Juragga, looking in the hatch of the land crawler, spotted Haarmon in stormtrooper armor holding a blaster on a technician.  Or... something.  Letting out a low howl, the Wookiee made for the hatch, conscious of the wounded Urbese slung to his back.

"Well," Shard breathes, "it's better than I thought it could be."  Haarmon seems to have found a prisoner, one potentially amenable to talking, unlike stormtroopers.  Sadly, if he was pulling some kind of scam on them (unlikely, given the blaster, but one never knows), they've just busted it.

"Let's go see what's what."

Haarmon looks at his two compatriots. Back to the technician. He shrugs. "Oh well. Jig's up." He takes off his helmet. And throws it to the floor. Breathes a sigh of relief.

"Hot in that blasted thing," he said to no one in particular, and then to the techie, "So, yeah, I'm not a Stormtrooper. There is no saboteur. And if there is, it's one of us. So, you want back in the locker or you want to help me with these comms?"

"I'll go back in the locker, thanks."  The tech steps towards the still open door and starts to squeeze himself into the confined space.  "The less I look like I cooperated with you the less likely I am to be interrogated.  And the less I know about... nnnngh... what you're doing, the less I'll be able to say if... mmmmph... they question me."

His voice drops to a stage whisper, "I mean, if the stinking Imperials even suspect that I told you that the passwords and security codes for the terminals in here are hidden in that first aid cabinet over there, I'd be in big trouble.  So I probably shouldn't do that."

"Okay.  You can close the door now.  I think I'm as in as I'm going to get."

There is an explosion behind Rhijans.  A disappointingly small one.

A voice calls out, "You there!  Stay where... "  If the trooper says more, it is drowned out by a rising whine.  Which is, in turn, drowned out by a larger blast.  Something hits Rhijans just below his right shoulder blade, but his borrowed armour deflects the impact.

A quick look back reveals a large crater, with several small fires burning in it, and no sign of the guards.  The blast doors have survived intact, save for some scorching, but the nearer part of the building looks much the worse for wear...

Well, that wasn't exactly what I had in mind...but it does the job.  His own experience (admittedly limited as it was) had taught him that results counted for far more than intentions...the fact that the guards were no longer a threat was of far more importance than the fact that the initial blast hadn't been a spectacular success.

He made his way over to the damaged section of the building, investigating to see if there was some way to bypass the blast doors or otherwise get inside the vehicle bay.  If he was lucky, there was still something heavily armed in here that could help with the confrontation at the warehouse...or, alternately, there would be something that could be used to move whatever cargo they captured to the ship.  Or, at least, get all the (hopefully) rescued slaves from the mine entrance across the snow quickly to the spaceport.

There might even be a few more things in here to blow up and help cover the tracks of their incursion...although once the Headhunters started dropping ordnance, he didn't expect that would be much of a problem.  Vehicle, first...if a convenient source of chaos presents itself, then we can exploit that as we go, but let's not go looking for trouble.

While he believed deeply in making your own luck, he also believed that one could only go so far on luck...and he was feeling pretty close to that limit.

Shard pokes her head in the door just as Haarmon's oddly cooperative prisoner finishes his list of things he won't talk about.  She glances around the small cabin, looking for blaster-scar or other signs of trouble, then sniffs the air.  No ozone.  Nothing.

Seems like Disaster Averted to her.

Noting his lack of helmet and (correctly) deducing that the jig was up, Shard coughs.  "Haarmon?" she queries.  "Everything okay in here?"

Haarmon, his attention focused on the techie, hold out one hand behind him in a hold on one second sort of gesture. He leaned in toward the man. "I can dig that. Listen. You ever want out. Like, out, yeah? Search the nets for Aludium Q-38 Planetary Holdings. Ask about rental opportunities on Algernon IV. I'll get back."

Not waiting for an answer, he closed the door, latched it. Stood up. Turned around. He was already grinning as he opened the first aid cabinet and started rummaging around. "Rags! Shard! Come on in! Turns out this little womp-rat ain't a-running noplace. But lookit here! I got me a pipeline into their whole system. Gimme ten minutes and I'll have everything from the porta-potty flushing schedule to the Commandants taste in holo-porn!"

And, true to form, the moment he found the security codes he went over to the terminal and got to work.

Juragga warbled, shook his head, and ducked inside, bringing the Urbese with him.

This would only end in tears.

There is a large fissure in the wall next to the blast door.  Rhijans is able to push through it with minimal difficulty and get a good look around the vehicle bay.  The place looks to be mostly deserted.

There are some nervous looking techs in mine coveralls gathered around a Ubrikkian ore hauler on the far side of the bay.  Their attention seems to be focussed on some sort of argument at the moment, with occasional glances at the blast door.

There are several vehicles in the bay; a second Ubrikkian hauler,  three, no, four cargo skiffs, two more crawlers, and some sort of small shuttle.  The Ubrikkian and the crawlers look as if they have the best capacity, and the crawlers are completely enclosed, but on of the skiffs is armed with a large, industrial cutting laser, fitted to a swivel mount at the rear...

In a matter of moments Haarmon is in the system, looking at a menu with several options.

Work rosters
Work orders
Security
Safety notices
Incomplete shipments
Complete shipments
Shipping schedules
Mine schematics
Power distribution...

The list is quite extensive.  Watched by Shard and Juragga, who occasionally glance at the door to make sure they're not about to be discovered, Haarmon works his way down the menu, noting a few items for further inspection and discarding others.

Outside the former transport, UY-3PO seems to be talking to the slaves in their various languages...

Rhijans walked over to the blast doors, not bothering to try and be subtle or unobtrusive.  Engaged in their argument, there was half a chance the techs wouldn't even notice him until he was already there...but he wasn't waiting.

"We're under attack!" he barked out.  "Comm center's been hit, but I was given orders to get anything that isn't absolutely vital out of here.  There's an infiltrator, possibly several...and all of these vehicles together make a great target.  We need to get them outside and spread out so they can't all be blown up in one shot."

If he was lucky, the techs would either panic and run at the news, or they'd just fall into line and start doing as they were told.  That was the thing about the Imperial operating mentality...someone was always giving orders, so most were conditioned to follow them, as long as they made some sense.

But first off, he needed to get the blast doors open so he could get a vehicle out.  That mining laser was looking like a likely prospect, if they needed to get into the bunker at the warehouse...

As it turns out, Rhijans is right.  Twice.  Mostly.  A few of the techs start towards the blast doors, hit the release to open them up, then keep running, out across the compound.  The rest start selecting vehicles, starting with the ones closest to the door and activate their motors.

One of them, and only one, stands looking at him.  The man, big and burly, almost as tall as a Wookiee folds his arms across his chest and growls, "And you are?"

"All the vehicles in this shop, and the building too, for that matter, belong to Mur-Emusa Mining.  They're not Imperial property.  That means we're responsible for them, not you.  I'm not going to move one of them until I know who's telling me to do it."

"If anything happens to one of them, the company is going to want to know who, exactly, asked for them to be put outside."

"Keep looking, Haarmon," Shard hisses.  "You know what we're after."  Nergon.  Transport for such.  Getting out of here.  Sensiive information?  That would be nice, but comes in a distant 'last'.  "Keep an eye on him, Juragga," she whispers, tapping the wookie's arm.  "I'm going to make sure nothing crazy happens outside."

She's a better choice to be out there with the slaves, not attracting quite as much attention as her big partner.

...Partners, Shard thinks.  Rhijans.  Haarmon.  Juragga.  Partners - it has been a long time, but they're coming together, to be sure.  Even me, she thinks with some amusement.

Slipping out, she moves up to where the former slaves wait.  "Anything amiss?"

Rhijans grinned wolfishly inside the mask.  A challenge to authority...this he could handle in something more his own style.

One hand dropped to rest on the grip of the heavy blaster pistol he wore.  "My designation is TK-421.  The order comes from the garrison commandant, so it doesn't matter who I am.  If saboteurs get in here and blow one of them up, with them all packed together like this, the whole garage will be a smoking crater.  You want to lose them all in one shot?  Or just risk a few at a time?"  His body language altered slightly, indicating his willingness to resolve the dispute in 'standard Imperial fashion' if pushed to it.

Juragga warbled a reply, nodding.  "Will we be in this thing long?" he asked.  If so, he'd unlimber the Urbese and settle him down.

With a barked "Be careful," he let Shard go, then turned so that Haarmon was at his flank.  Readying his bowcaster, he covered the doorway.

Haarmon nodded as Shard left the transport. He turned back toward the screen and the leering expression his face normally wore vanished into a look of pure, focused, concentration.

His fingers started flying across the keys.

The miner seems to consider his options, staring Rhijans directly in the dark tinted optic lenses.  Then he smiles and says cheerfully, "That's all right then.  Now I know what to put in the reports my supervisor is going to insist need filing."  he turns around and yells to the other workers who are still about, "Get a move on then!  What are you waiting for?  Your next shift?"

Then he climbs aboard the armed skiff and starts it up.  The vehicle rises a meter off the floor and drifts towards the exit.

Around Rhijans the other vehicles start to move slowly towards the now-fully-open blast door, and out into the compound, where they start to scatter...

Outside the disabled crawler, UY-3PO turns stiffly to face Shard, "No, nothing is amiss.  I was simply ensuring that all of them understand what is happening.  Not everybody speaks Basic, so it seemed prudent to ensure that there are no misunderstandings.  As the Stochok so clearly demonstrated, some of them have perfectly despicable customs and beliefs."  Had his face been capable of expression, it's clear from his tone that the droid would be frowning in disgust.

Inside, Haarmon is working at the terminal, watched over by Juragga.  He quickly rummages through the desk and finds a datapad, which he sets down on the desk, next to his left hand.  Images flicker rapidly across the screen - lists of data, schematics, graphs and charts...  And many of them are repeated on the datapad...

Inside the helmet, Rhijans let out his breath slowly in a sigh of relief.  While he was perfectly willing to shoot the man to emphasize the point, there was also the chance that doing so would have touched off a potential mutiny, and left him shooting at ALL the mining crew.  And his issue here wasn't with them...they were under the Empire's thumb, too, though treated better than most.  But he held no illusions about what the Imperial response would be if the miners decided they didn't like the Imperial administration of their mine.

He decided he'd better follow up with the garage chief, and walked over to the man.  "Once you're cleared out in here, I'd strongly advise closing up the blast doors and hunkering down until you get the all-clear.  With a covert saboteur running around, if you're outside, there's no knowing who might start shooting at you.  We haven't received a general shoot-on-sight order, but it's not outside protocols for this situation.  You stay down, it will make things easier for us to track down our saboteur."  And, hopefully, keep you from getting atomized by a Headhunter on a strafing run... he added, to himself.  He hoped he'd phrased things with enough raw practicality that the mechanics would think he was trying to simplify the process of finding an infiltrator...it would be out of character for an Imperial trooper to express concern over the welfare of auxiliary personnel, unless specifically ordered to keep them alive and healthy.

That message delivered, he set himself up as though he was taking up a sentry position at the door...once the vehicles were out and the men were back in, he'd step out as they closed up behind him.

"Despicable, yeah," Shard mutters.  She glances around the group, then around the mine.  "Funny how that's going around right now."  She tries a grin at the droid. "Good job, though.  Thanks, You-Why."

Moving to where the former slaves congregate, she waves her hand in a gathering motion.  "All right.  Everyone with blasters, in the middle of the group.  I need those weapons hidden.  Everyone else, try to look tired.  If anything goes wrong, wait for my signal before starting something."  The older woman cocks an eyebrow at the protocol droid. "Please translate, You-Why."

Haarmon logs off with a flurry of tap-tap-tapping, his fingers flying across the keys. He checks the transfer to his datapad and stands up from the terminal. Smiles at Juragga. "Got it all right here, Rags," says, indicating the hand-held unit. "Might as well be a GPS. Let's go bust some Imperial chops, huh?"
This message was last edited by the player at 17:33, Mon 27 Feb 2012.

Juragga favored his friend with a savage, fang-toothed grin and chuffed his agreement.  This might just work out after all.

He re-slung the Urbese and made sure the injured pilot was stable in the webbing before turning to follow Haarmon.

UY-3PO starts translating, explaining the plan to the former slaves.  A few of them ask questions, or have their own suggestions, which are passed on to Shard for answers and/or appraisal, and the droid passes those on to the assorted aliens.  Within about ten minutes, the slaves are all taking up the required formation and getting ready to move out.

Haarmon is also finished, and emerges from the disabled crawler, closely followed by Juragga... 

Rhijans watches as the vehicles start moving out into the compound.  The armed skiff is the first out, heading out to the far side of the area.  The driver comes back to grab another vehicle as the area starts to fill up faster than a brand new parking lot on Corruscant.  Most of the drivers come back to move extra vehicles, but a few simply disappear, parking up and then walking straight out the gate in search of safety.

Not that there's much to be found outside the gate.

Another explosion rips a fresh hole in the roof of the warehouse, and thick plumes of smoke billow into the air from the burning structure.  Still, at least the building will be clearly marked for the Z-95s when they get here...

Haarmon kind of sauntered over to where Shard was directing the slaves. As they formed themselves into some semblance of a unified front, he showed her what he'd dug up off the network.

"So, lookit," he said, "We can ride this belt over there right up to where they process the stuff. Pull a snatch and grab, blow everything up, home in time for That Darn Rancor. But," he tapped at the screen, shifting the structural schematic around, "We can go back up the elevator we came on, across the compound, and across to the plant. Longer. Maybe safer. But check it, it brings us right to the warehouse where they've got the rest of it stored..." another few swipes, "Here. In this lock box at the top."

He looked up at her, made sure she was following along. Paused. "And I can't find any other slaves anywhere else. This might just be the lot." He nodded. He'd come to a couple of conclusions about this woman and her intense desire to change the mission plan to include slave-rescue. And he didn't think it had anything to do any of them being scantily-clad. Or busty.

The pause went on maybe a half-second too long. Haarmon blushed. Looked back down to the datapad. "Also, someone up there is tearing the place up, but good. So we might just be able to make good in the confusion."

"Thanks again, You-Why."  Finished arranging the former slaves, Shard turns on her heel to face the dynamic duo as they mosey up.  She shifts around for a direct look at the datapad, eyebrows rising as Haarmon leaps into his plan.  This kid...is good.

She's really going to have to start remembering not to call him that.

He gives her a moment to collect her thoughts, to show comprehension.  Shard takes it with a short nod, one side of her mouth quirkly slightly.  "So far, so good..."  It wouldn't be easy for the former slaves, but the digression to the Nergon didn't seem too dangerous.  Another pause follows and she glances up just in time to catch his heated face and abrupt shift away.

Shard takes a brief moment to look down at herself.  Nope, nothing showing.  Shelve it for now, though it's worth consideration later.  Maybe the kid...HAARMON...has something for one of the escapees.  Can't be me, all done up in this kit.

"Probably Rhijans and Jacobs, bless their violent little hearts," she mutters.  A quip, nothing more; Rhijans is a pro, and if he figures it's time for fireworks, he's probably correct.  "Fantastic job, Haarmon.  Seriously, great.  I was worried about how we'd pull this, but you've laid down a path.  Let's go."

She glances up at their companion.  "You set, Juragga?  If so, we should get these people moving."

People.  Not slaves, not ever.

Grinning ear to ear, Juragga warbled a Wookiee "You bet!" and readied his bowcaster underneath the poncho he wore.  He knew the kid was good.  Given time, and maturity, he'd become one of the best.  Juragga knew well his strengths... and his weak spots.

For now, they were riding the wave.  Let's go with it.

Rescuing the slaves was important.  But that didn't mean they had to blow off the main mission.

As the last of the vehicles cleared out, Rhijans stepped to the other side of the blast doors.  "As soon as they get back in here...if they're coming back...you seal this up.  This guy already managed to get into the comm center and back out again, I don't want to have to worry about him blowing this up while my back's to it."

He went over and busied himself with trying to organize the twisted wreckage that was left from the exploded E-webs into some kind of defensible position...using all the activity to keep his eyes moving around the compound.  He mentally marked the location of the mining skiff with the laser, and tracked the progress of the various drivers as they settled their vehicles and made their way back to the garage or vacated the compound altogether.

Once the blast doors closed, he was off again.  Part of him quirked a crooked smile inside the helmet at the thought that he was, actually, doing exactly what he'd been play-acting at for the benefit of the mechanics--he was making sure the saboteur stayed away from the garage.  Once he got to the skiff, he climbed in and powered it up.  He'd done enough damage here, it was time to go help recover the cargo they came after in the first place, before the pilots got here and started taking pot-shots at him as he drove across the mining complex.