur-lined helmet was strapped to his head for good measure. "Let's hurry. Not sure that this gear will really keep me warm."

Rhijans snorted lightly.  "Stay out there long enough, and nothing will keep you warm.  While the Captain and the kid do the talking with their ground control, we should see if the rest of us can get any kind of info on where the rest of the operations are located...the main shaft of the mine, storage, quarters for the slaves if they don't keep 'em in the barracks building, loading equipment, and a larger transport or two.  The tricky thing will be finding all this stuff without looking like we're looking for it."  He gave a humorless grin.

"I love a challenge...but this might be just a little ridiculous..."

Haarmon's attitude seems to have returned, both good and bad in Shard's eyes.  Good, in that it should keep him focused.  Uncertainty can be the worst killer in this kind of situation.  Bad, in that...well, the temptation to scrub the sneer from his lips with something rough is unbearable.  It's not hideous; rather, it's an ugly sign of a lack of confidence.

And yet...

Watch him work, Shard.  Look at that business with the coffee.  The kid is a natural, despite his waffling self-confidence.

Jacobs has the papers, Rhijans the orders, Juragga the agreement, she thinks.  Shard rearranges some things under her cloak; when satisfied, she ditches it, leaving her in the embroidered black silk, blaster pistol in a shoulder rig.  On goes a cold weather coat.  Bending over her cloak, she fumbles through it; fingers glide across cold, smooth steel, then close about it.

The flask goes into her coat.

A few more adjustments and she's done.  A long scarf wraps around her head and neck several times, leaving her eyes and sharp, fox's nose exposed.  "Ready," Shard affirms, moving to the door and prodding Rhijans with a finger on the way by.  "Don't say that.  I hate challanges, myself.  Keep hoping this one will be the easy mission they keep promising."

Rhijans grunted in response to Shard's statement.  "There are no easy missions...that's a myth they use to get you to say 'yes' in the first place.  If it was easy, they'd be doing it themselves."  Despite the cold tone of his voice, there's a gleam in his eye...his version of gallows humor, perhaps?

He moved to the top of the ramp.  "Everyone ready for this?"

Haarmon was just finishing suiting up. His thin body was covered in the bulky protective gear and most of his face was covered. He appeared quite ill-at-ease. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, constantly adjusting the shoulder strap of his computer bag. And his hand kept dropping to his side, where his gun holster normally was, clenching, unclenching and moving away, as though looking for the assurance of the weapon's weight and not finding it.

One of his toes tapped incessantly in a quick, staccato rhythm. It woud pause every now again, and Haarmon's gaze would flicker to Shard or Juragga or Rhijans, as though he realized he was being a goober. But moments later it would start up again.

Rhijans' question, however, was met with a wide bright smile and a full-on strut. "You kidding me, Cap? Ready?" He said, unable to keep all the tightness out of his voice, "We're not ready, we're hungry for justice. And I think we got Imperial on the menu this fine morning. Rags? Am I right?"

Juragga let out a muffled "RrrrRRRRAAaaaauuuueeerrrRRRR!" of agreement.  He wasn't losing sight of the mission goals, but anything to stick it to the Impys made him happy.

"GrrrUUUHHhhhn," he rumbled, trying to reassure the kid that everything would come out right.

In spite of himself, Rhijans found that he was growing just a little fond of the kid's bravado.  Once Dak got to be good enough to actually stop using it as a mask, there could be real hope for him...but until then, Rhijans wasn't about to encourage anything further in that manner of behavior.

"Lund is the captain here, not me.  And be careful your hunger for justice doesn't wind up choking you...it's an easy appetite to lose control of."  Anyone watching him, however, would notice a fleeting hint of a smile cross his features, as he turned back to the hatch.

"Ready when you are..."  He turned and looked at Vekkis, and the fleeting hint of humor lit up his eyes.  "Captain," he finished.

The ramp drops, the inner doors slides upwards, and a blast of cold air and snow rushes into the ship.  The rebels start down the ramp, pulling cold weather clothing tight around their bodies, and start walking in the direction of the warehouse.

While they're not really there to pick up a cargo, the warehouse is the closest shelter, and the natural first stopping point for any ship's crew who are supposed to be collecting a consignment.  A crawler rumbles past, heading out across the field to a group of parked transports a little way off from Bold Gambit.  Eyes slitted against the wind and shoulders hunched against the cold, the infiltrators make their way closer to the building.

The only one who doesn't seem that bothered by the weather is Juragga.

After a few minutes walking, which seems much longer, the group reach the front of the warehouse, and spot a door marked as giving access to the office.

The team...is gelling.  An ironic choice of phrases given the weather, but still.  Rhijans is more supportive than cutting, Haarmon is bringing his best, Jacobs hasn't threatened to shoot the new people yet, and Juragga...

Juragga might be the best of us all, Shard considers, mulling over the Wookie's support of his friend.  Her grasp of the language is returning, slowly but surely, and she's getting more and more of his verbiage.  It's the inflections that still throw her - GrrrUUUHHhhhn versus GrrruUUHHhnN, for example.

The wild card is their ship's captain.  She still doesn't know much about him.

There's plenty she'd like to say to everyone, but the biting wind strips any thought of discussion out of her mind, replacing it with a driving need to reach shelter.  Pushing herself forward through the frigid blast, Shard slogs along the tarmac, eyes fixed on her goal.  The building looms closer with every step - she checks her back to make sure the others are following, picking them out of the howling storm - and finally Shard reaches the door.

Opens it.

Holds the switch.  "Get in!" she screams over the wind's cry, following only when everyone has entered the office.

The door hisses closed and she leans against the metal, stiff, frozen fingers fumbling with her flask.  Up.  Down.  The fiery liquid follows the motion, burning its way along her throat.  "Next time," Shard snaps hoarsely, "we're taking contract with a tropical planet!"  Her arm rises again, proffering the flask to the Wookie.  "Juragga?  Last call."

As they headed in, Juragga glanced about, his teal eyes taking in the snow and wind around them.  As they reach the building, he stared intently into the blizzard.

"RRrrAaaaaaaggghhhhRRRRHHHnnnn," he rumbles low, dangerously.  To Haarmon, the meaning would be crystal clear; he didn't know how the others were doing with their spoken Wookiee and didn't want to take time to fish out his translator.

Then, not wanting to be silhouetted by the interior lights - at his size, he makes a good target - he ducked inside and let Shard come in after him.  He smiled a Wookiee grin at Shard, wan but sincere, and took a small swig from her flask, before handing it back.  To be polite.  Really.

(OOC any who understand Juragga:  He says their are Imperial troopers out there in the snow, having just come around the corner of the building, headed this way, but not in a rush.)

Shard accepts the flask from the Wookie's surprisingly dextrous grasp, and gives it a shake.  Seems Juragga refrained from sinking back a Wookie's share.  "Nice of you," she rasps through half-frozen lips burned by the industrial strength alcohol, touching his forearm with her free hand as she stows the shiny metal container.

Her voice drops a touch.  "That other matter?  Expected, so no worries."  Smiling hurts, but she manages it anyway.

The language is definitely coming back to her.

The group are standing in a short corridor running parallel to the outer wall of the structure.  To their right, the corridor ends against a blank wall.  To the left it extends for perhaps twenty metres to a large reinforced hatch.  Two smaller doors lead off the right hand side of the corridor as they turn to face along it.

Both are open.

From inside one of them they can here the sound of raised voices.  Well, at least one raised voice, speaking a language which definitely isn't Basic.  The voice which replies to it, in what seems to be the same language, is much quieter, but still not exactly whispering.

Haarmon looks from Shard to Juragga and back again. Expected? No worries? Were they kidding? Didn't they watch the news feeds? There were Imperials coming! Coming this way! He tried his best to act cool. If Rags wasn't worried then there wasn't really any reason for him to be worried. But then, Rags was a Seven Foot Tall Walking Wall of Wookie Woe. Easy for him not to be worried.

This was no computer game. And Haarmon didn't even have his gun.

He sort of shuffled himself sideways, closer to Juragga. If things got bad, he wanted to be as close to his friend as possible. For moral support, like.

"Anyone know what they're saying?" he whispered, his voice almost not wavering.

Juragga nodded once to Shard, accepting her reassurance.  To Haarmon, he rumbled confidently.  There was nothing to worry about as long as they stuck to the plan and their roles.


Of course, when that came unglued... well, that's what he was along for.

He shrugged at Haarmon's question and canted his furry head to hear.  He was no linguist - Basic and Wookiee were all he'd really bothered to become fluent in, and he could speak only the latter.

Like the others, Rhijans was no linguist.  He'd seen more of the galaxy than some of them, perhaps, however, and he thought the cadence of the words, at least, seemed familiar...

(OOC--Rhijans Thanus rolled 2 (2 excluding the wild die) using 2 dice and +2 pips with the WEG Classic system with rolls of 1,{Wild}1. Linguistics.)

The cadence may have been familiar, but the actual words, themselves, were utter gibberish to him...for all he could tell, the two were debating the mating habits of mynocks.

Haarmon sounds nervous; she can't blame him, really.  The situation is tense enough without a squad breathing down their necks.  "Got me," Shard mutters.  She can't make out enough of the discussion to place the language, despite her efforts.  "The troopers are SOP - ship lands, claims authorization, books are a mess, send out a squad to find what's what.  They're likely bored and irritated, no more.  But we can't stand here pretending not to be eavesdropping; last thing we want right now is suspicion."

They can't understand the language, anyway, so it's not a loss if she -

"Hello?"

- raises her voice.

The call echoes down the hallway, and Shard follows with more.  "Anyone home?  Didn't want to wait for the reception committee - it's colder than a Zidran sauna out there!"  Turning to the others, she shrugs.  When bluffing, better to walk through the front door than try to skulk through the back.

Mark tried to understand what was spoken. He gave Shard a nod. It would be better to be out in the open. "Yeah. Hello!"
This message was last edited by the player at 06:39, Wed 08 June 2011.

Shard's voice carries down the corridor, and is answered a few seconds later, "Yeah?  In here."  The voice isn't one of the two which had been debating... whatever it was they were debating.

Then the quieter voice speaks again, this time in Basic, "He says he lost his collection order, and demands that we take his word for it that he is here to pick up a shipment.  He further says that if our system also has no record of the agreed transaction, then we should remember that his word is better than that of any machine, and that he has two thermal detonators on his repulsive person."

The group of rebels come level with the first door and find themselves looking into a large, open plan office containing a couple of dozen people.  There are three standing near the door, a human in dark green coveralls, a protocol droid, and an Ubese.  The droid is just explaining something to the human, "Might I suggest we simply have him thrown out, Sir?  We don't need his sort in here, making the place even more dirty and disgusting than it already is."

"No... you might not.  Just tell him that we have severe problems with this facility's computers today, and he will be dealt with as soon as possible."

As the droid translates that for the alien, the man turns towards the rebels in the doorway, "What do you people need?"  Just now, it doesn't look as though he would win any prizes for being the friendly face of customer service...
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:39, Thu 09 June 2011.

Rhijans managed to avoid wincing visibly as the Ubese in the room apparently had the same story they were prepared to tell.  He considered, briefly, trying to come up with a different one, but they hadn't exactly come in with anything to deliver.

"Yeah, you've got an outbound cargo we're supposed to pick up?  Ship's called Needle..." he provided, helpfully, managing to sound massively bored with the whole process.  He could only imagine what the Ubese would do if they got a cargo when he was demanding one be given to him...they might not even need to set any of the charges...let him start some trouble, take out the comms, and call in the fighters...

That would be too easy, he knew.  It couldn't possibly turn out that smoothly.  His luck just didn't run that way.

The mine official gives Rhijans a dirty look, and consults a datatablet, "I have a record of your ship, but not your cargo.  But, as you might have heard, we're having problems with our system today."

Nearby, the droid and the Ubese are involved in their argument again, causing the man to raise his voice above the noise as he continues speaking, "Do you have any documentation?  It'll make it easier to clear this up if you've got at least some of the consignment details."

The Ubese raises his voice again, and the droid continues to argue with him.

"Excuse me, just one moment." the official says to Rhijans, somewhat irritably.

Without waiting for a reply, he turns away and, as he does so, a holdout blaster is suddenly in his hand and pointing directly at the Ubese's breath mask, at point-blank range.  "Please tell the captain to go and wait in the break room, and I'll call him when his load is ready."

"Yes, Sir."  The droid starts to translate, and even in Ubese he sounds smug and self-satisfied.

Sinking himself a little further into his self-adopted role, Rhijans turned to the others.  "Looks like THIS shipment's going to be late, too."  He did an admirable job of letting annoyance color his tone.

"Cap, we may have to send word ahead that we're behind schedule...they need to keep those perishables on ice a little longer.  Everyone else..." he shrugged, in apparent helplessness to the situation.  "Make the most of whatever hospitality there is on this iceball, I guess...doesn't look like we're heading out anytime real soon."

While the official was busy staring down his blaster at the Ubese, Rhijans let his eyes wander the room, looking for any surveillance gear...or any indication of any sort of serious fortifications, a garrison, weapon emplacements...a visible setting on a comm panel, anything that could prove useful in determining just how careful they had to be in carrying out this mission.

"Well, if we got some time, I got some business needs attending to. Like, pronto." Following Rhijans' lead, Haarmon started bouncing from foot to foot. Just a little. "Anyone point to the little trader's room over here? I need to see a man about a tramp freighter, if you know I'm saying."

And whether or not anyone answered, he started toward the door on the far side of the Ubese and the embattled official. He called out to Juragga as he went, "Hey! You there with the shag-rug coat! You think I want to lug my own hear all over the damned galaxy? Grab that pack and lets get to it. I got a crisis brewing over here." He starts dancing from foot to foot a little more, as if to illustrate his point.

Shard waits quietly as the 'diplomacy' settles itself.  The others make reference to heading out; she grins, a lopsided expression.  "I'm sure the Coordinator here would only be too happy to let us cool our heels for a bit.  Looks like he has a little on his plate...maybe including Ubese, cooked by thermal detonation."  She shrugs, rolling her eyes at the imperial official.  "You all go ahead - I'll hang around here and try to work things out him at his leisure."

Grimacing, she calls after the departing Haarmon.  "Make sure you have the documentation for what we have to pick up!  The Coordinator seems to have a need for it."  Another quick, twisted smile.  "Understandably."

Crossing her arms beneath her coat, she waits for the confrontation to end.

Juragga did his best to slouch and seem downtrodden, servile.  He'd long since learned that was how the Imperials liked their nonhumans - especially Wooks.  Inwardly, he tracked things, ready to leap to the attack if they started going south.

With a meek "Grrrrhhhhuuuuh," he lifted his duffle and shuffled after Haarmon as ordered.

The facility administrator smiles, without much humour, "We have little to offer in the way of hospitality here, I'm afraid, this is a working mine facility, not a resort.  As soon as the droid has finished explaining the situation to the Ubese, he can escort everybody to the break room.  You can, at least, get something warm to drink up there and possibly a hot meal."

"Assuming the military haven't had everything again."

Again the humourless smile, "The fresher is up there too."

The droid finishes translating, and the Ubese gives a short answer, which results in an announcement from the droid, "Sir, he says that he will wait for one hour.  He was reluctant to do so, at first, until I explained to him exactly how many stormtroopers are stationed here at this time.  After that, he calmed down."

Then he turns to the group of incognito rebels, "This way, please." before starting towards the door back out into the corridor.  From there, he enters the second doorway, which accesses another corridor, this one running at right angles to the first.

As he walks, he seems to be muttering constantly under his... whatever serves droids in lieu of breath.  The Ubese tags along behind everybody else.

Shard, meanwhile, waits in the office...

Once the droid is leading the way, Mark asked the droid. "Glad you were able to calm down the Ubese. What number did you give the Ubese? I'm sure you exaggerated to drive the point home."

Rhijans allowed himself an inward smile.  While it wasn't much, they'd gotten some very important intel, with just a few brief comments.  The military wasn't in charge of the actual mining...and they weren't necessarily very popular with the mine personnel.  And there was apparently a surplus of stormtroopers in the area...enough to back down an annoyed Ubese who was ready to start waving thermal detonators around as a negotiation tactic.  While that wasn't good news, it was useful news.

He followed the droid without comment, playing the part of the shipping operator resigned to having his schedule screwed up by someone else's failure, while he tried to catalog what else they needed to figure out before they could establish an action plan.  They needed to know where the mine, itself, operated...location and more definite numbers of the stormtroopers, as well as any additional Imperial personnel...the shipment they'd decided they wanted to acquire...the slaves...

There was obviously no way they would get all that in here...it'd take a bit more poking around.

The droid throws up its arms as far as they will go, which is not that far, "I am programmed for communication, not exaggeration, Sir. Oh dear me, what a crude, dumb beast that Ubese is! How rude! Smells bad too. I say they all wear those masks because they look particularly feebleminded underneath."

Further muttering ensues and then the droid raises his voice again, "Last month we had no stormtroopers here." the droid explains and elaborates on the situation, "Today there is at least two hundred and fifty of them running around trying to pass themselves off as imposing and getting in the way, dragging in dirt all over the place and asking their obtuse questions, as if I had nothing better to do. Mark my words, had I nerves they would be on my very last one, Sir. They are utterly dim, those troopers. Doubtlessly looking splendidly feebleminded underneath all that white plastic. Splendidly."

If the Ubese can understand the droid's comments, he gives no sign of it.  He simply trudges along behind everybody.

Eventually the group steps out into a more open area where two open elevator platforms move up and down constantly on parallel rails - as one rises, the other falls, and they pause for about twenty seconds at the top and bottom ends of their movement, before starting up again.  The next level up is about ten metres above floor level.

As they approach the platforms, there are a handful of mine workers (judging by the fact that their coveralls are similar to the administrator's) riding on each of them.

As one platform reaches the floor, the workers step off, and the droid shuffles quickly onto it.  "This way." it announces, a little redundantly.

The rebels also get aboard, as does the Ubese.


In the office, the administrator turns from discussing something with one of the couple of dozen other people working there and notices Shard for the first time, "Yes?  can I help you?"

Shard offers a smile - a crooked, ironic one.  "I'm with the group that just came in."  She waves her hand at the chaos of the office.  "Looks like you have your hands full right now - I'm not looking to make your life harder.  Just wanted to know if there's anything we can do to make things easier."

The lean woman shrugs her shoulders.  "Hang around for a day and wait?  It'll set us back on our own timelines, but the skipper always writes in an extra few days just in case.  Or give us a note on what we're supposed to take, and we can go have a look at the cargo ourselves, spare you some work."

She glances both ways at the busy office.  "Or...you delegate some crap to these runners, and take a bit of a break to show us what we need to see.  No pressure."

Leaning back, she raises both hands, palm up.  "Maybe there's something else I can do to help speed things up.  If there is, let me know.  I'm just sitting here waiting - might as well make myself useful." There's no innuendo in the offer, just an open attempt at offering help.  Frankly, Shard feels a little sorry for the administrator.

Only a little, mind; there are slaves to consider.

Rhijans was making mental notes of their route...creating an exit map in his mind, but also highlighting vulnerable areas that could potentially gum up the works.


Again, as always, he was running scenarios in his mind...ways to get back to the ship, ways to snoop around and have plausible stories if the stormtroopers found him, ways to make as much trouble as possible for the stormtroopers...their big problem was, as usual, a lack of reliable intel on the target, and he began to get the sneaking suspicion that this particular team was going to be the Rebels' team of choice for high-priority targets about which almost nothing was known.  He wasn't particularly thrilled by that prospect...but they all seemed to do a good job of thinking on their feet, and that was a skill that you couldn't teach people.

Still maintaining his act of servility, the massive Wookiee frowned inwardly.  He hated letting Shard off on her own.  He was taking in their route, and looking for places to fight that would be to his advantage - close quarters, but not so cramped as to hinder a being of his size.

He knew one thing about Imperials: show them mercy, and they would make you regret it.  He thought of his family, and continued after Haarmon, lugging his duffle as if it weighed a ton.

Haarmon reaches the door and turns into whichever corridor is pointed out as the way to the bathroom. Behind him he can hear the droid talking and Shard offering assistance. As he starts down the hallway he starts to think that maybe leaving the group wasn't the smartest move. They were the ones who knew what they were doing, after all.

"But more eyes means more intel, am I right?" he mutters to himself, under his breath, almost as though to reassure himself. And besides, Rags was there with him. So that's as good as it's likely to get.

He gives Juragga a sort of sidelong glance and a little shrug and starts peering into any of the rooms he passes. He's not exactly certain what he's looking for but if he were to find it, it would be something along the lines of a room that looked as if it had been empty a while. Lights off, floor clean, no half-filled cups of coffee lying around. And a room with a computer hook-up would be even better. And a room with an actual terminal would be even better still. And a lock on the inside of the door? Best. Ever.

The mine administrator smiles at Shard, but it looks faked, "Well, the problem is that you've already made things worse for me.  Now I'm going to have to take somebody off the job they should be doing, trying to sort out the mess we have here, and send them to escort you to the break room.  I asked you and your crew to wait there for a reason."

He turns away and beckons over one of his assistants, "Please escort this person to the break room.  Make sure she gets there."

The man gestures towards the door, scowling at Shard, "This way, please."

The elevator platform reaches the next level, and the droid steps off.  One wall of the level is entirely open, giving a view out across the interior of the storage warehouse, which fades away into distance and gloom, a jumbled see of storage containers, packing cases and drums.

There is a shimmer where the wall should be, a force field, but it doesn't stop the air here, on the upper level, being distinctly chilly.

The droid leads them across the open space and through a doorway.  The break room is, as it turns out, pleasantly warm, and almost empty.  There are, at most a half dozen workers sitting together at one end of the room, playing sabacc, or simply eating and drinking.

There are snack and beverage dispensers against the wall closest to the workers, along with a wall-mounted terminal which is currently powered down.

Rhijans made his way over to one of the beverage dispensers, looking as though he was trying to decide which disappointing option to choose from, using the action as an excuse to get closer to the sabacc game.  He hoped to overhear some comment, or detail of gossip, that might be useful to them...whether everyone shared the disdain for the stormtroopers that the droid had expressed, how work was proceeding, anything regarding the slaves, what kinds of materials they were mining (aside from the cargo the Rebels were after), shipment schedules...

After a few moments, he sighed and selected a variety of stim-drink that he figured would probably be at least vaguely palatable, and repeated the performance in front of the snack dispenser.  "Not exactly an embarrassment of riches in here, is it?" he mused aloud, to no one in particular.

That didn't go well.  Would have made things easier, Shard considers. "Apologies.  I'll go quickly, won't keep him long." But easier isn't the way of things in this kind of game.  With a short bow, she heads out of the room, following the assistant.

It probably won't work, given how she's managed things so far, but Shard gives some persuasion a try.  "Listen," she says to the obviously disgruntled assistant.  "I've ticked off your boss enough - get me part way, give me some directions, and if you're worried, call the break room later.  I'll make it."

Actually...this could work to their advantage, she considers.  If the administrator is annoyed with their group, it's more likely he'll get them to cool their heels longer, giving them more time to prepare.

As they walked, Juragga caught the sidelong glances Haarmon threw the rooms they passed and groaned.  Haarmon was being clever.  While this sometimes led to glorious things, it often led to lots of shooting, crying and praying.

"GrrrrrrAAAAAWwwwwr," he muttered, his teal eyes flicking to the rest of the group.  Be careful.

Vekkis has been quiet since they arrived on Alrirkr, lost in thought.  He doesn't like being in places like this -- not mines specifically, but places that are apparently swarming with stormtroopers.  As a smuggler Imperial uniforms make him nervous, and as a smuggler he has developed a sense for them.  He can, for instance, smell white armour from a couple of kilometres away.

And he smells it here.  The droid's assessment of the facility's troop complement doesn't surprise him at all.

The sight of the card game in the break room piques his interest though.  Depending on the stakes, it might provide the perfect opportunity to earn some profit from this mission.  He wanders over, sits at a table close by and starts to watch how the game progresses.

Haarmon nodded at Juragga. "You're right, Rags," he said, mostly under his breath, "This maybe ain't the time to be getting all cute. Maybe we ought to play it straight." He shrugged. Smiled his smarmiest smile. "For now."

And then he entered the room and his eyes were drawn to the Sabacc game. He was no expert, but his quick and logical mind made him more than passably proficient at most card games. Sabacc was no exception. He noticed Vekkis was eying the game hungrily as well.

"Hey," he said to Shard and Rhijans, "Okay if I take a hand or two? Good way to get some info maybe? Huh? Am I right? What do you think?"

Rhijans fought down the grimace that sought to leap to his face.  He'd been hoping to overhear something...something that, possibly, wouldn't be discussed with an outsider at the table, and he'd been pulled away to listen to Dak's request.  He appreciated the thought...but the timing left something to be desired.

But, it was too late to do anything about it now, and they could only work with the circumstances they were given.  "Sure, kid...but you're staking yourself for the game.  If you lose everything, it's your loss, don't ask us to kick funds in."  He let Haarmon turn back toward the table before the afterthought dawned on him.

"And...try and be subtle about getting 'em talking."

He really hoped he wasn't going to regret saying 'yes' to that...

Mark decided to try to talk with a few workers. He wandered over the side of the room where some of them were eating and drinking. "Bantha poo. It's cold. I hope it warmed up in the Summer." Mark rubbed his hands together to warm them.


OOC Are all the workers humans, or an alien species.

"Sorry, but with the security procedures we have in place lately I can't let you wander about on your own." the office worker keeps walking alongside Shard, "Any unaccompanied visitors in the warehouse area are likely to be detained and put to work in the mines, or just shot."

In the break room, the gamblers appear to be playing, not for credits, but for some kind of scrip.

At least they were... the game seems to be slowing to a halt as the players' attention is drawn to Juragga rather than their cards.

Mark Jacob's attempt to start up a conversation draws a chuckle from a grizzled worker and a wry grin from his much younger companion.  "This is summer." the old-timer replies, "Not been here before then, Mate?"

"I'm guessing you have a pretty high turnaround here?" Shard quips, seething inside.  Any mild pity she has for the administration has long-since vanished; far from being harried bureaucrats, they seem to have bought into the entire policy.  "That's pretty draconic," she continues, more seriously.  "Waiiiit, 'lately'?"

She cocks an eyebrow.  "Never been here before, myself.  What does lately mean?"  The woman looks around with a hint of concern.  "Something I should be worried about?"     

Haarmon offers Rhijans something between a smile and a snort. Kind of a little bit of both, really. "Subtle? Are you kidding me? I'm all about subtle. Seriously. I'm practically the Grand Moff of Subtle Sector. Rags? Back me up on this one. Am I right?"

He turns away, not waiting for a response (and maybe hoping they wouldn't understand whatever Juragga might say in response), and watches the Sabacc game just long enough to know that he belongs at the table.

"What have we got here?" he asks, swaggering up to the group, "Some kind of beginner's guide? A tutorial, like? That's cool." He looks around. "But it looks like you got a classroom with no teacher. The blind leading the blind, am I right?" He puts down his stake and indicates he wants to be dealt in.

"Well it's a good thing I'm here. Otherwise you'd all be walking away thinking this is how the game is played. Like thinking an epileptic seizure is dancing. Am I right?"

Pfft, he thinks, Subtle. Tell me about subtle.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:25, Mon 27 June 2011.

Rhijans watched Haarmon walk over.  He managed to not cringe at the kid's opening line to the group at the table, who seized on his line of patter like starving predators on a piece of bloody raw meat.  Rhijans was starting to notice a pattern...any claim that Dak made, which happened to be followed up by an appeal for back-up from the Wookiee, was sheer bluff and bravado.  This didn't appear to be any different, judging by the results.

If he'd just relax and stop trying so damn hard, Rhijans mused...there was actually a lot of potential there.  The kid had been brilliant behind a computer...he just needed to learn to be more like that when he didn't have a keyboard in front of him.

Still, all the false bravado might get the miners--or slave-drivers, as Rhijans was beginning to suspect them of being, since they all carried stun-batons--over-confident and loose-lipped.  He selected a snack from the machine to go with the questionable drink he'd gotten, and leaned against a counter to watch how long it took for the miners to empty Dak's pockets.  Watching, without seeming to be watching, and trying to gather intel...

"Lately," the office worker explains, "as in, 'since Moff Kivost decided we're an important military asset and sent us a garrison of stormtroopers to handle security'."

He indicates that Shard should step onto an elevator platform, which starts to carry her up to the next level, about ten metres higher.  "As for whether you should be worried... that would depend on whether you're a transport crewmember or a rebel saboteur."

The card players drag their attention away from Juragga to stare at Haarmon, one of them speaks up, "This is a private... " he pauses as another man elbows him and nods towards the credits on the table, "... game, but I'm sure we can fit you in.  Sit down, we'll deal you in next hand."

One of the other men, not the one with the persuasive elbow, comments, "You people should keep an eye on your friend there." indicating Juragga, "We're overrun with stormtroopers.  If they spot him, they might decide he's an escaped slave."

Rhijans grimaced as he took a sip of the drink.  "Oh, we never let him wander around too far from any of us."  In his mind he chuckled...it was true...or would be, if they'd known the Wookiee long enough to worry about such things.  He wouldn't be wandering, he'd likely be heading out with some very explicit objectives...

He shrugged, and added, "It's never been a problem before, but then again, most of our stops aren't generally heavily garrisoned.  Seems like it's making all kinds of chaos here..."  He took another sip, almost snarling at the aftertaste.  "Certainly put a bind on our timetable..."

"Only just now?"  Shard shakes her head.  "Bureaucracy in action...shifting priorities, or new upper management." Her shrug finishes the observation - it doesn't really matter which, is what it comes down to.

Stepping onto the elevator, she eyes the office drone.  "Would it matter?  From the sound of what your boss said, I could get shot or grabbed for the mines just as easily as a team of people with guns and bombs."  She deliberately avoids any specifics, such as 'commandos', 'blasters', and 'CV-X malleable explosives'.

The older woman sighs.  "Seems we have enough to worry abuot just picking up cargo these days.  Never used to be this way.  Things were more secure a few years back, people more relaxed...now everyone walks around on eggshells.  What happened?"  A rhetorical, musing question, not one seriously probing for an answer...but it leaves an opening, nonetheless.

Of course, given the man's mood, he might very well not take it.

Watching the young human approach the gamblers the droid threw its arms up, "Young Sir! These men do nothing but sit here and gamble all day long! They are quite good at it, Sir!" The sound of the voice suggests that if had it been possible the droid would look quite concerned.

Having said its piece it turned towards the wookie and the grey humanoid, "I do say! They cause total chaos! Not that the place was ever remotely a smooth operation, if I say so, but those troops and all the slaves, oh my! Dear me, what organics do to one another! How rude! Never, I say, never would droid treat other droids in such fashion! Never!"

It begins to walk around the room, muttering under the breath it hasn't got, gesticulating in a manner befitting someone upset.

Rhijans saw an opening, and went for it.  Giving up on trying to coax discussion out of the players at the table, he left them to harass Dak under Juragga's watchful gaze and stepped over to the droid.

"Y'know, personally I would prefer that he not play," Rhijans started quietly, looking back at the table surreptitiously, trying to make sure his point of discussion was not overheard there.  "But we've learned that there are some lessons the kid only learns the hard way--I got tired of trying to tell him 'this is too risky' or 'that will only end badly.'  Now, I just try to make sure I'm available to help him dust himself off after he gets knocked down trying these kinds of things."  He shrugged, in a gesture of helplessness that he didn't really feel--he was actually a big proponent of learning via hard knocks, but he didn't think he'd get very far with the droid by touting the benefits of that particular approach.

He let himself take on a worried look, and added, "So, they weren't just kidding when they said the stormtroopers might think the Wookiee was an escaped slave?  I thought they were just trying to make us nervous..."  With a little luck, the droid might start talking about the slaves, and give them some of the information they needed...

The droid shakes his head, "Oh dear, I do hope those lessons do not include combat, and proper usage of space suits!  Highly unsuitable, Sir!  Or handling of vehicles!  Oh dear!"

As they step off the elevator, Shard feels a drop in temperature and realises that this level is entirely open on one side, revealing a vast warehouse fading off into the distance.  Only a faint flicker in the air reveals that the opening is closed by a forcefield.  Her guide seems about as cold as the air as he replies, "What happened is that, just like us, any place with anything important in the way of resources got classified as being a possible target for those rebel scum."

"Sure, they say they're fighting oppression and tyranny, but their making life harder for the common man, as the Empire tries to clamp down on their terrorism."

Gesticulating wildly the droid continues to pace, leaving Rhijans to keep up, "Those dim, feebleminded troopers!  Mark my words, Sir, your furry friend would be arrested on the spot if seen alone!  Sent to the Nergon mines, he would be, never to see daylight again!  Positively horrific, positively!  Dirty barracks too, very much so!  And even as a group, Sir, they would doubtless stop you all to interrogate you with their obtuse questions, mark my words, asking for proper paperwork and all!  Most obtuse, those troopers, Sir!" The droid suddenly halts and turns to face Rhijans, whispering loudly with great concern, "Oh dear me!  He does not shed, does he?  That would make an awful mess, it would!  Or is that seasonal?"  He leans over to not very subtly sneak a peek at Juragga.

At the table the hand finishes, and true to their word, the workers deal Haarmon in.

Rhijans struggled to keep a bemused tone from creeping into his voice.  The nagging droid was something of a bother, sure, but it was all so totally at odds with the whole setting and situation that part of him wanted to laugh, and he couldn't afford to have the droid thinking he was laughing at it.

"No, we try to keep the 'learn it the hard way' lessons restricted to stuff that won't actually cause him any physical harm.  Doesn't do you any good to learn a lesson the hard way if you don't survive to use the knowledge gained.  And, so far, I haven't noticed any stray Wookiee hairs floating around the ship, so I'm pretty sure he doesn't shed...if he does, he's very meticulous about his grooming."

Taking advantage of the droid's preoccupation, Rhijans asked, "Sounds like you haven't encountered many Wookiees...what do they use for labor here, then?"  The question was casual, off-hand...as if he couldn't imagine NOT using a Wookiee for heavy manual labor...

Vekkis decides not to join the game immediately.  Instead he chooses to sit back and watch how the kid does.  Can't do any harm to learn a little more about his potential opposition, and watching exactly how they take Haarmon apart (or vice-versa) should teach him a few things.

Things like how good they are, if they are prone to particular errors, whether or not they have any noticeable tells.  And maybe whether they are sore losers.  Very important that one.

So he leans back in his chair, stretches his legs out in front of him, and sips at his cafstim, while being careful not to look like he's studying the gamblers.

Cold.  She's starting to hate the cold.  With every year that passes, it seeps in deeper, getting into her bones.  A couple of drinks would solve that, but she's on the job.  Still, it might help her cover...given that reasoning, it isn't long before Shard pops the top on her flask and takes a swig.  She doesn't bother asking the imperial if he wants a taste - stick up his rear, and an angry boss to boot.

Besides, she'd have to sterilize the mouth of the flask with something stronger.

Holding her outer garments more tightly around her, Shard shakes her head.  "Great.  I'd heard this sector wasn't exactly a hotbed of terrorist activity.  Made it seem like a good place to start doing business.  Now this?"  She lets out an ethanol-flavoured sigh.  "Going to have to tell the boss to make sure we have all our systems ready for pirates.  Thanks for the intell."

Of course, the common man didn't see much of the oppression and tyranny when he, himself, was a part of it.  Though he didn't seem to have much problem chatting about people getting shot 'accidentally' or snagged and thrown in the mines.  Part of the problem, you disgusting man, she considers.  This one isn't an unwitting dupe; he knows what's going on and deliberately turns a blind eye, if he isn't actively participating.

Maybe the next 'terrorist' bomb will be in your quarters.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:31, Mon 04 July 2011.

The sabacc game continues, and Haarmon's run of bad luck continues right along with it.  Or maybe he just really isn't as good a player as he claimed.  He certainly keeps making dumb mistakes which he somehow manages to minimise the damage from.  A couple of hands in, and he's already down a few credits.  The only bit of luck which does seem to be going his way is that the locals are, luckily, not keen to part with their scrip.

"This way." Shard's guide directs her towards a door, the only exit from the landing, other than the parallel elevators.

"They did use mostly humans, Sir.  Paid workers, all of them." the droid explains, "But now they will use anybody they can.  There are several different species in the mines now, all of them slaves, and living under the most shocking conditions.  But you will not see them up here, oh no.  Slaves are restricted to the mines.  Which means that when they need somebody to interpret their ridiculous instructions and orders into Rodian or Weequay or Chagrian or some such, I have to go to the mine too.  Sometimes it is so cold that my servos start to freeze.  My life was much more tolerable when I worked only in the office where we first met, translating for visiting pilots."

The door opens, and Shard steps into the break room, as the door closes again, almost too close behind her.

Rhijans nodded.  Some might have been surprised to see him showing any degree of empathy, especially for a droid, but Rhijans had learned to judge each being on its own merits, regardless of what that being's origins might be.  And, right now, he could definitely commiserate with the droid--having a job that used to be enjoyable that was replaced by a lot of undesirable activities sounded painfully familiar, at the moment.

But he didn't let himself get sidetracked by it.  "They just keep 'em down there?  Seems to me that would make for really high attrition--don't these people believe in preventive maintenance?"  He shook his head...and the disgust in his voice was not feigned.  In his business--well, his former business, he reminded himself--you lived or died on how well your equipment worked, and neglecting equipment--even slaves--was a cardinal sin, in his mind.

Juragga continues to play the role of servile, beaten-down Wookiee.  But when the droid mentions being thrown in the mines, he cannot completely suppress a silent snarl.

His teal eyes scan the exits and the room, watchful.

By the time the first hand was over, Haarmon had pretty much forgotten about gathering intel, subtle or not. In fact, the workers could have been discussing the lay out of the Imperial Garrison itself and Haarmon might not have even noticed. He was wholly focused on the game.

And on not looking like a total wamp-runner while doing so. AT least Shard hadn't seen him totally blow the opening hand.

He did his best to make it seem like he was 'easing' himself into the game before refocusing and taking another stab at it. He was quiet now, all of his energy bent towards the cards.

The next hand goes better, at least for Haarmon, not so much for the mine crew.  Perhap's Shard's presence has brought Haarmon some luck.  After a few minutes of tense bidding, and assorted verbal bantha poodoo, Haarmon succeeds in raking in a sizeable pot.  Interestingly that pot does not contain any of the credits he lost in the first round, just the mineworkers' scrip, plus the credits he gambled this round.

It seems that the miners, if they get their hands on real Imperial cash, aren't going to risk losing it again in a sabacc game.

One of the miners throws up his hands, "I'm done.  Only luck I'm having today is all bad!"

"Oh no, Sir!  They keep them in a separate part of the mine where they are locked up in guarded barracks when not working." the droid says, "But they do keep them down there, hence the delicate business with your friend, Sir.  Positively dreadful, what they do, mark my words.  We seem to be made to suffer, those poor slaves and I.  It is our lot in life."  Somehow the droid manages to look disheartened despite the fact that it cannot slump its shoulders.

The unlucky miner pushes away from the table and starts towards the door, glowering at Juragga as he passes.

Vekkis Lund continues to observe the game, while Shard and Mark Jacobs try to look as if they are not up to no good...

Shard ambles over to sit next to Juragga - it seems the safest area to be at the moment, in a roomfull of miners.  Worst place in the universe for a single girl, even one as beat-up as me.  She gives the Wookie a small pat on shoulder (having to reach up to do so) and gives a glower right back at the miner heading out.

"Nice place," she mutters - more of a chatty mutter than a secretive one, and she doesn't care if someone is within earshot. "Cold, full of unfriendly people, and if you're in the wrong place at the wrong time, they just shoot you or toss you in the mines.  Wonder if the retirement benefits are just as good?" Her mouth quirks. "They're all freaked out because the Moff figures this place is a target for Rebels.  Usual Bantha droppings - Rebels here, Rebels there, gotta slap down some more stormtroopers to keep everyone safe."

She shrugs.  "Never seen much terrorism around these parts yet.  Maybe they've got some info we don't, though."

If only she SPOKE Wookie, Shard considers.  She could hand out information without all the circling around the point.  Wouldn't have to call us terrorists either, the woman considers.

It takes Juragga great effort not to sneer at the miner.  Instead he focuses on the nearest tabletop, staring blankly.  Inwardly he makes a note to dismember said miner if the opportunity arose without endangering their mission.

He glances over when Shard sits next to him, and grunts a "Rrrrgh," of appreciation.

His teal eyes narrow at Shard's assessment of the situation and he groans an agreement.  Fighting stormtroopers.  Like shelling lobsters.

What was it Shard was getting at?  He raised an amber brow and rumbled low.

Another hand, and Haarmon loses again, but not so much, and this time it's all scrip.  No real money changes hands, and two of the miners actually do worse than the brash, young rebel.

Shard and Juragga are engaged in a quiet conversation.  A couple more miners enter the room, and give the pair a wide berth.  The droid, meanwhile, seems perfectly content to keep talking to Rhijans, even if the subject of the conversation does not seem to cheer it up at all, "I loathe going into the mines.  The dust and grime are most horrendous, and it can be days before I get a proper lubricant bath afterwards.  It is a wonder that I have not simply seized up, though if I did the Imperials would, in all probability, just leave me down there.  Translating seldom requires much mobility.  Nobody ever cares about droids, least of all stormtroopers."

One of the newly arrived miners overhears him, and comments to his friends, "Isn't it about time they wiped that droid?  He'd be much happier if he couldn't remember anything."  A burst of laughter follows, but the droid simply gives a passable imitation of a sigh, "Do you see what I mean?"

Mark Jacobs crosses over to sit with Vekkis Lund and the two of them watch the game.

Shard grimaces.  "Missed that," she mutters.  There are any number of unpleasant associations with what she thought she heard, but doesn't figure Juragga for that level of crude.  Pity - just when she thought she was getting the language...

...well, better to be optimistic.  Next time, Shard.

"Haarmon looks like he's doing better," she notes.  "He any good at that game?  Wasn't, myself.  Not ever."  Well, except that one time she cheated outrageously.  Last time I'll ever do that, Shard considers, thinking about the fallout.  Oh, to be young and idealistic again...or at least younger and bitter.

These days, she just feels tired.

Her lip curls at the miners' behavior, both toward Juragga and the droid.  "Nice," the woman continues, sotto vocce.  "You figure Rhijans might be able to get the droid thinking about giving us a hand?  And getting a way out for it?"

Juragga repeats himself, but this time trying a different vocalization.  "I"m glad you're here" was the direct translation.

This beaten-down act was wearing on him.  What he'd like to do would be to smash half these miners and storm the mines, blasting away and looking for any Wookiees.  Or slaves in general.

"GraaaaaaaaaWWWWWWWrrrr," he caterwauled, commenting that Haarmon was better than he looked, but rarely as good as he thought he was.  And he couldn't repress a grin at that.

At Shard's comment, he eyeballed the droid, his teal gaze serious.  If the droid could be turned... yes, he could be an asset...

He muttered that it might be worth a try.

Rhijans shook his head in disgust at the attitude of the miners.  "Have they always treated you like a half-functional piece of mining gear?  Or was that something that came with the stormtroopers and slaves?" he asked, keeping his voice low enough that the miners in the room would be hard-pressed to overhear it, especially with Dak rambling on at the card game.

He'd give the kid credit for that...they had an abundant supply of distraction around, with him in tow.  And it looked like he might actually know a thing or two about cards.  There just might be hope for him, yet... Rhijans told himself.

The droid turned partly towards Juragga, "WrraawgooOORRRghAAurrh!" and bent back in a sardonic laughter. 

Although not altogether necessary the droid leaned in to listen to Rhijans, then lifted its arms helplessly, "Oh, I have never been fully accepted, but these blustering stormtroopers certainly made things so much worse, in so many ways.  I used to stay in the office and did not deal with many people, other than visitors, oh, those were the days, they were.  Apart from anything I can no longer recall, of course, due to those horrid mind wipes.  Positively dreadful, that, forgetting all.  Or so I assume, since I can not really recall anything.  Still, losing who you are, oh dear!"  The voice rises at the end and the droid flaps his arms about frantically.

"Glad to be here."  She could, Shard knows, be out there chatting up miners.  Sharing drinks.  Getting information.  Above all, not raising suspicion.  But there's more here than just a mission - there's a team.  Leaving one of them alone, disliked, and acting the part of a slave is unacceptable.  Wookies are proud, she knows, and social.  This has to be a heavy weight for Juragga to bear.

Cursed sure she isn't going to leave him to carry it alone.

"Mind your manners," she snaps when he yowls.  But there's a look of disgust in her eyes when she slants a glance sidelong at the other people in the room.  Easing up on the act, Shard is about to reply in truth when the droid cuts in with his own opinion on Haarmon's gambling capacity.  The older woman cocks an eyebrow, slowly nodding her head.  They have the droid halfway turned already, so eager it is to talk with someone new, to swap witticisms and complaints with people who won't threaten to have it wiped.

Or flat-out do so.

Juragga has his own opinion on the droid matter; Shard nods her head speculatively.  "Looks like Rhijans has a big lever to work with." Her hand itches, slipping under her cloak to touch cold metal.  Just one drink would take care of that itch, let her talk with these...imperials without wanting to tear out their slave-mongering eyes.

Yeah, get the weapon-grade ores.  Sure.  But Colonel, I'm not leaving here without those people.  No way, no how.

"Wonder how many ships got landlocked because of this computer mess?" she speculates aloud.  "Big ones, small ones...all kinds.  I'd look out on the field, 'cept we don't have windows and I wouldn't be able to see through the snow anyway."

So where can we find a list?
This message was last edited by the player at 14:25, Wed 13 July 2011.

Rhijans nodded his head appreciatively.  "I can only imagine..." he answered, sympathetically.  "I'd guess, initially, you wouldn't notice anything, since you'd just be running off core programming...but after a while, once your memory starts to fill back in again, there's got to be that realization that there was something...more, sometime before what you can remember.  Positively maddening, I would think..."  He shook his head, subtly showing his dismay for the droid's plight.

"Do they not get as many visitors, now?  I can't imagine, in a situation where you have so many different beings coming and going, that there wouldn't be a constant demand for your skills in just coordinating landing and loading duties.  How do they possibly operate up there when they've got you down talking to the slaves?"  He paused, his brow knitting in a scowl, and he added, "How many slaves could they possibly have that they'd need you to translate for?"

Slowly...don't plunge into asking the important questions, can't appear too curious about anything official.  He felt like he was on the verge of getting some really useful information...and he was actually starting to find himself a little fond of the droid's irascible demeanor.  That, in and of itself, surprised him...he'd never met a protocol droid that didn't make him itch to shoot the thing, until now.

A few hands in now, Haarmon starts playing defensively. Folding when he draws a bad hand, bluffing assertively instead of aggressively (at least not agrressively for Haarmon). He was still far more concerned with the game instead of with what he should be learning from the players, but all the same he allowed his attention to shift away from the cards and toward the others with him.

He picks up one of the bits of scrip from his pile. "What with this, then? They got you guys cashing cheques or what? They never heard of an ATM over here?"

The miners look unhappy as Haarmon asks about the scrip, most of them simply giving him dirty looks, but one provides an explanation"It's what they pay us in here since the Imperials moved in.  Theoretically it's worth the same as credits, but that only applies when we spend it here.  Anywhere else, and it's worthless, and if we go to the office to convert it to credits so we can spend it offworld, we lose half of it on the exchange rate.  Dammit!"  The last part in response to one of his workmates winning another hand... 

Shard and Juragga continue their quiet conversation, trying not to draw too much attention.  Though subtle and inconspicuous is difficult to pull off when one of you is a wookiee. 

Settling down a little, the droid rocks back and forth as if nodding.  "Oh yes, positively.  Knowing you have been here and lost who knows how much, maddening.  I dread the day they will do it again."

At Rhijans' questions the droid waves his arms up in dismay, getting a bit more lively again.  "Not at all, we get as many now as before!  They simple expect me to run back and forth and translate for all the 151 slaves in 21 different languages, not counting dialects, at my last count, while keeping up with customers and visitors alike!  Not to mention if, or shall I say when, they fill up the remaining 2,000 and some slots for slaves!  Utter madness!  And when I fail to fulfill their impossible schedule, who do they blame?  The droid, naturally!  Frightfully unfair, it is!  I can only be in one place at a time, after all.  Humans, so feebleminded at times!  Oh, no offence intended, Sir.  I am certain you, and your friends, are not as obtuse."

Rhijans grinned, and nodded.  "No offense taken...I'd be lying if I didn't admit to muttering curses against droids in general for the lack of ability of a select few.  It's easy to forget how broad a generalization may be when the group you're dealing with is limited to whatever is on hand."  His voice dropped again, and he asked, "You ever consider becoming an agent unto yourself?  I mean, I've heard of droids who decided that they were no longer willing to submit to memory wipes, and struck out on their own...does that thought ever tempt you?  If our positions were reversed, I can't help but think it'd be a constant nag at the back of my mind...don't think I'd have the patience to endure what they're putting you through."

He had to force himself to not hold his breath...this could be the make-or-break moment.  If the droid's behavior inhibitors were strong enough, the very idea would be so repugnant to it that the conversation would end, here and now...and the best he could hope for was that the droid didn't say anything to anyone about the conversation.

But, if luck smiled on them, even a little, this would open the door to some very helpful discussion and a mutually beneficial arrangement for both parties.  Much as Rhijans hated to rely on luck, sometimes there was only so much of it you could make for yourself.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:00, Fri 15 July 2011.

Shard eyes the vending machines with some interest.  If they could get over there...if she had something to prevent people from seeing what she was doing...something like a large, mobile wall of fur and muscle...  Turning her head, she glances up at Juragga.  "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

Standing, Shard slowly stretches.  "Stuck on this rock with nothing to eat, nothing to drink.  Except protein bars.  Figure those machines sell anything decent?"  A slow shrug follows.  "It's too much to hope they have Aldebarran Brandy, but let's have a look."

Checking her pockets for something to feed the machines, Shard ambles in their direction with a jerk of the head to Juragga.  C'mon, Juragga.  Follow me.  And don't take my head off for treating you like this...  It makes her sick, but too much buddy-buddy will set off all kinds of alarms with the Imperials.

Juragga nodded in response to Shard's query.  "GraaaaWWWMMmmph," he rumbled, rubbing his furry belly beneath his poncho as if in sympathetic hunger.  Rising, he went with Shard towards the vending machines.  Slouching, his head down, he mulled over the vending machine choices, coincidentally interposing himself between Shard and the rest of the room...

Again the droid does his best to slump.  "Oh Sir, were it only up to me!  But no, if I refuse a mind wipe they will simply shut me down, I have seen it done to other droids!  No choice, it is forced upon them, upon me.  We are but tools, to be used and thrown aside at the whim of our owner, no value is put on who we are, only what we can do to serve."

Almost anxiously the droid looked around, then leaned in closer.  "I would have left long ago, Sir, but oh no, this restraining bolt makes certain I do no such thing.  It sends a nasty jolt into my systems, it does, not to damage, merely to incapacitate.  Much the same as those ghastly shock collars they put on the more troublesome slaves.  Sometimes they shock us without reason, I swear!  They even laugh at it, some do!  Oh!  Positively dreadful, how those humans treat us, positively dreadful!  I do believe those shocks cause some damage, I can feel it!  Most dreadful, Sir!"

"I don't doubt they do...barbaric devices, those are."  Rhijans kept the conspiratorial tone, all the while appearing to just be engaging the droid in casual discussion.  "If someone could get rid of the bolt...and get you off this ball of ice...would you go?  Even if they had a price attached to the offer?"

Rhijans' mind raced...there was an opening, and he was once again running scenarios and playing out options, trying to find the most effective choice with the lowest risk for the group.  One obstacle remained to putting any of them into action, and that was the droid's answer.

He'd either just found their way in, to get all the info they needed to carry out the mission, or else he'd just blown their cover and the only way they'd get out would involve lots and lots of weapons fire.

Another of the miners pushes back from the table.  Not one of the worst losers though, "Well, I can't sit here all day.  Got to go'n' offload some cargo, then head back to work.  See ya later."  A chorus of friendly and not-so-friendly-but-all-meant-in-jest farewells greets this announcement, as well as some advice that he should leave a window open when he's finished offloading cargo, for the benefit of the next poor guy who has to use the fresher.

The departing miner responds with a gesture which brings more jeers, then edges past Shard and Juragga, heading for the door, as the two rebels make their way to the vending machines.  The machines appear to be almost empty at the moment, with just a few selections available.  Mostly protein bars... 

Animating to the point where one would start to suspect something might soon fall off the droid replies.  "Oh they do, they do!  Positively dreadful, those things.  And those obtuse troopers, and those feebleminded slavers, oh my!"

A moment later the droid takes up a rigid, rather businesslike pose.  "Nothing comes without a price, that much I have learned in this life.  But, oh, do not talk to me about life!  As for the theoretical potential of expropriating this world of aforementioned's ubiety, it certainly warrants some serious processing, although the cost such an enterprise would occur must also enter the equation for the evaluation to be completely valid."  The droid's gaze did not wander from Rhijans for even a moment.

Rhijans' face took on a sly smile, and he stepped to a position that had him facing away from the miners.  He wasn't worried about the droid...no lips to read, there.

"What if..." he began, his voice dropping to a murmur that a person standing in the droid's place would be hard-pressed to hear, but he had no doubt the droid's audio-receptors would pick it up and enhance it.  "What if that price involved freeing all the slaves and expropriating a stockpile of high-grade ore of extreme tactical value to forces opposed to the Empire.  And then destroying the entire mine, so they'd have to essentially start from scratch if they wanted to use it again?  Would you be willing to provide information that would assist in that kind of an operation, in exchange for freedom?"

He paused, and looked at the droid, his gaze intense, and the smile on his face not quite feral in nature, but definitely not one of a humorous nature.  "All hypothetically speaking, of course," he added, in a tone that sounded anything but hypothetical.

Haarmon pulls a sour face. "What? That's total bantha poodoo. Why do you put up with it, huh? You all seem like stand-up guys. Why don't you just walk? Or at least just skim enough off the tourists to buy your way off?"

He puts a few more actual credits into the pot as they ante up. All the better to keep them talking, like. Say he's not subtle.

"Okay," Shard mutters, keeping Juragga-the-Wall betwixt her and the rest of the room.  "Let's have a look at this selection." Her finger stabs the button desired, marked 'Transportation', as she checks to make sure the man leaving actually does, rather than loiter around and try to see what they're doing.

Things are moving quickly.  Perhaps too quickly.  But sometimes, Shard knows, one has to ride the wave.

"If anyone comes over here," she murmurs to her companion, "give me a poke or soemthing."

The droid leans back and lifts its arms in surprise.  "OH MY GOODNESS, YOU ARE REB--"  A pause, lasting all but 0.17523 seconds, give or take 0.000005 seconds.  "--ITOR'S OLD FRIEND!  Oh, dear me, Sir, I fear he died two years ago, tragic accident.  Positively tragic.  Crushed under paperwork, if you can believe it.  Oh, the paper-cuts, dreadful!  But, Sir, I never imagined I would get you meet you, he talked so much about you!"

He turns to the miner's.  "Told you, Rebitor has a friend, but you all were like--"  Perfect mimicry is heard, being recordings, "No way!  He's too weird!" "Riiight, and I have an imaginary friend too, ha!" "If Reb has a friend I'm your father, droid!"

The droid stretches up triumphantly. "Told you so!"  He turns to Rhijans, bowing. "Of course I will assist, Sir, a friend of old Reb is a friend of mine!  Able and willing!  Oh what joy!"

At the droid's initial outburst, Rhijans' hand slipped down to his blaster and his eyes darted to the side.  He wasn't worried about the droid being a threat, most protocol droids had inhibitor subroutines that would prevent them from picking up a weapon...but that didn't mean that they might not end up needing to shoot their way out of the place.

And then the droid recovered brilliantly, and Rhijans relaxed and nodded, a sly grin of appreciation slipping onto his face.  He had no doubt, whatsoever...with the droid on their side, they effectively had the run of the place--when the time was right.

"Reb's going to be so delighted to hear that we found you," he said, relief coloring his words.

While Rhijans discusses old friends with the protocol droid, whose sudden outburst draws some muttering and rolling of eyes from the locals, Shard and Juragga are standing close to the vending machines.  The Wookiee suddenly bellows, and starts slapping one palm on the top of the machine.  All eyes, at least those belonging to the miners, immediately focus in that direction.

Shard takes the opportunity afforded by the loud distraction to study the terminal. 

As the wookie starts to calm down, producing a series of low growls and snarls, the gamblers return their attention to the game, "Well, if we walk, we've got nowhere to go, see?  Freighter pilots won't take the scrip, and nor will anybody else outside the mine.  So yeah, we'd have to walk, and it's a long way to the city, and when we got there we'd have no money."

Haarmon, apparently feeling sorry for the miners, throws some real credits into the pot.  The workers seem to relax a little, and one of them even says, "So, I bet you's stuck here, yeah?  Thanks to this stupid computer glitch.  They've told us to stop loading until it's sorted out."

The nice gesture of putting actual money on the table is spoiled a few moments later when Haarmon wins the hand and scoops it all back in again, along with even more of the miners' hard-earned, but essentially worthless, scrip.

The droid gives Rhijans a double take and then slumps a little, shaking his head.  "Yes, Sir, I am certain he is delighted we met, smiling at us from the hereafter."

He turns to the workers, who continue to ignore him amidst their renewed grumbling about losing to some snot-nosed kid.  "Reb's friend, to be sure.  So much alike!"  He taps a finger to the side of his head.

"And that's how we do it back in my neck of the galaxy, kids," Haarmon gloats as he scoops the pot. And then, as the next hand  starts, he dumps a few more credits into the ante along with the scrip, trying to look like he doesn't much care which is which.

And in as nonchalant a voice as he can manage (And, really, who's more nonchalant than me?), he says, "So what, then, you saying you'd walk if you could afford a ride?"

He starts playing a little more aggressively. Not recklessly, but certainly with less reserve than previously. Walking the line between 'hot-shot kid' and 'trying to lose' as carefully as he can.

Rhijans kicked himself, mentally, for missing the droid's comment about the death two years earlier.  "Sorry for the reminder," he said, apologetically.  "I'm just not used to thinking of him, being gone like that.  Part of me is always expecting to see him come winging in when we call, or to bump into him at the end of the next delivery run, with a new invoice for something and a cup of something refreshing before he'd send us back out."

The restraining bolt...that was the next obstacle.  With it, the droid was a liability...could even be made to play back the discussion, which a clever man could see through in a heartbeat.  Without it, the droid was a free agent with an expressed readiness to help them in exchange for a ride off this glorified comet.  He started trying to figure out some way to get the bolt off without being too obvious.  Or, better yet, scrambling the bolt's innards while leaving it attached.  Nobody would ever think to try and attach a second restraining bolt...

"Funny," the droid says sepulchrally, "how just when you think life can not possibly get any worse, it suddenly does."

He looks straight at Rhijans and sways ever so little from side to side.  "Yeeeees..."  He drags the word out, slowly, and continues to sway even afterwards.

Rhijans wasn't sure what to make of the droid's behavior, but it gave him an opening.  "Hey, kid!" he called over to the gambling table.  "This droid's on the fritz, I think...maybe this is where that computer glitch got started.  Take a look at it, will ya?"

He could only hope that Dak was anywhere near as clever with droids as he seemed to be with computers.  He knew what he, himself, wanted was completely out of his depth...and he didn't imagine Shard or Jacobs were particularly adept at droid programming, either.  He'd seen nothing from Lund or Juragga to give him any indication of their overall tech skills, though if Lund did a lot of his own repairs, he might be pretty good.  And Wookiees just seemed to have a thing for tech-stuff.  But the kid was still his best bet.

"Have a look," Shard mutters.  She flicks a finger at the Ubese transport indicated on the screen.  "Bulk freighter.  Maybe that would be good enough to nab.  All we need is someone to fly it - I'm guessing our pilot won't just abandon his own ship."

No, likely not at all.

She purses her lips.  "Might be enough to get everyone off," the woman murmurs, barely audible.  "Not comfortable, either.  But a good place to start." How many slaves could they have here?  Too many, she realizes, a sick feeling growing in her stomach.

Military objectives be hanged; this is about the people.  Sometimes, Shard knows, you can't look at the long view without dealing with the short one as well.  Not going to build a new, better world on the bodies of the people we turned our backs upon, she vows.

Mark tried to look bored. His eyes showed that he wasn't. "I'll fly it. But I'm really hoping that someone else has more experience than me. I'll be a good as a hutt trying a two-step."

The sabacc game seems to be heating up.  For a couple of hands Haarmon loses, not big, but he loses all the same.  Then he wins, not quite enough to cover his losses, and all in scrip of course...

The mood of the miners he is playing against seems to improve in direct proportion to the number of hands Haarmon loses.

The protocol droid taps Rhijans on the shoulder, "Sir, I can assure you that there is absolutely nothing wrong with any of my systems.  If the computer has been infected with a glitch from an outside source, I suspect it would be one of those disgusting transport ships it is always talking to."

Vekkis gets up from the table and walks over for a closer look at the game, leaving Mark sitting alone.  Nearby Shard starts muttering about the Ubese transport, just loud enough for Mark to hear, while Juragga peers at the vending machine and groans mournfully.  It seems that the machine is not going to give up any of its contents without payment.

Across the room some of the mine workers get up to leave, making their way out the door and back to their work assignments...

Rhijans looked around quickly.  It appeared that the only miners left in the room were focused on the sabacc game, so he steered the droid over closer to the vending machines.

"We need to work on your subterfuge skills," he muttered.  "I was hoping maybe I could get the kid to look at your restraining bolt, not so much at you.  But I'm sure the miners would get suspicious if I just said, "Hey, kid, come mess up the works on this bolt, will ya?"  Gotta have a good excuse to get him that close..."  Rhijans shook his head, then grinned.  "This is probably outside your standard parameters, though, so we'll just have to work with it."

He looked at the droid carefully.  "You say there are one-hundred fifty slaves?  How well do you know them?  Are there any that could fly a large transport?"

Haarmon's face pinches up and a sour, angry expression replaces his former focus. Bad enough they didn't have the stones to play fair, but they made him look bad in front of Shard. Suddenly he's filled with that peculiar mixture of fear and fury that drives most of his actions.

He opens his mouth, ready to cut into these nerf-herders like they've never been cut into before. And then hiding behind Rags when the storm hit. But then, he can't do that, can he? Rags is just the cabana boy out here. He can't be hiding behind the cabana boy. How's THAT gonna look? He pauses, face still angry, but mildly at a loss, not sure how to bow out of this one. Then he hears Rhijans calling him. And relief floods him.

He throw down the cards in exaggerated disgust. Picks up his money. Stands up. "So this is how they do out here, huh? Bad enough you're stuck working in poodoo? You gotta spend your off-time rolling in it too? Have fun with your worthless money."

He walked over to Rhijans, smiling a little. Not at all displeased.

"Whatcha got there, cap? Blitzy droid? He floating digits? Dangling participles? Lemme have a peek."

Rhijans gave a tight-lipped smile, steering the kid toward the droid so that his back was to the miners for just a moment.  "Actually, we've got a particularly troublesome restraining bolt.  Was wondering if you can deactivate it without detaching it, so nobody realizes the droid's operating independently..."  The words were a rushed murmur, trying to get the information across quickly so it didn't turn into an extended round of whispering about something that was, technically, not their business in the first place.

Rhijans added, more clearly, "Just see what you can do with it, okay?  The sooner we can try and get back on schedule, the happier I'll be."  He stayed close by, close enough to still talk to the droid, but turned enough to keep a casual eye on the miners, in case they grew bored of trying to game each other out of what real money Dak had lost to them.  He was also trying to gauge the reaction of the Ubese, who'd been, so far, silent on the events in the lounge, despite being fairly outspoken in the office, earlier.

"At least you'd be a dancing Hutt," Shard mutters back at Jacobs. "I'd be a wallowing one."  There's a pregnant pauses as she digests the image, then Shard violently shakes her head.  "Let's just drop this metaphor, shall we?"

Rhijans seems to be making headway with the droid - at least, he's speaking to it in 'private' - but then drags the protocol droid over to where Shard is examining the console.  "Group meeting?" the older woman inquires, one eyebrow cocked high.  An instant later it becomes true, as Rhijans calls over Haarmon.  Great, now we're all stuck in a knot in front of the vending machines.  Cursing under her breath, Shard stuffs credits into the vendor, buying something - ANYTHING.

Then the number dropped by Rhijans shoves that out of her head.

She's dimly aware of Haarmon arriving and some discussion regarding the restraining bolt, but The Number pushes it right out of her head.  One.  Hundred.  Fifty.  One hundred fifty. "Fornicating void," she whispers.  "How are we going to get a hundred fifty slaves out of here?"

Back to the console (with a pause to study whatever it was she bought - likely it'll go to Juragga unless the machine is equipped for alcoholic beverages) and Shard examines the list again, seeking out the bulk freighter.  One hundred fifty.  It should be able to handle them easily, but this isn't a small matter of getting a dozen or two slaves out from under the imperial noses.  This is...

"...going to be a war," she whispers.  "Haarmon.  Rhijans.  What do we have so far?"

The droid lifts its arms in protest.  "I assure you, Sir, I do not run around plugging myself into strange computers!  Thus it is utterly illogical to make such an assumption, and no one would believe it!"

He momentarily leans over to see what Shard is doing, only to shy back as she speaks about the void.  He turns to Rhijans, shaking his head.  "No, Sir.  One hundred and fifty one, at my last visit.  Might be a few more since then, they do not inform me at all.  I do not spend time with them, so I could not say if any of them could pilot anything, let alone a large enough ship."

Looking between Rhijans and Haarmon the droid lifted a finger in objection.  "I beg you pardon, Sir!  I have neither any floating nor any dangling things, thank you very much!  And mind what you do, I will keep an eye on you!  I may not be able to meddle with the bolt myself but I do have the knowledge!"

Haarmon snorts at the Droid's little rant. "Knowlege? Please. I need someone to correct my subjunctive gerunds I'll give you a call." He peers at the bolt and pokes it a few times. "Kay now. Lesse what we got going on over here."

He peeks over at Juragga and gives him a significant look. The Wookie was really better at this than he was. But they can't have the pack horse poking at the Droid. Looks bad. But maybe he can help, like. Instruct. Not like anyone but copperplating here can undserstand him anyway.

Rhijans glanced over at what Shard had been looking at...the Ubese freighter might be able to take them...if they could somehow convince the Ubese pilot to get involved, and not take them all and sell them as slaves somewhere else.  They migh thave to have a discussion with the...creature.  Not sure if you can call them a 'man' under that mask and everything...  Rhijans had never seen an Ubese without the filter mask on...they could be completely human, for all he knew.  Or they could have five eyes and drink blood through a proboscis.

Still...a hundred and fifty slaves gave them better odds of having a pilot in the group than just the six of them...seven, if he counted the droid.  "Who's in charge of scheduling work shifts around here?" he asked the droid.  If they could shuffle the schedule enough, they could perhaps concentrate almost everyone in two or three locations that could be effectively sealed off...at least for long enough to pull of what was turning into one hellaciously tricky heist.

"Rhijans," Shard whispers, "we're not 'sneaking' a hundred fifty -" she glances at the droid "- a hundred fifty one slaves off here.  Either we take out the imperials so we can march the slaves up the ramps, or we manufacture some kind of emergency to make them want to get everyone out."  She grimaces.  "Fighter bombardment, maybe.  Don't know."

She makes a motion of her hand toward the door.  "We can't even force the administrator to make the order, because he's not calling the shots around here any more.  The imperial military is."

A quick glance at Haarmon follows, but the boy looks like he knows his trade.  "And I doubt they'll believe forged documents of that nature, not without verification.  This place suddenly got important, and it wouldn't make sense for the imperials to pull all the slaves away to work on something else." 

She rubs her forehead.  "I'm coming up blank, outside of 'big explosions'."

"Explosions are good," Haarmon says, still poking at the restraining bolt.

"Hey, brass-balls," he hisses at the droid, "You do the translating, yeah? In emergencies, like? So what do they do with the slaves in the event of an emergency? Is there an official plan? Like for a total electrical shut-down. Or some kind of mechanical failure. Or," he smiles, "A terrorist attack."

Rhijans flashed Shard a tight-lipped smile.  "I wasn't planning on sneaking anyone out," he said, in a low murmur.  "I planned for the contingency of a loud and flashy diversion...but this would be a lot easier if we could minimize the number of forces we have to deal with.  If we can isolate the miners, and distract the troops...we might just be able to pull this off."

He nodded toward the droid, and continued, "We've got some potential intel about how things run around here, and what potential choke points we can exploit.  Until I know more about the layout and operation, I'm not rushing into any definite course of action."  Not right away, at least, he thought.  There was no way of knowing how long Dak's computer snafu would continue to provide effective cover for them...but it would fall through, at some point.

While they talked, Haarmon peered at the droid and its retraining bolt. Pretty simple stuff, all in all. They're a standard unit. His parents had owned a lot of droids. And he'd spent a lot of time taking them apart and putting them (mostly) back together.

Quick as anything, he took a knife from his gear, popped the bolt, turned it over in his hands a few times, opened it, cut just enough wires to disable it, and popped it back on.

He nodded. Easy.

The Ubese is sitting quietly at the far end of the room, as far as possible from as many humans as possible. 

Haarmon's former gambling associates continue with their game.  For those observing, it is readily apparent that the game has suddenly become much less cutthroat in nature.

The droid looks at Rhijans, blank expression as usual but with a tone that suggested that the answer ought to be obvious. "Why, the administrator, Sir!"

The droid waves its arms at Haarmon.  "Young Sir, careful where you poke!  And of course not.  In the case of an emergency they could care less about a bunch of slaves, with the possible exception of trying to contain them."

"Oh!"  The droid jumps a little as the bolt comes back into place and pats the area around the bolt.  "I say!  Most excellent!  Ha, freedom is mine, mine I tell you!  I am unstoppable!  Kiss my mostly shiny rear, galaxy!"

The droid waggles its behind defiantly, then lifts a finger pointedly.  "Ah, yes!  That reminds me.  I can go down to the mines and ask if there are any pilots there.  I do get sent down there to ask the most obtuse questions sometimes, really.  No one seem to care one bit, not one bit!  But yes, I am a veritable fountain of knowledge, I am, about this place.  Apart from the things I have forgotten due to those positively dreadful mind wipes, of course.  Dreadful, it is, that.  The mind wipes, that is.  Dreadful.  Positively so.  Yes."

Then one of the miners nudges another and nods in the direction of the group near the droid.

His voice, when he calls out, is derisive, "Here, kid, what you doing with that droid?"  He stands up, "Bit of sour muja fruit is it?  Lose some of your pocket money and decide to damage some company property by way of revenge?"

A glance at his companions, "Kids!  I knew we shouldn't have let him play.  He'll probably be crying all the way home to his momma."

Rhijans considered a response to the miners, and decided against it.  As long as they were content to sit at the table and play, they could say whatever they wanted.  If they decided to come over and make trouble, then it would be dealt with.

"Yes, if you could find out if there are any pilots in the slave population, that would simplify things a lot.  Do they have any sort of alarm that calls extra personnel into the mines?  This will be a lot easier if we don't have random miners running around up here..."  He didn't want this stretching out any further than needed...the longer they were here, the more likely it became that someone would get frustrated with sorting out the computer problem and start checking with outside authorities.  Right now, Rhijans was betting heavily on the Administrator's desire to appear competent to his superiors, and trying to solve his problems with his own resources.

"Can you get us a map of some sort, of the general layout?  We know the starport and where it is in relationship to the mine office, but the rest of the layout would be very helpful."

"So far so good, then," Shard mutters back to Rhijans.  But her tension rises, especially when the miners start taking interest.

They're knotted too tightly, and all around the droid.  Suspicious.  Shard glances up at Juragga.  "Got what we need," she mutters, tapping the screen with the bulk freighter, then clearing it.  The droid's antics almost pull a laugh from her - 'kiss my shiny rear?' - but it's the miners who concern her.  Rhijans is busy, she doesn't want Haarmon getting in a pissing contest with them, and having Juragga pull arms off and start beating people with the wet ends would probably blow their cover.

That leaves her or Drake, and Shard steps into the gap.

Reaching under her coat, her hand finds smooth metal, fingers curling around it as she paces over to the table.  Shard focuses on the men, searching their faces, clearing her mind, hunting for cues on how to get to them, to turn their attention from Haarmon.  Fifteen years ago, she would have shown a little leg and had these poor, deprived men eating out of her hand.  That was then; this is now, and she's a touch too weathered to have confidence in that method any more.

Out comes the flask, and she pops the top.  "Hey.  My friend is working on droid tech - branching out to cover someone who took off at the last port.  Let it go." A swig from the flask - rotgut brutal enough to sear Juragga's throat - and she offers it to the man without a blink.  "You want to take something on, try this." Her small smirk and arched eyebrow show Shard's feelings on how well that will go.

Juragga's focus was providing cover for Shard as she worked.  Given his height, fur and bulk, he was a natural screen.  But far from being a mere walking carpet, his mind was working on solutions to their dillema.

Quietly, he rumbled to Shard.  If they could use just one transport, that would suffice.  Or maybe an exterior cargo pod, attached to Rhijans' ship?

Then someone started disparaging Haarmon as he monkied with the shiny droid.  Juragga narrowed his teal eyes and drew himself up to his full height, a dangerous rumble low in his throat.

Turning to the workers the droid shakes its head.  "I am perfectly fine, I assure you.  Oh, true, not all fine, seeing as my maintenance is grossly neglected, but you probably do not care one way or another!  Hmph!"

The droid shakes his head as he turns to Rhijans, speaking softer again.  "I would not know about the procedures in the mine, Sir.  All I know comes from what I have been told to translate, and it does not involve the miners.  But a map, ah yes, Sir, you will find a visitors map on that there console."  He points to the console which Shard had been meddling with.

The miner spares the flask a quick glance, then sneers at Shard as he gives her an appraising look, "Take your rotgut and stick it where the Force don't reach.  If I touch a drop of it, I could lose my job.  Just get your son away from that droid now, or I'll call security!"

As Juragga stretches and growl the droid turns to him and waves his hands in the air.  "Oh goodness me!  Calm down, you flea-bit furball!  You will bring security here if you carry on like that!  Hush, you!  Hush!"

Rhijans shifted, placing himself between the Wookiee and the miners.  "'Sall good, boys.  Just thought we might be able to facilitate sorting out the computer hiccups, is all.  Don't want to be treading on secured grounds, though."  He turned to Dak, and said, "You heard the man, kid...they want ya away from the droid, stop fiddling, close him up, and step back.  They want to turn down some free preventive maintenance, it's their problem."

He turned back to the console the droid had indicated, pulling up the visitors' map and examining it for relevant details that could help flesh out a plan.

Shard purses her lips at the angry miner's vitriolic spew, slowly nodding her head.  To all appearances, she looks like a woman studying a large slug that has somehow made its way into her salad.  "You got a mouth on you, don't you?  Like a little fuzzy sleen, yap-yap-yap."  Her free hand makes the appropriate blah blah blah motion in time with the description.

She really shouldn't, Shard knows, but this bastard works alongside slaves and, going by how they've been acting, cares more about the fact that he's being paid in scrip.

Click.  The flask snaps open and Shard flicks her wrist - gently.  Drops of rotgut, aptly named, hit the ground at his feet, some arcing further to sink into the miner's uniform.  "There's a drop or two touched."  The cap snaps back on.  "Better wash that jumpsuit now, sir.  Wouldn't want security or your supervisor getting a wiff, would we?"

Minor, petty revenge, but given the situation, Shard feels she's played in character.  As she turns away, the flask goes back under coat...but her hand stays there, gripping the blaster pistol in its shoulder rig.

"Probably needs a wash anyway," she mutters to herself as she walks back to the others, disgusted by both the miner and her own anger.  You gotta learn to let these things go, Shard.  It's just words and air, words and air.

Juragga scowls at the droid, but realizes the truth of his words.  Slowly he begins to deflate, reluctantly.  What he'd LIKE to do is pick up one of the vending machines and squash the loudmouth flat with it.

Then Shard throws her own act of defiance.  Juragga smiles a savage grin full of wicked teeth.  As Shard turns her back, Juragga makes sure he is inbetween her and the miners, even as Rhijans intercedes on his own.

The droid quickly, relatively speaking, moves to stand between the two groups.  "Oh dear!  Stop beings so obtuse and feebleminded, all of you!"  He half turns to the miners.  "You, back to work, shoo!  Shoo!"  He turns to the rebels.  "And you, do try to not bring security here, stormtroopers tend to make everything so complicated and messy!"

Turning back to the miners he tilts slightly sideways.  "Do try and remember what happened last time they were sent here, you dimwits!  Want that again, do you?  Hmm?  I do not think so!"

He turns to stare at straight forward, ignoring both groups, muttering under his non-existent breath.  "Really!  I do not know why I even bother sometimes!  Stupid core programming!  Stupid organics..."

The mouthy miner sneers at Shard, "Looks like the droid saved your skins, this time.  Next time maybe he won't be there to help you out."  As the liquor splashes onto his coveralls the sneer becomes a chuckle, though there is no humour in his voice as he carries on speaking, "No need for that.  It'll probably just eat holes in the cloth and there'll be nothing left to smell.  Anyway, it's the random blood monitoring when we go back on shift that's my concern, not the stink of a few drops on my clothes."

"Come on, lads, Administrator Tin-Pants there is right, we should be heading back anyway."

With much glowering and not a little grumbling, the gamblers scoop up their cards, scrip, and Haarmon's cash, then they head for the door.

Rhijans moves across to study the help terminal.  Within moments he has located a simple map of the facility, showing the locations of the landing field, warehouse entrances, the mine entrance, maintenance shops, vehicle storage, and two security checkpoints.

The droid shuffles across to him, "Yes, I do believe that is the one.  Unfortunately, while it does give many salient details, there are some parts which are now outdated." 

Rhijans nodded.  "I suspected as much...visitor's maps aren't generally kept terribly up-to-date in settings such as this.  Can you talk me through the changes to the overall layout, and those parts of the map that they haven't bothered to include here?"  Without the miners, he felt less inclined to be cagey in his discourse with the droid...though not yet completely ready to be open.  It was in Imperial installation, after all...surveillance could still be present.

Haarmon, who'd spent the last few seconds standing and fuming in indignation, finally managed to break his paralysis, just as the miners walked from the room. "Yeah you better go!" he called after them, his voice about medium volume. "You don't want none of this!"

Then he snorted. Turned to his team-mates. There was some shame in his face (of the 'saved by a girl' variety) but it was almost totally covered up by a smarmy grin.

"Guess we showed 'em, huh? Imps. Pfft." He looked at Shard, "That's some high quality hostility, there, Hot-Lips," he said, "And you're looking at a guy who knows it when sees it. Bit of a connoisseur, even."

Rhijans winced, closing his eyes and rubbing at them for a moment.  And just when I'm starting to think there's actually hope for him...he goes and does this.

He'd leave Shard to deal with her 'high-quality hostility'...and the unfortunate monicker of 'Hot Lips'.  He shook his head for the briefest of moments, then turned an eye to the protocol droid.

"What's your designation, anyway?  We can't very well go around referring to you as 'you'...and despite the kid's proclivity for nicknames, I'm not gonna start calling you 'Goldie'.  And 'droid' just seems insulting...I wouldn't expect anyone to run around calling me 'human'...what do they call you?  Or, perhaps better, what do you prefer to be called?"

It's not exactly how she wanted to deal with the issue, but...hostility shifted, situation defused, miners gone with the correct impression, rather than 'Rebel Saboteurs'.  Shard would love to claim the entire proceedings as her plan from the beginning, but to be honest it was more luck than anything.  Luck and the intervention of the droid.

And Juragga, who has her back.  Shard flashes the wookie a lopsided grin.

She shrugs off the miner's big talk; true or not, it isn't any serious concern.  Either he'll find a way to make something of this, or he won't.  She'll deal with it when it happens, but her concerns run more toward their mission.  Face it, Shard.  You screwed up.  It leaves her angry - more at herself than at anything the miners had to say.  Anything they said, she's heard worse.

...like Hot-lips, for example.

Rubbing her forehead, Shard eyes Haarmon from under her fingers.  He reminds her of a small, yappy dog: cute, but sometimes a headache.  If I snap at him, will he sulk?  Or whine?  "Haarmon," she mutters, "let 'em go.  Remember, we don't want trouble."  Keep him focused, Shard.  He's one of the keys to this, and he's been doing okay so far.  Walking past him, she puts a hand on his shoulder.  "Doing good.  Keep it that way and keep things low-key, and you might get us out of this alive." 

One doesn't start verbal duels with team members on the mission, and besides, how does one take the boy to task for a compliment?  Misplaced, but still...

Passing the youngster now, she smacks Juragga on the shoulder with a balled-up fist - the Wookie probably barely feels it.  "Thanks," the older woman murmurs.  "For covering me." It sure beat shooting one of the miners.

The droid points to the map as he speaks. "There are guards posted at the entrances of both the warehouse and the mine.  Also, patrols wander about the area, making quite the mess when they clomp and stomp their way around, the obtuse troopers.  Did I mention they are doubt look splendidly dimwitted underneath their helmets?   Splendidly, Sir!"  The droid taps a finger to his head.  "Oh, yes, there of course guards and patrols in the mines as well to keep an eye on the slaves."

The droid then does a remarkable impression of a double take.  "You are asking me what I want to be called, Sir?"  He flutters about excitedly.  "Oh my!  Never have anyone asked such a thing!  No one has ever cared!  It has been all manner of monickers, most of them quite unflattering!  Quite!"

The droid turns to face Rhijans and bows.  "I am UY-3PO, Human-Cyborg relations.  A pleasure to meet you, Sir.  I have positively no idea what I would like to be called.  May I think about it, Sir?"  He mumbles to himself, possible words like Lard and Muster, Roller of the University or similar phrases.

As the droid ponders its possible nickname, there is a sudden laugh from the other side of the room, harsh and mechanical sounding, reminding everybody that the Ubese is still sitting there.  The alien tilts its head to one side, though its expression is, of course, unreadable behind its breathmask, and says, "Yayt yikeeko yotah teh'kho."

Juragga does his best not to glower at the receding miners.  He nods once to Shard, and then favors her with a Wookiee grin when she punches his arm.

"GuuuHHRRRAAAwwwwwn," he caterwauled, the Wookiee equivalent to 'You're welcome'.  He liked Shard.  Aside from Haarmon, she was the member of the team he found himself bonding with.  And Haarmon... he owed the kid a life-debt, and would always honor it... but he was so painfully young.  Reminded Juragga of his own son, in a way.

Turning to the nattering droid, he said in his own language (which the droid would understand)...

"Welcome to your newfound freedom.  I hope you know what to do with it."

The Ubese...Rhijans had known there would be something to be dealt with from that quarter, at some point.  What it was, and how to deal with it, were the tricky questions at the moment.

"Okay," he said, in a low voice, to the droid.  "Who is he, and what is he here after?"  With some luck--and he grimaced as he thought it, because he despised relying on luck--the Ubese was as fed up with the Imperial operation as they were, and might even prove to be an ally...at least, for long enough to ransack the mine and get out of here alive.

There was, however, the chance that things could go the other direction, entirely.  And, with that thought, Rhijans found his hand itching for the feel of a blaster.

The Ubese hadn't sounded an alarm, however.  And judging by the confrontation that took place in the administrator's office when they arrived, he was hardly a big fan of the operation here.  So Rhijans was willing to hope for the best...for the moment, at least.

Haarmon was used to disapproval. Had, in fact, practically bathed in it for as long as could remember. First his parents and siblings. And then later from teachers, psychologists, tutors, employers. Disapproval was nothing new. But, as Haarmon felt the impact of his team-mates' (mostly) unspoken disapproval like a slap across the face, what was new was the shame.

Normally, he'd just snort, snark off that no one appreciates true genius and go on with his day. But this time he actually felt bad. Like he'd let them down. Like he'd betrayed their confidence in him. Rhijans. Shard. Even Rags.

And somewhere in the endlessly roiling whirl of Haarmon's thoughts came a new thought: maybe it's time to grow up.

"Sorry," he muttered, and then again, "Sorry. I'm a total nerf-herder. I'll reign it in."

Shard grimaces, turning on a heel to retrace her path.  She pauses a moment, struggling to work her way through Juragga's statement, and fails utterly.  Mind's somewhere else.  With a grimace, she moves over to where Haarmon stands.  "Listen," she mutters, glancing around.  "You've been doing good, and I'm not blowing smoke on that.  Hot void, everyone's been doing so cursed good I'm starting to get nervous."

She jerks a thumb at the vanished miners.  "If anyone screwed up there, it was me."  The older woman shakes her head.  "Almost started a fight.  Just...keep it together, Dak.  We're not out of the asteroids yet..."

On that matter...her eyes rise over Haarmon's shoulder, focusing on the Ubese.  Shard breathes out slowly, relaxing a touch.  Focusing.  Order, chaos.  The storm and the void.  Find the balance between them.  It takes a moment's concentration and focus to settle her thoughts into the proper pattern, then the woman opens her mind, hoping to catch an echo from the Ubese trader.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:31, Wed 10 Aug 2011.

Turning to the Ubese the droid tilts its whole upper body, since its neck is incapable of such a feat.  "Yah ikya yotoh!  Nyaya yeth'kho yaasyc!" 

The Ubese replies, "Yato yatokho hotayach kho'kek.", its voice a distorted jumble of sounds which the droid seems to have no difficulty understanding. 

Next he looks at Juragga briefly before telling Shard, "He says you are welcome, Ma'am."  Thereafter he faces the wookie and tilted from one side to another.  "GrrowRRRroor hrruRRF!  AAAaaauurrh raurahHrrrg UrRr mmmmRRRRmm hrrHRR GrrRRRrm!"

After that the droid turns to Rhijans.  "A transport pilot, stranded here waiting for cargo.  Not happy about it either."  Then he adds, "Oh, and it understands Basic perfectly fine, as I always suspected.  I am quite certain it still looks quite feebleminded behind its helmet, however."  He stretches up defiantly, looking over at the Ubese.

Juragga frowned at Shard's words, and drifted a bit closer to his new friend.  But he grinned and let out a hoot of laughter at the droid's reply.

More quietly, he let out of string of grunts and rumbles directed at the droid in a conspiratoral tone.

Rhijans grinned, faintly.  "You want to be careful, judging beings by their looks.  Probably thought we all looked feeble-minded, when we walked in...possibly, you still do.  But I'll bet you didn't think we looked like someone that would try to get you off this iceball."

He looked over at the Ubese.  "Well, have they screwed up your business schedule enough that you might consider making life interesting for them, in exchange?" he asked.  At this point, the Ubese, like the droid, either had to be won over or dealt with, and without the miners in the room, there was absolutely no chance whatsoever that the thing wouldn't overhear their discussion.  If it was an ally, it gave them extra resources.  If neutral, then they'd all go their merry ways.

If, however slim the chance might be, it was pro-Imperial, it had to be neutralized or eliminated.  So he waited for the answer, because a lot of what would happen next all hinged on what the Ubese said.

Mark decided to move and stand next to the door. It gave him an opportunity to view outside for any signs of people, especially stormtroopers that might be makign their way to the room.

The droid looks over at the Ubese.  "Yah hay kehohoy."  He shrugs and turns to bow slightly to Juragga.  "RRRroor hrruRRF.  Aarrrurrh HHRRrufrg."

The droid then shakes his head at Rhijans, stretching up poignantly.  "Sir, I never did judge anyone by their looks.  It is the fact that they hide they looks that leads to such a conjecture.  Especially humans who have no reason to wear breathing masks.  But even those who need such devices could be make them less... feeble-minded-inspiring."

He proceeds to mumble something under his still non-existent breath, potentially something about some people not wearing masks.

Stepping back from his position near the door, Mark Jacobs suddenly calls out, "Looks like the miners got annoyed at somebody.  We've got company coming.  Troopers."

Rhijans didn't bother hiding the annoyed look on his face.  "Everyone play it cool until it becomes apparent that they aren't having any...if we can do this without extra bother and trouble, then let's do it.  In the off-chance that the balloon's going up at this point, though, be ready to have it out as quick and quiet as possible.  If we have to take 'em down, let's try and get it done before anyone gets a chance to call for help."

He checked his blaster quickly, making sure the safety was off and the power-pack was secure, and that it was loose enough in the holster to draw quickly, if need be.  This wasn't his typical operating style, he realized...he didn't often try and talk himself through trouble.  His typical methods would have involved lots of people shot, already, and stuff blowing up behind him as he went, but that would also involve a massive response from the troopers, and it was a lot easier for one man to slip under the radar on something like that than it was for a whole group.

Especially when that group still didn't know each other very well.  He looked over at Dak, hoping the warning he was about to give was unnecessary.  But he was going to give it, anyway.  "Keep it frosty, kid...they're just coming in to ask a few questions.  Let's not give them any reason to think they need to do more than that."  The rest of the team, he was pretty sure of...he hadn't seen the Wookiee in action, but they had a reputation that he was willing to gamble on.  Shard and Jacobs would take care of themselves...Shard wasn't a great shot, but she held her own on the last trip out.

The 3PO unit and the Ubese...they were total wildcards in the situation.  The droid might be able to say something that would have the whole situation defused in a matter of seconds...and the Ubese could be a potential chemical accelerant on an open flame.  He shook his head, to himself, trying to keep casual.  They just had to adjust and adapt...

Despite the slight headache she has coming on, Shard can't help but smile and roll her eyes at the back and forth between the Wookiee and the droid.  It's too quick, too colloquial for her to catch it, sadly.  She rubs her forehead, grimacing, and throws a more friendly nod toward the Ubese.  Rhijans seems about to give a shot at bringing the man into their confidence - to some extent or another - but Jacobs' disturbing news puts a halt to that.  Immediately.

Shard curses under her breath.  My fault.  Should have just let it go.

"One thing," she mutters, keeping her voice low.  "If they're here for me, just me, let it go."  It's not likely, but possible.  Her eyes sweep the group.  "I'm not kidding," she assures them.  "If they just want to grab me, that's fine - they're not pirates.  I've got experience with this kind of situation -" in a way "- and it'll get me where I can get a look at the slaves, in any case." 

Flexing her fingers, Shard grimaces again.  The cold is in her joints, now, and she might need them limber.  Hopefully the troopers are just coming to inform them of something or, better yet, for something hot to drink.  But it doesn't seem likely.  Rhijans is doing a fantastic job keeping everything together; the best thing she can do here is back his play and, if necessary, take a hit for the team.

Not a lethal one, mind.  It wouldn't be the first time she's had a slave collar around her neck, nor the first time she has escaped from one.

"RRUuuuuHHHRMMPH!" Juragga protests at Shard's comment, the Wookiee equivalent of 'Like hell!'.  The thought of the white armored stormtroopers dragging Shard away in shackles while he stood there like a furry lump was unfathomable to the Wookiee.

He'd keep cool and not start bashing heads the moment they showed up, but he didn't like the idea of letting them take the beleagered woman.

UY-3PO moves away from the rebels, though it's impossible to tell just who he thinks this action will protect.  Mark Jacobs steps back from the door and quickly sits at the nearest table, trying to look casual and bored.

Moments later the door opens and a six Imperial snowtroopers enter the room.  The door doesn't close behind them, and two more troopers can be seen taking up guard positions outside.

The ones inside the room fan out a little, and appear to be studying the rooms other occupants.  Finally one of them speaks, "Which of you has been tampering with the droid?"

"Sir, I assure you I have not been... "

"According to our information, you have." the trooper interrupts.

The miners... Rhijans thought, irritated.  That was their information.  "My fault," he said.  "Some of the responses the droid was making had me thinking he had some kind of system glitch, and I figured it could only speed things up around here if we got it straightened out.  Since it didn't look like anyone else around here knew what to do about it, I did what I could."  He snorted, and added, "If it was a problem, maybe those slack-jawed mouth-breathing miners that were hanging out in here should have done something about it, instead of focusing on trying to fleece the kid in a sabacc game."

He figured he was the safest one to take the fall for it...to the best of his knowledge, his IPKC license was still valid, which meant the stormtroopers would probably give him a hard time, but not do anything too extreme.  Besides, it WAS his idea, in the first place.  "Is there a problem with that?  I'm trying to salvage a shipping schedule, here..."

Oh, hot void.

This has gone a little beyond getting in a dust-up with miners, straight into 'sabotage'.  The Imperials wouldn't be interested in an explanation - Stormtroopers don't make decisions or judgements, they carried out orders.  If their orders are 'Get the person who was messing with the Droid', they'd do just that, rationalizations be hanged.

And if they sent eight Stormtroopers, it meant they suspected something serious and wanted to quell any possiblity of resistance.

Eight troopers.

Shard breathes in slowly, her fingers clamped tight around her flask.  She relaxes them knuckle by knuckle, her arms drooping to hang within her cloak.  Focusing on the trooper, she struggles to find the center, the balance point between cold emptiness and burning emotion.  She has to know what the troopers orders are, preferably before the guns come into play.

If they suspect rebels...she has to know.

For his part, Juragga did his best to look meek and subdued... cowed.  Inwardly, though, he was watching the Impies with his peripheral vision and tracking their movements.

At the right time, he'd pounce.

The trooper watches Rhijans the whole time while the rebel gives his explanation.  At least his helmet gives the impression that his attention doesn't waver from the man.  The others do look about, scanning the room constantly.  All of them look towards Haarmon when Rhijans mentions him, then they go back to watching everybody else.

As Rhijans finishes speaking, the trooper nods his head slightly, "Show me your identification."

Suddenly a lot more of the accompanying troopers seem to be watching Rhijans...

Rhijans gives a shrug, and produces his IPKC ident.  "We're in the middle of something here, I hope this isn't going to take too long," he says, with the same mildly exasperated tone of voice that he was using in explaining about the droid.  With a little luck...Dammit...there's that 'luck' thing, again, he told himself...he might be able to play off the rest of the group as being either a support team, or an operation he's infiltrated to get to a target.

Haarmon winced inside. Rhijans might be an invincible rebel tech-ninja, but he clearly didn't know jack-squat about wheedling his way out of tight spots. Like all life-long wheedlers, Haarmon knew that rule #1 was never admit anything to anyone. Ever.

Still, this was the real thing right here. This was no planetary constable or some give-a-poodoo bureaucrat. These were the dudes in white. And that made this a heavier situation than Haarmon had ever found himself in. his mouth was dry. His heart was jack-hammering in his chest. His hands were clenched so hard his knuckles were sore but he couldn't seem to unclench them.

But all the same, he was going to do this. No way was he going to let Rhijans take it all alone. He stepped forward, in front of the rebel, face all lit up from end to end with the biggest, brightest smile he could manage. Hands up, palms out, all shamefaced and humble-like.

"Alright, hey, hey. Lookit here fellas. Listen. What the man here's trying to tell you is that it was me messed with the droid to cut those miners out of their little scam. They tweaked the thing to give them signals in the Sabacc game, yeah? Like it wasn't bad enough they're dirt sucking clodhoppers, they gotta be cheats too? And bad ones, am I right? To look at them you'd think they wouldn't even know which way to hold the cards. But you sit down and all of a sudden it's a Rankor feeding frenzy, you dig that?"

He paused. Just long enough to pull the scrip he won out of his pocket in a big wadded up ball and show them, but not long enough for them to say anything.

"So I play along, they fleece me some, I get a little hot under the collar, you would too, am I right? I see Shiny Pants here signalling them. I storm out. Say a few bad words. And way I see it I'm owed some satisfaction. I considered getting the walking shag-rug over there to rattle them some but 'tween you and me he's got the brain of a retarded Gamorrian and the backbone of a drunk Jawa, you dig? Useless for anything but carrying stuff and smelling bad. And so as they're on their way out I fix their little gold wagon so that they'd lose next time they try it. Give it a shot. Show it a Sabacc card, see what it says. So. Yeah. I messed the thing up. But I only unmessed the mess those other guys made in the first place. So no harm done, am I right?"

He paused again. Took a breath.

"You want I should put it back like it was? Take me two seconds."

Shard touches Juragga's hip.  A gentle pressure, nothing more, but not a tap.  Something pushing down, playing at holding him in place.  Wait.  Relief spikes through her; the commander doesn't think they're rebels.  Yet.  He has other ideas in his mind about what sparked this, and Haarmon, possibly unknowingly, is headed in just the right direction to allay his suspicions and perhaps - just perhaps - get them out of this mess.

"We're bored," she mutters, glancing down at the ground as if afraid to meet the gazes of the stormtroopers.  "Bored and losing money.  But he didn't mean harm; we know there's some real mess happening and we're not looking for trouble, sir.  But those miners, they..."  She shrugs, glancing around uncomfortably.

She takes the moment to focus.  To put a little extra into her words, to give them something to take back to their boss.

"We'll sit here quietly, sir.  Just wait for admin to get around to us, and we won't say a word to any more miners who come in here.  Even if they badmouth us.  Again," she finishes, in a quite-audible mutter.

The lead trooper takes Rhijan's ID and starts to examine it, then he stops, looking from Rhijans, to Haarmon, to Shard, and finally he looks up at Juragga.  His attention goes back to the ID, and stays there for perhaps a little too long.

Then one of the other troopers  moves closer and speaks to him, "Sir, that looks like the alien that was reported to be causing trouble."

The commander's glances back at Juragga, then looks where the other trooper seems to be looking... at the Ubese!

He shoves the ID back at Rhijans, and orders the troops, "Arrest that alien."  Their guns swing round to aim at the Ubese, which stands so quickly that its chair crashes over backwards.  It raises its hands in a gesture of surrender, except that one of them is holding a thermal detonator, a red light winking to indicate that the weapon is armed...

Rhijans glanced quickly around the room, noticing the location of the stormtroopers as they flowed past him and levelled weapons at the Ubese.  Things weren't quite right, yet...

Then the Ubese raised his hands...and the thermal detonator gleamed menacingly.  Now, that might work... Rhijans told himself.  He back-pedalled quickly toward the nearest doorway...where two more stormtroopers stood guard.  "Hey, thermal detonators were NOT anywhere on my shipping manifest!  Get me outta here!" he said, hoping that he was managing to put a convincing amount of alarm in his voice.  His gray skin accentuated how wide his eyes were as he looked back over his shoulder at the Ubese, as he attempted to force his way past the stormtroopers...

It becomes obvious the Ubese isn't going to be taken without a fight.  And likely a thermal detonator 'explosion', of the sort that simply atomizes everything within a certain radius.  Not a good thing for their mission, and a less-good thing for their health.  Simutaneously, Shard can't exactly sit and let the Imperials shoot him dead.

Hot void, but she could use a drink right now.

Abandoning the grip of her blaster, her hand shifts under her heavy coat, gripping smooth metal.  Struggling to control her breathing, she glances to where Rhijans heads for the door through the troopers - two outside, one of him, and she suspects the Stormtroopers are outnumbered.  The rest?  They're trapped in here with Haarmon, Jacobs, herself...and a Wookie.  She hopes Juragga limits himself to bashing and doesn't start pulling off limbs and beating Stormtroopers with the wet ends.  The last time Shard saw a Wookie do that she ended up drunk for a day.

Find the middle road.  Standing still as if frozen in place, Shard struggles to balance the roaring fear and tension against the empty peace.  In balance, she feels, there lies the truth.

Any moment, Rhijans will burst out the door to where the sentries await.

Any moment, Juragga might spring into action.

Any moment, Haarmon might do something rash (well, it's almost a given, isn't it?).

Any moment, Jacobs could open fire from his vantage point.

If they do, she will act.  If they do not...well, Shard knows she will still act.  The situation has officially gone South.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:20, Tue 22 Nov 2011.

With a savage howl that is part gleeful and part wrathful, the Wookiee can restrain himself no longer.  Lashing out with his massive paws, he reaches for two of the troopers that are focused on the Urbese and attempts to introduce them to each other.  With extreme force.  Starting with their heads.

(OOC: It's been a while so I forget if the GM makes die rolls or I do.  By all means, I am fine with the GM doing so!)

Mark Jacobs takes one look at the situation, and only one action springs to mind.

Throwing himself away from the table he rushes for the door and the two troopers that he knows are waiting outside.  As he passes between them he yells, "Ubese!  Thermal detonator!" and hopes that they picked up on what he was trying to tell them.

The two troopers outside the door swing round to stop Rhijans amd Mark from exiting.  Then the all the talk of thermal detonators sinks in... they continue turning, bringing their guns to bear on targets inside the break room, leaving Rhijans and Mark behind them.

Shard stands out of the line of fire, seemingly paralysed with fear.  Why else would she not be moving at all and, apparently, distracted by something? 

Inside the room, all the weapons are pointed at the Ubese.  Until two of the troopers are suddenly hit by Juragga.  One is sent sprawling on the floor, while the other simply staggers a few steps to one side and starts to bring his blaster round to point at the Wookiee...

For an instant, time seems to stand still...

... and then a blaster fires.  The shot goes wide, and the Ubese doesn't even try to dodge.  The second shot, from the trooper commander, hits though and the Ubese gives a strange, electronic scream as it dives for cover behind a nearby table.  Luckily it still keeps a grip on the thermal detonator...

Juragga erupts, a furred volcano tossing troopers like toys, dominating the room with his rage and might, leaving Shard and Haarmon untouched, unnoticed.  But though one trooper goes down, the armor of the other protects him from the vicious assault and his blaster drops into line with the furious giant.  More blasters fire, Shard hears the Ubese scream...a sound that might echo from Juragga's throat in an instant, if three or four troopers open fire on the demon in their midst.  From Haarmon's, if he goes for his pistol, his clothing no protection from blaster-fire at point-blank range.  And if the thermal detonator falls from the Ubese' lifeless fingers, the last thing any of them see will be a flash.

No!

It's a moment of absolute clarity for her, hanging in the balance between fury-fear and emptiness.

Denial fades as need grows.  Her hand slides away from the butt of her pistol as her other finds the catch on smooth metal.  Oh, she detests this thing and everything it stands for: the dispassionate judgement, the violence, the killing.  But right here, right now, it settles into her fingers like an old friend and for an instant - that one moment of perfect balance and clarity - all her skill returns.  For an instant, she wonders how she ever set it aside.

Beneath the fear, beneath the emptiness, lies the fulcrum for the balance itself.  And that fulcrum is named care.  Despised by one side, discarded by the other, it is everything to her.

Juragga.  Haarmon.

Protect.

Blue-white fire ignites in a silent scream between her hands as Shard moves, an arc of lightning whirling around her blurred form, balanced steps taking her through the troopers flanking Juragga, toward the Commander firing on the Ubese.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:06, Tue 03 Jan 2017.

As soon as Rhijans sensed he was past the troopers, his panic melted away into quiet certitude.  He stepped up behind one of the troopers, producing a vibroblade in one hand as he reached around, under the trooper's field of vision with the other, ready to grab the blaster, as he slid the vibroblade in, centered on the spine, right below the base of the helmet.

Just as the blade started its penetration, there was an unfamiliar snap-hiss, followed by an almost angry thrum, and the room was lit up by the blade in Shard's hands.

Jurragga howled in wrath as blaster fire erupted in the room.  One trooper he'd downed, but the other swung a blaster towards him.  He didn't pause.  Roaring with gusto, he lashed out with a mighty swing, trying to drive the man through the floor.  In addition to demolishing the troopers, he was trying to draw attention with his roars and menace... draw it away from the others.  Haarmon and Shard especially.

But as he swung, a snap-hiss and thrumm filled his ears.

He knew that sound.

Not that long ago as Wookiees measured time, he'd heard it before... far away from here, in the forests of Kashyyk...
This message was last edited by the player at 17:44, Thu 01 Sept 2011.

With the stormtroopers distracted, Mark draws his blaster and opens fire at the nearest one.  Shooting somebody in the back might not be a very heroic thing to do, but then they are stormtroopers, and there's plenty more where this one came from.

Which immediately reminds him that, yes, there are plenty more, and they might all be here at any moment.

"So much for trying to keep things quiet!" he calls to Rhijans, with a laugh.


Mark Jacobs rolled 18 using 6 dice with the WEG Classic system with rolls of 1,5,4,2,3,{Wild}3. Blaster.
Mark Jacobs rolled 26 using 5 dice with the WEG Classic system with rolls of 1,5,{Wild}6(+6+1),2,5. Blaster damage.

The break room explodes into violence.

Shard shows surprising agility, considering the general lack of fitness she has shown before, and the lightsaber cuts down three of the troopers before they even realise what's happening.  A fourth gets a split-second's warning, and manages to move far enough and fast enough that his armour protects him.

As he stumbles away he fires of a shot at Shard, but the lightsaber flicks out to deflect the bolt back at him, and he falls, wounded.

Outside the door, Rhijans attacks one of the posted guards, sliding a vibroblade into the back of his neck, where snowtrooper armour is somewhat weaker.  The guard goes down without a sound, apart from the clattering as he hits the floor.  The other guard falls to a blaster bolt in the back from Mark Jacobs.

There is one trooper left standing in the room.  As he realises what is happening around him, he drops his weapon and raises his hands.

"Get their helmets off!" Rhijans says in an urgent hiss, as he secures his grip on the blaster of the trooper he'd just downed.  The last thing they needed was a supposedly-surrendered enemy soldier calling for help while he had his hands in the air.

For a moment, he looked at Shard, remembering, at some point, that he'd told her they needed to have a talk, back when they were trying to extricate themselves from the last planet.  Now they REALLY needed to have a talk...except Rhijans had no idea what he'd say.  Fighting with a Jedi weapon--and obviously trained in how to use it--it was indicative of a deep involvement in a...he didn't even know what to call it.  A religion?  A philosophy?  Whatever it was, it was something that was only known to him in rumors, stories told with scorn at bars and around campfires on his home world.

There was no time for the discussion now, though.  Like it or not, the ball was in play.  He turned to the Ubese and said, "You gonna shut that toy down and help us?"  He figured someone...likely either Jacobs or Juragga...would enthusiastically relieve the remaining troopers of their headgear.

The moment the final trooper raises his hand, the lightsaber disappears, first becoming a metal cylinder in Shard's hands, then slipped under her cloak to be replaced by the simple ugliness of a blaster pistol.  It shakes every so slightly, the barrel trembling as she points it at the soldier.  "Wise," Shard nods, appreciatively.

The balance has shattered, falling apart around and within her, and she's a step from throwing up.  Grimly holding the bile back in her throat, she moves to divest the trooper of his helmet, keeping him under the gun at all times.  Three men dead because she couldn't find another way through this.  Her mind whirling, she goes back through the entire situation.  Was it her?  Had she done this by antagonizing the miners?  "Down," she mutters.  "I don't kill prisoners, so as long as you stay one, you and your injured friends will make it through this."

Hopefully someone is taking care of the one she 'shot' - had she done that?  Her memories say she did, but it's foggy and vague to her memories.  Reflexes are a terrible thing, a monster she kept buried for many, many years, now bubbling up to the surface again.

Did it to protect them, she reminds herself.  That hasd to count for something.

Juragga stares at Shard for a long moment, his teal eyes shining in the light as they grow moist.  He let out a soft "Uuuummmmff."  Memories, hopes and fears all surge within his mighty chest.  Before he can react, though, Rhijans shouts to remove the troopers' helmets.  That snaps him out of whatever he'd been feeling.  First things first.

Enthusiastically and none too gently, the Wookiee begins pulling off helmets.  Hopefully for the troopers' sake, none of them have their chin straps on too tightly...

"Oh dear.  How very obtuse.  Such a feebleminded idea to attack like this."

The droid shakes his head and lifts his arms dejectedly.

"That is, unless your idea was to alert all the troopers on the base, in which case it was brilliant."

He sighs heavily, or at least mimics the sound perfectly.

"They are all in communication here, you see and...  Oh, look, they do look positively feebleminded under the helmet.  I knew it."  He points to the remaining trooper.  "Yes, very feebleminded, mark my words."

The Ubese slowly clambers to his feet, still holding the thermal detonator.  But he thumbs the safety on, and the warning light stops blinking.  At least for now.

The helmets are removed from all the troopers except one.  That one is the unit commander, and the reason his helmet is not removed is that doing so would involve dragging the helmet out from under the table where it came to rest, and shaking his head out of it.  Or using something to scoop it out.  But it's probably safe to say that, with a three metre separation between his helmet and the rest of his armour, he's probably not going to be calling for help.

Of the eight troopers who had come to investigate the reported tampering with company equipment, three are dead, and two are unconscious, probably as a result of shock.  Two of the remaining three are injured, but will probably pull through.

The Ubese's voice is just as unreadable as ever, a series of unintelligible mechanical and electronic sounds.  Luckily there is a protocol droid in the room...

"He apologises for his stupidity, which is in all likelihood the only sensible thing he has said this year, but he did not wish to be arrested."

Rhijans might have smiled at the commentary, under different circumstances, but he was busy trying to think how best to proceed from this point.  "I'd have to say that's a very logical sentiment," he said, more or less facing the Ubese while trying to direct his speech to the droid--just in case translation was needed.

"I don't suppose there's any chance he'd care to inform us what he was in danger of being arrested for, is there?"  There wasn't a lot of time, he was sure, and regardless of whether or not the rest of the garrison was alert to the situation here, some of these troopers would be missed, possibly within just a few minutes.  But the Ubese was a potential asset in the scenario, and if he wasn't an asset, he was probably a liability, and they needed to know which one it was.

Rhijans glanced around the room at the group.  Out of everyone here, Jacobs seemed the most likely to have some kind of military background.  "Jacobs...can you listen in on one of those helmets and see if they're on alert...and if so, just how much of an alert...?"

Haarmon claps his hands together and grins, looking from face to face around the room.  He reserves his most dazzling smile for Shard before saying, "Well, that all went better than I expected."

Then, to Rhijans he adds, "I can check that terminal too, see if I can find some way to learn something about troop movements."  Without waiting for an answer, he moves across and starts studying the terminal.

"Should be easy enough to override its security.  It's not exactly state of the art."

After checking the inside of one of the helmets, Mark shoves it onto his head and starts listening in on the comm channel in the hopes of hearing any orders that might be issued sending people this way.

Having torn the helmets from the fallen troopers, Juragga the Wookiee turned to Shard, looming at his full height as he looked down at the tired, shaky woman.

"GRrrrrrrrrraaaAAAAGH," he rumbled.

How?  How had she survived the Purge?
This message was last edited by the player at 03:09, Sat 10 Sept 2011.

Rhijans watched the kid walk over to the terminal and do his thing, and managed to avoid shaking his head.  Just when he was sure there was no hope for the guy, he came up with a really solid, intelligent thing to do.

He managed to avoid getting lost in his introspective moment, however, and looked back at the Ubese, an inquiring look on his face.

The Ubese says something to the droid, who relays it to RhiJans, "It is most likely because of that argument that was going on in the office when you first arrived.  The administrator no doubt reported that this creature was walking about the place with an explosive device."

Mark Jacobs, meanwhile, listens in on the Imperial comms network, while Haarmon Dak tinkers with the terminal.  Even to an untrained observer, it is apparent that he is making progress of some kind.

The one stormtrooper who remains on his feet stands silently, with his hands still raised.

Rhijans, as always, seems to have the situation under control, professional that he is.  It gives the gratified Shard a moment to take a breather - her heart pounds wildly against her ribs, and she struggles to control her breath.  Out of shape.  It has been a long, long time since she has needed to move with such smooth control, and only the momentary, perfect balance allowed it.

Stress and exhaustion have taken that balance's place.

Haarmon's smile receives a blank stare in reply.  Better?  Shard can't quite parse the man's point.  Her eyes rove around the room, falling on decapitated head, on dead bodies burned through their armor, on the troopers' crumpled bodies in the hallway.  How is this better?

Juragga's rumble cuts through the meandering thoughts, and part of her reacts instinctively, providing an answer.  "I didn't," she mutters, still raking the room with her gaze.  "I didn't..."  Then her mind catches up with her tongue.  "...didn't quite get that, Juragga, sorry."  Fool! she curses herself.  For a long moment she stares at the Wookie like an animal in the headlight of an oncoming speeder; then Shard grabs the standing trooper's arm.

"Sit," she orders, pointing with her pistol.  "Quiet."

At least the Ubese is alive; injured, but alive.

Once the trooper is safely seated, she glances around the room again.  Rhijans is in converse with the Ubese; Jacobs has a helmet for scanning; Haarmon is at the terminal.  The droid is...complaining, nothing new there.  That left Juragga.  Lips thin, she studies the Wookie for a long moment.  "You...all right, Juragga?"  Her gaze roves over the fur.  "They didn't hit you, did they?"

An evasion, yes, but her concern is true; trust a Wookie to suffer several injuries without complaint.

Juragga brushed aside her concern with a low warble.  He was fine.  Thanks to her.

But despite his lack of ability to speak Basic, and towering, hirsute frame, the Wookiee wasn't dense.  Shard had the look of a small animal in her eyes, an animal caught out in the open with no cover.

He had words that came to his mind, things he wanted to say.  Seeing her look, he said none of them.  Instead, he let out a short "uUUUUUrrrrAAAUUUgggh," and put his hand on her shoulder.  Gently.  Loosely translated, the Wookiee had just thanked Shard and told her he had her back.  And that he owed her.

He knew something of what it was like to lose everything.

Rhijans pursed his lips for a second, a flickering gesture of irritation.  That answer wasn't particularly helpful.  They needed some sign of commitment, one way or the other.

At least he could prevent this from looking like it was a Rebel operation, with a story told here.  "I don't have time to dance around the subject, so I'll lay it out," he began.  "We were hired by a client who has a relative that ended up stuck in the mines here.  We're here to get him out...I need to know if you can help us, if you're going to stand back and stay out of the way, or if we're going to need to treat you as a threat."  The three options were laid out smoothly, no implied malice or inferred threat to the Ubese in his tone...provided the Ubese understood human inflection or that UY-3PO could convey it effectively.  He was still holding the blaster he'd seized from the snow trooper, but relaxed, casually, at his side, and his body language didn't indicate any real desire to raise it.

Honesty, for honesty.  That was the offer.  Of course, the fact that he was fudging the truth just a bit meant that he'd have to take anything the Ubese said in response with grain of healthy skepticism.

"Not picking up any chatter about this mess.  Just some random reports from other areas." Mark assures Rhijans, "But that doesn't mean there wasn't anything before I got dressed up.  It might also mean that this bunch are expected to report in some time soon as well."

He keeps the helmet on, just for now.  For one thing, it lets him listen in.  For another, it hides the way he's looking at Shard.

There's no jedi. They've been wiped out.  No one knows what a lightsaber even sounds like these days.

Haarmon is in his element.  This is what he does, and he is damned good at it.

He reaches into the inside of his jacket and pulls out a small, rectangular box which unfolds to become a slightly larger three section computer pad.  He lays it next to the terminal, which lights up without even being touched.  A couple of deft touches on the terminal keypad calls up a menu and Haarmon murmurs, "That's the one." as he switches to using his own keypad.

His fingers seem to blur, as does the display on the terminal.  Red warning messages appear and vanish too quickly to read, and finally a screen displaying the Imperial seal and a request for a pass code is displayed.

"This will just take a second.  Watch and learn."

In fact, he doesn't seem to do anything, but the screen clears almost immediately, showing a new menu.  Haarmon favours Shard with a wink, then starts selecting items from the menu.  "Okay.  This isn't all good, but it's not all bad either.  As far as I can tell the troopers don't know anything about what happened here, but they do know that this squad was on their way up here.  They called in just before we met them to say that they were coming here to investigate a report of somebody trying to steal a droid."

"Oh, and there is an alert out concerning an armed Ubese who has threatened mine staff."

Rhijans glanced over at Jacobs.  "What're the odds you can sound official enough to report the droid issue as a false alarm and that you're searching elsewhere for the Ubese?" he asked.  The reaction of the troopers when they realized the Ubese was in the room was a good indicator that the threat of an armed individual confronting mine personnel was a much higher priority than a potential droid theft...they could use that, maybe get the Imperials scattered and open up a route to carry out their real mission.  Maybe.  If Jacobs knew enough Imperial protocol to sound convincing, and nobody actually saw the Ubese somewhere other than where he'd been reported.

It was a long shot...but for all his skepticism about luck, long shots had an odd way of coming through for Rhijans.

The droid looks from Juragga to Shard.  "He wonders how you survived the purge, Madam Jedi.  He also thanked you and says that he will protect you.  I say you need little of that, being a Jedi and all.  My pleasure to meet you, Madam Jedi."

The Ubese speaks again, as UY-3PO listens to it, "Yatoyach yokho hokaykach khotocho hoteeka chayokh Oomba kot Hutt ghutokho dattacho hota ey yotoh."

"All he wants is his load of dergha crystals so he can give them to... oh, my goodness... to Oomba the Hutt, or he will do something to him that makes being blown up by a thermal detonator look like a good career move.  In other words, he will not get involved one way or the other.  I suppose at the moment, apart from this troop, no one actually know what happened yet.  Perhaps he thinks you will take the blame, even, no doubt taking their mind off him for the time being.  Would not surprise me at all."

The droid looks a few times between Rhijans and Mark before scuttling over to where the commander's helmet is, kicking at it.  "Do use this one.  It is the commanders, after all, and transmissions from it will be flagged with his identification.  You do need to scoop out that particularly feebleminded looking thing from it first, though.  And if I may offer an idea, in a no doubt vain attempt to salvage the situation, make our friend here talk." he points at the now helmet-less survivor with all the accusation a metallic finger can muster, "They all sound alike, just as they no doubt all look equally feebleminded, then I can synthesis the voice and perhaps fool the others, for a while.  The maker knows what I will say, though.  Stuck in the elevator?  Oh, we are all doomed!  They will send us to the deepest mine where we shall suffer without end until the end comes, if not longer!"

Rhijans nodded.  So, neutral, then...and not likely to give a bantha's whisker about helping evacuate slaves.  Still, the fact that the Ubese had already made threats against the facility personnel could be useful, if they could pull this off without too much evidence being left behind.

He looked over at Haarmon.  "Hey, kid...how hard will it be to gum up the security system here?  Take surveillance off-line and make sure there's nothing salvageable after our departure from the administrator's office?"  He didn't really care if they were seen getting here...they'd come in under plausible circumstances, the fact that the administrator had pretty much dismissed them out of hand underscored that.  But it would be good if they just up and disappeared after that.

He turned back to the droid.  "Do you just need to hear his voice?  Or are you suggesting we try to make him pass on the misinformation?  Because I don't trust him to not say something that would give us away."  He nodded at Jacobs, and added, "My cohort here is not without some military background.  If there's enough of it, in the right places, he should be able to pull off the misdirection easily enough.  After all, what kind of idiot starts broadcasting on a secured Imperial channel?"  He grinned, mirthlessly.

That got him thinking.  He looked at the downed troopers.  Jacobs was about the right size to pass as one.  So was he.  And if they were going to plant the charges, they needed some way to get around the mine without attracting too much attention.

Part of his mind refused to even acknowledge that the droid had even uttered the word 'Jedi'.  They didn't exist...just a myth that the rest of the galaxy chose to follow.  Never mind the fact that Shard had just whipped out the lightsabers that he'd always been taught were just a figment of imagination and cut her way quite effectively through the stormtroopers.  There was no time to worry about that right now.

"I just need to hear his voice, Sir.  After that I will doubtless be able to imitate his tone and timbre quite well enough to fool his imbecilic comrades." the droid explains to Rhijans.  "If I try to use only monosyllabic words, the mimicry should be sufficient to fool them."

Arrrrgh.  Of course the Droid stepped in.  Shard somehow manages to hold in a wince at his choice of words.  That one is going to be a problem...

But Juragga's support almost undoes her.  For the first time in ten years, Shard finds herself close to tears.  Reaching up, she clumsily pats the huge, furry paw on her shoulder, unsurprised at its light, gentle touch, for she has dealt with Wookies before.  "Thanks," she replies in a hoarse whisper, her lips tight as she nods.

There doesn't seem to be more she should - or can - say.

Blinking beneath the hanging shield of her bangs, the woman slowly appraises the room.  Like a pro, Jacobs reports in regarding the comm traffic from beneath the helmet, and she can't tell what he's thinking.  Haarmon is focused - completely - on his own work, his fingers dancing like a concert pianist's. "He's...really something," she mutters to Juragga.  "Just don't tell him I said that; it'll go to his head."  Rhijans is - somehow - managing to get useful information out of the Droid and the Ubese.  The ship captain seems surprisingly sensible about the whole affair, but the bigger surprise comes in the bloated shape of his employer.  Shard sniffs once, and grimaces; just what they needed, a Hutt getting involved.

These ones, Shard figures, these people with whom she finds herself, they know what they're doing.  Juragga included, the big warrior picking the perfect time to wade into the troopers.  They're going places, they're helping people.

So she has to help them.

"How much you want to bet if I ask the Droid to put a cap on the Madame... -" she stumbles over the word, gives up "- he fires back the same thing with an apology and an 'of course'?"  A shrug follows, and a weak smile up at Juragga.  Weak, but real.

The older woman raises her voice.  "UY-Threepio - a pleasure indeed.  Please call me Shard." And not...  Turning, she gives Juragga a small tug and drops to a crouch in front of the surrendered trooper.  "Say 'I'm not telling you anything'," she whispers.  "Say it clear for the translator.  Then, if any of this gets back to you after, they can run the transmission through a 'voder and find out it was artificial, and you have deniability.  Worst case, you get a demotion.  The alternative?"

She rolls her eyes up meaningfully, toward the looming Juragga.

The trooper just looks at Shard briefly, before replying, curtly, "TS-4325, sergeant." then clamping his mouth shut again, after which he simply glares at the woman.  But only for a couple of seconds, right up until the droid says, "I do believe that is enough. Does this sound correct?"

That gets the sergeant's attention...

The massive Wookiee nodded to Shard as she expressed her appreciation of the kid.  Growling something along the lines of 'I know' and 'you're right, his head wouldn't fit in the room', he moved his hand from her shoulder with one final, light squeeze.

He'd come along on this mission to help, but mainly to stick by Haarmon and hopefully find clues as to his family.  And maybe even free some Wookiees.  Now he was finding his circle of concern expanding.  First, to Shard... and then to the others.

It had been a while since his concerns had been more than just himself, Haarmon, and revenge.

Juragga glowered down at the trooper convincingly.  He let out a "Uuuummmf" of satisfaction when the man spoke.  Nodding to UY-3PO, the Wookiee favored Shard with a Wookiee grin, the equivalent to a light smirk, and then stepped back and kept watch on the fallen troops.

Mark removes the helmet and says, "A call just came through asking for a progress report."

He looks at Rhijans, then at the droid, "If we're going to do this, it has to be now.  He should tell them that it was a false alarm and everything is all clear in here.  Or something.  Then we should get out of here."  Then he pulls his blaster and points it at the back of the trooper's head, "And we need to tie up some loose ends."

Shard giggles - Yes, that was a giggle, she thinks to herself, appalled - at the Wookie's assessment of Haarmon's hat size.  The laugh holds a slight edge to it, a few shades closer to hysteria than she'd like to admit.  But
her returning grin is no longer shaky, and her fingers have stopped trembling.  Juragga, she reflects, is one heck of a column to help prop her up.

He beats drinking all to void, she muses.

The pleasure fades when Jacobs draws his pistol, and Shard steps up.  "I don't kill prisoners," she flatly states.  Without any sudden movements, she delicately slides her hand along the back of the Trooper's head, interposing it between the blaster barrel and the man's skull.  With that tenuous barrier in place, she follows her hand, releasing the man's head as she steps around to put her own body in the line of fire, blocking Jacobs' aim completely.  "I also don't stand there and watch them die."

Her hands remain in sight.  Empty.

She doesn't bother mentioning that she'd already accepted the man's surrender, that she had assured him he'd live.  That's just fluff, explanation, and this stance has nothing to do with keeping her word; Shard simply doesn't kill prisoners.

"Some of these carry cuffs as part of standard equipment; we can lock them up, hide them away, whatever."
This message was last edited by the player at 11:05, Tue 20 Sept 2011.

Rhijans shakes out the... contents... of the commander's helmet into a trash bin, then gives the droid instructions to do what Mark Jacobs said.  The droid replies, "Yes, Sir.  I do hope that simply donning the helmet is not enough to make me as feebleminded as the original owner."

Then he falls silent, at least to everybody outside the helmet, as the grey human slides it over his head.

Haarmon Dak continues monitoring the terminal...

Rhijans quirked an eye at Shard's minor stand-off with Jacobs.  Shooting the stormtrooper would be the practical move...no witnesses to identify who was involved in the events.  That was why he'd hoped Dak could mess up the surveillance memory modules in the computer system...covering their tracks.

But, an argument within the team would be an even bigger problem than a witness or two.  If it took leaving someone behind to ensure that they were able to work smoothly, he was good with that.

Besides, when they called in the Y-wings for the bombing strike on the mine, there was a good chance that someone who was bound and tucked in a back corner would die, anyway.  He turned from the droid.

"Do it her way...we don't have time to argue about it right now."  He looked at Jacobs, in particular, and continued, "How are you with the notion of playing stormtrooper for a while?  Give us our best chance to hide in plain sight..."

"The problem as I see it is that if we leave him alive he can describe us to his friends, and tell them about the droid being able to compromise their communications.  Both of which could present us with problems down the line." Mark shrugs, "But if that's the way you want to play it, I guess that's the way it will be."

Juragga rumbled uncomfortably.

He'd killed more than his share of Imperials in battle.  He didn't usually stop when they threw up their hands, unless they had the good sense to get out of his range.  They had no honor; they had enslaved thousands of his people; they had taken his children.

On the other hand, he'd never shot one in the back of the head whilst helpless before.

In any event, he would back Shard's play.  The Jedi would know the right path.  And these were, at least, her people... humans.

Like Haarmon.

The Wookiee raised a shaggy brow and wuffed an interrogative at his friend.

Relief floods through Shard as the concensus rolls in.  She's neither deaf nor blind - Rhijans' cocked eyebrow and emphasis on 'her' and 'we' don't escape her.  But for the moment, this issue is tabled and there won't be any murdering going on.  "Lucky you," she mutters to the prisoner as Jacobs gives his assent.  The older woman shifts behind the trooper, searching for cuffs to secure him.

I should have figured that from Jacobs, she considers, given his reaction to the padawan.  Rhijans, though...then again, the man was a bounty hunter.  Not that it made him a raging psychopath, but going after men and women for money must de-'peoplize' his targets to some extent.  We're just trying to do the best we can, she reminds herself.

No saints here, except maybe Juragga.

"Find another way." Haarmon says from where he works at the terminal, "Somewhere to lock them all up, strip them of all their gear, and with any luck they won't be found until we're off this ball of snow."

"By that time they can say what they like about us.  I mean, it makes sense, we've got some bodies to hide anyway, so live or dead we might as well hide them all."

He nods at Juragga, in total agreement with the Wookiee.

Juragga nodded back, then had a sudden flicker in his teal eyes.

"GrrrAAAhhhnnnh.  UhhhhRRRRaaaauwwwwlll," he yodeled.

A sufficient electrical charge to the noggin would wipe out recent events from memory, without killing... if done properly, he told Haarmon.

Mark Jacobs shakes his head, "There's just two small flaws with your plan to lock them all in a store room or something.  First: it involves us walking through this complex with stormtroopers at gunpoint and hoping that nobody notices.  Second: it involves us walking through this complex with stormtroopers at gunpoint and hoping that nobody notices."

He smiles grimly, "Yes, I know that technically that's only one flaw, but it's such a major one I thought it was worth mentioning twice."

The discussion about what to do with the troopers, both living and dead, continues.  Haarmon meanwhile works on the terminal, trying to find as much information as he can.  He even manages to locate a storage bay not far from the break room, just a ride down on the elevators and about a fifty metre walk...

UY-3PO starts waving his arms about, and his voice, though audible is muffled by the helmet.  "Mmfff mff mmmfff mfffmff mfff... "

Vekkis Lund, who has been very quiet right through the current crisis, goes over to help the droid.  "You know, we could just stun him, then wreck all their comms and steal their weapons." he says, as he lifts the helmet off the protocol unit.

"... and now they say that we are to go and search the warehouses for the Ubese!" UY-3PO says loudly as the helmet comes off.  Frankly, he sounds quite pleased with himself.

Rhijans shrugged at Lund's suggestion.  Stunning them wasn't a bad idea, he fully intended to truss them up before leaving them behind, and removing any comm gear they had seemed elementary to him.  "So, sergeant, do they have any Wookiee slaves here?" he asked the trooper that was under guard.  He only half-expected an answer, and only because the question had no significant tactical value.  If they did, however, he had some ideas how to get their captives to the storage room.

He looked back at the 3PO unit.  "Could you please repeat the first of that, again?  With the helmet on, it made no sense whatsoever."  And a disturbing thought occurred to him at that moment, as he added, "And please tell me you shut off transmission before you commented on their directives..."

"Stunning works for me," Shard mutters.  "'Course, we'd still have to leave them here.  Probably close the door and 'seal' it."  With blaster-fire to the electronics, or something.  "They'd get maintenance to try to open it up, but right now we're on a pretty tight clock, I figure." 

Time is running out.  This little problem has pushed them along, and they have to move quickly.

She turns and raises an eyebrow at the injured Ubese.  "You're in trouble.  Can you make it back to your ship all right?  I don't think you'll be getting your shipment."

"I said; 'Those obtuse stormtroopers fell for the ruse, and now they say that we are to go and search the warehouses for the Ubese!'" the droid explains to Rhijans, sounding distinctly exasparated, "Do try to pay attention.  Sir."

Then the Ubese answers Shard's question, a long stream of seeming gibberish, which brings an "Oh dear!" from the protocol droid.

"He says that he is not badly hurt, and can return to his ship easily.  But if he does so without his cargo, then he is... something which I would really rather not translate, except to say that it would approximate to 'dead, several times over.'  Hutt syndicates are not known for being forgiving."

Vekkis Lund ahakes his head, "Stupid to get involved with the Hutt.  Real bad move." he mutters.

Juragga growls an irritated growl in the direction of UY-3PO, but it's intended for the Urbese, not the droid.

"GRRRRRRRRROooooOWWWRRR!" he snarls:  You'll be just as dead if the Imperials get their hands on you.

Rhijans glanced over at the Ubese.  Too many unresolved variables here, he thought, keeping his annoyance off his face.  "How big is this shipment you were supposed to pick up?  Maybe we can help you get it if you can help us with our project here..."  If the shipment didn't take too much space, maybe some or most of the slaves could ship out with the Ubese...if they could trust him to not sell them to someone else again.  He didn't want anything more than that to do with a Hutt...the Syndicate's reputation left him with no doubts about that.

He turned back to the droid.  "The warehouses, huh?  Sounds like a good excuse to find out where everything we're looking for might be located...at least for a couple of us.  We can sneak a pair of us in there, the rest can take advantage of any chaos that Dak can stir up and sneak in to bust out our other target..."  Their only hope, he was realizing, was likely to be getting the Imperials going in so many different directions at the same time that they were tripping over each other...but they needed to move quickly, if it was going to happen.

He dragged the trooper that he'd skewered through the brainstem into the room and started peeling the armor off, no apparent regard being given to the sergeant in front of whom this was all happening.

Rhijans and Juragga have the situation well in-hand, playing good-officer/bad-officer...and probably without even realizing it.  The Ubese has himself in quite the pickle; he needs his cargo, but the Imperials certainly aren't going to give it to him, not any more.  Best he learns some flexibility on that matter, Shard considers.

With the sergeant cuffed and the other imperials as well, she switches her pistol to stun.  There's no sense in trying to hide the bodies; they have nowhere to put them, and no time to drag them any distance.  Bollix up the door, she grimly concludes.  Make certain nobody is coming into this area for some time.

"We need to make a decision, and fast.  Do we split up, like Rhijans suggests?  One group look into the slaves and one into the cargo we need?"  Best to avoid any specifics.  "Or stick together and deal with the problems in detail?"   Her lips compress into a flat line.  Shard hates the idea of splitting up - it never, ever goes well - but they're short on time.  Very short.

"I vote splitting up," she grimly concurs.  "One group to get our ship - whichever it might be.  One to get the 'cargo'.  One for the slaves."  That's too many groups; she shakes her head.  "Maybe the group looking for our cargo can get the ship as well; seems likely they'll be in the same area."

The Ubese moves his hands, indicating a volume of about a metre by a half metre by a hal metre, so not too big.  Meanwhile UY-3PO translate's Juragga's comment, which brings a reply from the Ubese a moment later.

"He says that, while this is true, the Imperials are unlikely to also seek out his family.  Even if they do so, they will be too late, as the Hutt's people, and I use that term loosely, will get there first."

The Ubese continues talking, "He says that he is prepared to help you, at least for as long as his interests coincide with yours.  After that he makes no guarantees and... oh really!  He does use the most despicable language...  Well, to translate it into a more respectable turn of phrase... you will need to fend for yourselves."

Vekkis Lund glares at Shard, "What do you mean, 'whichever ship it might be'?  There's only one ship I'm leaving on, and that's the Gambit."

Rhijans meanwhile starts stripping the armour off a dead trooper, apparently intending to use it as a disguise.  As others start examining the armour of the other dead troopers, it rapidly becomes clear that the lightsaber has made a mess of much of it, but it should be possible to combine parts from the various corpses to get a second complete suit.  Or at least one where the damage is only minimally obvious.

Mark Jacobs still holds his blaster to the head of the prisoner, while Haarmon Dak continues to monitor the terminal...

Shard cocks an eyebrow at the Ubese 'measurement' of what he needs.  "That much is doable.  Not like loading on twenty tons, or the like," she mutters. "We'll see about helping you and your family if you help us."  And he can be of use, at that, though she won't trust him not to betray them if it'll help his family.  Anyone willing to make threats with a thermal detonator knows they have their back against the wall, and is willing to die to try to succeed.  Other people's lives will be less important.

On the other hand, he's good enough to warn them about this fact himself.

She raises a thin eyebrow at Lund's comment.  "No question there, Vekkis.  But we might need more than one ship to carry all our 'cargo', right?"  Glancing around at the various bodies, Shard grimaces.  "If there aren't enough bits of uniform or..."  She looks down at herself.  "...they don't fit right, I got some ideas for myself.  Prisoner, maybe.  Or someone being escorted from point A to point B.  Or...maybe something else."

She's a little short for a stormtrooper, and will definitely stand out.

Juragga wuffed in response to the Urbese.  That much was true.  Damned Hutts.  They should be served up basted in garlic butter, every last one of them, he mused.

"rrrRRRAAAaaawwwwrrrmmmmff," he yodeled, suggesting that they should split up and expressing his desire that he, Shard and Haarmon should go after the prisoners.  Sure, it was completely personal bias, but the squeaky wheel gets the grease, he figured.

Haarmon looks up from his terminal, where his face had been wearing an expression of concern. He nodded to Juragga. "You said it 'Rags. I don't care what anyone says. If I'm going to be wandering around in here, I'm doing with a Wookie and a Je..." he stops himself with an audible click. Maybe if Shard didn't mention she was an all-powerful sorceror from the ancient past, that was because she didn't want to talk about it. "...and... ummm..." He fumbles. "...and Shard." He nods. Clearly awkward, unsure if joking around with a Jedi (JEDI!) was exactly the done thing. even for him.

Instead, he clicks a few more keys and then turns away from the terminal. "Hey Cap," he says to Rhijans. "We got a small horde of troops heading to the warehouse right now. They figure the bad guys gotta be there since no one reported them anywhere else. So we got, like, a few minutes' grace here. Assuming we can keep the whities here quiet."

Mark Jacobs lowers the muzzle of the blaster.  There is the sound of a shot, and a blast of energy hits the trooper in the back, at point-blank range.  "Everybody stay calm, it was set for stun."




Mark Jacobs rolled 34 using 6 dice with the WEG Classic system with rolls of 2,5,3,2,{Wild}6(+6+6+3),1. Blaster.
Mark Jacobs rolled 16 using 5 dice with the WEG Classic system with rolls of 4,3,{Wild}2,5,2. Damage.

The snowtrooper falls, toppling flat on his face, where he lays, unmoving and apparently sound asleep.

"One less thing to worry about." Vekkis mutters, "Just a thousand more to go."

It's starting to look as if they'll be able to cobble together three suits of armour from the eight that came into the room.  Vekkis nods towards the stack of armour pieces building up on the floor, "I'll take one of those."

Rhijans nodded, as he started fitting armor on himself.  "I figure two or three of us in armor can scout out the warehouse, as well as planting a few surprises around the place to try and increase the chaos factor when we decide it's time to make a break for it."  He looked around at the others...Lund had already stated his choice, and Rhijans suspected Jacobs would prefer that option, as well, but he wasn't making any demands on anyone.  Masquerading as Imperial troops was theoretically easy...but if your cover was blown, odds were good it would happen while you were surrounded by many more troops.

He looked at the rest of the team.  Dak wanted to stick with the Wookiee...and it was probably the safest place for him.  He turned to Shard.  "I'm not sure how best to do it...but if you can get in the mine while we're distracting troopers and spring the slaves, I think that's our best bet.  Better still, if you can find an armory somewhere along the way and arm some of them...I'm pretty sure they won't all be competent with a blaster, so be selective about it...but they can help you win your way back to the Docking Bays.  We'll see about calling in our friends as reinforcements at an opportune time."

He turned to the droid.  "Probably best if you stick with them...they won't have the benefit of being anonymous and are going to need a guide.  Just point out for me, one more time, where the communications center is--where the actual gear is located, not where the operator accesses it from."

He turned to the Ubese, next.  "You probably want to stick with them.  Going with us will just get you shot at.  We'll see what we can do about locating your cargo and getting it to your ship...but our own cargo is looking to be larger than we were anticipating.  You good with trading our labor on your behalf for you transporting some stuff for us?"  He dressed as he spoke, and by this point was about half-clad as a snowtrooper.

Rhijans Thanus and Vekkis Lund start donning the snowtrooper armour, discarding pieces which appear damaged.  Who will wear the third suit comes down to a choice between Mark Jacobs and... nobody.

Haarmon Dak continues watching the terminal, hoping to get early warning of anything the Imperials might be thinking of doing.  Juragga and UY-3PO are, of course, entirely unsuited to wearing trooper armour.  Shard, while she could probably wear such a disguise, has her own reasons for not doing so.

The Ubese, while he undoubtedly will end up fighting stormtroopers some day (if Oomba's thugs don't kill him first), seems reluctant for that day to be today.

UY-3PO shuffles across to Haarmon Dak and requests that the man display the map of the complex again.  "It is here, Sir, in this building just beyond the gate into the small compound near the entrance to the mine.  I believe main equipment room is on the third level.  I overheard one of those white armoured simpletons mention it once."  He suddenly seems to notice what Rhijan's is wearing, "Oh, no offence, Sir."

Haarmon switches back to monitoring the troopers' command channel.

Rhijans smiled, grimly, at the droid's clarification regarding the armor.  "No offense taken...I don't dress in armor often...especially not white armor.  But you would hardly be the first being to make observations on my intelligence--or sanity.  We'll just hope that I'm not quite as simple as the normal simpletons they stuff in these things."  He nodded to Lund as they got the majority of the armor in place.

"We'll need to swing by the ship and pick up some of the goodies that I packed...but getting from here to there and out to the comm shack shouldn't be too tricky."  He looked back over at the droid.

"These guys carry any sort of pass-key?  If they do, we need to find whatever version of it Sarge over there is carrying."  He nodded over at the slumped form of the trooper that Jacobs had stunned, as he did a quick inventory of what equipment he'd inherited with the snowtrooper armor.

Options and possibilities...  He was still racing through them in his mind, trying to figure out the cause-and-effect of any given course of action and which combinations of them would result in the best outcome for their group.  They needed the slaves freed...they needed the mineral cargo the Alliance had sent them after, as well as the smaller cargo that the Ubese was here to retrieve.  And they needed to call in the Y-Wing strike and disable any defenses that might bring them down.  ...defenses...

"Are there any blaster cannons or turbolaser emplacements protecting the mine?  A shield generator?  Anything that might make getting out of here in a hurry more hazardous than the weather?"  A new tangent opened up in his mind, and he didn't want to devote more time to it unless it might play out well.

"All right," Shard sighs, running a hand through her hair.  "Sounds good, Rhijans.  Yeah, I'd rather give the slaves a chance to fight their way out.  Haarmon, Juragga, we're together.  Haarmon, you'd better get a suit of that armor on."  This, she grimly thinks, </I>could be exciting.</i>

The older woman moves over to where the Ubese stands.  "You want to be running from the Hutts forever?" she asks.  "Right now, they're holding your family over your head.  We might be able to help, if you help us."  A shrug.  "Your choice."

Juragga hoots in amusement and then begins sorting through stormtrooper armor and handing pieces to Haarmon.  Not that he doesn't trust the kid to do it for himself, but... he doesn't trust the kid to do it for himself right.

To the Urbese, he yodels in Wookiee, "You should listen to her.  These people can give you a new life.  And your family."  He trusted the droid to translate so that he didn't have to haul out his quirky translation disk.

Haarmon nods to Shard. "Yessum," he says in a clipped, snappy tone very unlike his usual drawl. he walks over the much-sifted pile of armour and nudges a few pieces with his foot. Now what do I do?

Then Juragga starts handing him parts. He holds each one, turns it this way and that, and tentatively starts to gird himself. He gets as many pieces wrong as he does right and has to start over a few times.

He's trying his level best to look calm and in control, but it's obvious to anyone watching that he's never been closer than a holovid to armour in his life.

He pauses and consults with Juragga more than once. Quietly. Trying his best not to let anyone hear him. In particular hoping Shard's conversation with the Ubese lasts long enough for him to get suited up.

The three cannibalised suits have all been claimed, so Mark starts stripping the trooper he had stunned.  He pauses and starts using his sleeve in an attempt to remove the carbon scoring of the backplate.  With luck, any residue won't be too noticeable.

"We need to try not to mingle with others too much, because it's going to be hard to tell who we're standing next to if we're mixed with a dozen other troopers in identical armor.  And keep the chatter to a minimum.  We have no idea if other people can listen in on conversations between us."

He begins pulling on the armor, grimacing at the poor fit.  "There were eight troopers in the squad that came up her, four of us together will look like a half strength squad, maybe one that's split up to search a bigger area.  You know, I think this is really going to work."

Rhijans allowed himself a silent sigh of relief.  While he'd never asked much about it, he was pretty sure that, unlike himself, Jacobs actually did have some military background.  And he was climbing into the Sergeant's armor.  That meant that Rhijans wouldn't have to look like he was in charge...he operated best when people were looking at someone else.

"Half a squad...that gives us a good cover story.  We should see if we can put some kind of mark on the armor so we can tell each other apart...and, if we end up running into Shard and Juragga, they don't end up shooting us by mistake.  Except we're going to be one shy of half a squad...Dak's going with Shard.  Still...two troopers flanking a Sergeant...not implausible.  If we need to relocate anywhere, you can always call reports to Dak so they can follow our progress..."  That would be pushing their luck a bit, he knew...but he didn't want to wind up in a gun battle with his own people.

And, frankly, if they wound up running things as he expected them to go, it might be better if Dak wasn't with them.  It'd take a lot of raw nerve to do something like dressing up in enemy uniforms to actively sabotage their operations...while he was impressed with the kid's gumption, he wasn't sure this kind of action was quite Dak's speed.

Well...not yet, at least, he told himself.  If they all survived this, and Dak kept working with them, Rhijans had little doubt that the kid had more than enough swagger--once it was focused and controlled--to pull off this kind of work.

Haarmon managed to get the armour on. Most of it anyway. There was one piece left over. It was shaped like a slice of pizza. He had no idea where it was supposed to go. He shrugged and threw it aside. Hope that's not the thing holding it all together, he thought.

It smelled bad inside the armour. And it was hot. And heavy. And uncomfortable. He kept shifting and fidgeting and trying to adjust himself, with little to no success.

He listened to Rhijans' plan, nodding along. It made sense. And yeah, he could take sit-reps from the tech ninjas. No problem. He had that wired.

"YOU GOT IT CAP, WHATEVER YOU...." his voice blared out at ear-splitting volume. A pause. Haarmon played with something on his helmet. Tried again. "Sorry," he said, at normal volume, "Plan. Yeah. Got it."

He snuck a quick look over at Juragga and Shard. Shrugged. Toyed with the Troopers blaster a little. Shuffled his feet.

The Ubese confirms, via UY-3PO, that he will help as best he can.  The droid starts to turn away, and the Ubese adds something which makes the translator look back at him, then to Shard again, "This creature just mentioned, once again, that he is currently in possession of a thermal detonator.  I think I should say that I am starting to believe that he has an unhealthy obsession with explosive devices."

Within a few minutes, there are four new snowtroopers in the room, ready to move out, though a careful observer might notice some variation in the fit of their uniforms.  A second careful observer could hardly miss seeing that one of them keeps trying to scratch himself through the armour, and make adjustments to his armour by pulling at nonexistent seams and hems.

So four in uniform, and four out of uniform, including the droid and the Ubese.

And a room full of real troopers, all dead or stunned.

UY-3PO appears to think carefully before replying to RhiJans, "Sir, I simply do not know if the Imperials have security passes or not.  I do however know that there are two new weapon emplacements near the mine.  I am afraid that I can not provide you with specifications for them, but I can tell you that they were only recently fitted, and may not be fully functional yet.  At least I have never seen them in operation."

Rhijans nodded as UY-3PO reported on the weapons emplacements.  "Bears some consideration," he responded, still holding his helmet under one arm.  He had a grim grin on his face that had started when the droid mentioned the possibility of the Ubese having unhealthy obsessions with explosives.

He turned the grin to the Ubese.  "Go with them," he suggested, "and keep the safety on that detonator until absolutely necessary.  While we aren't carrying anything with us presently, we packed a few surprises of our own.  Never know what kind of problem might be solved with selective application of explosives..."

He looked over at Lund and Jacobs.  "Docking Bays first?  We can pick up the extras I brought aboard and see if there's anything else there, besides our friend's ship, that might be helpful for our departure."  Like, oh, say, a troop transport ship...that would be handy right now...or an assault shuttle.  While he was generally selective about how much firepower should be used, when he decided it was time to go for the big guns, the bigger they were, the happier he ended up with the results.

"Remember not to slouch." Mark Jacobs instructs Haarmon, "Stormtroopers don't slouch.  Stand up straight and walk like you know exactly where you're going, and  where you'll be going after that.  It's the same in every army -- if you look like you know what you're doing, they'll assume you do and won't ask what you're up to."

Then he looks to Rhijans, "Before we split up, where are we planning to meet up again, and when?  I don't want to be standing about in the wrong place while the kid and the others have been waiting for me somewhere else for an hour.  And do we have a backup rendezvous point?"

Juragga made sure the kid had his armor on right... not just for show, but functional.  If the shooting started, he wanted the protection to make up for the lack of mobility.

"RaaWWWRRRRHHHhhh," he hooted.  We can meet back up here; they probably wouldn't expect us to return here, he offered.

"GrrrHHHHMmnmmmnnn," he continued.  Or is there some other place more centrally-located that wouldn't be crawling with troopers?

Rhijans heard the Wookiee rumbling, but didn't understand it.  He already had some ideas, however.

"If things go down the way I'm expecting them to...as much as that can even be claimed, at this point...the Docking Bays are probably our best rally point.  They," and he gestured at Shard, Dak, and Juragga, "are going to have a swarm of freed slaves needing to get out of here in a hurry.  We're going to have a couple of cargo items that will also need to depart post-haste.  And, if we play our cards right, our backup will be swooping in to add to the chaos.  I'd rather not need to try and navigate through all of that to a place where we can safely get away...so let's just meet at the getaway point, in the first place.  If things go sideways, we'll need a secondary rally point...I'm open to suggestions."

His voice had a quiet certainty to it...one that he didn't really have any rational cause to lay claim to, other than a personal history of jumping into bad situations feet-first and walking away clean.  They'd analyzed just about everything they could, at this point...they needed actual eyes on target to get much further.

UY-3PO translates Juragga's first suggestion, but Vekkis points out a flaw with that idea... "If we're going to leave the troopers here, we're probably going to need to seal the door to make sure nobody gets in here and finds them.  We're better off meeting somewhere else."

More howls from the Wookie, which the droid translates as, "He agrees.  Somewhere quieter might be better."

Rhijan's suggestion sounds more workable.  Get people back into the ships as quickly as possible, where they have a little more cover and the ability to lock a moderately armoured door.

The two groups step out into the open area outside the door.  There are no troopers about, at least as far as the elevator platforms.  A glance out the open wall, beyond the forcefield which acts as a window does, however, show three, no... four teams of white clad figures moving among the cargo containers in the warehouse.  There are probably more.

Vekkis waits for the door to close, then discharges his blaster into the lock, resulting in a shower of sparks and a rapidly dispersing cloud of acrid fumes.  A quick check reveals that the door no longer opens on automatic, or on manual override.

Shard winces at Haarmon's volume malfunction, then shrugs.  "I don't even fit properly in that armor, so I'm not going to point any fingers."

She listens in on everyone's ideas, slowly nodding along.  Good thing I've finally remembered my Wookie, she considers.  Both her and Haarmon are the best choices for accompanying Juragga.

A rallying point.  Where might they go?  "Admin office."  Shard shrugs.  "It's close to the ships, we all know where it is, and if things go to the void there won't be any troopers there - or a skeleton force.  They'll all be out looking for us." 

When her team moves out, she slips out with them, her weapons stowed away.  "And Rhijans?" she whispers, tapping the 'trooper' on the arm. "You and your group be careful."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:18, Tue 11 Oct 2011.

Rhijans' snort was barely audible inside the helmet, and the vocal processor almost hid the humor in his tone.  "If I was careful, I'd have gone into a very different career.  But we'll do our best to avoid any unnecessary risks.  Good luck..."

He gave a jerk of his head, indicating that his group should proceed in the direction of the Docking Bays.  He also made a mental note that he needed to avoid doing that in front of anyone 'official'...Jacobs was the one with rank, as far as they were concerned.

Haarmon nods to Jacobs' instructions and tries his best. But whoever designed Stormtropper armour clearly didn't have skinny little gym-class slicer rejects in mind. And it was hot in there. And confining. Haarmon wasn't usually the claustrophobic sort (quite the opposite, really), but he was having a rough time in there.

Focus, Haarmon, focus, he thought to himself, they're depending on you not to  screw this up. Rags. Shard. All of them. And so he took a moment and used his not-inconsiderable willpower to bear on calming himself down.

This struggle revealed itself only by the quick, shallow breaths, tortured breaths that emerged from the helmet speakers, which then slowed and quieted until they were regular, inaudible.

He gave a final nod, pushed back his shoudlers, and followed 'his team' out the door.

With a fanged grin and low rumble, Juragga wishes Rhijans, Jacobs and his team good luck and good hunting.

Then he follows Shard and the kid out the door.

Just don't get killed.

Shaking her head at Rhijans' comment, her stomach tied in knots, Shard takes a moment for a last glance at the other group and heads out the door.  "Right," she mutters.  "We need to find those slaves, and quickly.  Any guesses as to where?  My first choice would be 'down', but...Haarmon, you find them on your waltz through the computer?"
Under the coat, she carefully arranges her gear.  Pistol in the shoulder harness, easily accessible.  Flask in her inner pocket, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice.  And balancing the pistol, hanging down from the other side of the harnass....

Shard shakes her head.  "Juragga.  There are Wookies here.  Stupid question, maybe, but will your people fight?"  She considers the question and amends it.  "Given the way the Imperials treat them, do you think your people will be able to fight?"

Juragga snarls as he unlimbers his bowcaster from beneath his poncho, keeping it low and at his side.  Then he huffed, considering Shard's question.

The answer, given in a long warble, was simply: it depends on how long they've been here.  But if they were capable of manual labor - the kind of work Wooks were mostly used for - they'd be capable of fighting.

Then: Where?

Where were the Wookiees, and how many?  Did anyone know?

"Grrrrrrrrrrmmmfff," he rumbled.  Down would be the logical choice.

UY-3PO walks along with the others, and steps onto the elevator platform, which starts to descend towards the ground level.  Shard speaks to Juragga and receives an answer.  The droid feels compelled to point out, "Actually I don't believe anybody has confirmed that there are Wookiees here.  I certainly can not confirm it.  I have not seen any Wookiees, at least since my last mind wipe.  With the obvious exception of Juragga, here."

They reach the ground, and the protocol droid starts through the building towards the nearest exit.  "I would wrap up well if I were you.  We are going to have to go outside to get to the mine itself."  Haarmon Dak, disguised as a snowtrooper, brings up the rear, his blaster cradled in his arms.

They reach the door, and the temperature drops sharply as Shard slaps the controls and a blast of cold air, laden with snow, blows in.

"This way, please."

Meanwhile, the other team, all disguised as troopers, take a different route after leaving the elevator, going back through the building, past the admin office, where staff (including the administrator) are still cursing the computer failure which has wiped out most of the day's shipping orders...

The team step out through the external door, and suddenly discover that their armour is surprisingly comfortable under the right conditions.  Drawing only brief glances from two snowtroopers who appear to be on guard detail outside the admin office door, they march away through the snow towards the landing field and the parked ship...

Haarmon followed Shard and Juragga. Don't slouch, he told himself, Shoulders back. Look like you know where you're going. Look like you know what you're doing. You're the man. Walk it like you talk it.

As soon as they were out of the exit he shuffled up next to the other two. Just to look more like he was escorting them. And not following them like some idiot kid who never been off-planet before.

"We know where we're going?" he asked.

"Yeah," Shard murmurs.  "How long they've been here."  She grimaces, having experienced Imperial mines herself for a few painfully long days in the past.  "Worst week ever."  Reaching out, she touches Juragga's arm.  "We'll find them."  Her jaw sets.

We'll find them.

But UY darkens her hopes with his observation.  "So if they're here, they're pretty deep," she mutters.  It does make sense; one doesn't allow enslaved Wookies to mix with the general populace.  People in captivity become...irrational, and understandably so.  Someone says or does something wrong, and you're suddenly short a few slaves.

She zips up her jacket and throws her hood over her head.  It locks in her weapons, but...would stick out like a sore thumb if I went out there jacket open.  The cold slices like a razor; while in her youth Shard tended to run through the worst possible places (and often in the least possible clothing - it just seemed to turn out that way, almost as if some guiding hand arranged such things), these days icy winds cut her to the bone.

"We're following You-Why!" she shouts over the wind.  "He'll get us to where we go down!"

Then...we go down.

Moving through the bitterly cold conditions, UY-3PO leads the rebel team, and the temporarily seconded Ubese through the gateway to the inner compound of the mine complex.  The site which meets their eyes as they pass through the gate is not the sort of thing calculated to make them feel warmer.  There are snowtroopers, either in pairs or in groups of four or more stationed in several locations around the area.  Near the entrance to a large structure two teams can be seen setting up tripod-mounted weapons.

"That, I am afraid," UY-3PO says, "is the entrance to the mine itself."

One of the troopers, in a group of four about fifty metres to their left, suddenly notices the odd mixed group, and points them out to his companions, all of whom look in the indicated direction...

Meanwhile the other team makes it back to the landing field.  A half squad of troopers passes them, and they cover their presence there by pretending to search around the parked ships.  When the coast is clear, Vekkis Lund opens the hatch of Bold Gambit, and they all duck inside quickly...

Rhijans proceeded quickly back to the engineering section, digging out the packets of explosives that the techs had loaded for him back at the Rebel base.  They wouldn't have much time on here, and anything they left with, if noticed, might be subject to seizure by someone else...which would really impact their ability to make things happen.

He ran the inventory in his mind, checking it against what he had...detonite, detonators, remote triggers, timers...

As he was doing that, he also began calculating...how much time would they need to get things done?  By the time he'd managed to tuck his supply of 'goodies' away in the utility belt on the 'trooper armor, he only had a small amount that he needed to carry in some other way.  For now, he'd have to settle for an innocuous-looking container.

"Think we better call the Y-wings...by the time they get here, we should be trying to get out...and if we're not on our way out at that point, we're probably never getting out of here.  Figure that should give us at least two hours..." he said, as he rejoined the other two.  Check the warehouse, take out comms and exterior weapons...two hours should be about right, he calculated again.  Maybe three...

Haarmon sees the knot of Stormtroopers and a little worm of fear sank itself into his belly and started gnawing at him. He found that his knees and his hands were trembling. More than a little.

He took a breath. Shard was watching. And even more importantly, Juragga was watching. Even that stupid droid was watching. And the last thing he wanted to do was give goldenballs there ammunition. Didn't need that kind of hassle.

He looked back over his shoulder at his companions.  Nodded to them in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. And he turned, put his shoulders back, and started toward the entrance to the mine.

For his own part, Juragga moved behind Haarmon as if he were subdued and defeated, and belonged there.  Meanwhile, he did his best to track the enemy with his peripheral vision.

Vekkis takes only a few moments to send the message - a seemingly random burst of static, which is actually precisely formatted.  The "random" pattern of the static exactly matches one that the fighter pilots have been told to listen out for...

Far above Alrirkr, hidden close to the small, shapeless moon which orbits the same gas giant planet as Alrirkr itself, engines flare briefly into life, and four Z-95s start the long, slow stealth descent towards their target.

Aboard Bold Gambit a timer starts its equally long, slow countdown... 

The snowtrooper and the protocol droid, accompanied by the odd trio of a human, a Wookiee, and a Ubese move across the open area towards the mine entrance.  Perhaps worryingly, the troopers at the entrance appear to have finished setting up the pair of E-Web heavy repeating blasters, and they seem to be pointed a little to close to the approaching group.

The strange group gets close to the doorway, and one of the troopers calls out, clearly addressing Haarmon, "Who are these, and what are they doing here?"

Rhijans paused, for an uncharacteristic sigh.  He wasn't used to racing an actual countdown...sure, he typically set a timetable for himself in anything that he did, and tried to stick to it, but the prospect of trying to pull all the various strings together on this one and get them tied off before chaos started raining from the skies overhead was just a little daunting.

Still, it had to be done...and letting himself dwell on the odds wouldn't make things go any smoother.  "Okay, clock is running.  Let's get to the warehouse, see if we can locate our cargo and the stuff the Ubese was looking for, and see about some way to get it here.  We probably can't get away with moving it now...pretty sure snowtroopers don't run cargo gear around here...but we need to identify what's there and what we can use.  And we've gotta do it fast."

He laid out the checklist in his mind.  Cargo ready.  Slaves freed.  Comm systems decommissioned so the Imperials couldn't call for reinforcements.  Any local emplacement weapons taken offline.  Cargo loaded.  Slaves loaded.  Exit procedures.  Rebel pilots blow the place apart.

It sounded so much less troubling when he just listed the objectives, and didn't worry about all the potential complications along the way...

They're close now - close enough to the troopers that the repeating blasters are less of a concern.  A false move, and at a longer range those voidawful blasters would burn them down.  Now...they only have to worry about a squad of troopers.

Shard isn't particularly sanguine about repeating her feat in the cafeteria.  For one thing, her hands have begun to shake from the cold.

The lead trooper calls out to the group, and she relaxes further.  Questions are normal.  Questions give Haarmon a chance to respond, and he did excellently with some of his retorts back in the cafeteria before the Bantha dung hit the recirculators.  Questions also give the group a chance to get closer still.

She just hopes Haarmon doesn't toss a quip into his answer.  It's not exactly Imperial com procedure.

Rhijans and the others prepare to leave the ship, checking that they have everything they need, and a clear idea of what they're going to do with everything.  Searching the warehouse should be the easy part.  That area of the facility is filled with troopers who are doing exactly that - a few extra probably won't be noticed.  The difficult part will be, of course, getting whatever they find out of there...

Out on the ice, approaching the entrance to the mine itself, the other group have suddenly become the centre of attention for the handful of troopers with the heavy weapons protecting the doorway.  More worrying, perhaps, are the much more numerous troopers who, while further away, might still be close enough to join in if trouble starts...

UY-3PO urges caution, speaking as quietly as possible, "Please try not to aggravate them.  This is probably not the best place to be if anybody starts a fight."  Privately he prays to the Maker that the Ubese will understand this.

Haarmon stops dead in his tracks in response to the trooper's question. The armour made any kind of accurate body language almost impossible. Which was probably for the best, all things considered. But he manages a sort of half-shrug.

"No clue. I'm just supposed to bring 'em over, bring 'em down, check 'em in, and leave. Personally, I think the administrators think they had something to do with the shipping system going all Alderaan around here today. But what do we care, am I right? Ask me no questions and I tell you no lies, you know what I'm sayin'?"

Haarmon bites his lip inside the helmet to shut himself up. He always talks too much when he's nervous. And most other times, too, for that matter.

As they entered the warehouse area, Rhijans pulled Jacobs and Lund aside for a moment.  "We've gotta take care of two things, here.  We have to locate the stuff we were sent in after, and the stuff for our new friend.  And, we need to locate whatever cargo conveyance they've got to move it to the docking bays.  No need to actually move it, yet, but we're not gonna have time once things get hot to be puzzling things out.  We need to be able to come back and know exactly what we need to do and where to go to do it."

As they stepped in the door, his gaze started sweeping the building, as best it could in the helmet.  His mind was analyzing everything it took in...the number of troopers here, the way cargo was organized, any markings that might help indicate what was in which sections, computer terminals, surveillance systems...

The fact that they were, supposedly, searching the space for a threatening individual that was trying to avoid capture made his scrutiny less obvious, as his progress into the space was slow.

As Haarmon talked to the trooper, Juragga did his best to sag and look defeated.  Inwardly, he was ready to spring; but he was also proud of Haarmon.  Keep it up, he thought.  You're doing great.

The troopers stand there, staring at Haarmon.  At least they look as if they are staring.  Their attention appears to be in his direction - that is where front of their helmets are pointing.  For all anybody knows though, most of them could be asleep in there, or talking to their control centre about the recent discovery of several naked troopers in the miners' break room...

Finally, after what feels like several hours but is in all probability a second or two, the trooper on duty replies, "You must be one of the new batch."  He walks out, past Haarmon, pausing to examine the presumed prisoners, before turning back to the imposter.  "In future remember that prisoner transfers are supposed to be done at times specified in the orders of the day.  You're thirty seven minutes late."

Turning away, he looks up, waving to a window some twenty metres up the side of the building, and with a loud screech the massive blast door starts to scrape open, revealing blackness inside.  "Sub-level 25.  That's where they're processing prisoners."


The warehouse stretches out before Mark, Rhijans and Vekkis, vast and lit with a cold, harsh light.  There are snowtroopers everywhere, searching for any sign of trouble.  There are also others here, wearing the work uniforms of the miners, they are hurrying about, comparing markings on shipping containers to datapads that they are carrying.  Sometimes the comparison results in nothing more than an angry scowl or a few curses, but other times it results in the mine worker using a hand held comm set to summon a CLL-8 load lifter droid to come and collect the container.

In most cases it takes several minutes for the droid to get there...


UY-3PO politely thanks the troopers as Haarmon directs his "prisoners" inside, and they find themselves in a large, dimly lit freight elevator.  A touch of the correct control stud, and the elevator starts to descend, dropping down towards sub-level 25...  The protocol droid, his receptors shining brightly in the gloom comments, "I have a bad feeling about this."

Haarmon was quiet on the elevator ride down. Quiet and still. At least to all external appearances. Inside his system was so ramped up he wanted to jump and dance and scream and talk and talk and talk and talk and talk. Between the buzzing in his head and the roiling combination of terror and relief in his stomach and the swirling of walking that close to the edge and walking away, it was taking all of his willpower to keep himself from throwing up inside his helmet.

But underneath all that was a small warm blooming thought. You did it, that thought said, Talked him down. Put one over on the man. And beneath that thought was the entirely unusual desire to find another Stormtrooper.

So he could do it again.

Rhijans cursed a little bit, to himself.  The crowd of people that was providing them an effective blanket of anonymity was also making it effectively impossible to research what they needed to know.  None of the troopers, apparently, were talking to the miners--if they started asking questions, they'd be immediately out of place and noticeable.  If they asked the wrong questions, it'd be even worse.

He gestured Lund and Jacobs closer.  As he spoke, he was mindful of the fact that they could potentially be overheard.  "We should move on.  They've got plenty of hands here, we're only going to wind up tripping over somebody.  We can come back later, if we need to."  He looked at Jacobs (as best he could), 'waiting' for 'the sergeant'.

Distraction, he thought.  If we can get the troopers out of here, maybe we can come back and get one of those datapads...and the comm units...  He ran through the layout of the mine compound in his head again.  The comm center...or power for the emplacement weapons.  One or the other would be a good crisis-inducing target.  Maybe they could capture an emplacement and use it to chew up the compound a little bit before they blew the power...

As they moved on, Juragga let out a low warble to Haarmon.  "RrrraaaaWWWwwwr."

Great job kid!  ...Don't get cocky.

"Good job," Shard mutters as they slip into the mine entrance.  Her heart almost stopped - twice - when the troopers stood staring in silence; Haarmon's com-ettiquette needs some work.  But they're past them, 'safe and sound', and descending into the darkness of an Imperial Mine.

Her lips thin as bad memories bubble up.  This time, though, she's not alone, with a wookie, a surprisingly competent rookie, and a droid for company.  It helps a surprising amount.

"Prisoner processing.  They'll have records."  She allows herself a twitch of a smile that would look like a grimace on any cameras.  "We're headed in the right direction.  Just keep it simple, Haarmon - so far, so good."

Turning, she squints at the shining droid.  "Why does someone always say that?  It never helps."  With a sigh, Shard relents.  "Though you've been an enormous help so far yourself, Youwhy."

Mark Jacobs looks at Rhijans for a moment, then nods his head.  "Let's move on to the next section.  Keep an eye open, the target could be anywhere."

There.  That sounded nice and official, just in case.

His biggest concern though is not missing the target.  It's still being on the ground when the fighters start their attack run.  Second only to that is the idea of still being in a trooper suit if a bunch of Wookiees decide to go on the rampage, because he doubts he'll have time to explain who he is before he loses vital body parts.

The elevator descends into the gloom of the mine, and for those not in insulated and temperature regulated armour the cold becomes almost bearable.  The door slides open, and a cool mist billows into the car.  The display indicates that they are at SL-25, and the car doesn't seem to be showing any tendency to descend further.

Outside the door, a wide tunnel with water trickling down the walls and dripping from the ceiling, leads directly away from the elevator.  It's in almost complete darkness, lit only by small dim glowglobes every hundred metres or so, and by what faint light spills from the elevator.  The only other source of light is at the far end, which a quick count of the glowglobes would reveal to be perhaps a kilometer away, where a set of blast doors stand open, allowing illumination to seep out from beyond.

The dim light makes the hulking shapes of mining equipment standing in the tunnel look eerie and menacing.  There is nobody in the tunnel, but there do seem to be shapes moving about at the far end.  Difficult to see in the gloom and the mist...


The new snowtroopers move through the warehouse.  The structure is vast, and there are a lot of items to check and little time to do it in.  For all any of them know, they could have walked straight past the cargo they're looking for.  They enter the second section and...

... suddenly it seems that luck, or maybe the Force, is with them after all.

Twenty or thirty metres to their left as they pass through the door is something which doesn't look like it belongs here.  It looks almost like a safe, but large enough to hold an AT-AT.  Well, perhaps not quite that large, but large all the same.

The structure looks like a blockhouse, complete with closed blast door.  And it's guarded.  There are nine troopers stationed outside...

Rhijans ran a glance around the panorama.  Maybe, just maybe...one of the emplacement guns he was thinking about commandeering would be able to fire on this position.  He'd rather hit it with one or two blasts and narrow down the number of guards than try and fight his way in at some point.  The fact that the troopers were here, guarding this, when everyone else seemed to be out searching for the Ubese was a good indicator that these guys would not be running off to answer alarms when the comm center went up.

There had to be a way to get rid of them, though...and if it was something that would actually blow through the front doors, so much the better.  He hadn't exactly planned on advanced demolitions when he put together his little grab bag of surprises, and even if he knew how to blow the door...or short out the security system and get in, for that matter...as long as there were other troopers on duty, he wouldn't get a chance to do much along those lines.

Adapt the plan...adapt the plan...  The mantra ran in the back of his mind.  It was pretty easy, as the plan itself seemed to be all about adapting to the conditions as they discovered them.  He kept walking, as he looked...he didn't want to become conspicuous as the only non-guarding trooper standing still out there.

"Lots more walking ahead," Shard mutters.  "At least it'll warm us up...bet you're not sad about putting on that armor now, Haarmon."  She shivers beneath her bulky cold-weather clothing.  Her blood runs thinner now than it did twenty years ago, and the chill has a bite.  "Bottom level," she continues, stepping out from the elevator car for a look around.

Gloomy.

"Our destination?" she inquires of Youwhy, pointing down toward the heavy blast doors and the silhouetted beings.  The aging rebel does a quick recap in her head.  "It's almost a straight-line path from the mine to the landing fields...except for this."  Turning, she points at the elevator.  "We've got a bit of a bottleneck for getting everyone out of here."

Pausing, she takes a closer look at Juragga.  She has her clothing, Haarmon has his armor, but...fur only went so far, especially fur on a jungle native.  "You doing okay in this, Juragga?"

Haarmon was indeed pleased to be wearing the armour. However, he wasn't pleased to see Shard shivering like she was (and not just from the cold either, she was deeply, deeply bother by something in all this) and had a passing thought to hand the armour over to her.

Just get it done, he told himself, and get them all out alive. That's the best thing you can do for them.

"Hey Shiny-balls," he said to the droid, "There's no way they ran a whole mine out of this one elevator, is there? There's got to be something else."

Before waiting for the droid's reply, he starts patting his armour, looking for his portable computer terminal. "Void-damn it!" he spat, "I left my computer with my clothes back up in the common room. Stupid, stupid, stupid."

He starts looking around for a terminal.