Juragga continued his primary mission - to find food, and maybe even beer.  He glanced at the Jedi and chuffed, though, putting a keen eye towards what he was seeing inside the ship and trying to assess her combat ability - if any.

"GuuuRAAAhhhhRRR," he commented.  There's a lot of power conduits running up.  If there's another deck up there, it would make sense for weapons to draw that much.  But I don't think they want us up there.

Having answered her question, he turned his focus back to the issue at hand.

Food.

And beer.

"Interesting." Shard ponders the commentary and what she, herself, has seen.  "This place would be hell during boarding.  For us.  No choke points.  The only thing it DOES have is walkways for multiple angles, but Imperials will deal with that pretty quickly, even if it just means putting a hole in the main compartment."

She sighs.  "Not the point, of course - unless it's pirates, anything boarding us will have us seriously outgunned."

She glances around the galley.  "So where's the cursed caf?"  That's the opening bell on her attempts to locate it; Shard starts poking through the storage lockers, looking for some kind of insta-brew.

This is about the time she caves and has her first in-mission drink; the caf might help her get past that issue.

"I am, naturally, fluent in Huttese, along with approximately four million other forms of communication, utilising sound, sign language, writing, and electromagnetic pulses, among other techniques."  The droid sounds more than a little testy, as it answer's Rhijans' question.  "Would you like me to list them for you so that you can assess my suitability for this mission?"

"I take it from your question that the loose end will involve my speaking with one of those loathsome Hutts.  Typical... nobody ever asks the droid being sent into the front line if he wants to volunteer."

In the galley, there is plenty of food, mostly of the pre-packaged, easy to prepare variety.  Just the sort of thing the busy crew of a cargo transport need - maximum nourishment in minimum time.  If nourishment is the right word.

There is also an industrial sized can of dried caf - the rich smelling powder seeming to grab at Shard's nose and beat her head against the bulkhead as she pops the lid open to examine the contents.  It doesn't have the aroma of the absolute best blends, but it seems reasonable, and there is something like twenty kilos of the powder still in the container.

Should last a couple of days...
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:01, Thu 13 Mar 2014.

Rhijans was unfazed by the droid's sarcasm.  "I don't recall any of us actually being asked if we wanted this assignment, to be honest, but it doesn't matter much, all of us wanted to do something to make up for that loose end."  Personally, he was hoping for some way to make the Ubese regret having taken the slaves to Oomba more than he was hoping to free the slaves...but he did have enough empathy to agree that it really would be a cheap blow to have been freed from the Empire and then have one of your 'rescuers' turn around and sell you back into slavery to someone else...it was debatable whether the Hutts treated their slaves much better than the Empire did.

"And, no, I don't need an encyclopedic listing of your many talents.  I don't know everything Shard can do, don't know everything Haarmon can do...I don't even know how to ask Juragga what he can do--or, rather, can't understand him if he answered the question.  When the need comes up, we figure it out, and if nobody has the skills we need, then we figure something out.  Right now, you've got the skills we think we need...and if that doesn't work, then we'll figure it out."  UY's martyr complex wasn't lost on Rhijans...he just chose to ignore it.

"Urgh."

Head swimming, Shard immediately sets up for a cup of the powdered drink. "Thank whatever beings watch over this sad excuse for a galaxy," she grumbles, temper short in her desperation.  Heating water...not easy for her.  She's a worse cook than she is a pilot.  Eventually she gets it settled out, and begins pouring a nice, large mug of the thick brew.

It might keep her hands from shaking.  It might make make them shake more, but for a different reason.  She doesn't care which.

"We're going to have to be careful on this mission, Juragga," she mutters.  "Rhijans is a pro; that means he has ice water in his veins -" not such a bad thing "-but it also means he's dead right.  We get emotional on this, and we're all in the soup." The woman takes a big sip of the steaming liquid and promptly burns her tongue. "Ack!  Void!  Curseitall!"  After a moment of stamping around in a circle, she takes another sip for a second burn.

"That...that doesn't mean we just sit and watch while whatever happens, happens," she coughs out when she can.  "Just that we have to be smart."

"Yes, Sir!" You-Why snaps in response to Rhijans,  while not quite saluting.  "You can rely on me, as always.  I shall be punctilious in my attention to detail and protocol while translating your negotiations with the repugnant Hutt.  I shall even endeavour to fake enjoyment while doing so."

Juragga hoots his understanding of Shard's assessment.  "Hrraaaaarrrrruuurh."  Everybody be cool...  His attention goes back to the chill cabinet, and he hauls outa plastic container of something that doesn't burn his nose off when he sniffs at it.  Good enough...
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:02, Thu 13 Mar 2014.

Rhijans actually grinned for a moment at the droid, before his face dropped back into a neutral expression with only his eyes betraying his amusement.  "Actually, that's just about as enthusiastic as I'd like you to be...sarcasm and all.  We don't want Oomba thinking we're softies looking to bail the slaves out...he'll bump his prices on us or even just try and take our creds without negotiating.  If you can help sell him on the notion that we're not very pleasant to work with, I think it'll lend a deeper sense of plausibility to the plan we've got in mind."

He gave the droid a sly smile and added, "I'm sure that part won't be much of a stretch for you."

Juragga rumbled a low warble in his chest as Shard spoke, looking down at her with his bright teal eyes.  He understood what she was saying.  He didn't like it, but he understood.

"RuHHHHr," he added.  One can only do, what one can do.

The elevator rises from the lower level, and the crew step off.  With barely a glance at Juragga and Shard, they make their way through the hatch into the sealed off stern section of the ship.  The hatch closes behind them, and there is the sound of locking bolts driving home with enough mechanical determination that, even in the temporary passenger accommodation, Rhijans can hear the noise.

Minutes later, Karja's voice crackles from a decrepit speaker system and echoes in the vast empty space of the hold.  "This is Karja.  We'll be lifting in a couple of minutes.  I'd suggest you find somewhere to sit in case we hit turbulence on the way up."

You-Why looks around frantically, clearly remembering that he'd previously fallen aboard a ship that had started to move.  "There is nowhere to sit.  Only the floor, and I am not designed to be that flexible."  In the end he settles for gripping the edge of a workbench.

Something is happening.  There a rapid series of loud metallic bangs, and the lights all dim momentarilly, then the suspended walkways start to vibrate, clattering and clanging at increasing volume.  A sudden lurch, and the deck cants to one side, even as the the passengers sense that the whole ship is starting to rise, turn, and accelerate...

Above the forward end of the hold, Haarmon continues to work at the terminal, almost as if nothing were happening...
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:04, Thu 13 Mar 2014.

Shard watches the crew until they're all gone, then glances at Juragga.  "Friendly bunch," the older woman remarks.  "I guess the captain has them running pretty close to the line.  Maybe it's mutiny we have to worry about on this one...if that's the case, I figure you'll keep things calm."

She's been on ships that have mutinied.  Oddly enough - or not - it has never happened when a Wookie supported the captain.  Nobody wants to be trapped in a confined space with no blasters against two and a half meters of fanged muscle.

Takeoff time.

Shard plops herself down in a seat, her hands automatically searching through her robes for smooth metal.  Instead of her flask, all she finds is the murder stick.  With a grunt of disgust, the woman slips the weapon away, her hands rising to rub her forehead.  "Could be a little grumpy on this one, Juragga."  Well, grumpy-er.  "I've been...I'm chopping off the booze.  Things are getting too important.  Gotta keep my head together."  She offers the Wookie a strained smile. "Give me a smack - gently - if I get too bad."

It was impossible to tell if he did it out of some kind of display of kinship with the droid, or if it was just being too stubborn to sit down on the floor, but Rhijans grabbed on to the workbench, as well, and braced himself for a rough launch.  The sound of the hatches latching down gave him a brief ominous flicker of suspicion...either the crew compartment was extra fortified to defend against boarding traffic, like pirates--or the ship was some kind of converted prison transport.

And the latter option was a little unsettling, considering which section of the ship they were stuck in at this point.  He reminded himself that Karja was apparently a close contact of the Colonel's...and should theoretically be safe.  Theoretically...

Juragga braced himself with a cable-like arm and steadied as the ship canted and then flew up.  He regarded Shard kindly, and nodded.  "UUuuuurrrHHH," he commented.  What are friends for?

The truth was, he'd been foraging for some booze just minutes ago.  Guess it was lucky he didn't find any.  He'd have felt odd drinking in front of Shard if she was trying to abstain.

And maybe that was for the best.  He'd been drinking away his own sorrows plenty, of late...

The rattling and hammering of the walkways doesn't last long, and fades away as the ship rises through the upper levels of the atmosphere, then drops to a low-pitched rumble as they pass into the void of space.  And with the diminished volume, the shuddering, bucking  and juddering of the ship also ends.

You-Why regards Rhijans, and his entirely rigid face still somehow manages to convey shock and terror.  The words, when they coe are almost superfluous.  "That was awful.  I can only hope that this vessel is capable of landing when we reach our destination.  I fear that the Hutt might be the least of our worries."

Juragga and Shard are in the suddenly quiet gallery, able to hear themselves think again...

Rhijans quirked a brief version of a dry grin.  "Oh...I'm sure we'll land.  What condition we'll be in when the engines power down is open for debate..."  A less-reserved individual would probably have laughed at that point, Rhijans just gave an amused sniff.

"And I've had worse launches.  Of course, I've had better launches, too.  But neither of us got bounced off a bulkhead...so I suppose we should be grateful for small favors, huh?"  His tone and manner suggested that, even though he didn't share the droid's terror over the launch, he understood it.

"And this was the day I decided to cut down on drinking," Shard moans, gripping her head. "Might as well have just kept going - headache would have been the same." Well, there might be some other issues...but she doesn't bother considering them.

Another heavy gulp of the coffee follows, this one without expletives.

"Ship kind of rattles," she mutters. "But don't tell the captain."

Haarmon finishes his net-trawling and  makes his way back to the group. If the take-off bothered him at all, he made no sign. He did, however, brighten up at the sight (and smell) of the freshly-brewed caf.

"Thank the Maker," he said, and took a couple of swallows. "Yeah. Strong enough to form a provisional government. Just the way I like it."

He looks around. "Why do you all look like I smashed your favoruite Rancor with a big iron door? I can see Rags doesn't have a big roasted chicken-leg OR a can of whiskey, so I can see why he's uptight. But everyone okay?"

He was kidding. Mostly.

Time passes, as it has done since the beginning of time, and there is a sudden lurch and a sensation of acceleration as the Gundark's Dream makes the jump to hyperspace...

And then, for the passengers, unfortunate enough to be locked in the cargo hold of a ship that was never intended to carry passengers, there is not much to do.  Occasionally they hear the hatch from the aft section open, and two of the crew step through to get something to eat or drink from the galley.  Always they seal the hatch before either steps away from it, and always one of them is left to guard it while the other works in the galley.

And always, if anybody speaks to them, they seem happy enough... just not very talkative.

Still, in the hours that pass, a few titbits of information are gathered... some of them from Haarmon's efforts at the keyboard.

The ship is not, apparently, quite what she seems.  For one thing, she's heavily armed and shielded, and the poor condition of her outside is a fraud - a layer of scrap metal has been welded to the perfectly sound hull to make her look like a decrepit heap of junk.  It seems that Karja has owned her for years, and has made a lot of modifications to the original vessel in that time.

Finally, after several hours in hyperspace, two of the crew come through from the aft section, and Karja is with them.  She doesn't stop at the galley though.  Instead she continues on to the workshop where the passengers have their temporary quarters.

"Is everything well?" she asks, looking around...

Rhijans always had problems with forced inactivity.  He forced himself to do something...ANYTHING...during the time in hyperspace...field-stripping and cleaning his blaster, a slow walk-through of the cargo hold and close examination of the ship and what was visible of the cargo, even an inventory of the workshop.  By the time Karja checked in with them, he was antsy...but still capable of civil conversation.

"Well enough," he replied, managing to keep most of the testy edge off his voice.  "How are things in the crew section of the ship?"

He couldn't quite keep all the sarcasm out of that question, but he toned it down enough that those who knew him would recognize it and those who didn't probably couldn't be sure if he was being sarcastic or not.

Haarmon wasn't always real good at ferreting out other people's motivations. He talked a decent game, but the intricacies of the human(oid) mind were frequently just beyond him.

He did, however, have a keen sarcasm detector.

And so he was not quite unable to cover a snorty chuckle.

Juragga let out a low, plaintive yodel.  He was not fond of being cooped up.  At least in an Alliance ship, he usually had something to do.  Now, he felt like more of a prisoner.

And he was starting to get antsy.

Haarmon has been good enough to ask about them; this, sadly, has forced Shard to lie.  She doesn't want to get into her drinking issues with the young man; bad enough he has to put up with her occasional foul moods.  So the older woman ends up reassuring him that it's just the lift-off, and leaves it at that.

It's interesting to discover that the ship is, indeed, a bit of a Q-Ship - a heavily armed and armored craft beneath the crude facade.  That explains the sound of the take-off, at least.  It would be the 'outer' hull.

But tension in the room continues to rise as Rhijans acts like a cooped-up Sandperson.  It makes Shard testy, and she keeps to her side of the room aa he methodically cleans his weapon.  Haarmon, unsurprisingly, finds his irritable reply to the captain amusing.  Juragga, in contrast, seems to agree with Rhijans.

For once, Shard just wants some quiet to meditate.  At least it would pass the cursed trip by quickly.  Sadly, this seems out of her reach.

"We're managing," she interjects after Rhijan's reply. "Just...nothing to do, and a bit of a task ahead.  So we're starting to feel a little like caged birds, I think." 

"Yeah, sorry about the lack of entertainment." Karja says, almost managing to sound apologetic, "I can't remember the last time we carried living, flesh and blood passengers.  Droids sometimes, usually deactivated, to keep them out of mischief.  Had an astromech droid aboard, just after I got this old bucket...  Turned out the owner had messed with its programming.  It got to a dataport and tried to hijack the ship.  She dropped out of hyperspace close to a stealthed pirate vessel."

"Guess it made me a bit paranoid, and that's why there's a heavily armoured hatch back there, and my crew and all the controls are on the other side of it."

Rhijan's question about conditions in the aft section brings a shrug, and the fleeting hint of a scowl, "Cramped, which is why the galley is out here, noisy and busy."

"Anyway... what I really came out here for was to let you know that we're right on schedule.  Not expecting any trouble getting you to Carodol on time."

He offers a weak smile at Shard. He was glad she answered, and was relieved at her answer (it beat the Void out of We decided to toss you out the airlock Haarmon and just didn't know how to tell you, for example).

But there was too much tension in the room to take any solace at it.

Then Karja provided some much-needed distraction. "Good deal," Haarmon mutters, "Don't want to be late for our own funeral."

He gave Juragga a reassuring shoulder punch. "Be out and about in no time, Rags. Lotsa heads to bash. Imps to tear limb from limb. Gomoreans to terrorize. Be like a spa day, you know?"

Rhijans almost grinned.  "Well...given what we're going to Carodel for, let's hope there's not much in the way of Imperials to tear limb from limb."  He let the comment about 'our own funerals' go by without comment, though.  While there was every chance it was true, he didn't feel any need to tempt fate by making further commentary on it.

"Mmmrrrrmmmph," Juragga replied, an unconvincing attempt at agreement to Haarmon.