Two more ships take off in quick succession, followed by the base's compliment of Z-95s.  The freighters bear the unmistakable superstructure frames, designed for transporting Headhunters.  They will rendezvous in orbit, and make the jump to Orakanin.

All around the hangar, transport ships  are starting their engines and preparing to move out.  Some are going on the mission, others will be evacuating Defiance Base...  So far, at least, it seems fairly orderly.  That, of course, might change if the Imperials show up and start attacking the base.

Haarmon reappears across the room, moving at something between a fast walk and a trot...

Juragga moved to greet Haarmon.  This deal sucked, but the sooner they got started, the better.

Haarmon continues to faster-than-fast walk over to the group. He had been running, but his legs felt like water and his lungs like they were filled with hot glass. BY the time he reached them his face had a sheen of sweat and he was breathing really hard.

"I'm ready.... I got.... what I need.... sorry I.... took so... long."

Couple of Deep breaths. Eyes dart to Shard.

"I can't decide if the stair runs are what's killing me or what's keeping me alive."

Big smile for Juragga. "Hey Rags. You hear? We're on harass and recon. So Impy skull cracking is, like, a vital part of the mission. It's not a bug, it's a feature, like."

Rhijans' face got what passed for amusement in the hint of a smile.  "Looks like we're ready, then, Captain.  Let's button this thing up and get moving..."

He glanced around at the group...and, for just a moment, uncertaintly flickered in his eyes.  His detachment would pass, in certain circles, for a cavalier mindset...but he knew what they were about to do was dangerous, in the extreme.  And he hoped they were ready for it...

And then he compared it to what they'd already done...breaking the entire contingent of slave labor out of an Imperial mining facility...destroying the shield generator for an orbital construction project...buying off all the slaves they'd freed from Oomba.

Yes, they were ready for it.  The uncertainty cleared and his jaw took a determined set.  If anyone in the Alliance force was ready for this particular mission, it was them.  And he'd do his damnedest to make sure they'd be ready for the next one, as well.  All of them.

"Time to go make a mess, people."

"It's killing you now," Shard mutters, faint amusement flickering in her eyes.  "It'll keep you alive later."  She leans a little closer.  "Training is over for the duration of this mission - don't do any while we're out there, in case it needs to be said."  Last thing any of them need is Haarmon pulling a muscle or running out of juice at a critical point.

She lances a quick smile at Juragga. "He's right.  No holding back on this one, Juragga.  You ready for that?" It's a most rhetorical question. Just...please.  No beating them with their own limbs. She keeps that to herself, though, not wishing to rain on any growing ebullience.

Reflexively, she flicks a look toward Rhijans, and an odd expression for the bounty-hunter's face catches her attention.  For an instant, his stony visage seems almost open.  Even vulnerable, in a curious fashion.  Then the granite returns, whetted to a sharp edge, and Shard's lips twist in a lop-sided smile as he speaks.  One last check, hands slipping under her robe.

Blaster.

Murder-stick.

If they need her to use the former, void help them.  The latter...void help her, but she'll do it.

"Bet on it."

Cursed right.

Reldan Jalt calls in for clearance, and there is a two minute wait while already mobile ships  get out of the hangar.  Then Dancing Bantha lifts smoothly, showing no sign of mechanical issues.  The ship edges out into the open, and the oppressive steaming heat of the jungle seems to have even penetrated the hull.

Jalt wastes no time in aiming the ship skyward, engaging the main engines and grabbing altitude.

As soon as they're clear of the atmosphere he starts entering their course into the Navcomputer.

And the ship jumps to lightspeed...

With the ship in hyperspace, Jalt comes out into the passenger lounge.  "I think I should warn you all," he announces, "dropping into the Orakanin system is going to be bumpy.  Deliberately so.  We'll look like we're out of control, bleeding coolant, and about to suffer a catastrophic core breach.  That should draw some attention."

Rhijans nodded, his face impassive.  "Better to come out rough and sell the story from the start than opt for a comfortable drop and then hope you can sell the story before they atomize you," he quipped, drily.  He wasn't thrilled with the prospect...but he'd long ago lost count of situations he didn't like that had been necessary for the task at hand.

"Where do you want us?  Figure once we get there, you'll be too busy trying to convince them they shouldn't shoot you to take time to hide us away...so, let's get familiar with it now and then we don't have to worry."

"Glad you asked.  This way." Jalt leads the way out of the room and along a curved corridor,

A short distance along  he reaches down and twists a small knob at the base of one wall.  A panel on the floor pops up a couple of centimetres, and Jalt hinges it up to reveal a small compartment underneath.  "There's another one of these just along there, and I'm sure you could get a Wookiee or three Humans into one of them, though the Humans would be cramped.  They're shielded, to conceal that they're there, and there's a latch just there that'll pop the lid from the inside."

He nods, "I think they'll do.  Should get you past scans and manual searches."

"As soon as we get to Orakanin you should conceal yourselves in here and wait until I signal you to come out.  I'll send my Artoo unit to knock on the lid when it's safe."

Juragga leaned in close to Shard, and muffled something low in Wookiee.

Rhijans nodded.  "Just in case something goes wrong after we get aboard...about how long do Imperials typically take in searching a craft this size?  We can wait that long plus half that again...if we don't hear anything from your droid by then, we can pop the hatch from inside, provided the ship sounds quiet."

He looked around at the group.  "We should figure out who's holing up in which compartment...and are you planning on You-Why hiding with us?  Or is he going to be out in the open?  Because his lack of flexibility will eat up a little comfort-room in whichever compartment he may be stashed in...but it also seems a little out of character for a minor independent spacer to be running with a high-end protocol droid, too."

He did another visual once-over of the group.  "Probably not advisable to have me alone with Juragga.  I don't speak Wookiee, if he had anything to say, it'd take a long time to get it communicated...unless You-Why was in there, but I think having a droid and a Wookiee in one of those compartments would be a little TOO snug..."  There was a quick twitch on his face, that could have been a flicker of a smile...but it was gone before it could be clearly recognized.

With a hoot, Juragga dug under his poncho and produced a large disc.  The translator he'd used earlier in their adventures.  It didn't always render a perfect translation - but it did work.

Rhijans gave something suspiciously close to a chuckle.  "Okay, that problem's resolved.  I still think we should plan to keep You-Why in the other compartment, if we need to hide him at all."

He looked at Jalt.  "You've had more experience dealing with Imperials asking questions about your ship than I have.  Do we need to hide him?  If he's not going to raise any flags by being out here, I'm sure he'd appreciate not being crammed into a metal box with a couple of other people."

Shard studies the small smuggling compartments with something akin to panicked distaste.  Trapped in there, breathing the same air as one, maybe two other people, dark and...it brings back the mines, the confinement, the heaviness of the recirculated atmosphere, thick with the scent of dull despair.  She starts slightly when Juragga leans close, her eyes shutting as his breath stirs her hair.  Reaching out, she grips his arm, taking hold as tightly as her weak human fingers can.

"Not that last, Juragga.  Never that," she whispers.  "We're all important."

And I'm no Jedi.  But she keeps that to herself, for now.

Hypocrite, her mind whispers.  She would do the same as he suggests for him, or any others here.

Swallowing heavily, Shard shrugs her shoulders as Juragga gleefully produces his translator.  "Could go with anyone, then.  I'm fine in there with Juragga, or Haarmon, or you," she notes to Rhijans, a slight hint of hesitation in her voice.  Juragga wouldn't be a problem.  Haarmon would likely become agitated, if she guesses correctly.  Rhijans...small talk might be a tad more than 'interesting'.  "And I'm smallest."  It's not perfectly accurate; Haarmon and her aren't that much different in size, when factoring in her voluminous over-robe.  Come to think of it...she needs to do some work on that piece of apparel.  Her recent exercising with Haarmon has made it clear how encumbering its concealing folds can be.

"But space." She grimaces.  "You say we have two compartments, Jalt.  By my reckoning, that's all three of us and one Wookie, at most.  Unless I squish in with Juragga -" leaving her outer robe outside "- or something like that, I don't think we'll manage to get everyone in.  You-Why might need to stay outside."

"I can always claim that Gold Britches there is cargo.  Claim that somebody is paying me to transport him.  I have a burned out restraining bolt somewhere,  I can slap that on him and tell the Impies that he belongs to a client." Jalt says, a smile spreading across his features.

"You could probably use him to do a little reconnaissance.  Imperials never pay any attention to droids.  Especially ones with restraining bolts in place."

You-Why adds his own opinion to the discussion, "I would, in fact, much rather stay outside than be crammed into a noisome hole with a group of organics.  I am sorry to say this, but many, if not most, organics do have shockingly poor standards of hygiene and cleanliness."

Rhijans nodded at Jalt...and again, the ghost-of-a-smile flickered on his face at You-Why's declaration.  "No need to be sorry, we go nose-deaf to it after a little while unless someone's really sloppy.  Much as you don't want to smell us, we'd prefer to cut down on the bruises from thumping into your metal hide, so we're even on that point."  His voice sounded suspiciously close to a chuckle...but never quite broke out of whatever dry wit might have driven it.

"Let's get the dummy restraining bolt in place, and get whatever we need to keep us holed up securely tucked away now.  That way we can be ready to hide as soon as we're ready to drop out of hyperspace."

Haarmon took a look at the compartments. The thought didn't thrill him,  that's for sure, but he noted the edges of distress on Shard's face and figured he'd keep his reservations to himself. This was hard enough on everyone. Griping about things  you can't control wasn't going to help.

"Hey, You-Why. If you trust me, I think the best thing to do is for me to break you. We attach the bolt. Take him down to storage and I'll work a pile of purely cosmetic damage on him. Make it look like some piece of unusable junk Jalt found or bought somewhere. The only thing an organic ignores more than a droid with a bolt is a turned-off droid. But I'll leave all your sensors active. In case they say anything awesome around you."

He looks around.

"If we're taking votes, then I should be with Rags. I understand him best. And we've been in cramped-er quarters before."

Another pause.

"Do we know what ship is going to intercept us? Should I be on the Nets looking it up?"

"Damage would make them overlook him during the initial inspection, but it would be a liability when we start working on the second phase of the mission.  Damaged droids wouldn't be likely to be roaming an Imperial base or ship. "  He looked over at Jalt.

"Undamaged, he's just another droid, almost as anonymous as a stormtrooper.  He can scout ahead, locate vulnerable points or at least an open terminal, save us a lot of blundering around."  He looked back to You-Why.  "If he's willing, he can even start scouting while we're waiting out the inspection on the ship."

He turned back to Dax.  "Visible damage becomes a marker.  People would wonder why he was walking around, instead of going to maintenance, or even worse, question how he got damaged in the first place.  We'd be trading away one of his best operating assets for the mission, in exchange for a momentary advantage of plausibility.  I don't think it's a good trade."  His voice wasn't hard or emphatic...while it could come  across as a flat refusal, a careful scrutiny of his manner would probably indicate that he was trying to explain and educate, not shut down the notion.

But, given his typical detachment, that could easily be misunderstood.

"Plus, if he looks damaged, it makes it harder to pass him off as a cargo that somebody might think was worth shipping somewhere."

Jalt shrugs.  "But that's up to you.  Just let me know what you decide, so I can adjust my story if necessary."

You-Why also considers Haarmon's proposal.  "That might be exciting.  A disguise of sorts.  Yes, very exciting indeed."

Jalt rolls his eyes, out of sight of You-Why, and gives a slight shake of his head before replying to Haarmon, "I have no idea which ship is going to pick us up.  I've heard that Orakanin is swarming with them, so we stand a good chance of being grabbed quickly.  But as for which ship... or even what type... well, that's anybody's guess.  I'd be hoping for something big.  Less likely that new faces will stand out."

Rhijans nodded.  "And more likely to have fast access to the data we need."  He glanced over at You-Why.

"We'll test your skills with disguise later, sometime.  Right now, our best disguises will be the 'hide in plain sight' variety, and that means you need to look as innocuous as possible.  It's the difference between an Imperial tech dismissing you as just another droid on the ship, versus watching you to try and puzzle out why you're not going to maintenance.  We don't want them watching you."

He looked at the others.  "That goes for the rest of us, as well.  Juragga's going to have to play the Wookiee slave role again, the rest of us will have to see what they managed to put together for us out of the Imperial gear they brought aboard.  But I'd suggest getting dressed in it now, because trying to change clothes in a crowded storage compartment isn't going to be easy, especially if we don't have any lights in there."

He gave the group a quick once-over and added, "Besides, once we know what kind of a cover they've provided for us, we can start working out which ways to most effectively use it.  We won't have time for brainstorming after we get out of the compartments, and trying to do it while we're in there and the Imperials are searching the ship is just asking for trouble.  So, let's do it now."

Juragga looked from person to person as each spoke.  He huffed.  This was a lot of talking.  But it was how things always went.

To Shard, he added, "GrrrRRRRummmmf." My life means little if I fail my friends, or my family.

He yodeled approval of teaming up with Haarmon.  He and the kid went way back.  His approval, though, failed at Rhijans' announcement he'd again have to play slave.

The Wookiee complained.  Not loudly, and he knew there was nothing to be done about it... but nonetheless.

Looks like it's Rhijans and her.  Not that it's a problem, necessarily...

"Agreed with Rhijans...and Haarmon," she puts in.  "You-Why banged up maybe not such a good idea.  Fake restraining bolt?  Definitely a plan.  Then if people see him somewhere he shouldn't be, the assumption is that it actually is somewhere he should be."  She eyes the droid speculatively.  "So long as wearing a fake one isn't a problem for you, You-Why."

He probably finds it ironic.

"As for getting changed, good plan."  Shard grimaces, an annoying thought occurring. That cursed murder-stick. She might have to hide it in Juragga's harness.  "Let's get in there and get moving on this." But she pauses beside Juragga.  "Failure can be fixed," she murmurs.  "Your loss?"  The older woman offers him a small smile.  "Nothing fixes that for us."  That last comes with a pat on his shoulder, though Shard needs to stretch herself to manage. "C'mon.  I know this slave thing really burns.  I'm curious to see what they have for me."

Women are not well-represented in the Empire, Ghea Nimadda notwithstanding.

There seems little choice in the disguises.  The uniforms are basic technician issue coveralls, nicely shapeless and nondescript, plus caps, belts with technical equipment, plus assorted tool boxes and tech scanners.  The caps, if worn in typical Imperial fashion, pulled down low over the face, should work to partially conceal the wearer's features.

Jalt laughs quietly, "It's not much, but nobody pays much attention to techs going about their duty.  If you want something more concealing, you'll need to mug a couple of troopers."

He pulls open one of the crates, "Thermal detonators here, and demo charges with timers,"  Another crate, "Power cells and... oh... this is nice."  He stands back so the others can see what he's found - a case of proton mines.

"Ugh." Shard prods the uniforms with dubious caution.  "Well, at least I'll have room to stash things," she finally decides, snagging one that looks about her size. "I guess we'll need to hide the blasters in the boxes."

Though what they'll do with Juragga's bowcaster, she has no idea; and now Shard considers that it's a good thing they never received any blaster carbines.

"I'm fine with this," she continues.  "No need for me to waste time hunting for trooper outfits."  Also, Shard is well aware that she doesn't walk correctly for that.  Despite her spare figure, she's still a woman and a woman's hips move differently.  Just what I'd need, she morosely considers. Giving everyone away like that. 

"The boys might need something, though.  I suppose we'll make that decision on arrival."

Peering over Jalt's shoulder, she examines the contents of the crates.  "Right.  Outside my experience and expertise.  I'll keep watch while the explosive people make use of these thing.  And carry some for you in a toolbox."  Toting her uniform, she heads for the fresher, firing a final comment over her shoulder. "I'll get changed; don't wait."

Rhijans raised an eyebrow.  "Really?" he asked.  It was hard to tell whether his tone was disbelief, or gratification.

"They really ARE serious about us making a mess in there, then."  The thermal detonators were good...noisy and destructive.  But they were unpredictable, a best-guess-at-dead-reckoning measure for demolition.  The explosive charges,were better...maybe not as violent, in terms of sheer destructive force, but the level of control far surpassed anything you could hope to accomplish with a detonator.

He'd never worked with proton mines before...but they were rumored to be destructive on a magnitude beyond anything achievable with the other two.

"We'd best stash most of that in these compartments, too...the proton mines, for sure.  You might be able to fast-talk your way around some thermal detonators, and even some regular charges...but those mines are definitely military-grade stuff...they'd never buy a low-grade smuggler hauling something like that."  Unconcerned with who was in the room, he peeled down to his underwear, re-dressing in the Imperial clothes.  His clothing items were folded precisely and stacked, creating a tiny bundle that was ready to be stashed with everything else, away from Imperial searchers.

Haarmon busied himself with changing into his coveralls. All in all, he preferred this to the Stormtrooper armour. More air. Less visibility. The enormity of what was about to happen here was starting to sink in and he was quiet and thoughtful as he changed.

He was game for whatever. No doubt about that. But aside from the fact that the were intentionally leaping into the belly of the beast, but the entire mission rested on his scrawny little shoulders.

Heavy stuff.

He was interested in the mines, but only in the most academic of senses. Whatever good he did, it (hopfully) wasn't going to involve explosions.