With everybody changed into the tech uniforms, and You-Why fitted with his dummy restraining bolt, there is little left to do, beyond grabbing a final meal before arrival, checking the supplies again, and waiting...

"Orakanin coming up in ten minutes!" Jalt calls out from the cockpit, "Places everybody.  And hang on tight."

And right on time, Dancing Bantha exits hyperspace.  Though "exits" probably isn't quite right.  "Lurches nauseatingly out of" feels more appropriate.  For the passengers, shut into the smuggling compartments, it's impossible to tell exactly what's going on.  It feels as if the ship is spinning, out of control, around all three axes, while the engines howl frantically (or that could be Juragga).

Somewhere, something hits the deck with a loud bang.

And then there is silence.  And darkness.  And the smell of burned insulation...

Rhijans sat in silence for a few moments.  He may have been listening for further sounds of calamity...it was equally likely he was just waiting for his stomach to resume an even keel.  "Well...that could have gone worse," he quipped tersely.  They really had nothing they could but sit and wait.

He hated waiting...

Crammed in, her feet pressed up against Rhijans', Shard huddles in the darkness.  The closed-in space sets her teeth on edge; it's too close to the mines, bringing back memories of shackles, endless work, and the stale scent of despair.  Bile slicks her throat, thanks mostly due to the violent lurching.  And she left her cursed flask back at the base.

Deliberately.

"I hope everyone is all right," she whispers.  And that Jalt isn't dying on the deck now, with nobody able to assist.  She wants to ask what happened.  What is happening.  But too much discussion could attract attention.  Instead, she struggles to wiggle into a slightly more comfortable position - impossible to achieve anything better - and slowly begins to relax.

Find the center.  Seek the balance point between fear and emptiness.  Stand upon that fulcrum.

Reach out.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:07, Tue 16 Feb 2016.

"Raaarrrn," Juragga moaned, wanting it to be over.

Moments tick by in silence, with no indication of any Imperial presence in the vicinity.  Not too surprising, considering the size of space.  It would have been far more surprising if they'd dropped out of hyperspace close enough to an Imperial ship to be picked up this quickly.

Surprising, and more than a little suspicious.

So it's a matter of waiting...

Rhijans continued sitting in silence, his eyes fixed on some indeterminate point in space, rarely blinking, breathing slow and regular, trying to keep his surface thoughts calm or even blank.  The back of his mind raced, however, picking a scenario, playing it out mentally, going back and repeating the process with a different choice made here or there, both on his part and the part of the Empire, trying to build a catalog of threat responses and their likely results.

He didn't enjoy waiting...but he was good at it.  And he'd learned to make the most of the opportunities it presented.

Void.

Normally she'd be ecstatic at getting closer to the goal, but that goal being Imperial ships who vastly outclass their little freighter doesn't leave Shard too sanguine.  And so cursed many!

Rhijans, of course, is silent and immobile...and she has no idea what he's thinking.  Par for the course with Rhijans, mind - to say he's guarded would be understating the issue - but made worse due to them sitting in pitch blackness.  Waiting.

He'll figure things out, about her and Haarmon.  Sooner or later.  And then?  It'll be harder to explain.  Best to lay groundwork now.

"Rhi..."  Her mouth is too dry, the cramped space working on her nerves.  Shard swallows once, tries again. "Rhijans.  I guess Jalt's putting on a show for whomever is watching.  Want to bet on what he's found?"  Her small laugh is nervous - the dark, the enclosed space, and now this subject. "I figure three Star Destroyers, a cruiser, and a handful of frigates.  You?"

Rhijans gave the quiet snort that passed for a chuckle from him.  "Of course he's putting on a show.  That was the whole idea...come out if hyperspace looking damaged, gives us an innocuous reason to be here and we're no threat.  If the Empire had any idea, for even the slightest moment, that we presented any threat at all, they'd just vaporize us and be done with it...they've got multiple high-profile prisoners, they can afford to be a little extra callous.  As it is, we're relying heavily on their overblown sense of superior force, because who would know if they just blew us up instead of investigating our arrival?"

The words were detached, clinical...he might as well be discussing the proper way to insert a fresh power pack in a blaster, for all the concern that was discernible.  He took a deep breath, and let it out in an extended sigh of...boredom?  resignation?  it was impossible to know for certain.

"As for what we've encountered, I'd warrant that we initially had one of the smaller picket ships detect us tumbling out of hyperspace...assuming they're on high alert and have pretty much the entire system under active sensor surveillance.  Fly-by of two or three fighters to visually confirm that we are, in fact, a ship out of control, rather than an anomalous piece of debris.  Picket ship intercepts us, Jalt gives them his story, that captain isn't sure how to proceed because his orders only concern dealing with attacking Rebel ships, so he sends word up the line.  A larger ship...likely a frigate...moves to verify the story--better sensors, more experienced crew.  His ship likely isn't equipped to take in damaged vessels this size, so he sends the call up the line..."

He shrugged, even though no one could see it.  "The fact that we're still talking about it is a good sign...if they were going to shoot us out of hand, we'd already be dead, unless we miraculously popped out in a sensor-free zone and they haven't seen us yet...in which case, there's a chance that when they do find us, they'll shoot first because they find our presence suspicious."  Again, the words were coldly analytical.  "Our chances improve if Jalt dropped out of hyperspace with a distress beacon going...I assume he did, he'd already thought of enough other factors that the beacon would be too obvious to overlook."

Again, the invisible shrug.  "Who's looking us over is largely academic.  The important thing is that they're looking, and presumably talking, rather than just opening fire."  Any note of hopeful optimism that might have been present in that statement vanished in his pragmatic addition--"Until we're on board one of the Imperial ships, though, anything is possible."

For whatever reason, he sounded oblivious to the fact that he'd probably said more at one time, in that quiet little dark hiding hole, than he'd said aloud at once in the entire time their team had been working together.  Whether it was familiarity and trust, or boredom, or just feeling safely anonymous in the blackness was impossible to say.

Sitting in the cramped smuggling compartments isn't pleasant.

They're dark, and poorly ventilated, and filled with noises... odd little creaks, groans, and rattles.  Which sound as if the Bantha is about to fall apart at any moment.

Worse, though, are the noises which sound organic.  As if the compartments are filled with insects or other vermin, scuttling about.

Then there is a sudden lurch, which exacerbates the noises...

Rhijans doesn't seem to be up for talking, despite his lengthily explanations.  At least, that's the first impression.  With Rhijans, Shard has come to understand, first impressions are nearly always wrong.

Nearly always, of course; he's a tricky one.

She dives deeper into her memories of the man, considering how he would actually answer if he were truly disinterested.  Does it match up with their current situation?

"Want to bet on what he's found?"

"No."

Well, he's not disinterested, so that's something.  In fact, it's a great deal more than she has heard from Rhijans except possibly while working out strategy during mission briefings.  A heartening sign, Shard decides.

"Logical, and well-thought out," she returns, just above a whisper.  Even with the creaking of the ship, she's quite sure he can hear. "And I like the positive nature of still being alive, yes.  But...I'm still going with my guess."  There comes another of those accursed scuttling noises, and Shard has to fight not to brush at herself.  The darkness, the suffocating still air, the sounds...it's getting to her.

It has gotten to her.

The ship shifts violently this time, and Shard tenses.  Bantha.  I'm in the Bantha.  It's fine.  Her breathing quickens, rushing in and out for many fast heartbeats before she gets it under control. "Star Destroyer," the older woman mutters.  "They're tractoring us in, so bang-on about them just looking us over.  Wish it WAS a picket ship or a frigate; this one might have better security, excitable enough to actually do a thorough sweep of the ship."

Trapped in the dark.  Things here.  Her throat burns for a drink, and Shard silently curses herself. Look what you've done to yourself, you fool.  Just hold on.  You're not alone, even if he seems cold as a Zidran summer.

That's just his way.

Why, Shard has no idea.  Race?  Culture?  Or is it Rhijans, himself?  Bounty-hunter.  Not the best of professions, and certainly not good for a person thick with emotions.  Had he scoured them away himself, or had some experience ground them from his spirit?

Or did he simply suppress them?

In the dark, the hint of a smile that crept to Rhijans' face couldn't be seen...though it could potentially be heard in his tone.  "We were banking on them making a thorough sweep of the ship," he replied.  "That's why we're down here, where they can't find us unless they actually start prying up floor panels."

The skittering sounds in the dark weren't menacing enough to concern him...he merely acknowledged they were there, even if he didn't know what they were.  He'd learned to do that with a great many things in his life...including, most recently, anything involving Jedi or the Force.  The things he'd seen Tfalta Dawl do when they rescued her...there was no logical explanation for many of them, and the most plausible illogical explanation was that there really was a Force, and Jedi weren't just some crowd of deluded zealots tricking their own minds into believing.  And the faith that both Juragga and Haarmon placed in Shard...

Rhijans knew himself to be a skeptic.  But he'd also seen two very competent and capable beings place an inordinate amount of faith in the woman in the compartment with him...and had seen her do things that, under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have believed possible.  Nothing as spectacular as Dawl...but enough.

So, he treated the noises like he did the Force...it was there, but he didn't know what it was.  And it was nothing to be afraid of, in and of itself.  Like almost any tool or weapon, it was only as dangerous as the person wielding it.

"A Star Destroyer is a better option for our purpose, anyway...fewer layers of security for Haarmon to bypass to get the information we need.  If we're exceptionally lucky, maybe even the exact ship we want to find.  And a large enough crew that three or four additional techs showing up won't be noticeable.  Four new faces in a crew of fifty?  Big flag.  Four new faces in a crew of a few thousand?  Hardly noteworthy."

Unless that crew has been working together for months on end and has gotten to the point where they recognize faces really well, even if they may not know names...

It was a risk, but unlikely.  Military vessels almost always had turnover in the crew...attrition due to combat, transfers to other posts, rank advancements and reassignment...the kind of crew cohesion that gnawed on the back corners of his worries would be the kind of thing built up by either a highly elite force, or by a group of renegades or survivors of a long-running war with little or no hope for replacements.  Last he'd heard, the Empire didn't have a super-elite Star Destroyer crew.  And they certainly didn't seem to be lacking for replacements.

His doubts settled, and he nodded to himself in the dark.  When he spoke, there was an almost preternatural sense of surety to his tone.  "This is all exactly what Jalt had planned.  We're right where we're supposed to be."  That much, he was, actually, quite certain of.

It was how things proceeded from here that got a little unclear.  But being in the right place with the right gear, and with no clear plan to follow, was what he did best.

More minutes pass, with only the occasional banging and clattering echoing through the ship to give any indication to those in the secret compartments that anything is happening beyond their small, dark world.

Finally there is a series of loud reports, and then an ear-popping change in air pressure and the sound of rapidly moving feet overhead.

A lot of feet.

And, eventually, after a long period of intense activity, almost total silence...

As always, Rhijans makes sense, and Shard clings to his words like a lifeline.  She's not entirely fearful of the Imperials discovering them, though that would mean the end of them.  What gnaws at her mind now is the confined space, the suffocating air, and the blank darkness before her eyes.

"Good to know that getting eaten by a Star Destroyer is part of the plan," she manages with a weak laugh, but falls silent as the sound of stressed metal continues.  It's too hard to talk, too hard to think, too hard to keep hold of her fraying nerves; better to fall back upon silence and struggle to relax.

It works.  Partly.  Then a change of sound.

Footsteps, and Shard's fingers wrap around the cold cylinder of metal.  If they're discovered...she might need to surrender, surrender to keep her companions alive.  No sense in getting them all killed.  But if they decide to fight?

Her teeth grate for an instant, then she relaxes, irrationally fearful of the Imperials hearing her through the floor.

And then silence.

"Don't move," she whispers, relaxing further.  Fear fills her.  Tension knots her shoulders.  Desperate anger tightens her jaw.  She accepts these without using them, finding her way between them to relaxation, to the safe place between the furnace and the glacier.  "A moment more..."

The darkness didn't allow it to be seen, but as the clatter of multiple pairs of booted feet passed overhead, Rhijans drew his blaster, eyes slightly angled overhead to watch for the first hint of light seeping in...it would be the first tell-tale, if they were discovered.

He was, however, remarkably calm about it...though resigned, perhaps, would be a better word.  If they were found, he had no intentions of surrendering...and no illusions about their chances of escape.  But if he started firing fast enough, the Empire would respond with overwhelming force...and the team would be spared suffering through Imperial interrogation.

So, he watched, and waited, finger resting along the side of the blaster above the trigger guard.  He also knew that the light increasing would be the first sign that Jalt had gotten them aboard in the clear, though it might be the pilot or either of the droids that opened the compartment...so he kept his breathing carefully regimented, kept himself as relaxed as possible, and did his best to keep the quiet anxious gnawings stuffed in the back corners of his mind.

It wouldn't do to shoot Jalt, or the droids, because he let himself get too keyed up, after all...

Shard closes her eyes.  Haarmon, even in the gloom of the hidden storage compartment, seems to be watching her attentively.  Finally she moves.

Nothing.  Nothing.  Nothing at all, except some...really small things.  Void.  Going to need a word with Jalt - this ship must have fumigation.

Shard grins, a feral expression in the dark. "We're golden," she murmurs.  "Let's go, but keep your eyes out for security droids."  That said, she uncouples the bolts holding down their 'roof', and gingerly pushes up the flooring above them for a look.

The older woman really isn't expecting to see any sentries, but...habits.

OOC - Sorry, was under the impression we were stuffed in two separate compartments - Rhijans/Shard, Haarmon/Juragga.  :(

The ship is deserted.  Moving quietly around the interior reveals nothing and nobody.  No guards, no Jalt, no droids.  It looks as though Jalt, his astromech droid, and You-Why might all have been taken off the ship for questioning, or whatever Imperials do to get information out of droids...

A careful look out of the cockpit viewport gives a nice view of the interior of a hangar, all in standard Imperial colours - greys and blacks for the most part - and a worrying number of stormtroopers moving about.  Most of those, though, are not near the Bantha.

There do, however, seem to be a handful of techs working on a Lambda class shuttle, which looks a little the worse for wear, and stands only about twenty metres from the Bantha...
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:54, Mon 29 Feb 2016.

Rhijans looked out at the group and sniffed.  "Of course we couldn't be in a deserted section of the hangar deck..."

Still watching out the cockpit...standing back, so as to remain nothing more than a vague shadow if anyone looked in...he mused, aloud, "Well, anyone have any brilliant ideas for getting out without anyone looking our way?  I think I've got a decent cover story if someone sees us, but I'd prefer not to use it, if at all possible..."

Haarmon had sat quietly all the way through the exit from hyperspace, the silence afterward, and the boarding, and the silence after that. He listened to Shard and Rhijans kinda-sorta banter and he did his best to calm his tapping feet and his twitching fingers and his ever-running tongue.

Quite successfully, although at no small cost.

And now that they were in it, truly, completely, all the way in it, he was somewhere between paralyzed with terror and ready to take down the whole Empire himself.

Which seemed to be about his default for these sorts of things.

He muttered a bit and puttered around the Bantha, and then logged into the nearest terminal and tapped a few keys. Just checking things out.

OOC: Are any of the access doors open? Is the Bantha (by some magical coincidence) already connected to the Imperial vessel?

"Spectacular.  We're in."  Haarmon, now out, seems to be heading directly for the computers.  Well and good; let the specialist do his thing.  "We need to find Jalt," she reminds herself.  "Won't be much good for leaving without him."

Keeping low, she checks the hanger again then sidles back into the depths of their ship. "Stormtroopers everywhere, but we're not far from that shuttle," she confides in Rhijans and Juragga...and You-Why, if he's listening.  "Can't really mingle with them, but with techs in the hanger we won't look that far out of place.  If we wait long enough, we can probably just walk out of here - they WILL be sending techs sooner or later, it'll be expected.  Since there's no guards on the ship, people might just figure we got aboard it while they weren't looking."

The older woman shrugs. "We're supposed to fit in, after all.  Uniforms, right place right time...any thoughts?"

The discussion regarding how they should get out of the ship continues for several minutes, while Haarmon simultaneously accesses the ship's computer. 

Juragga yawns, scratches himself and looks around.  Suddenly he pats Haarmon on the shoulder and points at the viewscreen.

Techs,  Four of them.  Coming across the hangar towards the Bantha, accompanied by a black astromech droid with silver panelling.

Rhijans watched, trying to get some idea of a flow of personnel...gauging if there was any sort of rhythm to way things worked on the deck, if there would be an optimal time to walk out...or, at least, figuring out if there was a least optimal time to walk out.

"I was thinking, if anyone started asking questions, that they called us down here to check the sewage reclamation systems and make sure nothing was being carried there that shouldn't be.  It's a job nobody would want, and likely something they have specific teams to work on, so it would be a good reason why nobody would recognize us and would also kind of cover the detail that we're not exactly your standard Imperial tech crew...we're the kind that they'd trust to clear crap."

Juragga started indicating something out the window, and Rhijans focused his attention in that direction.

"Guess that's the cover story we're going to have to run with...since we look to be having company join us in a few moments..."

"Works for me," Shard mutters, nervously peeking out at the techs. "Everyone else?  Juragga, you ready with your 'slave' gear?"  She closes her eyes. "Void.  We need to be new on this ship.  Like, really new - otherwise everyone would have heard about 'the Wookie'.  Going to have to wing it, I suppose."

Winging it.  That never works, Shard thinks, only now it's going to have to do so.

"I don't think we thought this through well enough," she whispers, wiping her rather sweaty palms on her Imperial uniform.

Rhijans gave a soft snort...and for a brief moment, the look of amusement in his eyes was easy to read.  "'Thought this through?'" he echoed.  "Like how we thought through what we were going to say when we had you impersonating Nimadda?  Or how we thought through getting the slaves out of Oomba's palace and onto the ship?"

The amusement shifted, subtly, a cynical edge creeping into his voice as his eyes lost the amused gleam...but didn't quite return to their typical inscrutable hardness.  "Winging it seems to have been working pretty well for us, I'd say.  And, let's face it...if we don't know what we're going to do next, just imagine how hard it is for the Imperials to try and be a step ahead of us."

Juragga warbled a low complaint, even as he secured his faux shackles.

Again, that almost-amused look crept into his eyes.  "Duly noted," he said to Juragga, even though he honestly had no idea what the specifics of the Wookiee's complaint might be.

"And...just in case...see if you can work your way around behind them once they get in here.  We might be able to dump enough starshine to convince them we are what we claim to be...but if we don't, we can't risk them getting to the hatch and calling for help."

The techs, and their droid, make their way up the ramp and in to Dancing Bantha's cargo hold.  One of them, obviously in charge starts giving instructions.

"You two start running diagnostics on the computer, in case the faults are due to a software glitch.  You, you're with me.  We'll take a look at the reactor and the coolant system."

"Droid... " said with some distaste... "Link into the Navcomp and see if you can find out where this garbage scow has been.  It's a long shot, but I've been told that the pilot seems like a rank amateur, so he might not have erased the records.  Let us know if you find anything interesting."

Two of the techs, accompanied by the black and silver astromech unit, start moving towards the cockpit, entirely unaware that there is already a group of "techs"  there.  The other two head towards Engineering.

Rhijans had been prepared to ask for some tool or other...but the moment it became apparent that their presence wasn't considered noteworthy, he opted to keep his mouth shut.  He was pretty sure Jalt had his bases covered, as far as what those techs were looking for...

He watched them separate and go to their various sections of the ship, and shrugged.  "Well, that was easier than I expected, " he muttered softly, and then turned to the rest of the group.

"So...let's go raise some mayhem, then...get the gear, let's move."

"Point," Shard grudgingly admits, finding herself oddly embarrassed.  "We'll just have to run this one by ear as well.  Though the 'most dangerous opponent is the untrained one because they are unpredictable' thing falls apart in practice." Rhijans probably knows this already, of course.

"Here they come," she continues, checking her clothing.  All set, it seems.  "Agreed.  Let's meet them halfway - act as if this is some kind of huge confusion, military mixup, something like that.  After that?  Maybe knock them out, stuff them in the smuggling bins."

Closing her eyes and uttering a brief prayer - to nobody in particular - she steps out into the hallway. "Haarmon, we're going to need you to talk tech."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:00, Thu 10 Mar 2016.

The two techs round the corner and stop dead.  "Frotz!" snarls one of them as their astromech runs into the back of his legs.

The other just looks at Shard and Rhijans for a few seconds that seem to last several eons.  Then...  "What are you doing in here?"  His eyes narrow, and he adds, "I don't recognise either of you.  What department are you with?"

The other tech, recovered from the collision, sniffs the air and screws up his face in disgust.  "What's that stink?  It smells like a wet garral!"

"Never mind that, it's probably nothing important.  Go and fetch Hanaat."

Rhijans had been preparing some kind of technobabble...something he hoped would pass.  "Do you have the tubular spanner we sent after?  Someone decided the sanitary systems should be checked to make sure nothing was being smuggled there...I think the lieutenant is still sore from losing so much on sabacc last week..."

He honestly had no idea if such a tool even existed...but he was betting a computer or engineering tech wouldn't know, either, if it was something specific to on-board sanitary plumbing...

"Excuse me!" Shard shrilly states over the conversation, affecting a slightly nasal tone. "Coming through, make a hole."  Hurrying forward, she pushes past the two techs.  There's going to be no good discussion, here; the techs have already recognized them as The Wrong Team™, and it's only a matter of time before they make the jump to Rebels.

She needs to block off their path; if she can't, the best they can hope for is a gun battle, right here, which means stormtroopers surrounding the ship moments later.

There were always alternatives to gun battles.

One of which was a massive Wookiee thumping the bajoonies out of everyone before they could raise the alarm.

Pulling in on himself, Juragga did his best to minimize his presence and play the role of a defeated slave.  But he coiled, ready to strike, at the first hint of urgency.

The second tech turns to leave, and finds his way blocked by the droid.  "Will you move, you malfunctioning pile of scrap!?!"  The droid responds with a stream of sounds which definitely sound insulting, but it backs up and moves to one side.  The tech edges past it, on his way to fetch somebody called Hanaat.

And then Shard barges past him, and he finds his path obstructed again.

His partner, meanwhile, stands his ground.  "We were told to come over here and work on this junk pile.  We weren't told to expect anybody else to be here."  He frowns and peers at the patches on Rhijan's uniform.  "What department did you say you're with?"

"Sanitation," Rhijans said without hesitation.  He had no idea if it was a good story or not...but he knew enough to know that half-hearted answers would kill even the best cover, so he was committed to this one...even if it blew up in his face.

After all, there were ways to deal with that, too.

"They told us to come check the dump tanks for the head and the fresher, make sure there wasn't anything there that shouldn't be.  But some dumb son-of-a-gundark took the spanner I need out of my kit, and they said they were sending another one right up...about five minutes ago.  Now, do you have it, or do I have to go discuss my displeasure with the situation with my duty officer?"

Haarmon had been frozen by the terminal. He wanted to whip up something clever and awesome before the techs got on board, but there was just too much digital red tape and not enough time. And then he wasn't sure what to do. He figured he'd better let the invincible tech-ninja do his thing. And Shard, whatever it was she was up to, was probably better than whatever he'd think up.

Then Rhijans said sanitation. And he had an idea.

He tapped a few screens. He was already into the Bantha's innards, so it was a simple enough process. He accessed the waste management system. Reversed the pressure on the tanks. Tried to  explode all the filth and mess he could out of the tanks.

He hoped it had been a while since Jalt had emptied them. A lot of pilots never do. Especially ones in a rush and/or on secret missions.

If nothing else, the sound and the smell should sow some chaos. And chaos was always on their side.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:00, Sat 19 Mar 2016.

"Sanitation?  And they sent you to look around the ship before it had been cleared by us?"  The tech steps back a pace, and disgust wrinkles his nose, almost as if he can smell something unpleasant.  "You'll have to leave.  Wait outside or something.  You can come back after we... "

"Slag!" the second man suddenly declares, "What's that stink?  It's worse than the other one!"

A wave of something not altogether pleasant seems to flood the atmosphere in the confined space of the ship.  At the same time, there are three distinct sounds...

The first is a series of similar cries of disgust from somewhere deeper into the ship...

The second is an indescribably horrendous bubbling, gurgling, rushing noise...

And the third is the increasing whine of the fans in Dancing Bantha's atmospheric recirculation system struggling to clear the air...

"Ugh!  I think we're all going to have to wait... "  The tech turns away from Rhijans abruptly, retches, and vomits on the deck... adding a new stench to the tainted air...

The smell was vile...probably not the worst thing that Rhijans had ever smelled, but that was debatable.  He risked a quick glance over his shoulder in Haarmon's direction...not that he'd be able to recognize if Haarmon had done anything or not.

"That's the second time...when I find out who took that spanner out of my kit, blood's gonna be shed, because we could have fixed that by now if I had it!"  He looked at the tech, who was trying to keep his innards where they belonged, and shook his head minutely, a vague frown on his face.

"If you don't have the spanner, we're going to have to go chase one down, I guess.  You can wait here and take your chances on whether or not the system blows back a third time, but I'd seriously suggest you give it a few minutes until we clear that problem and you can work safely."

He shrugged, not even bothering to keep the distasteful expression off his face.  "It's your lunch, of course...if you want to mop it up off the deck a couple more times before we get back, that's your business..."

"Void!"

It comes out as a gasp more than a curse.  "Yeah, we'll leave," she mutters in belated reply to the tech's command.  "Not so much our problem any more."  Her voice rises slightly - also somewhat nasal, as Shard has decided to try breathing through her mouth.  "We should probably also bring some portable air supplies..."

The call to Rhijans trails off as the older woman decides it's better to go back to breathing through her nose.  Her stomach heaves and she swallows the taste of bile.  Amazingly enough, the acrid flavour is a distinct improvement.  Oh, there are things she could do right now, small tricks allowing her to ignore the smell, but why?

This way, it's not acting; it's reality.

"I'm gonna..."  Again the words trail off, and she jerks a thumb toward the hatch. "C'mon, you lot," Shard gags.  "Everyone clear!"  And off she goes, hurrying for the way out, tool-kit clutched to her chest, a pathetically ineffective shield against the horrific stench.

Poor Juragga, and his sensitive nose!  Had the malfunction been Haarmon?  The timing seems all too fortuitous.  Brilliant, brilliant ploy...

...there's no cursed way I'm using the fresher until we get back to the base.

Haarmon heard the noises, caught the edge of the stink, and was getting geared up to be rather pleased with himself when the real miasma hit his nose and most of his attention was taken up with not soiling his fresh new uniform.

He put an arm over his nose and tried to hurredly schedule another filth-explosion in ten minutes or so, if he could, before closing down the Bantha's network (maybe throw down a password or a firewall or something if he happened to have it point and click handy).

And then he was turning away from the terminal. "Sorry," he croaked, "Thought I could seal the breach without the spanner." Retch. "Wrong." Retch. "Very wrong."

He stumbles toward the door.

"Someone grab the Wookie, quick, or it'll smell like this for days."

All of the techs, both real and fake, exit the Dancing Bantha, which has become uninhabitable.  One of the real ones, perhaps Hanaat, staggers over to report to the hangar's deck officer.

Leaving the fake techs to come up with a new plan.  Not so oddly, the people moving about in the hangar have started taking a slight detour around the Bantha.

Looking about, the rebels can see a number of exits from the hangar (excluding the very large one that opens out to space.  Of course, there is the slight problem that none of them really know their way around a star destroyer.

From where Hanaat is making his report comes a loud yell, "I don't care what you smell!  Get in there!"  It seems that his report is not going down well...

Rhijans started away from the Bantha at a casual pace, pulling the team with him if need be.  "This would be a good time to make ourselves scarce...everyone got everything we need for our assignment?"  If they'd left anything aboard the Bantha, he was nearly convinced they'd be better off trying to wing it without the 'toys' that had been assigned to them, rather than try and get back in with that smell.

"I hope there's an easy way to purge that aroma when it's time to leave," he muttered, just loud enough for the group to hear him.  "And suggestions on the best place to set Haarmon up?  We can fan out from there, try and draw attention to other areas on the ship..."

Juragga couldn't help it.  He was gagging on the way out, and even once outside, couldn't help but puke on the landing ramp of the Bantha.

That smell!

He moaned piteously as Rhijans took charge, gurgling the Wookiee equivalent of 'Whatever you say'.

The nearest exit from the hangar is a wide corridor, with a set of open blast doors.  There seems to be a fair amount of traffic - personnel, droids, skiffs - moving along the passage, to and from the hangar.

It looks like it could be fairly easy to mingle with the crowd, as long as everybody tries not to draw too much attention to themselves.

And there are openings along both sides of the main passage, only a few of which seem to be guarded...

Rhijans looked at the almost-steaming pool of Wookiee vomit on the ramp, then up at the Wookiee who'd produced it.  "You're cleaning that up when we get back!" he declared loudly, with a barely perceptible wink to Juragga.  Without waiting for any kind of response, he turned and started for the traffic flowing in the corridor, giving a vague wave of his hand for the rest of the team to follow.

"I am going to FLAY whoever ran off with my tools, when I find them!" he growled through clenched jaws, as he moved.  He had no idea how an Imperial sewage technician would behave...but he hoped this would pass for it.  Thanks what he assumed was some timely assistance from Haarmon, it had gotten them off the ship safely, at least...

"Aw, man, sorry Rags," Haarmon muttered as they walked toward the exit. "I forget how sensitive your nose is." He felt pretty bad. But he knew it had to be done. The Greater Good, and all that.

He looked around at the hangar. The sheer scale of the vessel amazed and intimidated him. He knew he'd feel better once he was plugged in: networks are all the same size. But for now he just felt lost. And was happy that he was with people who knew how to get things done in the real world.

"I've never been inside a Star Destroyer before," he said in response to Rhijans' question about where to set him up. "So I don't know how the network is set up. I need an office or alcove somewhere I can get a sense for things. Hit up some help files and some FAQ's. Anywhere quiet is fine for that. And we need maps and specs if we're going to get anything done."

As he walked he looked around to see if there was a terminal somewhere close by that was out-of-the-way enough to let him get some work done.

Juragga did his best to play up the "broken slave" bit, whimpering and shuffling after the others.  But his teal eyes scanned his path, and he tracked where they were going carefully.

Still queasy, Shard is more-than content to play the part of the subordinate, trailing after the group while taking a wide detour around Juragga's puddle.  One arm rises to pat the Wookie on the tricep, probably the highest place she can easily reach without stretching.  "This...this is actually good," she mutters.  "Beyond the spectacular diversion, niceoneHarmon."  The older woman sucked in a deep breath, grateful for the taste of canned, antiseptic air.  "Story will get around quickly on a ship this size, and it means people will know who we are: 'that group what blew waste all over docking bay whatever'.  Haha, embarrassment, but it's better than 'who are you, what's your operating number'."

Even Imperials like to laugh, she knows.

"Hang in there, Juragga," she murmurs.  He's looking better already. "When we find something, the group will run interference for you, Haarmon.  Talk-talk interference, not 'beat up people' interference," she cautions the furry giant next to her.  "Save that for when...when..."

Finally Shard shrugs.  "When things go bad."  The metaphor which had jumped to mind is sadly redundant.

The first side door is open, and seems to be some sort of workshop.  Lots of machinery, terminals, workbenches, and things that look like ship components, many of them stripped down for cleaning or repairs.

Also plenty of techs working on  said components.

The second is closed, but not for long.  A man in an Imperial Fleet uniform walks out of it as they draw level with it.  He strides past the group heading for the hangar, sparing a quick glance, with attendant sneer, for Juragga.  Then he seems to smell something bad, and he coughs as he hurries away.

Thedoor is open for a second longer, revealing that the room beyond is an office, complete with a terminal, and currently empty...

Rhijans gave a quick jerk of his head to the now-vacant office.  "I think somebody needed some work done in here, yes?" he asked, his voice at a conversational level.  In a main corridor, the fastest way to be noticed was to be observed trying not to be noticed...so he didn't bother trying to keep his voice low or avoid being seen.

"Should be able to take care of that and then see what else we can fix before our shift ends..."  There was an unpleasant humor that seemed to color his words for a moment...slightly emphasizing 'fix'.

"Sounds good, sir," Shard duly parrots.  Within, she's relieved; nobody seems to be making an issue of Juragga.  There had been a great deal of concern, but...  A Star Destroyer is basically a flying city, Shard.  Lots and lots of people aboard.

"Great work with the waste stream, Haarmon," she growls, only semi-quietly.  Like Rhijans, the older woman is doing her best not to be noticed, and whispering is a bad plan.  "Now we stink, and everyone knows it."  For a second - only that - she flashes him an approving smile.  This situation couldn't have gone better, Shard figures, and with any luck other techs will have been assigned to clean out the ship before they need to make their heroic escape.

In the meantime, nobody wants anything to do with them.

One hand claps Juragga on the shoulder.  "Hunker down here," she orders, with a small grimace meant only for the hairy giant. "We'll sit by the door, let them work."

And stink up this part of the hallway, promoting people to keep moving along.   

Haarmon manages a good blush at Shard's comment and his mouth puckererd up and his gaze locked on the floor. To any outside observer, it would look like he was withering under her criticism. The reality was something altogether different.

He didn't say anything in response to either her or Rhijans. He had learned to take his cues from them when on a mission, and they were playing this cool and casual. And although he was not overly blessed in the self-awareness department, he was dimly cognizant that 'cool' and 'casual' were two terms with which he kept, at best, inconstant company.

So he just pretended to be all abashed at the Fecal Fiasco and shuffled his way into the small office. He paused a moment and eyed the place. His gaze locked onto the terminal and he tried to keep the motivated, direct, almost eager notes out of his stride as he walked over to it.

He sat down and got to work. He had his own terminal close to hand if he needed it. And he guessed he would. Imperial networks tended to be frustrating, labrynthine contructions, with dozens and dozens of of conflicting permissions and drives and standalones.

But things got done in steps.

First, maps and layout. Get them onto some datapads for the others.

Next. Information about Orkannen and Rebel prisoners, most especially the Colonal.

And depending on how long that takes, and how much digital red-tape there was in the way, he would try scrambling up the records of shiips-in/ships-out for the hangar they were in. Delete some. Add a few. Toss a few ships here and a few ships there. Get everyone super confused and running around like crazy.

16 on the Computer Prog/Repair, 22 on investigation, and 9 on Network Forgery.

Uh oh.

Now that he's had his fun, it's time for Haarmon to get down to some real work...

It takes a little while for him to negotiate the maze of network protocols.  A lot of promising leads fizzle out due to secured gateways and flawed access codes - It looks as though the this particular star destroyer has recently had its network security upgraded.

But eventually information starts to trickle through.  The deck plans aren't perfect - security seems to be at its tightest there - but the blank areas on the diagrams might contain items of importance and vital systems.

Information on Orakanin is a little more easily available.  The Imperials were here as a standard show of force - fly in, terrorise the system for a while, then move on to do the same elsewhere.  Though Orakanin is apparently scheduled for another visit soon in an effort to catch undesirables by surprise.

There is some information on prisoners.  All of them are being transferred to the flagship after a brief interrogation on whichever ship captures them.  Cross referencing that reveals that this particular star destroyer, the Terminator is that flagship.

If the Colonel is still alive then he is, or soon will be, on this very ship...

Prisoners are recorded as twelve character ID codes only.  No names.  Still, the time stamps next to the codes are probably a good indicator of which one is Jalt.  That particular entry is also flagged as possessing a couple of droids...

Suddenly Juragga, sitting near the door lets out a soft "whuff" of alarm.  His sharp hearing has detected stormtroopers moving along the corridor...

Rhijans stiffened at Juragga's...alarm (he didn't understand what the Wookiee was saying, but the tone and Juragga's body language made the basic intent clear, even if he didn't get the particulars.)

"Well, this could get exciting," he muttered, and looked around for some kind of service panel that he could open and be working on as the troopers came into view.  Preferably something he could close up with a remote detonator and a charge inside, for a later distraction...

"Not good," Shard quietly notes. "Our 'disguise' isn't going to work so well against people in full-armor."  The stench certainly won't keep them away.  Going to her tool belt, she verifies that the murder-stick is in place, then hunkers down close to Juragga.  "Let's all just stay calm.  Nothing we can do until they arrive; if we're lucky, they'll just head on past us.  We're just a bunch of techs, after all."

And if not?  If the Imperials stop to ask questions?

Then there's a problem, Shard knows.  Likely as not, if that occurs it'll be because the Imperials are looking for saboteurs, not just being suspicious.  Otherwise, the troopers - with places to go, people to see, things to do - would likely just march past a bunch of techs and their enslaved labourer.

Juragga growls softly.  The troopers are outside the door now, and they've stopped...

And then the Wookiee warbles.  They're moving on... seems like they're on their way to somewhere else.  Or maybe just patrolling the ship.

Haarmon starts transferring information to a datapad.  A map of the ship.  Then he lets out a low whistle.  "Kourene is here.  Or will be soon.  This is the flagship, and all prisoners get sent here eventually.  And I've found Jalt."

Rhijans gave a near-feral grin.  "Copy that info onto something portable.  Let's go spring Jalt, see if we can get him into something that will blend in with us...and get ready to spring Kourene and anyone they bring in with him."

His grin faltered for just a moment.  "And we should probably see if we can find some way to get that information back to Command, so they can send help.  That way, if we get out of this alive, they can't complain that we didn't follow orders."

Fantastic news; Shard's heart actually skips a beat when the word comes of the colonel's arrival.  But... "Wait."  Shard catches at Rhijans' sleeve.  "If we free Jalt, we run a serious risk of alerting them.  Something could go wrong, and we'll end up with the entire ship on alert.  Worse, if that's the case they might wave off the colonel's transport."

The older woman closes her eyes, hard, brow furrowing.  "I hate what I'm about to say...but I think we need to do both roughly at the same time.  That way, if something goes off with Jalt's rescue, it won't impact on either the guards on the ship or the colonel's transfer."

Her eyes pop open after a moment. "Flagship?  Haarmon, would you snag a list of any dignitaries or luminaries on board as well.  Could be important."   Turning back to Rhijans, she slowly shrugs.  "I'm of the idea we're going to have to replay Alrirkr* and split the group.  I know, I know - bad holovid warnings all over this, but it seems like our best shot."

* Frozen Assets

Rhijans nodded agreement.  Sound logic was hard to argue with.  He looked over at Dak.  "While you're digging for information, see if you can find something about a locker room or armor stockpile or something.  If I'm possibly going to end up on my own somewhere, I'll pass myself off as a stormtrooper a lot more convincingly than as a technician."

He scowled slightly and added, "We still need floor plans, information on where Jalt is located."  AThe scowl vanished and an almost cafty look, not quite a grin, replaced it.  "How hard is it to forge an internal prisoner transfer order?  Not releasing him, just moving him from one detention area to another?"

Haarmon continues working, as he listens in on the discussion.  "At least I think I've found Jalt.  A recently processed prisoner, listed as having two droids with him.  Sounds like him."

"There's no names for any of the prisoners, just ID codes.  That prisoner is here.  Oh, and security seems to be extreme around this block of detention cells here.  Interesting... a couple of prisoner in there who arrived at about the time I'd figure Kourene was captured."

Juragga gets to his feet and looks ready to tear the ship apart with his own hands...

Rhijans nodded.  "We're definitely going to need some different uniforms in order to make this work.  A stormtrooper or officer might be able to get into the detention blocks without raising eyebrows...a maintenance tech, without responding to a call?  Never gonna happen, no matter how bored the guards might be."

He glanced at Dak.  "Unless you can manage to create some kind of repairs-required-now situation there...and then make sure that we're the team that answers the call, without someone else coming in on our heels."

He paused a moment, thinking.  "Or, maybe, a tech team escorted by a stormtrooper?  The more anonymous we can become, the better, but at least two of us won't fit stormtrooper armor very well..."  Shard was too short...and Juragga...well, besides being too tall, and big enough that the torso armor would fit his legs, there was the minor issue of containing all the hair...

"And, somewhere along the way, we've gotta start laying the pieces for a lot of very large diversions to enable us to get out."

He though for another moment.  Getting into a maximum security area on the Star Destroyer would be hazardous, even by the loose applications of the term he tended to use...it would be good if they could verify that they were actually going in after the right person before they stuck their necks that much further out.

"They don't list any info on the prisoners...but do they have security monitor footage stashed somewhere? If we could get a look at it and make sure it's the Colonel in there before we start raising a ruckus, it would be a good measure to take."

Standing up next to Juragga, Shard puts her hand on his arm. "We need to move slowly and carefully," she quietly reminds the Wookie.  "That's our best chance of getting everyone out of here alive.  Colonel, Jalt, all of us...."  Once she's certain he's not going to charge off in search of heads to forcibly remove, Shard returns her attention to Haarmon and Rhijans.

"All right.  Good plans so far.  So, two troopers, one maintenance tech, and my 'assistant'." Another pat on Juragga.  "And the best possible thing to do would be to have something go terribly wrong with the Star Destroyer right when we're about to leave."  The older woman grimaces. "Odds...are pretty long on that.  It's a big ship, full of redundant systems.  And if we get out of here, we need to break out of the picket-line and manage to make the jump..."

It's sounding worse and worse by the moment.

She bites her lip, then shrugs. "One step at a time.  If you can get us close to the place where they might be holding Kourene, I can figure out if he's there," Shard quietly explains.  "That 'extremely secure' area, for example.  And maybe - just maybe - we should just bust in there anyway; anyone they're holding in that place is going to be important, Kourene or not." 

Sucking in a deep breath through gritted teeth, she nods decisively.  "All right.  Get some armor.  Get in.  Get Jalt out - that's possible, we have a crisis of crap in the bay.  Maybe the techs need Jalt in order to work out how to keep his ship from continuing to vomit garbage all over the bay.  Make up some excuse involving fluidics*.  So we get HIM out, then we spring the colonel or whomever is in that area...and..."

Her lips purse heavily in a thoughtful moue.  "That's all I have right now."

* Obscure Reference Award for those who get this!

Rhijans nodded.  "We can help create some additional chaos and possibly even take down some of those redundant systems if we get charges in the right places.  The right two or three power feeds gone offline will cause a LOT of problems.  And if we can set them in the right places, we can potentially lead troops away from the hangar area...convince them there are infiltrators working on another section of the ship."  He was quite certain such distractions would be of very limited use against the detention guards...they had one assignment, and that was to hold the detention area secure.  The other guards and stormtroopers had a general task to protect the ship...which meant going where the threat was, not protecting specific areas from threats.

A notion came to mind...but it would all depend on how much information Haarmon was able to dig out of the Imperial systems.  "First thing is finding some armor in need of a body to fill it...or finding a couple of bodies to be divested of their armor."  He looked over at Dak.

"Is there a barracks section somewhere nearby?  Preferably one without too many people in it, but we'll improvise as needed."  He grinned over at Juragga, knowing that, between the Wookiee and the explosives they were carrying, they could create a lot of havoc.

"And while I'm setting a list of impossible tasks, disable the alarm systems in that area so they can't call for help without having to make a run for it.  And then locate a couple of power nodes feeding detention areas OTHER than the one Kourene is in.  Maybe we can manufacture our own crisis, get ourselves an excuse to get the whole team in there."  He grimaced slightly.  "I think our odds will go up if we can get Jalt out, quietly, and get him in armor, as well...not to mention all the chaos his astromech could cause if he got tied into the ship's network."

Haarmon snaps his fingers.  "On it!"  And he starts searching the system for security codes, using the software on his own portable console.  He spends a few minutes, while he waits, studying the datapad with the downloaded schematics.

"Quartermaster's store here, three decks down from where we are now.  But it looks like it's right next to the stormtroopers' nest, so there's going to be a lot of them about."

The console chirps quietly, and Haarmon turns to investigate.  "Right, I'm into their detention surveillance records.  And... that looks like Colonel Kourene being marched into a cell."

The recording is not very clear, and the prisoner in question has his back to the camera for most of it, but towards the end, when he is almost out of range, he turns to walk into the cell, and his profile comes into view...

"That's close enough to a confirmation for me."  There were chances, of course, that they could be wrong...but there was no other good way of knowing, short of getting a live feed in the cell itself.  And he doubted they could access that from here.  He knew he, at least, would have any surveillance within the cells on a closed system, accessible only from the detention area.  There was no need for anyone else to access it.

Well...no need which the Empire would consider legitimate, anyway...

"If we're lucky, we can get in there and score a couple of suits of armor without grabbing attention...any chance you can forge a repair order for something in there, and write it up so we're the team that responds to it?"  When it came to computers and shipboard systems, he was out of his depth...he could only think of what would be convenient for them, it was up to Dak to tell him whether it was possible or not.

They didn't need a lot of time alone in there.  Without assistance, it took him maybe five minutes to get into the armor, last time.  With a couple of helping hands, they could easily shave a minute or two off of that.

Rhijans the planner goes into high gear, with the help of Haarmon the facilitator.  Shard, being the critiquer, sits back and waits for the idea to unfurl (no doubt similarly for Juragga the remover, and that particular title has little to do with plans).  And unfurl it does, grand and risky, but would any workable plan be any less?

"Nicely done," she murmurs at sight of the colonel.  They're up and running, now - by luck (or design) they've managed to get aboard the one place in the universe where can be found a Colonel Kourene.  Now they just need to escape him.

"So we have Jalt in one area, the colonel in another." Her lips press together. "This...is going to be tight.  I'm still worried we'd do better splitting up - getting one group to bust out Jalt, the other to get Kourene.  Once we get one out, the odds of them knowing we're here skyrocket." The older woman paces in a circle.  "How to prevent that...Jalt is the least important.  We get him out first, if anything - maybe to bring him to his ship to help clean the stink out, or maybe just to move him to another cell block.  That'll give us You-Why as well, and the R2.  He's not a big security issue.  THEN...we get the colonel and run?"

"Thoughts?"

Rhijans nodded.  "Agreed.  If I could figure out a way to make it happen, I'd arrange for Jalt to 'vanish' in a prisoner transfer...orders arrive at his current cellblock for him to be transferred to another, but the others never get those orders so when he doesn't show up, nobody notices anything is wrong.  We stick him in trooper armor, as well...that gives us three guns that are about as anonymous as we're going to manage.  Barring that, put him in a tech uniform and send him back to the Bantha to get it on standby..."

He trailed off, and glanced down at his own Imperial tech uniform.  "We get the trooper armor first, I'm not going to need these..." he said, gesturing at his outfit.

"And I'm sure Jalt can pass himself off as a starship technician, of ANY sort, better than I can."

A plan starts to take shape.  Well, more like two linked plans, since there are two targets.

Haarmon starts work on his own console, pushing orders through to the Imperial system.  "Repair order just went in to deal with a faulty power coupling in the stores' thermal regulator.  And we're the only people who know about it.  So I suppose we'll have to drag our choobies down there and fix it."

The slicer grins.

"Thermal regulator.  Sounds like just the place to leave a thermal detonator, right?"

The work order transfers to a datapad, where it sits on the display, looking very severe and official.

Rhijans gave a ghost of a smile.  A very approving smile.  "Sounds exactly like the right kind of place for a thermal detonator.  Or at least some kind of remote-triggered charge.  Maybe a remote charge to trigger a thermal detonator."

The thought that he would soon be back in a more faceless operating mode made him feel better about his options for the mission.  Were his appearance less distinctive, the technician uniform would work wonderfully...but there weren't many gray-skinned humanoids in the galaxy, and even fewer, if any, who worked for the Empire.  And with what they were about to do, being noteworthy, even before they started making trouble, was problematic.  Wookiees could be written off as slaves...they weren't commonplace, but they were there.  The Empire wasn't particularly well known for using females amongst their personnel...but as a low-ranking tech, Shard ran a minimal risk of drawing attention.  Haarmon?  Aside from an occasional lapse into a total lack of decorum, he could actually fit in perfectly.

But Rhijans felt like showing his face was risking the entire operation.

"So, we get the armor, get that working...did you get a chance to put anything into the system regarding a possible prisoner transfer for Jalt?"  Thinking two or three steps ahead was a survival skill, for him, though he could improvise when he had to.

A sharp nod follows Rhijans' words. "All right, then.  Thermal regulator, Haarmon?  We'd better get at that." 

They need to move, and move now - any delay risks discovery, risks losing Jalt, risks more torture and loss of secrets for Kourene.  Fingers itching slightly, Shard awaits response from Haarmon.  If anyone can do it...

Haarmon packs his equipment away, then hands the largest tool box to Juragga to carry.  That one contains some unconventional tools - thermal detonators, demolition charges, spare weapons, etc...  Useful for Juragga to take that, as it's less likely that anybody would stop a large, angry looking Wookiee to inspect his luggage.

The datapad with the work order goes in the top of Haarmon's own tool kit, along with his portable console and assorted datachips.  All equipment that will easily pass a quick inspection as the sort of thing that a tech might carry.

And they're ready to go.

They step out into the corridor and start heading towards the Quartermaster's stores.  A little way ahead a squad of stormtroopers are checking that doors are secured.

Following their map they find an elevator, and descend.  They step out at the entrance to the stores, where an Imperial in an officer's uniform with the insignia of a lieutenant looks at them with an expression of disgust.  Clearly these lowly techs and the Wookiee slave are making the place look untidy.

"Yes?  What do you want?" he snaps at them.

Passing the stormtroopers is an exercise in stress.  Shard can almost feel her heart hammering against her ribcage, wonders if the troopers can hear.  But no, those helmets must be blocking the drumbeat out.  Past them, she fights to unclench her teeth.

A single squad of troopers, they could manage...but if a fight breaks out, the entire ship will be against them.

Elevator and down, giving her more time to relax, to struggle for control.  And then here they are in the belly of the beast, faced by its disgruntled master.  Stepping forward, Shard tries a salute. "Sir.  We've received a repair order...faulty power coupling in the thermal regulator?"  Her voice trails off a touch, making it almost a question.  "Reporting as ordered." 

The worst part was pretending docility.

What he WANTED to do was lash out, roar in Wookiee rage, and snarl in the face of death as he tore them all to pieces with his bare hands, or died trying.

But what he ACTUALLY did was bow his head and shuffle along, acting subdued.  Because that was the only way Imperials could accept his people; and THAT was the only way to accomplish their mission.

Rhijans kept his face carefully neutral through the whole thing...apparently bored.  If anyone paid attention to his eyes, however...

He was taking careful stock of everything he could process.  Labels on doors. Locations of people.  Where voices were heard and where they weren't, indicating groups of people beyond them.  Anything on the stormtroopers that denoted any kind of special status.  What was piled where in the QM area...all of it examined briefly, analyzed, and filed away as tactical information for later use.

Even when Shard stepped up and started talking, he stood, his face slightly averted...while he wasn't as obvious as a Wookiee, his 'sub-human' status meant he should avoid treating officers as anything close to equals.  But out of the corner of his eyes, he watched, assessing the man's body language, reactions, apparent physical ability...

Whatever humor he'd displayed, in whatever miniscule degree, was gone.  He was all business, at this point, even though part of that business required him to look like he regarded almost everyone around him as a superior.

Now that things had moved past planning and recon into actual ops, Haarmon stopped feeling quite as on top of the game as he did a few minutes ago. This was Rhijan's realm, and Haarmon, with no small amount of awe and envy, watched as the the grey-skinned operative draped that cold cloak of indifferent competence across him self and got down to business like breaking into secure detention centres and messing up Star Detroyers and walking away clean (probably with explosions in the background that he's studiously ignoring) was just another day on the farm.

And Shard, of course, was at home everywhere. Poking into planning and ops equally efficiently and equally expertly. And poor Rags, who was out of place everywhere, getting more and more ready to fight, the menace lurking inside of his arms like a snake sunning itself on a rock.

All of them so good at what they did. And all of them falling into their roles so easily.

He was just glad he had them to hide behind once the slicing was done.

He stared at the Imperial behind the desk. Noted the pristine cleanliness of the area. Noted the look of frustrated annoyance on the man's face. It was clear he didn't want them here. Didn't want anyone here messing up his perfectly ordered universe.

So let's give him no reason to keep us.

He looked up from his datapad as Shard talked, making a tight, unhappy face, and keeping his voice fast and clipped and impatient. "And yeah, look, I'm really sorry, Lieutenant, but the docket's full today, you know. So if you could hurry us along we need to get this done and out of here fast, like, Kessel Run, fast, we'd really appreciate it."

Con the Imp:
09:04, Today: Haarmon Dak rolled 16 using 4 dice with the WEG Classic system ((5,4,{Wild}2,5)).

This message was last edited by the player at 11:40, Fri 06 May 2016.

The officer looks at the proffered datapad, studying carefully, his face locked into the same sour expression.  But he doesn't take the pad.  His eyes just scan the information.

"I wasn't aware that we had any kind of environmental problem.  Are you absolutely certain that you have the right section?"  He doesn't wait for an answer.  "The station number is correct, and ShipOps would not have made a mistake, I suppose.  Very well, get on with it, as quickly as you can.  Don't let that... " a curt nod in Juragga's direction, "... touch anything fragile."

He turns, swivelling on his heel, and stalks into an office set off to one side, where he sits with the door open, so that he can watch the outer room while he works.

The outer room is at least twenty metres wide and twice as long, with rows of shelves holding carefully labelled storage bins.  There are large cabinets around the walls.  It seems likely that not all parts of the room can be seen from the office...

Rhijans' lips tightened slightly in the barest hint of a grin, and he gave Haarmon a nod.  They were in...

Now, they just needed to find the junction in question.  And a couple of storage containers with armor in them.  And get into the armor and out of the QM section without raising any alarms...preferably while leaving an obscenely large explosive charge in their wake.

One thing at a time... he told himself.

"Okay, boss," he said, in the best casual tone he could muster...which was still crisply businesslike, but at a level that shouldn't attract much attention.  "Where's this regulator at?"  He started walking back, eyes scanning the labels on the crates, looking for armor...but trying to be aware of anything else appropriately opportunistic.

He always took a special delight in using Imperial munitions to destroy Imperial equipment...

Juragga hung his head and looked shamed as the officer told them not to let him break anything.

...as he mentally rehearsed all the things he was going to break.  Starting with said officer.

"Efficiency, sir.  Fix the problem before it becomes serious."  Haarmon is doing a good job - he's a natural at this kind of fast-talk - but it never hurts to throw in some extra weight behind any flim-flammery.  Rhijans seems to be getting them pointed in the correct direction, and is probably salivating slightly at the thought of planting some kind of obscenely large explosive charge.

Well, probably not; salivating doesn't seem quite right, Shard figures, as it might freeze from his void-cold professional aura.

And Juragga?  Biding his time, wisely.  "C'mon, you," Shard mutters, moving up beside him and trying for the right mix of condescending affection.  "Let's see if we need any muscle for this job."  They will, and soon enough; probably with the gargantuan bowcaster smuggled away in one of the equipment cases, or possibly just breaking said equipment case over someone's head.

Or working on some delicate technical aspect, with those surprisingly dextrous Wookie digits.

And off they go, headed into the back in search of the regulator in question.  "This way," Shard states firmly, without any real idea.  Not that the officer would know; their group just needs to look like they know what they're doing.

The regulator is easy enough to find.  There's a large maintenance panel on one side of the room, towards the back.  It's clearly marked as covering several systems which control environmental conditions, power, and datalinks for something called <t>Section 372-25</t>.

Close to it is a locked door, a red indicator burning balefully on its control panel.

Something else too, which wasn't visible from the entrance to the stores... three Imperials are among the shelves, apparently checking inventory.  All are wearing rank insignia which indicate that they are lowly Midshipmen.  All of them look to be young, probably new recruits, or at least fairly recent.  And all immediately try to move as far from Juragga as possible, consistent with continuing their assigned duty...

Rhijans sidled close to the others.  "Been watching the shelves...the stuff we are looking for isn't out here...at a guess, I'd say the Armory is behind that door..."  His voice was quiet, and he kept his eyes low, as though he'd been conditioned to avoid eye-contact with his 'betters' (Shard and Haarmon).

"I don't know if there's a good way to bypass that...there's definitely not a good way to do it with the Quartermaster crew in here taking inventory."  He shot a quick glance, sidelong, at Shard.  "Maybe us grunts need to go investigate a feed-line coming into the regulator and see if we can scare the QM Corps into hiding for a few minutes...?"

Their lack of enthusiasm for Juragga's presence could, possibly, be due to mere distaste.  But there could also, easily, be an element of fear in there.  Either one, however, could potentially be made to help their current project...

Once they were past the guy at the desk, they were firmly back in 'real world logistics' territory and Haarmon pretty much clammed up. Rhijans was right in that there was no quick, easy, or quiet way past that door, especially with an audience.

He freezes at the three soldiers counting taking inventory and his mouth goes dry. But he managed to keep walking, mostly out of assurance that the others would take care of this if taking care was needed.

"They're young.  Very young, and inexperienced.  I can get rid of them," Shard quietly notes.  "Leave this part to me and Juragga."  Her and the Wookie against a group of green techs?  Not a problem.  That leaves Haarmon and Rhijans to get into the armory and have Rhijans suit up...which is perfect.

"Juragga, let's go.  We don't want to be loud, here, but if you can loom really well..." The older woman makes a disgusted noise.  "Of course you can, who am I kidding?  Just follow my lead."

Hopefully with Juragga in tow, Shard heads to confront the three workers.  "Hey.  You lot."  She gestures with one hand.  Once achieving their attention, Shard puts on her serious face.  "We're dealing with the environmental system, here.  Specifically the thermals.  Coolant fluid could escape and go vapour.  The last time that happened, we had four crew in sickbay and me with about sixteen forms to fill out.  If you have a break scheduled, take it now.  If you don't, get up to the front of the room."

Folding her arms, she nods her head toward the front of the room, positioned to block - well, for Juragga to block - the view toward the back.

Juragga, of course, was only too happy to follow The Jedi.  He lumbered after her, drawing himself up to his full height.  Finally he could straighten his spine and not simper!

The clerks try to edge away from Shard or, more accurately, from the towering wall of fur behind her.  Unfortunately for them, they run out of space to manoeuvre.  At that point they have no choice but to listen to Shard's "advice".

They seem torn, though, between avoiding exposure to toxic chemicals (and a Wookiee) and avoiding the wrath of their superior.

Only briefly though.  They may be new recruits, but they know enough to know where the real danger lies.  But, at this point, they just don't care...

"We have a scheduled break in about ten minutes.  We'll request to be allowed to take it early because... because... " and he desperately searches for a good reason, "... you've told us we're in the way and delaying your work."

The man signals to his comrades-in-inventory, and the three move carefully past the tech team, paying particular attention to avoiding the Wookiee.

As they walk away, they can be heard talking quietly.

"Sakz isn't going to like us telling him we have to take an early break.  You know how he likes his schedules"

"Never mind him!  I just hope she doesn't call a surprise inspection while we're away."

Rhijans grimaced, minutely, at the mention of 'she'.  Women in authority in the Empire were few and far between.  Women in authority in this sector of space were almost non-existent.  "Should've expected that..." he muttered softly, between gritted teeth.

"Clock's running," he said in a low voice as the clerks moved far enough away to not hear him.  "Can you bypass the door?  Don't want to sound any major alarms."

Frankly, he didn't care if something happened to cause the Quartermaster to come investigate...as long as he didn't sound an alarm before he came.  Rhijans had no doubts about their ability to deal with him...and, at this point, few (if any) compunctions about doing it with extreme prejudice.  Lives were on the line...a LOT of lives, if he interpreted the clerks' commentary correctly.

"Maaaaaybe?" Dak's reply to Rhijans came out in a long, distracted question as he turned his attention to the armoury door. He produced a small multi-tool and opened the locking mechanism.

It was hard to slice into doors in an Imperial Ship. Too many layers and redundancies. It just took forever. Usually the best way out was through.

He noodled around inside the door, cut a couple of wires. Poked a couple of circuit boards.

"Maybe," he mumbled, more certain, "I think I got it."

OOC: 21 on Security roll. I think that's my first roll for non-computer Security.

"Well-chosen," Shard agrees with the recruits, watching them huddle their way out of the area.  But ice-water pours down her spine as they discuss potential surprise inspections, and Shard turns a wide-eyed look of horror toward Rhijans.  Void.  Hot void.  Not here.

Coincidence?  No.  They're on the ship holding Kourene.

Swallowing thickly, the older woman edges back a touch, speaking out of the corner of her mouth.  "Rhijans."  Her face pale, she false-starts twice before shaking off enough of her palsy to speak properly.  "I'm a liability.  If it's Nimadda -"  there; you've said her name and she hasn't appeared "- she might be able to figure out I'm here."  Leave it to him to work out why; regardless of his beliefs, she's certain the onyx-eyed hunter has seen enough to at least put credence in her words.  And...

Shard's eyes close.  Haarmon.

They snap open again, the fear buried under diamond-hard purpose.  A touch to Juragga's arm brings him into this as well.  "You two.  No matter what, you need to make sure Haarmon gets out of here.  You can't let Nimadda get her claws into him."

Curse it all, he's her responsibility now. Nimadda will turn him inside-out, and there won't be anything left of the Haarmon we know when she's finished.

Assuming she doesn't just kill him.

Rhijans turned to Shard...and in a rare physical gesture, reached out one hand to rest on her shoulder and turn her to look him in the eyes.  "We are ALL getting out of here...anyone left behind will be dragged over my dead body, and I have absolutely no intention of dying here."  His voice was tight, controlled...the sound of a voice belonging to a man who refused to accept his own fears.

"This just means we have to create that much more chaos, and hit that much faster, when we do...get her so busy looking every which way that she can't focus on us."  Rhijans had always found he got the best success when he chose to respond to fear through action, not waiting and worrying...

He turned to the door.  "One way or another, it's time to make a move.  See about rigging a charge in the junction there...see how many systems we can screw up in a single blast...and I'll see whether or not this armor idea is actually going to work out or if we're going to have to improvise."  He reached out and triggered the door release.

Juragga grumbles menacingly, his meaning abundantly clear: Nimadda will have to go through him to get to Haarmon, and he'll make sure it hurts her.

Haarmon, meanwhile, demonstrates that he's as handy with opening locks physically as he is at slicing them.  The door slides open, releasing a somewhat antiseptic smell of metal and plastic.

Lights flicker on, harsh white lights that make Juragga squint and growl.  There is a long narrow room stretching away from the doorway and lined with two wall racks, one on each side.  And they hold blasters.

It looks like enough blasters to equip an entire army.  Below the racks are neatly labelled equipment bins.  All of them closed, and with code locks on them...

Haarmon was actually rather pleased with  himself when he got the door open so easily. It was harder than it looked and he'd had nowhere near as much practice. But a couple of pokes, and zip and zap, and boom! It opened right up. Only thing easier would have been to shoot it.

He turned around, feeling pretty good and saw that everyone looked all intense and grim and serious. I mean, sure, they were in the middle of an Imperial stronghold on an impossible mission a single misstep away from death at all times.

But even more serious than that.

"What's up?" he asked. "Did something happen? What happened?"

Swivelling to face Rhijans, Shard meets his diamond-hard stare.  Her own brims with tightly-controlled fear and sharp-edged determination.  Some of that fear recedes at the smoke-skinned hunter's words, and the older woman feels a knot in her belly loosen.  A hair. "Right," she whispers, her voice cracking slightly.  Be like him, Shard.  Move.  Keep moving.  Don't sit and think.

"Thanks."

Juragga grumbles his own warnings to their enemies, and Shard shifts back from Rhijans as the hunter moves to the door.  Running fingers through her hair, she nods along with the Wookie's views. "Makes two of us." I'm cursed well responsible for Haarmon, now.  More than before.  Looks like she'll have to walk over a trail of bodies to get to him.

And the woman will, Shard knows, if that's what it takes her; so best to think like Rhijans and work toward getting out alive.

"I'll leave blowing the void out of this place to you," she starts, then Haarmon turns around.  With a question, and this one is for her to field.  Stepping forward, Shard gives him a thin-lipped smile. "Let's keep it down, but you need to know that Nimadda is here.  Ghea Nimadda.  We've talked about her.  It just means we need to be...extra-extra careful."    Her voice trails off as she looks past Haarmon. "Void.  How many blasters IS that?" Shard wonders, then shakes her head. "All of them, I guess."

Aaaaand...coded locks on the armor bins, of course.

"I'll watch for the techs," Shard states with a significant glance for Haarmon, edging back from the door.  Simultaneously, her mind seeks balance, search for that fulcrum between fire and ice.

Haarmon's face fell. Sometimes being a slicer was being a maid in a house full of slobs. No matter how many locks you hot-wired, how many codes you broke, there were always more locks and more codes.

"What's the plan, Big Man?" he said to Rhijans, "Are we snatch-and-grab? Or blowing up? Because I'm, uh, not all the way sure I can do much about all this. Not quickly anyway. But say the word and I'll get to it."

His face fell a little more at Shard's news. He didn't really have much of a response handy so he just sort of gave a tight-lipped nod. They were going to be as careful as they could be. "Just gotta play the cards that came out of the deck, I guess, huh?"
This message was last edited by the player at 11:22, Thu 19 May 2016.

Rhijans looked at Haarmon just a moment longer than usual...reading, assessing.  Whatever he saw, apparently satisfied him, because he gave a minute nod.

"We need to get at least one, preferably a couple, of these tubs open, assuming that's where the armor is stored.  And if we can find wherever they've got the stockpile of powerpacks for the blasters..."  THAT would make for a pretty impressive blast.  And, potentially, render a significant portion of the stormtrooper complement for this part of the ship unable to get their armor.

Not that it would make a HUGE difference, really...stormtroopers on a Star Destroyer were like mynocks on a cheap space transport, only worse.  But if they disabled a large enough portion of them here, it would take time for others to move to cover for them.

"See what you can do with the bins, I'll see if I can locate power-packs or any other likely prospects for amplifying the chaos when we start pushing buttons."  He waited long enough for a confirmation before he started moving deeper into the armory.

Rhijans takes a look at the bins.  They seem fairly sturdy, and all are labelled.  Though on closer examination, the labels bear only ID codes for the contents, not nice descriptive names.  Doubtless anybody who should be looking at the bins knows which code they are searching for, and what it signifies.

Juragga stood ready to give his life protecting his friends, muscles clenched.

Haarmon gave the bins a close, squinty-eyed look. His mouth worked back and forth in thought. He might not be able to Slice these guys open, but those serial numbers were almost certainly stored somewhere reasonably accessible.

"Lemme see what I can see here, Cap."

He looked for a wall terminal and started tapping.

"And if this doesn't work out, we could always go shake down the Inventory Twins out there."

OOC: Rolled 19 for Network Investigation (figure out what the serial numbers mean). And then we'll try popping a few open via Slicing. Rolled a 29 for Network Security. If that's not possible, I'll try jimmyrigging them open. Rolled a 9 for Security.

Please, please, please let the slicing work. :p
This message was last edited by the player at 13:31, Mon 30 May 2016.

Rhijans scowled at the bins...it made sense, given the faceless, bulk approach to much of what the Empire did, that they would use generic, featureless bins for storing equipment.  It was, in fact, the same kind of mindset he was planning to exploit, using the armor to move around on the ship.

For now, however, he had to wait for the results of Haarmon's efforts, to get any idea of what was in which bins...and, hopegully, to access them.

At the moment, there's not a whole lot Shard can do.  At the moment.  So she stays with Juragga, keeping to the official story of being his 'handler', and continues to leave her senses open.

If Nimadda is aboard, it's faintly possible she might manage to feel a spiritual malaise - an eddy, a breeze, a coldness or heat.  Something different.  Powerful people make waves, and there's no doubt Nimadda is someone of strength.

If there's a wasp in the room, Shard wants to know.

Haarmon starts working on a nearby terminal.  The information he's after is all there and (relatively) easy to get at, once he's bypassed the security protocols by using the low priority sanitation control subroutines as a back door into the system.  The screen starts to fill with serial numbers and item designations. 

Shard, meanwhile, stands close to Juragga, while he stands watch over Haarmon... 

Rhijans gives Haarmon room to work, and keeps an eye on the door, just in case somebody decides they need to come in here for anything...

After a long moment, Shard shakes her head.  "Good news and bad.  Bad news is, Nimadda has been here.  Or maybe is now.  Good news is, she's not headed this way, ten feet tall and aflame.*"  Lips pressed together, she shoots a quick look 'up front' to see if the techs are on their way back or, more likely, their annoyed supervisor.

The older woman purses her lips again.  "If we keep our heads down until the last minute, we should be able to avoid her notice.  Should." Her voice drops, slightly.  "Don't...try anything, Haarmon.  Get me?" It could sound harsh.  It doesn't; her tone echoes worry, not criticism.

* Sorry GM, I couldn't bring myself to write the full quote.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:30, Mon 30 May 2016.

Rhijans listened to Shard's explanation impassively.  While he knew, intellectually, that there was a Force, of some kind, it was hard to dismiss a lifetime of culturally-enforced skepticism.  For now, he satisfied himself that she was right that Nimadda wasn't there and wasn't coming...and waited, with forced patience, for Haarmon to provide some insights on which of the multitude of storage bins held what he wanted.

As if on cue, Haarmon nodded decisively and stood up and held out a datapad with columns of numbers neatly sorted. "Got your numbers here. Armour all there at the top. But scroll down there and there's a pile of other stuff. Medkits. Ration bars. Rope. It's a Stormtrooper buffet."

Once the datapad was out of his hands he immediately, and (amazingly) quietly started applying himself to the locks.

Rhijans took the datapad, looking through the bins until he found one that matched with the armor.  "This one," he said, putting a small piece of equipment on top to mark it.  He scrolled through the list, looking for blaster power pack or demolition charges or grenades...anything along those lines...and then located a corresponding bin.

Rhijans scans through the list, noting the contents in passing - individual sections of trooper armour, undersuits, blaster power cells, demo charges, first aid supplies, spools of rappelling cable, ration bars, communicators... basically any piece of gear that a stormtrooper might need replacing in the course of his duty...

He goes through the rows of bins, marking the ones he's interested in, while Haarmon follows, using his portable console to enter the right access codes from his own list.  As if by magic the indicators on the locks switch from red to green.

From the direction of the office, the Quartermaster's voice can be heard talking loudly to somebody.  While the individual words are indistinct, his general tone of voice sounds unhappy...

Haarmon snapped up from his easy, confident crouch. His heart froze up in his chest and his eyes went wide. He barely resisted the urge to go hide behind Juragga. Not that it would be the first time. Or the last.

He looked around at the others, gauging their reaction.

"Keep going," Shard mutters to Haarmon.  "We'll deal with it if need be.  In fact...Juragga, let's go head this off.  But start quietly - for all we know, he's honked about a shipment being late."

That said, she slips forward - not sneaking, but keeping things as quiet as possible without so doing.  Cocking her head, Shard struggles to listen in on the distant nattering, hoping to catch some of the subject of the quartermaster's ire.

As Shard and Juragga move back towards the office, Rhijans starts opening the bins that Haarmon had unlocked.  As with everything else they do, it seems that the Imperials apply a certain ruthless efficiency to their  equipment storage.  All of the bins contain exactly what they're supposed to.

The Quartermaster, meanwhile seems less than pleased about something, "No, that won't do at all.  I'm working with a skeleton crew just now, since half my team was temporarily transferred.  And to make matters worse, now I have a maintenance crew working on the environmental systems in here.  That's right, somebody up in ShipOps decided that there's a fault down here that's about to trigger some kind of failure, even though my panel doesn't show anything."

Juragga rumbled a caution to Dak - "Be careful" - and then flanked The Jedi as she went towards the problem.  He had NO problem following her lead, considering her both wiser and calmer than himself.

Rhijans noticed both Shard and Juragga moving in the direction of the Quartermaster's Office...and decided to stay focused on the task at hand.  They were both highly competent...

He selected an appropriate bin, pulling it out and rapidly getting into the stormtrooper armor inside (or doing it as rapidly as could be managed, at any rate.  The stuff was not made to get into quickly...)  If he could manage to get into it before things went sideways with Shard and Juragga, he might be able to stall things a little more effectively...

Those thoughts went to the back of his mind, however, for the time being.  They needed to get stuff moving and that meant he needed to be in armor to facilitate the process.  So, that was priority one.  But it didn't stop him from keeping an ear out for the presence of any obstacles to their mission that might pop up.

Talking with a higher-up?  Maybe...or maybe someone on his level.  It doesn't sound like the sort of deference one would expect from an Impy to his superior.

...or maybe quartermasters are the same all over.

"So far, so good," she cautions quietly.  "He's honked off, but not barking about sending in the troops.  Sounds like a man irritated about scheduling and work, rather than suspicious.  But...half his team transferred?"  Her eyes narrow.  "Why?"

Shard closes her eyes for a moment, then presses her lips together.  "Right.  Time to take a chance.  Let's go, Juragga - we're going to try to make a friend."

Striding forward, the older woman waves a hand for the man's attention.  "Hey.  They don't need both of us back there, and I couldn't help but catch that last.  Listen...we can give you a hand with something." One thumb jerks back toward Juragga.  "He's pretty good with the heavy lifting."

OOC - If I need to make a persuade roll, I'll go for that.

Haarmon watched Shard and Rags go to work with both pride and anxiety. She had guts to walk out there like that and start in with the guy. And he watched Rhijans do his thing. It was odd and awkward to be the room alone with the grey-skinned man. He felt like maybe he should say something. But he didn't want to distract him. Or look like an idiot.

So he stayed on the terminal and took the moment to get into as many subsystems as he could. Never know when you might need to shut off some lights. Or lock a door. Or blow up some toilets.

The Quartermaster looks up at Shard, then further up, at Juragga.  And his face suddenly breaks into a small, tight-lipped smile.  "Thank you.  That's very helpful.  There's no heavy lifting to be done, but if you could each take three or four of these datapads and start to work your way through the lists of requests they contain, as quickly as possible, that would be very useful."

"I assume that you are both fully trained and certified on the IMCR-756 management system, know how to process requisitions and make inventory adjustments, and can each handle the work of a half dozen qualified operators?  Because that's what I need right now, since half my team were pulled away to work at the main stores."

He pushes himself to his feet and points at one wall of his office.  "And to make matters worse, the stormtrooper commander is expecting his troops to be inspected in about fifteen minutes, by Ghea Nimadda herself.  Knowing my luck, she'll decide that these stores are part of the stormtrooper force, and decide to take a look in here as well."

Out in the stores, Rhijans finally gets the armour on, all except the helmet, which he leaves off while he listens to what's happening with Shard and Juragga.  The Imperial seems to have some major problems brewing.  It would probably be really bad if somebody made them worse...

Haarmon, meanwhile, has catalogued any number of ways that he, personally, could make the Quartermaster's problems worse...

Rhijans reached into the toolbox they'd brought in, pulling out one of the demolition charges.  He considered options...and decided on a timer.  There were chances...several chances...that a remore trigger could be blocked or scrambled...or that a stray signal amidst all the traffic on the Star Destroyer might trigger the charge early.

He did some mental math...inspection in fifteen...add a few minutes for looking at the troops, and possibly walking in here...he set the timer for 22 minutes, quietly lifted enough blaster power packs out of their bin into the one he'd just emptied to create space for the charge, and nestled it in the bin, making sure that bin had a spot next to a bin of grenades.  The Quartermaster was going to have a VERY bad day...and if they were lucky, so was Nimadda.  He didn't start the timer, just yet...

"Can we whip up prisoner transfer orders for Jalt?" he asked Haarmon, quietly.  If it was an option, he'd try and grab another armor suit for the pilot.  They'd need some kind of duffel or crate to transport it innocuously...he was quite certain walking around with a QM bin would raise eyebrows.

Haarmon nodded and immediately started into a second set of subroutines, leaving as many of the first batch active as he could. Prisoner transfers were harder, but by no means impossible. Often enough, it was faster, easier, and more effective to tart up something that LOOKED like a transfer order, rather than dig into the heavily defended data and create one. Especially when you were on a countdown.

And for Imperial orders, that was mainly a matter of getting all the designation serials right enough so as not to arouse suspicion on a cursory glance. Maybe stick something into a few easily accessible timetables.

"Yeah, I think I can," he said, his voice tight with concentration. "Might not stand up to serious scrutiny, but..."

He handed Rhijans a datapad. "With a little fast-talk and some soft-shoe? Should be close enough for government work. So to speak."

Forgery(Networks): 15:01, Today: Haarmon Dak rolled 28 using 6 dice with the WEG Classic system ((1,5,2,4,2,{Wild}6(+6+2))).
This message was last edited by the player at 14:33, Sat 11 June 2016.

Rhijans looked over the datapad briefly...he wasn't familiar with all the protocols used on internal Imperial orders, but it certainly had an appropriate amount of Imperial officiousness.  He nodded, with a grim smile.

"This should get us Jalt...means we should luberate another set of armor and something to carry it in..."  He looked atthe first datapad Dak had given him, scrolling through the list until he found some kind of personal duffel or heavy gear bag...Something with the capacity to hold an entire stormtrooper kit.

"While I load this up, I need you to create some excuse for us to get into Kourene's detention area...or something to get you, Shard, and Juragga in there...Jalt and I can be passed off as extra personnel sent to make sure high-priority prisoners weren't at risk."  He spoke in a low, terse voice, which shouldn't have carried beyond the room.  He found the apprpriate bins for the bag, armor, and a few extra grenades and a pair of standard-issue Imperial heavy blasters.

"Open these first, then you can set that up while I load up the armor.  Juragga will need to carry it...it would be too bulky and attract too much attention on anyone else."  He gave the closest thing to a genuine smile that he'd mustered in ages, still tinged with a grim edge, and nodded at Haarmon.

"As for what kind of excuse...I'll leave it to you to find something accessible and appropriate.  Just, probably...not another sewage backup."  His voice sounded suspiciously like a chuckle as he added the last comment.

Shard holds up her hands.  "All right.  Point made.  I apologize for the mess, and I know it's coming at the worst possible time.  We just get our orders.  Just like you with your team getting yanked out from under you."

She rubs her forehead.  "My people are working their tails off back there to get things done as quickly as possible.  We'll try to get things shipshape so that you can make a good showing of things if herself comes down here.  I doubt she has a lot of experience with this kind of work, so as long as people are looking busy and everything appears tidy...but a thermal regulator issue might end up being really obvious."

Her voice lowers, taking on a worried tone.  "Like...coolant escape into some officer's face during inspection sort of obvious.  I don't think anyone wants that."

Inside, she's quietly gibbering in terror, so it's not difficult to put that concern into her words. She's here.  She's here, and going to be here.  Maybe.

We need to move.

Hot void, but her throat is parched...and yet, the idea of getting a drink doesn't dance anywhere near her mind.  For one, weaning herself off the stuff has had an effect.  For another...sometimes there's just too much edge for cheap liquor to dull, and the brain knows it.

Rhijans and haarmon continue working, while Shard tries to keep the Quartermaster calm, and out of the way.

The 'trooper armour goes into a large carryall, and a demolition charge goes into a bin with a sizeable quantity of new "playmates".

Haarmon's prisoner transfer for Jalt looks official, with long strings of authorisation codes.  Detailed movement orders, expected time of the move and personnel assigned.  It even mentions the droids, which are to be moved at the same time.  All very precise, and just dull enough that nobody would look to closely, with any luck.

Which just leaves the matter of getting to Kourene...

The Quarternmaster seems about to respond.  Then Shard's mention of a potential coolant leak percolates through his conciousness, and he glances in the direction of Haarmon and Rhijans (who, fortunately, cannot be seen from his office).  "Very well.  Just do the job as quickly and thoroughly as possible.  And try not to leave the area looking as if there's been an explosion."

Once Rhijans had the additional armor packed up, he closed up the bins, pausing long enough to start the timer on the demolition charge before sealing that one back up.  "Okay...twenty-two minutes and counting.  Let's hope we've at least got Jalt back with us by then, otherwise I suspect getting him is going to get a LOT trickier..."  He raised the helmet, pausing just before he put it on his head.

"Button everything up, good as new...let's give them no reason to think there's any need to clean up after us, until there really is a need..."  He settled the helmet in place, made sure the blaster was riding securely in its holster, and shouldered the carry-all, moving toward the door.  With a little luck, he could slip out of the room and up behind Shard and Juragga without the QM noticing him, and act like he had been dispatched to retrieve the team to handle some other pressing issue.  And, hopefully, the QM wouldn't notice that the team of four that had come in was a team of three, leaving.

If he did...well, there were ways to deal with that, too.

"Understood.  And leaving the place in one piece is the point," Shard agrees as she slowly moves back.  "Come on, you," the older woman mutters, poking Juragga (harmlessly) with one finger.  It's likely the Wookie barely feels the assault.

Marching back, she pauses, studying the trooper.  Well, Haarmon is here, Rhijans is not, therefore..."Rhijans?" she inquires carefully, straightening somewhat.  One never knows; Rhijans could have ducked out, this one could have walked in...somehow....

Assuming she gets an affirmative, Shard slips closer, abandoning her casual stance.  "Nimadda is here," she hisses.  "And better yet, she's conducting a Stormtrooper inspection in a quarter hour or so.  That means a whole bunch of things, the first of which being that she might actually come here, that is RIGHT void-cursed here, to look at the stores!"

Pausing to avoid hyperventilation, the older woman continues.  "Good news: that means a lot of the troopers might be off-post and standing in the bay all ranked up looking to put on a nice show.  Bad news: people might wonder what you're doing walking around.  Cursed bad news: Nimadda might bump into you and decide you're up for inspection, so I cursed well hope you are!" 

All this said sotto voce.

Rhijans nodded when Shard asked.  "We need to move out.  Orders to transfer a prisoner, which needs to happen within the next twenty minutes..."  Knowing the helmet didn't allow much for low tones of voice, he wasn't about to explain with the QM relatively close by.  He tried to put some emphasis on the time factor, but how well it translated through the voice filtering on the helmet was anybody's guess.

He let the carry-all down off his shoulder and indicated with it to Juragga.  "Going to need you to carry this, we should need it after we get the prisoner."  His inscrutable nature was amplified by the helmet and armor, but there was a tenseness in his posture that could be interpreted as impatience.  "More explanation when we're out moving.  There isn't time right now."  If he was rattled by the news about Nimadda, it was buried behind the armor and his urgency to action.

The exit from the stores goes surprisingly well-  If the Quartermaster even notices their departure, he chooses to ignore it.  The last thing any of them hear as the door hisses closed behind them is his voice, cut off in mid sentence as he complains to somebody about needing his personnel back...

In fact the complications start when they are about half way to the detention block...

There is an irregular series dull thumps from somewhere, and the artificial gravity wavers for a moment.  A siren starts to sound, and a voice echoes from a public address system.  "Attention.  Attention.  All crew to combat stations."

And what sounds like a distant explosion...

Rhijans glanced at the rest of the team.  "That wasn't mine," he said, his voice oddly flattened by the helmet's filtering.  He held up the datapad with the forged orders that Haarmon had put together.

"We need to hurry, and get Jalt before things get too far out of hand.  I'm guessing the worries that I'll be called to stand in review for inspection just went out the airlock, but the longer we wait, the more likely it is that they're going to reinforce any guards around the detention areas.  Let's get in there before they get a chance.  I'm transferring a prisoner, you're verifying gravity conditions are operational.  Let's go..."

Juragga caterwauled a warning.  I have a bad feeling about this...

"Not yours?"  And here I was about to chide him for improper timing... Shard picks up her pace.  "That means we have another problem on board.  Or outside, opening fire."  Sure, it's someone who has a bone to pick with Imperials, but it's an issue for them, not an assistance.  She claps Juragga on the arm. "I think we all do at this point," Shard agrees.

"And our gear is hidden...in our gear," she mutters, hefting the equipment box.  "Going to be a speedbump if things go worse.  Rhijans, you'll need to deal with any problems that crop up until we get set."

There's no question he's capable, but hopefully those problems won't involve thirty-odd stormtroopers against him.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:42, Mon 20 June 2016.

There are more distant thumps, and as the group hurry towards the detention centre, the deck bucks beneath their feet, making the going a little treacherous.

The public address system still continues to blare out warnings, and orders for people to move to the combat posts.  A squad of stormtroopers go past at the double, heading in the opposite direction.

And then... they're there, the detention block.  There are a lot of troopers about, but most of the stormtroopers seem to be moving out of the area, as Naval security troops take their places.  All eyes are drawn to the ceiling, as another explosion sounds, seemingly directly over head.

The security station is directly ahead, manned by a harrassed-looking officer and a couple of nervous young ensigns...

Rhijans walked up, all business (or as 'business' as he could manage with the deck bucking around like a jittery dewback), and presented the datapad to the officer.  "I have a transfer."  His voice was kept as flat and expressionless as he could manage, while he ran through assorted response scenarios i  his head, trying to decide which response to give, depending on the reaction he got.

The one thing he was banking on was that, as a stormtrooper, he could be uninformed as to the priority of the transfer, or why it was requested.  It was, he calculated, better to say too little than too much.

"Right," Shard whispers.  "Let's keep things non-violent for now, shall we?"  Moving forward, she ducks past Rhijans and sets her case on the ground.  One hand stabs out toward the twitchy youths as their own stormtrooper commands the officer's attention.  "You two.  Have you noticed any fluctuations in the gravetics?" She keeps her tone sharp with concern rather than hard and commanding - fear is their ally, here, and fearful, inexperienced people will respond to a seeming emergency better than an attempt to control.

Flip open the lid of the case, draw out at least one sensor, clip to her belt...she leaves the murder-stick where it is for the moment, and the pistol is under the first tray - inaccessible, but impossible to see.

The two ensigns glance at Juragga, then at their own commander.  That officer seems to be occupied, so their eyes return to Shard-  "No... yes... maybe.  It's hard to tell with everything getting shaken about every few seconds."

"A transfer?  Now?" the officer accepts the datapad and scans it briefly, "Never mind, I don't suppose you know why they want it doing now.  I'll just call through to th eduty officer and check."

There is an explosion somewhere overhead, and the deck seems to tilt about twenty degrees, and doesn't fully level off again.  The commander looks up at the ceiling, muttering something about the duty officer having his hands full.  "Straight along the corrider, tenth door on the left, cell number twenty, is the prisoner, eleventh is his droids."  He points back into the depths of the detention centre...

"Yessir," Rhijans replied crisply.  He'd tensed for a moment at mention of calling the duty officer...he didn't know how thorough Haarmon was in making the fake transfers, but he was guessing it hadn't gone that far.  He was relieved that it hadn't come down to shooting the detention area crew...not that he felt any reluctance for it, but there were still other troops in the area and weapons firing had a distinctive sound that could bring them running, battle-stations call or no.

He proceede down the corridor, still alert as the armor would allow him to be...there could be other guards on duty and he didn't need them hearing him call Jalt or the droids by name.  In his head, he counted off doors as he passed, until he came to the tenth door on his left.  He triggered the release, wordlessly...he wasn't saying anything until he was sure it was clear to speak.

About to reply, Shard finds herself fighting for balance.  She doesn't try hard, instead searching for something to grab - realism first, and a tech might not be all that physically apt. "Well, that's it," she growls.  "We're losing gravity here, as well.  Take hold, you two."  That fired at Haarmon and Juragga.

Hooking a foot around the tool case, she draws it close.  "Has it been this bad before?" the older woman shoots at the recruits.  Then her voice lowers, and she leans forward slightly.  "And...what's going on?  Have either of you heard anything?" Her lips twist in a grimace. "They have me running all over this ship, and...it's a big ship."

The commander braces himself against the edge of a console and watches as Rhijans moves deeper into the cell block.  Behind the officer, Shard is talking to the ensigns.

"We're under attack, of course.  The commander put in a call a little while before you got here.  Was told that there are Rebel ships swarming around us, shooting at whatever they think they can hit."

Rhijans opens the cell door, and sees Reldan Jalt sitting on the floor.  "Have you come to take me to talk to someone again?  I told the last officer, I wasn't up to anything.  I was flying erratically because my ship's a mess, guidance is shot to hell and back, astrogation computer's fouling up course plots, and the autobar won't serve anything stronger than water."

"That's all."

"And what's all that noise?"

Rhijans said, with an edge of something suspiciously close to humor in his voice (although who knows how well it filtered through the helmet), "If you think the Bantha was a mess before, you REALLY don't want to know what Haarmon did with it to get us out safely.  We've got a mission to finish, the fleet is attacking and they've got the Colonel aboard.  I've got another suit of armor slung over Juragga's back in a carry-all for you,...unless you want to wait here and answer more inane Imperial questions, that is."  He paused just a moment, then added, "If you do, I hope you don't mind if we take the droids.  They could really be helpful."

All of this was said at a conversational level, standing at the doorway, without removing the helmet or in any way adjusting his body language...even if there wasn't audio surveillance (and there likely was, Rhijans was sure), there would almost definitely be video, and quite possibly someone watching it.  He didn't want to give them away too soon.

Haarmon followed the merry crew, keeping to himself, trying to keep an eye everywhere, painfully aware that, disconnected from a terminal, he was pretty much glorified 'trooper bait. He didn't even HAVE a blaster close enough to make use of.

He stood outside the cell, trying to look impassive. He really wanted to plug in and find out what was happening out there. But first Jalt.

"Rebels?" Shard snaps.  "What do they have out there, cruisers?  Heavy cruisers?" She waves a hand at the walls.  "This is a Star Destroyer, how could they be doing this much damage?"  She shakes her head.  "Never mind.  We all have our jobs, so best you get back to yours.  I'll get the information my commander wants me to get, when he wants me to get it.  I'll get out of your hair and start checking around."

She offers both...youths, nearly, a tight smile and a short salute.  "Good luck, sirs."

Poor bastards.  Probably fed propaganda all their lives and don't know a thing about the truth.

"Juragga.  With me." Shard moves to the door - along whatever handholds she can find - and begins rooting around in the top of the equipment case, where one cannot see anything that looks like a blaster.  Oh, there's her scuffed and scratched tool, but to the uninitiated it like nothing more than that.

Certainly not an antique weapon of a fallen, 'noble' order.

Jalt's face cracks into a grin.  "Ah, that old ploy, is it?  Do you have a spare blaster on you?  There should be some Impies at the control desk that need to be taken out so I can walk out of...  Wait...  Kourene is here.  Oh, that's not good."

"I heard somebody mention Ghea Nimadda a while ago.  I don't think we want her and the Colonel in the same place."

"These Rebels seem to have a good idea of the layout of this ship.  From the way they're knocking us about, they know exactly where to hit."  The two ensigns go back to work as the officer in charge of the detention block wheels around to glare at them.  Then he turns his attention to Shard, Juragga and Haarmon, and gives them a get on with your job look.

And at that point there is another explosion, the loudest yet, somewhere not too far away.  The deck cants sharply, and multiple alarms start sounding...

Rhijans reached out to stabilize himself against the doorframe.  "Shouldn't need to shoot your way out.  We have a prisoner transfer for you and the droids...thanks to the chaos, it barely got a second look.  We can get clear and gear you up and then see about retrieving the Colonel."

He paused, and added, "And, yes...Nimadda is here.  The longer we take, the better chances are that she realizes someone's aboard and counters us.  So, whenever you're ready, we should go...

"Sure." Jalt says with a nod, "Just give me twenty minutes, thirty tops, to pack a few things."  He looks around the cell, snatches up a jacket that lays on the bunk, and starts to pull it on.  "No, I'm good.  Let's go."

The pilot starts towards the door, as Rhijans falls in behind him.

"Hot void," Shard snaps. "Juragga - c'mere and grab the gear, we're not going to be able to get anything done here!  The grav systems are going completely - we need to get to G-34!"  She shoots a look at the Imperials in the room, including the commander.  "I strong suggest not straying too far from any kind of take-hold.  Sirs."

Rhijans, come on.  Get Jalt OUT of there!

Leaning over, she speaks to Haarmon; there's no real point in dropping her voice, what with the alarms going off everywhere, and it would look suspicious besides.  "Haarmon, did we get word on where to find You-Why?"  For starters, he's a member of the team.  For another....

If there's one person I don't want swearing eternal vengeance upon me for being betrayed - other than Rhijans - it's You-Why.

Void, he scares me sometimes.

Hoping he wouldn't have to repeat all the explanations, Rhijans stopped at the next cell, where the droids were supposed to be, and triggered the door, again waiting to see who was actually in the cell before saying anything.

R2-O0 whistles franticly and charges at Rhijans, before stopping short and swerving towards Reldan.

"Hey R2, how'vw they been treating you?"  The droid replies with a long string of electronic sounds, and You-Why provides more information in a clearer manner, "Oh Sir, it was terrible.  He has been fitted with a restraining bolt.  Although, in all honesty, they only did it because he kept ramming into their legs."

"Well done R2.  As soon as I can find a tool kit, we'll get rid of that bolt."

You-Why glances at Rhijans, then says to Reldan, "Sir... is it wise to speak like that in our present company?"

Outside, Shard, Juragga and Haarmon move away from the control desk, as a series of explosions vibrate the deck plates.  The air now contains acrid traces of smoke, and the detention centre seems to be growing warm.

There's a fire, and not too far away...

Inside the helmet, Rhijans permitted himself a rare grin.  "We have a mission to complete.  Apparently, word got to the Fleet that the Colonel is aboard...so that part of our orders is moot.  But we need to get him out of detention, back to the Bantha, and away from here."

He angled his head down, and to the side, so he could see Jalt's R2 unit.  "Now, if you can fight down the impulse to try and run over anything in an Imperial uniform, we have work to do."

"There's a fire," Shard laconically states.  "Outstanding."  Her observation is heavy with irony; were this any other situation, she'd be rejoicing at the destruction of an Imperial Star Destroyer, but right now is the worst possible time for the Rebellion to gain a major victory by annihilating one of its enemy's capital ships.

The cursed murderstick now hangs at her belt.  The blasters are within easy reach.  None of this things well help with a fire, and Shard glances around in search of a portable emergency extinguisher.  It's an Imperial vessel, they'll have one somewhere.

OOC - Yes, looking around for a fire extinguisher.  :)

The Artoo unit gives a noncommittal whistle, and starts towards the door...

Shard, meanwhile, is looking around.  She spots a wall panel with various emergency markings, and a stylised image of a fire being suppressed.  Opening it reveals two small fire extinguishers, and a quick inspection shows that the seals are intact - they haven't been used, so they should be full.

Looking along the passageway, it can be seen that there are now two open cells...

Rhijans jerked his helmeted head in the direction of the detention control center, and his voice dropped into a reasonable approximation of the detached tone stormtroopers seemed to favor..."All right, let's go..." he said.

The thought dawned on him...it just might be far enough out of the ordinary that a lone trooper would be assigned to escort a trio of prisoners.  He wasn't familiar with the exact protocols...but the logical thing would be one to lead, and one to bring up the rear.

He nodded quickly to himself, settling almost immediately on a course of action if the question came up, and started back toward the trio of Imperial officers.  If none of them said anything, he wouldn't address the issue...but he was ready, if they did.

Ready-ish, at least...

"GrrrRRRRuuuuuummmf?" Juragga mutters.  Don't they have a sprinkler system?

"Apparently not," Shard mutters, handing one of the extinguishers to Juragga.  "Could be useful - shades of one of our other trips - and you never know, might come in handy if things go out the wrong end of a Bantha."

Class, thy antonym is Shard.

From the look of it, Rhijans is well on his way to breaking out their people - two cells?  The droids must be here.  Fire extinguisher ready, Shard calls out to the officer on duty.  "Sir - heat level is rising, we have a fire!  Do the cells require evacuation?"

Smugglers, escapees, whatever...she's not leaving any prisoners to roast, not if she has an option.

The officer sneers at Shard.  "There is a fire somewhere on the ship, yes, which is putting smoke into the vent system.  Said fire is not in this area.  For all I know, it could be a small fire five decks below us, and at the far end of the ship."

"Prisoners can only be moved from their cells when I receive authorised orders to move them, from Central Command, and not before.  Now, if you are finished here, please move yourself, and that rancid heap of fur, off my deck!"  All throught his speech, the man's voice has risen until, by the end of it, is practicallyshouting directly into Shard's face.

Behind him, Shard can see Reldan Jalt, and his two droids, coming towards her along the access corridor.  Rhijans, or somebody in stormtrooper armour, at least, is following behind them, with a blaster levelled at Jalt's back...

"Unless he stops us, just keep on going," Rhijans said, in terse tones.  He'd taken what precautions he could...but lacking detailed knowledge of the finer protocols of intra-ship prisoner transfers, they were winging it, now...and he'd rather be in a position to be called back for taking too much liberty upon himself than stand around waiting for an okay that may noy be needed.

As they paased the counter, he decided to opt for a little more artifice..."TK-881, prisoners in my charge and en route,"he said, as though making a commlink call.  He otherwise apparently ignored the security personnel...and the trio of maintenance personnel, including one frustrated-looking Wookiee.

To a certain extent, he had no choice...the field of view in the helmet was so limited that he would have been awkwardly obvious, if he'd been trying to keep people in his sight.

"Yes, sir!" Shard yelps back, doing her best impression of 'tech caught messing outside her paygrade'.  It's not hard; her current level of panic is close to real.  They have Jalt, but still haven't walked him past the irate commander...they still need to find the colonel...the ship is burning and Rebels seem to be doing a far better job than normal at destroying it...while they're on board (of course)....

Plenty of room for real concern.

"Let's go, Juragga," she shoots to her towering 'assistant'.  Rhijans looks about ready to leave, everything is going well, she seems to have distracted the commander (who did shout about letting prisoners go if he had authorization...and Rhijans did, in theory); time to leave.  Moving slowly, carefully (what with the perception-tilted deck), Shard heads for the door.

Shard's distraction works perfectly.  Rhijans, Jalt, and the droids pass her by, heading for the exit, so she follows behind them, followed by Haarmon and, finally, Juragga, who shuffles along with his head bowed, and the carry-all containing Jalt's disguise cradled in his arms.

Another explosion rattles the ship. 

Behind her, Shard can hear the officer putting in a call to Central Command, requesting information about a possible fire somewhere near the detention unit, and what to do about the prisoners.  He falls silent as he waits for a response...

Moving away from the detention unit, Jalt suddenly slaps at the controls next to a door, revealing a small store room.  "This will do.  I need to get changed into my disguise."

Rhijans smoothly pivoted, waving everyone into the room.  "Juragga, the carry-all, quickly."  He turned to Dak, his head cocked slightly so he could actually see the slicer standing right in front of him.  "What do you need to locate the Colonel?"

"Just a ninute," Jalt says, "Do we have a knife or something that I can use to pry that restraining bolt off Artoo.  The last thing we need is some Impy realising we're up to something, and stopping him in his tracks."

Juragga drops the carry-all, and pulls it open.  He sneers at the helmet which looks back at him blankly, and a low grumblestarts somewhere down in his chest and threatens to erupt into a full roar...

Shrugging his shoulders at Rhijans, Haarmon smiles happily.  "Well, I just need a terminal, and a little time.  With those two things I can find anything.  Though the time would be a bit variable."

"Want to know where Ghea Nimadda buys her underwear?  Well, it might take a while, but I can find it,  Same with what the Moff had for breakfast.  Everything's all just a matter of time and a terminal."

Rhijans snorted softly.  "We've got a couple of toolboxes, there should be some kind of prying implement that's up to the challenge of popping a restraining bolt."  He looked at Shard and Haarmon.

"See what you can do with the bolt while Jalt gets into the armor...Juragga, stop growling at empty armor and either watch the door or help them with Artoo."  He turned slightly, focusing again on Haarmon.

"Kourene's location and relevant information about the security around it should be more than enough, thanks.  No interest in Nimadda's shopping habits..."

Shifting focus again, to the whole group, he added, "Clock's running...that secind big blast was likely the one I set in the Quartermaster's.  It's a location that wouldn't plausibly take damage from an exterior attack, so they're going to start figuring out they've been infiltrated, the longer we're here the better the chances that word gets around and they start double-checking everything.  Let's get this done while they're still confused and off-balance."

Haarmon smiled a bit at Rhijans' almost-joke. Tension really loosed that guy up. And somehow it really made Haarmon feel a lot better. If they were lost in a massive enemy ship that was about to explode from their own team, well, then maybe everything was going to work out okay.

"Kourene, yes. Wishlist, no. Gotcha." And so-saying, he finds the nearest flat surface and plugs in the PBD and gets to it. He's already been inside the security protocols already and gotten the lay of the land, so to speak.

So it was mostly just a matter of running searches and following logic trees till he hit paydirt.

10:00, Today: Haarmon Dak rolled 14 (21 excluding the wild die) using 6 dice with the WEG Classic system ((1,4,3,6,{Wild}1,6)).

Uh oh. Can I re-try?

Juragga hoots softly, looking abashed, and moves over to listen at the door.

Haarmon starts work on finding the information they need, watching as information strings flow across the terminal.

A small pry-bar is found in one of the tool kits, and it only takes a few seconds for Shard to pop the bolt and release R2-O0 from his enforced servitude to the Imperium.

From somewhere overhead there is another loud thud.  Not an explosion this time.  Something big falling on the next deck up.

Reldan Jalt begins pulling on the armour.  Not a perfect fit, but it will do...

And Rhijans... Rhijans helps where and when he can.  Which mostly means helping with the armour, which is one of the very few current tasks which falls into his comfort zone...

When it came time to start helping with Jalt's armor, Rhijans took his helmet off...the narrow field of vision was beyond burdensome for that task.  He heard the thump overhead, and looked up.

"Not many things on a Star Destroyer are intended to fall like that," he grumbled.  "If their interior structure is taking that kind of damage, we really need to hurry.  Interior damage means one of three things...someone besides us is on board and sabotaging, that charge I set in the Quartermasters hit something important...or the exterior is taking a lot of damage, which could be bad, since the hangar deck is pretty much exterior... "

He didn't say it, but the second option could be bad, too...if the blast had bled back into some of the ship's power systems and was triggering feeback secondaries throughout the ship, there was no knowing what could go off next.

"We REALLY need to get this wrapped up, Haarmon...you got a location for us yet?"

Haarmon's fingers flew across the keys of his terminal as numbers and lists and menus and data streamed across the screens. Sometimes it wasn't so much about finding the data you wanted, sometimes it was just about looking at what they were trying to hide.

"Got you, you slimy little womp rat," he muttered, smiling a little as he uploaded some maps onto the datapads. "I got no names, no official orders, but eight decks down and a couple of sections over, we got a detention block that was full until just recently, when it got totally emptied and then immediately had its security detail doubled."

He handed over the datapad. Watched the man's face for his reaction. Raw data was Haarmon's thing sure, but interpretation was all Rhijans. If the Big Man didn't agree with his Slicers's read, well he'd say a bad word and head back into the networks to look again.

"It's not close. And it's not easy. But then, we don't do easy, do we?"

Haarmon figured someone needed to do the congenially cynical thing until Shard came back in the room.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:37, Wed 03 Aug 2016.

Rhijans looked at the information.  It was a good bet...he'd feel better if there was something...anything, really...that would corroborate it, even a little...

"Do you remember where you saw the surveillance footage of the Colonel?" he asked, hoping for the one thing he could think of to cement the option.  Haarmon was right...they didn't do easy.  But that was a long walk to take away from their one form of escape on the hope that a suddenly cleared and reinforced detention block held the captive they were after, and not some other high-risk prisoner.

"Is it somewhere along the route to this detention block?"  An affirmative would be enough for him to go in without reservation.  A negative...that would require some additional thought...or at least plunging in with heavy misgivings.  And he didn't like misgivings about the actions he was taking.

"Right about now, I'm strongly wishing you - we - hadn't planted charges in the Quartermaster's backyard," Shard mutters.  Without heat; it's complaining, not criticism.  "We don't need this ship getting gutted and falling apart while we're aboard, and with everything else going on some large explosions might just tip the scales."

Of course.

And Haarmon happens to have further bad news.  Or good news, as the case may be.  "Whoever is in that detention block, we want them.  Maybe it's the colonel, maybe it isn't," Shard continues thoughtfully, "but either way they're considered important on a ship with Ghea Nimadda.  That has weight."  Her fingers twitch, hunting for smooth, capped metal...her flask, in this case.  It's not here, and they come up dry.  She could throw her own opinion in, but Rhijans awaits an answer and she won't second-guess the professional in this kind of situation.

If anyone leads in tactical situations, it's him.

The pry-bar goes back into the toolkit. "Hope that feels better, Oh-oh.  You-Why - no issues?  You're handling this pretty well."

Rhijans didn't look away from the datapad, as he commented drily, "Someone forgot to include me on the memo about attacking the Imperial Fleet in force..."  No hint of a smile...but neither was there any heightened tension in his tone.  Still scanning the datapad as though there were some trivial detail Haarmon had somehow missed noticing that would answer things, he added, "I wasn't sure about it until I overheard the QM say something about Nimadda doing an inspection.  Figured it was worth the gamble."

You-Why seems shocked when Shard speaks to him.  "Yes, thank you.  We are doing quite well.  May I say that both I, and R2-O0, are pleased that you noticed?  In our experience it is quite unusual for organics to pay much attention to mere droids."

"I must say that you all seem to be remarkably competent yourselves.  For organics."

The astromech droid whistles indignantly, and slams himself against You-Why's leg.

"Rude?  What do you mean, 'rude'?"

Reldan Jalt announces that he's ready.  He is now wearing a complete suit of armour, except for the helmet, which is currently tucked under one arm...

Haarmon gave You-Why a sideways glance. That rant was downright pleasant, for him. He finished fishing out the surveillance of the Colonal from the guts of his machine and cross-referenced it with what he could find on the maps.

He looked up at Rhijans. Made a concentrating face. He didn't like being the one to make this call. The weight of what would happen if he was wrong pressed on his neck like a vise.

Eventually he nodded.

"It's the same place. I'm 90% sure."

Dice have been cast, and all that.

Rhijans gave a curt nod.  90 percent wasn't total certainty...but based on past performance, Haarmon's 90 percent was more than enough to gamble on.  "Okay...We need to get in and out of there, as fast as possible.  I'm sure there's no chance the fake prisoner transfer would work...but if you can trigger some kind of power fluctuation, and mark it as having a repair team dispatched...then you three can be the team, bringing tge drouds along to trouble-shoot it, and Jalt and I are escorying you, due to the sensitive security situation."

He paused, then added, "It's thin, I know, but it's the best chance I can think of to get in there without having to fight through the security detail.  We might have a chance of fighting our way out...but in and then out again is suicide."  He nodded, grimly.

Shard snorts at You-Why's amazement - not in mockery of the droid, but in partial agreement. "You're more on the ball than a lot of other people I've met, and both of you have been valuable parts of the team.  And I worry about my team.  It's good to hear you're holding up - things are about to get dicey."

Understatement, that.

"And...thanks." The older woman offers the droid a strained half-smile.  "Nice to hear we're making a similar impression.  Don't worry about it, Oh-Oh."

Pivoting, she faces on to Rhijans and Haarmon.  "Same deal as before?  Works for me.  We just ran out of there heading for another job, why not this one?  Not that anyone is going to be asking for our last stop, to verify.  And in the middle of this kind of mess?"

One eyebrow rises, along with that corner of her mouth. "'Thin' gets overlooked.  I can't say I like the fact that we're sitting on a gigantic target right now, but it'll facilitate our prisoner release...assuming the ship holds together." Another snort. "Beats that second choice - shooting our way in and out."

Suicide might be an understatement as well.

"So...you dressed all nice and spiffy, Jalt?  We're moving."

"Yep, let's go."  Jalt pulls his helmet on.  "Lead the way."

The corridor outside the room is empty, but the one it intersects is more full.  Crew and stormtroopers hurrying to destinations unknown.  And none of them have time to question a group of techs, accompanied by troopers, droids, and a Wookiee slave.  Or even to notice that the droids aren't standard Imperial models...

The team push onwards through the ship, staying close together.  With so many stormtroopers moving about, the last thing anybody wants is to get separated from their troopers, and then speak to the wrong one.  And given the numbers the odds definitely favour mistaken identity in the case of any separation.

An elevator appears, right where Haarmon's map shows that it should be, and they crowd in to descend eight levels.  Except that the elevator stops after six, and when the door opens it admits a wave of heat.  The hallway outside is filled with acrid smoke, and the stink of burning insulation...

"Well, that's not good..." Rhijans muttered.  If the mic in the helmet picked it up, he didn't appear to notice.

"Haarmon...any way to find out if the elevator's locked down?  Or if it stpped here as a safety protocol, and what's going on below us?"  His mind raced with a myriad of scenarios, ranging from needing to find their way down two decks around a fire, without the lift, to a prisoner who'd smuggled some kind of suicide device aboard and had gutted that entire section of the ship.  They needed more intel.  If the whole cell block they were after had gone up in flames, there was no rwason to keep going...but he wanted to be certain before he suggested an abort.

"Make it fast," Shard wants to say, but keeps her mouth shut.  Haarmon doesn't need the stress.  MORE stress; the young slicer is probably tense enough as it is.  Bending, Shard touches the floor, passing her hands over it, searching for heat. "If the decks below this are all aflame, we're up to our necks," she mutters.

Worse, any bypassing they need to do going in will slow them further on the way out.  And perhaps no longer be possible, given the pounding the ship is taking.  At any other time she would be cheering; right now, it's the furthest thing from Shard's thoughts.

"Let's keep our extinguishers ready, Juragga; I've a feeling they're going to be more useful than blasters right now."

Haarmon was sweating, and it wasn't the fire.

Well, it wasn't just the fire.

He was struck by how different this mission felt than the others he's survived so far. On Alkirk, Dortennia, Osmur, Mothesh, he'd been purely fringe. Hanging back. Trying to stay out of everyone's way. Every now and again digging  up some dirt so the real soldiers could go out guns blazing.

But here he was up front all the time. Rhijans kept asking him things. Asking for things. And expecting answers. Needing answers, right answers, or people would die. And not just people, him, us, them, Shard, Rags, Rhijans. The team.

Haarmon was accustomed to being useful as a surprise, not as a matter of course. The difference was subtle. But striking.

He nodded and popped open the maintenance hatch and plugged his terminal into the access port and went fishing. It was a simple thing. Way easier than even blowing the Bantha's tanks. Safety alerts and transportation interruptions were basically public knowledge. All in all, it barely even counted as slicing. But all the same he was breathing hard and his fingers were trembling on the keys.

"Gimme sec. Just a sec. Almost there."

Checking the status of the elevator, and what the next couple of decks down look like. Maybe we can force the elevator down past the fire if the decks below it are clear.

08:31, Today: Haarmon Dak rolled 19 using 5 dice with the WEG Classic system with rolls of {Wild}2,5,3,6,3.  Investigation (networks) - See what's happening with the elevator(s).
This message was last edited by the player at 14:35, Tue 09 Aug 2016.

Sounds can be heard from somewhere out in the smoke-filled deck.  Shouting.  Orders and instructions for the most part.  There are people out there, and they seem to be dealing with an emergency of some kind...

And, as well as the shouting, there is an arrhythmic pounding and mechanical whining sound coming from somewhere.

Rhijans cocked his head slightly, listening for a moment.  "How close are we to the hull?" he asked.  Another cluster of sounds echoed through the deck.

"Those sound like turbolasers...which is some awfully heavy hardware to be hauling around inside.  Might be a chance to see what's going on outside, if we can find them..."  He didn't add the comment, but the thought was brewing in his mind that it might also be a useful way to cover their withdrawal...if the could get to the Colonel.  A turbolaser battery going up would cause a lot of collateral damage...there'd be a lot of debris and chaos to sort through before anyone could really figure out someone had gone missing...

He was as close to agitated as he got, short of being in a circumstance where his life was directly in danger.  He was fairly certain that adding too much pressure to Haarmon would cause more problems than it might solve...but he waited having to wait on someone else.  He compromised.

"What's the word?" he asked.  It was an innocuous question...but the vocal processor in the helmet didn't totally mask the tension in his voice.

"Good news-bad news," Haarmon mutters as he scrolls through screens and menus, tapping furiously. "So the deck with the detention centre is clear. But the one below us is not. I can get the elevator moving. But we'd die from a toxic coolant leak. But there's ones nearby that are working."

He put away his terminal and drew a quick route on the schematic he called up on his datapad. Handed it to Rhijans. It was pretty straightforward, as far as it went. Direct line down to the next junction. Hop on. Down two decks. And back.

Only one problem.

He pointed at the fiery hallway.

"They're through that."
This message was last edited by the player at 13:49, Tue 23 Aug 2016.

"Void," Shard whispers.  She could cut through into the next deck...but that one is lethal.  That leaves the elevators Haarmon indicates.  Her lips compress into a thin, thin line.  "I..."  For an instant she glances back over her shoulder, almost helplessly, at the others.  Then her eyes turn back to the fire and her lips compress.  "I can make it.  But I probably can't get the colonel out without you, and I'll never get him back through the fire."

Hefting the extinguisher, she pulls the pin, readying it.  And reaches back over her shoulder toward Juragga.  "But I might cursed-well be able to suppress the fire enough for everyone to make it through.  If you run.  Juragga, I'll need the other extinguisher as well."  Her lips quirk in a mirthless smile.  "Might also let Nimadda know where I am."

Fear spikes through her for an instant.  Walking into an inferno?  She hasn't...she's never done anything on that level.

"Another fifteen seconds," her master intones behind her, and Shard struggles for silent peace, her scorched hands wrapped around the glowing ember.

Reaching within, she searches for that balance again.  There's the cold emptiness of her training...and the beckoning heat of her atavistic fear and fury.  They spiral about her like the ends of a spinning rod, each wobbling, unbalanced.  Her eyes snap to Haarmon, Jalt, Juragga, Rhijans, You-Why and Oh-Oh.  And the spinning slows, gradually coming to a slowly shifting balance within her.

The fulcrum, as always, is care.

"If anyone has a better idea, I'd be glad to hear it," Shard whispers, the heat beating against her body.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:15, Mon 15 Aug 2016.

Ever the pragmatist, Rhijans looked at the information on the datapad.  "Don't suppose there's access to the functional lift from an upper floor, is there?" he asked as he started sifting the information.  He was generally opposed to the idea of backtracking...but sometimes the best way forward was to take a step or two back.  No sense battling the fire--both ways--if they could quickly bypass it...

The shouting continues, and  then there is the sound of running feet from somewhere behind the group of Rebels.  Seconds later, seven or eight crewmen with fire suppression gear run past, heading in the direction that Haarmon had pointed,  Soon they are lost from sight in the smoke-filled corridor.

The shouting rises in volume as more voices are added.

And still there are turbolasers, at least that's what Rhijans says they are, firing not too far away.

R2-O0 starts whistling frantically, and UY-3PO translates, "He says that I should remind you that he has fire suppression equipment built in to him, should it be required."

Shard cocks an eyebrow.  "I would say that's as clear an indication as we can get.  I vote we go, now, and worry about the next problem when we hit it."  Tossing one of the fire extinguishers back to Juragga, she readies herself to move.  They're well-past the point of caution, now; turbolasers firing means the war proceeds apace outside, and this ship is caught up in the middle of it.  Still.  And a damaged ship is a tempting target, especially for Rebels ill-used to holding such an advantage over an Imperial Capital Ship.

No time to wait, no time to worry.  Friendly fire could obliterate the colonel, them, or the whole cursed ship at any moment.  Ghea Nimadda might decide to abandon ship, but not before coming to get her prized prisoner.  Any of the Imperials around them might begin to realize they're not acting up to spec.

"Seat of the pants," she mutters.  "It's what we do.  So let's move."

Rhijans had misgivings...but Shard had a point.  They were at their best when everything was a hair's-breadth from total disaster.  "You're the disaster team, we're just escort," he quipped.  The helmet made it impossible to know whether he actually smiled when he said it, but he was suspiciously close to a chuckle.

"You lead.  Pretty sure Jalt and I aren't going to have any trouble with the fire if the rest of you can get through safely."  He thought for a moment...and decided against apologizing in advance if Juragga's hair got singed.  While they'd been working together for a while, the question of the Wookiee's potential vanity had never come up, and he didn't want to find out the hard way, now.

The smoke grows thicker, and the voices louder, as the group move through the corridors.  Surely it's only a matter of time before they run into the fire?  Or the Imperials? And it's hard to say which would be worse.

As luck would have it, it's the latter.

Ahead there is a faint glow through the smoke, and moving shapes dimly silhouetted against it.

A sudden air current tears the smoke into ragged wisps, just for a moment, and an Imperial officer spots them.  "You there!  Go around to the left side and try to keep this contained."

He indicates a passage that leads off to the left of the fire.

"Yes, sir!" Rhijans responded crisply.  He actually had little or no intention of fighting the fire, but figured acknowledging the order was the fastest way to get the officer to stop paying attention.  He turned to the others, gesturing them onward...and contemplating what to do about the officer if and when he noticed they were going for the elevators, rather than fighting the fire.

Juragga followed, fire extinguisher in hairy paw.

Clever.  While she's sure that Haarmon had a four-line excuse ready to roll off his tongue, Shard can see Rhijans isn't to short with the fast-talking, either.  One rather rough salute later and she's hurrying after the others.

OOC - apologize for the brevity, I'm on vacation and there's not a lot needed to be said...

According to Haarmon, there is an elevator just a little way ahead now, and his terminal indicates that it's safe to use.  The team should be able to get down two more levels without any difficulty.

Unless, of course, the elevator is already full of stormtroopers...

The door opens, to reveal that the elevator is actually empty.  And a few seconds later it is empty again, as the team steps out onto the right deck.

There's less smoke down here, though the air is still warm.  Haarmon consults his map-

"About two hundred metres that way." he says, pointing, "We should find a side passage on the left, and that will take us to exactly where we want to be."

Ruijans nodded.  "We're your escort," he said, laying out what fraction of a plan he had.  "You were ordered down here to make sure fire-suppression was online in case things go wrong upstairs.  All you know is, it's a high-security area and you weren't allowed in without us to watch over you.  Feel free to sound annoyed if you have to explain that."  There was no humor to the tone, just expedient pragmatism.

"Once we get in there, we'll assess what we can do and figure out what more trouble we can make."  He glanced quickly at Juragga, his head cocked slightly in thought...then he gave a minute shrug.

"Let's get this done..."

Haarmon had a whole host of replies ready to blurt out at any Impperial officers foolish enough to get within shouting distance of him. He pretty much always did. But when the real officer popped up and started popping off, he found he was too freaked out by the situation to do much more than squeak a little squeak of agreement and follow along blandly.

But then, once again, he was up front, with a map, the lynchpin of Rhijans' plan. He gulped. Took a breath. Nodded.

"Let's get this done."

He stomped his way down the hallway, trying his best to keep his face more put-upon-functionary than scared-to-death-little-pissant (and doing a decent job of it, he thought). He rounded the corner looking for the duty officer, or whoever they had in charge here.

Haarmon's map proves to be accurate, and in a matter of minutes the team are approaching a standard Imperial detention unit.  An open space at the near end contaois a control desk, where a pair of crew members are looking stressed, even though they don't have much to do.  Unlike the last detention unit, the commanding officer looks even more stressed than his men.

It could be something to do with the number of stormtroopers, both near the control desk and in the corridor that leads away from it, past the cell doors.  There must be at least forty or so troopers in the area.

As the team approaches the desk, it becomes apparent that there is something unusual happening here.  Not only are there a lot of troopers about, but the officer in charge has an abnormally high rank for a man in that position - his insignia mark him as a Sub-Commander.

The officer turns as the team approach, and he sneers at Haarmon, Shard, Juragga and the droids.

"What are you doing here?  This area is restricted by order of the Lady Ghea Nimadda."

Haarmon didn't stop moving. He didn't freeze and he didn't just start belting out curse words. But all the same, he felt pretty good letting the fear and anxiety show on his face. This was a scary and anxious situation. And now, the moment the sub-commander guy spoke, he was suddenly under the personal orders of Nimadda and, therefore, the stakes went up. ALL the way up.

And plus the ship was under attack.

He figured scared was a pretty authentic reaction for anyone.

"Yea, yeah, but I think that was before the whole galaxy exploded and everything was on fire." He smiled a very nervous smile and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Which is why we're here. Checking fire suppression. Back-up gravity generation. You don't even want to know what's going on a few decks up. And you know what this one means to her. We need a half hour to check all the systems."

Shard keeps back, back with Juragga and the droids.  She salutes, somewhat comically juggling the fire extinguisher, but that's all.

Things could go to the void any second, with so many troopers around and the officer possibly on edge.  Then again, it's possible he's not - he's high up, placed here by Nimadda herself, and could be excruciatingly competent.  It might be better for her to be up front with everyone else, but...there's a matter of the officer's apparent familiarity with his commander, and the murder-stick hanging at her belt.  So she stays out of the way and makes sure to hold the fire extinguisher coincidentally in front of said tool.

If the officer spots it, there will be problems.

OOC - Sorry, short post...will be short for another two weeks or so.

Rhijans felt an unpleasant twist in his gut at the sight of all the troopers.  Not unexpected, certainly...but unwelcome, just the same.  Any visible reaction he had to the numbers was hidden by the armor...the same faceless quality that the Empire relied on for psychological impact was, at the moment, his best tactical edge.

He allowed himself a slight smile of pride for Haarmon, who stepped up and rattled off the appropriate techno-talk without any glimmer of unreasonable fear for an Imperial drudge in a very unenviable situation.  All that was left was to wait and see how the Imperials reacted to it.  Out here, at a focal point where they could all realize and concentrate on the team, there was almost nothing they could do.  If they could get deeper into the detention area...where he and Jalt could be mistaken for guards...they might just have a chance.

Juragga did his best to play the bedraggled and defeated slave.  But his paws gripped the fire extinguisher.  It would make a handy club if swung with his Wookiee might...

The Sub-Commander looks Haarmon up and down.  His sneer seems to grow even more contemptuous.

And then it falters, and fades into a look of nervousness.  Somebody has sent these techs, and the slave, into a highly restricted area, with a stormtrooper escort to ensure that they get there, no less.  And he can only assume, from that, that their presence is required.

The nervousness flickers into fear - what would happen if he were to obstruct them, and Lady Nimadda's prisoner died due to some system failure that they might have prevented?

"Very well."  He raises a hand and summons two of the troopers guarding the area, "You two... help escort them as they go about their task."

Four stormtroopers would be better able to keep an eye on the techs...

"Proceed, and be quick about it."

Rhijans gave himself a quick mental nod.  They were in...and there were now two extra stormtroopers to shuffle up with.  The thing they'd have to be careful of would be making sure he and Jalt didn't lose track of each other and start shooting the wrong team...

And how to communicate with Haarmon and Shard without tipping anyone off...

One problem at a time...  He stepped off to one side, next to Jalt, leaving a gap for the two troopers the sub-commander had assigned to take up positions on the other side of the group.  For the moment, at least, it would make it less likely for he and Jalt to get confused with the rest of the troopers...

Haarmon saw Rhijans maneuver the new 'Troopers off to one side and nodded to himself (to keep us from shooting the wrong guys, if it comes to that, I bet). He thought it was pretty badass and something he'd never have thought of. He had his brain full up at the moment being the guy up front and on point. Again.

How the Void was he going to scrape these two off of them long enough to get anything done?

He walked into the detention area, looked around all squinty-eyed like he needed a map, and pulled out his databad. He needed a nice, semi-secluded room or hallway where they could do their 'work.'

"So, uh," he said, sort of half-looking back at the 'Troopers, "I guess you're the ones with the new DL-826 helmets? With the advanced tox-screens? That why the boss sent you back?"

The extra troopers move into position, nudged by Rhijans to occupy the right spots in the group.

The whole group head further into the detention area.  Stormtroopers move aside before Haarmon, no questions asked.  For a moment a stray though leaps to the front of his mind...  Everybody just moves out of my way.  This must be what it's like to be Ghea Nimadda.

Haarmon's question about their helmets seems to distract the escort.  They look at each other for a moment, then at Rhijans and Jalt.  Finally, one of them speaks.

"What do you mean, advanced tox-screens?"  Even through the muffling effect of the helmet, there is a certain amount of doubt evident in his voice

Haarmon thought he really liked being important. But now that he was up to his neck in important, he realized that he was really more fond of seeming important. All the bells, half the whistles, as it were.

At the 'troopers question Haarmon shook his head and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Sure, sure. Advanced, prime, upgraded, secondary-focal-point-ionizing, whatever you want to call it. So long as it works, right? I mean, call it deep-fried-wompa-burger if you want, so long as it doesn't dissolve when that ejected coolant waste hits it, right?"

He tried to inject the proper amount of hearty, aloof indifference into his voice. Having no small experience with IT professionals, he knew the exact tone he needed.

The real stormtroopers keep pace, even in the face of potential corrosive coolant leaks.  They do have their orders, after all, and they are nothing, if not professional.

Just ahead of the advancing group there are four troopers standing outside one of the cells.  Even though the area contains at least forty white-armoured troopers, this is the only door which looks to have actual guards posted at it.  This particular door is about half way along the corridor, some thirty metres from the security desk.

There are stormtroopers posted along the corridor, and groups of them in the open space around the desk and at the far end of the corridor.

For the time being, nobody is shooting at anybody...

Rhijans did his best to assess just how attentive the stormtroopers were, without actively rubber-necking...he moved his head minutely as they walked, trying to get views of the various groups of stormtroopers ahead of them or as they passed each group, looking primarily to see if they were following the standard practice of standing at attention or if they had a more casual (and more effective) posture that allowed them to look around and take stock of the surrounding situation.

While the helmet impeded his vision, it did have one benefit...no one could see the slow, mocking smile that played across his face as Haarmon told the other troopers about the supposed design flaw in their helmets.  Their reaction, while not visible, was enough for him to file the thought away for future reference...if they needed to get clear, that could be enough to buy them a split-second of reaction time.

Shard can almost feel the confidence oozing off Haarmon, now.  Keep it together, she silently urges him.  Don't get ahead of yourself.  It's working right now, so let's not trip over anything by running too fast. Part of her chides herself for the horribly mixed analogy.  But another part of her whispers remonstrations for a different reason.

It IS working; she should hang on to some of that confidence herself, and let him continue.

So the older woman does, despite a slight tremor in her hands and the incessant demands of body and mind for high-octane fuel. Keep it together yourself, Shard, she reminds herself.  The stress hasn't been this high since they were pulling the wool over the eyes of an entire Imperial base, while impersonating an elite Imperial headhunter.  And then?  Then, Shard herself had been too busy trying to keep to character to worry.

Now, she's not in the lead and the tension is agonizing; she fears not for what her friends might do, but for their pain - both physical and spiritual - if one of them trips up.

And ahead?  Too many troopers to easily count, but it doesn't matter - if they've made it this far, they're home-free in this area, assuming Nimadda herself doesn't jog in right now (or send another group - their time here is limited).  They've gotten past the gates, so they're now Part Of Security.  So to speak.

She moves through the area with the others, doing her best to act nervous (not difficult), occasionally snapping something to Juragga, and pausing at any potential environmental readout screens she sees on the way.  "Hope nobody left anything in their quarters," the woman mutters, loudly enough for the group around her to hear.  "Could get the abandon ship call."  Not something anyone would want to hear - rebels or imperials alike - but it's best to put the idea in people's heads...for future planning.

"This prisoner, he in shape to walk?" she inquires of one of the troopers they had picked up (she thinks - Shard considers using a marker to draw something on Rhijans' and Jalt's armors...possibly a happy face on the former).  "Or do we need my muscles to carry him?"

That said with a jerk of the thumb toward Juragga.

"The prisoner is our responsibility.  We have our orders."

And there it is.  Not exactly, "Mind your own business.", but close enough.  As long as Shard and Haarmon are examining readouts, and Juragga and the droids are behaving, the troopers seem content to follow along and not pay too close attention.

There are plenty of things to distract them, after all.  Not the least of which are the distant explosions echoing through the ship...

Juragga always behaves!

He just sometimes behaves badly... :D

Haarmon was getting more and more anxious. Maybe terrified was a better word. He walked in here all cocky and sure of himself but he was absolutely out of his depth and couldn't run this thing, whatever it was that this thing even was, all on his own without input. It was all fine for Rhijans and Shard and Juragga to wing it and expect everything to fall in place, they'd been to the wars. They were competent. They knew what they were doing.

Haarmon was drowning in responsibility here. He wished he had even a minute alone

Hoping that the others would follow his lead, he locked his gaze straight ahead, down the hall, most certainly NOT on the cell with the prisoner, and kept on walking to the maintenance access panel a couple of doors down.

"Okay. First work order. Coolant and fire suppression. Access loop 14G."

With that he popped it open and plugged his terminal into the neasrest access port. Motioned to Shard. "You want to start with the nodes?"

He looked back at the troopers. "Uh. You guys might want to take a step or two back. Out of
the blast radius. Just in case, like."

He tried to sound bored. But there was a tremble in his voice. He was starting to sweat. He hoped it wasn't noticeable. Or the shake in his hands.
This message was last updated by the player at 12:46, Thu 22 Sept 2016.

Rhijans watched the troopers around them, as best he could, and nodded to himself when Haarmon found some legitimate-sounding test to run.  He racked his brain for some idea...something that would either eliminate some of the troopers or give them a reason to evacuate...

The words of the other troopers, responding to Shard, caught in his mind..."...our responsibility.  We have our orders."  If there was some way to shuffle them around...eliminate those two, and have himself and Jalt post up as them...maybe...

"Uh..." he said, trying to gauge just how to make himself sound uncertain.  It was an unfamiliar gesture...which, in itself, lent a degree of uncertainty to his voice.  "There's no chance of anything exploding in here, is there?" he asked, looking around.  While it hopefully appeared as though he was looking for potential danger points, he was trying to assess whether there were troops further into the cell block than they'd come, or if they'd actually managed to get behind everyone and only had to immediately worry about the two escorts that had been assigned to them.  He was pretty certain that the Colonel, if he was here, was in the cell that had the extra troops assigned to the door.

He turned back to Haarmon, an idea dawning on him for a way to make sure the slicer knew it was his own man asking the question.  "You guys must really be under the gun...you should take a rag and wipe the sweat off your hands before you touch anything.  Just for safety."  The stress on the word was slight...but audible.

He just hoped it was picked up for what it was meant to be, by his team...and not noticed at all by the other troopers.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:10, Mon 26 Sept 2016.

Haarmon paused in his frantic search for an explodable canister of toxic coolant. He gave the 'trooper, the one was almost certain was one 'his' troopers. Shook his head in a nervous, anxious way, which he thought was the right call, given the most decidedly non-nonchalant nature of the circumstances.

"Under ideal conditions, I'd say low but nonzero. But with all that going on," he gestured as the big ship shuddered under some fresh attack, "We're into the big red section of the tech manual, you know? The extra credit section. The appendices."

He bit his tongue. Damn nerves.

"Which is why we're here in the first place."

Another look, some narrowed eyes at the next comment. So this was definitely Rhjijans, then. Jalt wouldn't know the slicer's nickname for the wookie. And probably wouldn't use it like that if he had.

What was the Big Man trying to say? Something about Juragga? Haarmon eyed the wookie up for a moment or two. He shook his head. Couldn't figure out what the guy was trying to tell him.

But at least he knew for sure (for pretty sure anyway) that this one was on his side.

He fixed the Rhijans-trooper with a solid stare. "So. Yeah. Something very well could explode. Any moment like. Sewage. Toxic coolant. Anything. So safety first."

And then went back to his terminal.

His head was hurting. Spy-stuff was hard.

"Yes, trooper.  Understood, trooper," Shard shoots back immediately.  Okay, so stay away from that area of discussion.  And help Haarmon.  So long as they don't need to fight their way out....

"Come on," she snaps to Juragga, motioning him over to where Haarmon is 'working'.  Diving into the tech case Juragga carries, she ensures the tray on top - hiding the weapons - is light, and snags the murder-stick.  Keeping it at her belt, her back toward the door (and the troopers' line of sight), she stays close to the younger man.

"Keep it together," she cautions.  "This is touchy work, so let's not make any mistakes.  But we've done this before - stay frosty, and everything will go smoothly."

Multiple meanings in that, and perfectly innocuous for anyone listening, so she doesn't bother whispering; that kind of thing would only attract attention.

"GROWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWRh," Juragga commented.

I have complete faith.

Juragga's faith in his team, and more specifically Haarmon, may be sadly misplaced.

There is a sudden high-pitched whistle, that builds in volume until it becomes an ear-shattering shriek, uncomfortable enough for the Humans, much worse for the Wookiee.

Thick white vapour, with a smell like blue milk that soured a couple of days ago, floods out of the panel Haarmon was working on.  In a second or two, vision in the corridor is severely hampered.  And it's cold... the vapour, whatever it is, is definitely cooler than the ship's ambient temperature.

Cries echo through the mist.  The officers at the security desk are evacuating the area, leaving only the stormtroopers, their vision impaired by the obscuring vapour, to deal with the emergency...

For a second Haarmon stood back from the panel, shocked at the intensity of the reaction of what he had just caused. He was expecting a nice, polite swish of something. Not this apocalyptic burst of noise and chaos.

Rhijans is gonna be so excited!

"Oh Sweet Hot Burning Void!" He yelled as he stepped away from the terminal and started pushing the members of his team toward the guarded cell. A thump on each back, a push, quick but insistent. And controlled. This was the careful push of someone giving a message, not the  panicked shove of someone actually afraid.

Although he was, in fact, plenty afraid.

And then he started running down the hall, back toward the main desk. Screaming at the top of his lungs.

"BREACH! BREACH! CLEAR THE HALLWAY! CLEAR THE HALLWAY! FOR THE LOVE OF THE EMPIRE CLEAR THE HALLWAY!"

Rhijans made certain to keep himself and Jalt between the trio of their teammates and the other stormtroopers.  "Breach?!!" he called out.  One hand dropped to his belt...slipping a grenade out.  "If the coolant's compromised, who knows what else could be at risk?"  He tried to put the appropriate amount of concern (not panic...not yet...) into his voice.

He turned sideways, as though to look behind them...and used his free hand to push the unarmored Haarmon and Shard past him, before flipping a grenade back toward, and past, the site of the 'breach', relying on the haze in the air to prevent anyone from realizing what, exactly, he was doing...and if they did, relying on the generic appearance of stormtroopers to prevent anyone from isolating him as the one responsible for what was about to happen...

Oh....

Words fail her, and Shard comes dangerously close to panic.  This stuff - whatever it is - could be toxic.  They might all die in the next few seconds (well, not Rhijans, Jalt, You-why, Oh-oh...perhaps it would be better to be more specific).  And now someone - Haarmon? - has pressed her further down the hallway toward the cell?

Back his play, Shard.  Whateverthevoid it is!

"Secondaries!" she shouts, slapping Juragga on the arm (flea-bite, no more...).  "Find the secondaries!"  And it's down the hallway, hunting for another panel, helped along by another push, this time from one of the troopers.  Rhijans?  Jalt?  Maybe, she can't tell, never having the chance to scrawl some kind of identifying marking on their armour.

Between the near-panic, the tension about to explode, the fear of Nimadda, and the frustration at being One Step Behind™, she's teetering on a dangerous edge...but maybe, just maybe, that's where Shard needs to be.  Caught between, she thinks as she moves.

Find the balance. 

Haarmon ignores both Rhijans' push and Shard's shouts (and, he imagined, since it wasn't visible, Juraggas' concern). All of this (whatever it is) was for naught of they had to walk back through that wall of pain on the way out.

So he was going to try and clear the room.

So he kept sprinting toward the main desk where the officer and the 40 Troopers were, screaming BREACH and CLEAR at the top of his lungs the entire way.

The others could handle things back there. He was good at letting the chaos loose, the rest of the team were the experts in riding it.

A dull thud, a blaze of white light, filtered through the clouded atmosphere, and a number of screams.  Followed by a swirling, billowing wave-front of vapour which pushes Jalt off his feet, unbalancing some of the others, and an odd ringing in everybody's ears.

A grenade in a confined area will do that...

The ear ringing takes on a new tone - an alarm is hooting somewhere nearby, although the sound is muffled by the ringing.

Haarmon adds his own brand of confusion into the mix.  Ahead of him, people start to move towards the exit.  Quickly.  Leaving the security post unmanned.  At least until somebody gets a moment to think...

Something unseen falls with a loud crash, somewhere towards the far end of the corridor - away from the desk - and a single blaster bolt comes out of the mist in that direction, hitting the ceiling above Rhijans.  Jalt, presumably, starts to get to his feet, grumbling, "Are all your parties this exciting?  Which way is the cell?"

Inside the helmet, Rhijans flashed a humorless grin.  "We don't usually have so many people at our parties," he replied, in a low growl.  He lunged past Haarmon and Shard, to the two stormtroopers that had been sent back with them.

"Someone's firing from the rear!" he stated in an urgent tone.  "We've got to set up a perimeter and cover the withdrawal!"

Either they'd refuse and clear out, or move back by Jalt and take position.  One would get them out of the way, the other would cut them off from the rest of the troops and make them easy targets for elimination, and possibly rid them of whoever had fired the stray bolt at the ceiling, as well.  Both options worked well, in Rhijans' mind...

Ears filled with that annoying buzz that just.  Won't.  Leave -

- void-cursed grenades! -

- Shard stumbles alongside the others as the press toward the cell.  But a blaster-bolt howling close-by is enough to shake the stupor from her mind.  Either someone has figured things out, or there's a seriously confused trooper back there; either way, that spells danger.

"Dak!" she screams, back toward the entrance where Haarmon vanished.  "Someone's shooting, get yourself back here!"  It's not an out-of-the-question reaction for a tech, with no details specified.  And they need him here, where he's safe.  Back there?  He could eat a blaster bolt, and that would be that.

He's not a kid, Shard; let him be, and focus on the work.

Even so, her guts knot.

The troopers move, one of them shaking his head and banging a hand against the side of his helmet.  The other is calling in a report as he levels his blaster.  "We've been boarded.  Detention Block 7.  We're taking fire."  And the two of them step into the mist, their white armour blending in to the white vapour...

Jalt stops in his tracks.  "I think we're about to have a lot more uninvited guests, just as soon as somebody realises who's being held down here."

Rhijans nodded, the gesture barely noticeable with the helmet on.  "Then there's no sense taking any more time than necessary, is there?"  He turned to look at the cell doorway...troopers behind him were shrouded in the mist, he couldn't see them so it was highly likely they couldn't see him...

How many troopers remained guarding the door would be the tricky part of this.  If the numbers were low enough...they could get into the cell and utilize some of the same trickery to camoflage the Colonel...if they could get enough time to get him into a suit of armor and if they could come up with a complete suit that wasn't fatally compromised in some way.

Jalt inclines his head in the direction of the cell.  "Let's do it.  The longer we wait, the more nervous the troopers'll get, and the more likely that reinforcements will arrive."

He stoops, rolls another grenade into the fog, and yells, "Grenade!"  There is a short-lived sound of unseen action, hurrying feet and warning shouts, followed by nothing.  Not even an explosion.  "Let's keep them nervous for a bit longer."

For all his apparent eagerness, the pilot advances cautiously down the corridor...

Rhijans didn't say anything in response to that...though, of the two, it was the reinforcements that he considered a bad thing.  Nervous troops were easier to goad into action, especially when they could be convinced they were taking fire from an unseen adversary.

"We really should find something to mark ourselves," he muttered aloud.  "Hard enough keeping track when there's two of us, and if we put the Boss in one of these, it will only get worse."  In the off chance that someone could hear what they were saying to each other, he didn't want to mention Kourene, not even by rank, and give anyone a clue that there was a specific target to be protected. Even as he spoke, his eyes were searching for indicators of just how many troops remained to get through, both to get into Kourene's cell, and to get out of the detention block.

Rhijans takes a step forward, and at that precise moment the cell block is plunged into total darkness.  Less than two seconds later it is filled with a dim red luminescence  as emergency lighting cuts in.  The new lighting doesn't make it any easier to see through the fog.

And somewhere, not too far away, there is an explosion that seems to make the deck buck underfoot.

Fortunately it's less than fifteen metres to the correct door, and there are no guards left standing near the cell.  Just one who is slumped to the floor, unmoving, in armour with blood oozing from a cracked chest piece.  That trooper's left arm seems to be bent in the wrong places too, and there is no sign of his weapon anywhere nearby.

The door is, of course, locked...

Shard eyes the dead trooper, wondering about the injuries.  They could be the result of the explosion.  On the other hand...  But there's no time for that kind of thing.  "We need to get this door open, and quick." Haarmon isn't exactly set up for such things at the moment, but fortunately she has a key.

Of sorts.

Out comes the murder-stick.  "Step back," Shard warns the group.  Depression of the button, and with a snap-hiss the blue-white energy ignites.  Slowly, carefully, Shard presses the tip into the metal, slowly heating it; if Kourene is in the cell and standing anywhere in front of the door, it wouldn't do for him to suddenly sprout a burn-hole.

Once the 'blade' is through, she begins the task of cutting the door open - rather, HALF the door.  Shorter time, and the colonel can edge his way out.

OOC - If someone wants to stop Shard when she's setting up for this, I can amend my post.  :)

Haarmon reached the front desk just as the lights went out and the siren started. He'd stopped planning out his days with this outfit some time ago and so, while he wasn't sure how he was expecting this all to go down, it wasn't like this.

That's not from me, that's from them.

Which was bad. Very bad. If the Imps had their number, then they were suddenly about to get a lot more busy.

Unless I do something.

So he stopped running and hit the ground. Which, he figured, was plenty in character for a scared techie. Once he was down there he did two things: he pulled out his blaster, and he started scanning his immediate area, looking for somewhere he could plug in.

He wasn't at all comfortable being out here on his own. He liked best when the smart people gave him orders. But this seemed pretty simple. He had to help contain this. Give the rest of the team time to get done what they had to do.

A terminal.... a terminal... my kingdom for a terminal...

Rhijans grimaced, inside his helmet, at the sight of the downed trooper...not out of any sympathy for the pain he might have suffered, but rather at the potential complications involved by someone or something that had done that behind them.

Shard produced her lightsaber, and Rhijans turned to Jalt.  "Time to be the loyal Imperial guard, and make sure nobody disturbs the work here..." he said, at the same time trying to think through a way to make sure they didn't get mistaken for some other stormtroopers.

A grim option came to mind...and he knelt down by the fallen stormtrooper, wiping two fingertips through the blood on the armor.  He reached up and used it to wipe two streaks across the front of the left shoulder piece, then repeated the mark on Jalt's shoulder.

Then he quickly dragged the fallen trooper a couple of feet away from the door.  If anyone walked up on them, explaining a tech with a lightsaber would be trouble enough.  A dead stormtrooper right at their feet would get awkward questions asked before anyone got a chance to see the lightsaber...

In the fog and the dim lighting, Haarmon looks for a terminal.  There's a very obvious one glowing softly on the desk.  But anybody using it would be exposed if reinforcements were to come through the door.  And why a tech was manning a security station might take some explaining... 

Rhijans and Jalt take up positions to guard Shard, while Juragga hovers close to her shoulder.  Between the three of them, they effectively block any view of what she's doing from elsewhere in the corridor.  And the brilliant glare from the saber, which casts moving shadows onto the walls and ceiling might be mistaken for the result of a welding tool. with any luck.  Though a cutting torch would be another possibility.

Fortunately it doesn't take long to get the door unlocked...

Haarmon looked at the terminal glowing at the security station. The pulse was halfway between inviting and warning. That station would already have all the subroutines he was looking for up and running. Doors. Countermeasures. Lights. Alarms. Everything he wanted to do was, in fact, what it was for. But it was also exposed.

His eyes flicked toward the maintenance panels along the interior hallways. Slower. Less certain. But blessedly safe and out of the way.

His eyes flicked back to his team-mates, trying to get the door open, out in the hallways, facing the storm.

He needed to help them now.

Life in meatspace is so over anyway.

He hopped up to the security station and booted it up. He checked to see if there was any way to access it from his personal terminal (the PBD) and maybe operate it from the floor beneath the desk.

Otherwise, he was just going to get this all done way, way faster.

"Done," Shard spits to the bloodied troopers behind her.  The lightsaber's blade vanishes with the customary snap, the tool going back to her belt, and the older woman kicks hard at the half-door that has been sliced through.  And that would be the bottom half - at least if the colonel is in the room, the worst that will happen is that it falls on his toes.

Once the half-door falls in, she bends down to peer into the cell.  "Hello?  Anyone here?"

Just watch, a malicious part of her mind crows. It'll be empty...

Shard is, as it turns out, wholly incorrect.  As she calls her query into the cell, she hears a reply in a familiar voice, "Nice of you to drop by." 

Haarmon examines the security console, then slides into the operator's seat and starts work.

Blast doors start to close off the area, invisible in the mist.  And above Haarmon's head, an E-Web blaster slides out of a hatch in the ceiling and swivels to point at the blast door (or at least it points in the direction that the sound of the nearest closing door comes from.

"One of these days," Shard grumbles, "I'm going to see you off-balance.  Colonel," she adds, somewhat belatedly.  But despite the sourness of the reply she can't help but smile, and the older woman quickly continues in a more relaxed tone. "Serendipity put us here, but our own people are tearing this ship apart.  If you can manage, I'd like to get you into some trooper armour and we can all get off this deathtrap."

Into the room she slips, just to check and see if he needs assistance with restraints.  "Rhijans, Jalt, if you can worry armor off someone who is least dead, it'd be appreciated."

Rhijans snorted, almost imperceptibly, inside his helmet.  "Pretty sure we've got a volunteer right outside the door...but it'd probably be advisable for Jalt and I to stay on post outside the door and let someone else peel the trooper.  Be really hard to explain what was going on if someone walked in on us all uncladding a corpse, what with four of us in Imperial uniforms..."

He stepped back off to the side, grabbing the dead trooper he'd previously moved out of the way and dragging the body in by one leg, unconcerned with what happened with the rest of the body.  "This one will work, even with the damage...if anyone notices it, we just say we're escorting him back to medical..."  His words were slightly strained with the effort of dragging the corpse.

Kourene is, as it turns out, restrained - strapped to a flat metal platform.  Shard sets to work unfastening the straps, while Rhijans drags in the Colonel's disguise, then goes back outside.

Juragga starts stripping the armour from the corpse, grumbling to Shard and shaking his head as he pokes three fingers through a scorched hole in the chest armour.  Kourene sits up, and begins helping to unstrap his legs.

At the security console, Haarmon sees a strip across the centre of the screen start blinking... red-black-red-black. 

The ship shudders again, and the sound of a massive detonation can be heard in the distance.  Just for a moment the artificial gravity fails, before being re-established...

"That can't be good," Rhijans grumbled audibly, as his feet and innards settled back into place with the restoration of the artificial gravity.  Not naturally prone to impatience, the unmistakable sense of urgency that he felt, the need to get back to the Bantha and get off the Star Destroyer, was difficult to keep in check.

He managed it via one simple expedient...the thought that leaving without Kourene simply wasn't a viable option.  Lives hung in the balance, and he could help the group save them.  Leaving Kourene behind meant who-knew-how-many compromised operatives and undercover locations, not to mention the information Kourene had about who to contact beyond the limits of the sector.  Too many lives to even think about failing.  And trying to rush back would attract attention.  No...this had to be done with urgency...but not rushed.

"Haarmon..."  His voice over the commlink had icewater backing it, cool and collected.  "Do we have anything on the status of the ship?  More specifically, our path back to our ride?"  He carefully avoided mentioning anything like the hangar deck or calling the Bantha by name...commlinks were generally pretty secure, but there was a chance someone would catch the conversation, and he didn't want to point them in any specific directions.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 05:31, Thu 27 Oct 2016.

"Void," Shard snaps as the gravity flickers. "Hot cursed void," she continues, working with mechanical fingers.  Speeding up will only leave her fumbling, and she needs to get this all correct the first time.

If they have to fly out of here with a ship coming apart around them, they're going to require every single second.

"Have you out of here in a heartbeat, colonel.  Don't know what we'll do about your perforated armor, but in the smoke and screaming, maybe nobody will notice." She's almost babbling...almost.  Rather, it comes out fast and sharp, planning to occupy her mind, to take her thoughts from the idea that any instant the entire ship could come apart around them - blazing explosion, shattering crash leaving them dying in hard vacuum, who knows - and in this case, there's nothing she could do about it.  No last-ditch attempt to draw upon skills barely remembered, no hope of sacrificing herself to try to save her team.

The thought puts knots in her gut.

"Thanks, Juragga - beggars can't be choosers, I expect."  The Wookie is on the ball, and Rhijans maintains his professionalism (no surprise, that).  Haarmon is doing what Haarmon does best, apparently.  She has to keep it together for them.

All of us get out of her.  Alive.

"Jalt, head back and give Haarmon and the droids a hand."

All of us.

As strange as it seemed, Haarmon was almost enjoying himself. Well he was terrified, of course. Absolutely down-to-his-socks terrified. But that had almost become Standard Operating Procedure for him. And certainly this trip had involved so many system-dumps of adrenaline that he was starting to get used to it.

But, aside from that, it felt good to be sitting on one place, butt in a chair, fingers on a panel, deep in the guts of a computer system. So much of what he did here was done on the go, in fits and starts, sit and type and run, hopelessly patchy and incomplete, that it was almost... nice.... to be able to sit down and dig into something properly.

Even with the threat of the entire ship coming apart at the seams and spinning them into space while an all-powerful Dark Jedi hunted them with the entire weight of an intergalactic tyrannical military organization behind her.

Not to mention whatever was making that warning light go haywire.

Rhijans' voice cut through the his mental fog, but when he was this focused, it wasn't even a distraction so much as it was just the shape of what what came next. Like taking a sharp turn on fast speeder. Like a personal challenge. Like a side-quest. His answer was clipped and flat. No posturing. No preening. Barely even any inflection. Just facts. Just things that are true. Like a print-out.

+ Ship status has too many alarms to give you specificity, Cap. "Not good and getting worse" is all I have without digging. I'm halfway through the walking tour. When you get here, I'll have it. + And a dull click as the line was cut and he dove back into his own brain and into the ether.

In the midst of all that, it never even occurred to him that this was the first time he'd ever promised Rhijans that a thing was going to happen before he was certain that it would. The first time he'd ever written the team a cheque for their survival that only he could cash.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:13, Mon 24 Oct 2016.

Colonel Kourene starts donning the armour, requiring surprisingly little assistance.  He seems familiar with the way it all goes together.  "I don't think anybody will be paying much attention to us,  Not with the ship falling apart around them."

Nodding an acknowledgement to Shard, Reldan Jalt heads back towards the security desk to see if Haarmon needs a hand with anything.  Arriving, he notes the sounds of somebody trying to force the blast doors.  "I have a bad feeling about this... " he mutters.

Then he moves to the position next to Haarmon and studies the control panel.  "This could be useful."  His hands move across the controls, and above the two men the E-Web starts to move again, in response to his commands.  "Anybody coming through there is going to get a surprise."

Haarmon, meanwhile decides to try firing a blaster into the door controls in the hopes of stopping anybody from overriding his lock.  After which he returns to the desk and starts working again. 

Kourene finally slides the helmet over his head.  "Ready when you are."

Juragga warbled, "Here we go again."  In Wookiee.

He stood by, ready for action.

Haarmon took a moment to appreciate just what a badass Kourene was. Freshly released from prison and who-knows-what-sort-of-horrible-torture and moments later he's on the terminal, busting heads and getting things done.

Pretty. Dang. Cool.

Which just means now he has someone else to disappoint.

But, for all that, he was pretty pleased with his plan. He scrolled the route he'd mocked together onto his datapad and showed the teeming multitudes what he'd found.

"Just down the hall there, is a service duct. It's going to be a tight fit. 'Specially for you, Rags. But once we're out into this probably-unused power distribution room, just next to it is a pretty straight road to where we gotta go."

He paused and eyed the door.

"And if we high-tail it, maybe we won't get spotted getting in there. Throw off pursuit, like."

He handed Kourene the datapad, figuring that he had veto power now. And then went about unlocking the armoured hatch that protected the duct.

Didn't want to forget that.

As the team make their way towards their escape route, there is a sound from behind them.  A sound like the continual ripping of cloth, coupled with a humming tone.  A sound which seems to bite into Shard's mind, and stops her in her tracks...

Something has pierced the blast doors.  A bar of crimson energy which starts to carve a way through. 

Reldan Jalt glances back, and then starts to hurry everybody along.  He grabs Shard's arm and tugs at it.  "Come on, move!  Haarmon's found a way out.  All of his work will be for nothing if we die here!"  And privately he remembers stray blaster shots from the direction they're headed, and hopes that there are no stormtroopers still trapped at the end of the corridor...

Shard can't help but freeze when the sound hits.  For a long moment, despite the tumult about them, she's lost in silence, caught in memory.  Then Jalt takes hold of her arm, and his words echo in her ears, pinging crazily about in her mind.

There's still a chance.

"Go," the older woman screams over the chaos.  Turning to face the sound, she nevertheless follows, walking backward as rapidly as she can.  A piece of debris twists beneath her feet and Shard stumbles, but continues.  "I'm with you!"  Her hands fumble at her belt, awkward in their haste, and then her fingers are full.  Smooth, cold metal stills her trembling, relaxes her shoulders.

For the first time in close to a decade, it's not her flask that does so.

She retreats more gracefully now, maintaining her place as a rearguard.  Someone needs to be last, and none of the others could even slow what comes: blasters would turn against their users, strength would fail against steel-sublimating heat.  Here and now, if things go poorly she's the only one who could give them time.

And should it come to that, she will.

Juragga roared in defiance as the red blade speared through the door. Backing up, he raised his bowcaster, then gobbled his protest as Shard drew her own blade and prepared to hold.

Because that was his job, in his mind.  HE was the expendable one.  Not the Jedi.  HE was the one who'd lost everything, who had little hope, who only lived to die for his friends, and the (perhaps vain) hope he'd one day find a family that could damned well be dead already.

But he knew enough of Jedi ways to know his bowcaster would be of little use.  And strong as he was, Wookiee flesh couldn't stop a blade of light that could slice through steel.

He dug in his pouch for a thermal detonator.

"GRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWRRR!!!" he roared.

You go!  Ward the others.  I will take this one with me, if I can, he vowed.

Juragga's defiance howls in Shard's ear, penetrating through the struggle for balance.  Caught up in the dance between fire and ice, the older woman nevertheless comprehends her friend's plan, if not the specifics.  One hand still holding her quiescent killing tool, she reaches out and grasps a handful of the fur on his arm.  "We're all getting out of here!" Shard shouts, continuing to walk backward and hoping Juragga does the same.

If he doesn't, there's no way in the void she's going to budge him.

"If it comes to it, last ditch is you and me," she hisses, hopefully quietly enough to keep the others from hearing over the fracas and trusting in Wookie ears. "She can probably damp whatever you're searching for, but maybe not if I'm in her face.  But for now, we try!"

Her voice rises to almost a shout. "Please, Juragga!"
This message was last edited by the player at 11:16, Wed 02 Nov 2016.

Nodding with a low growl of assent, Juragga backed away with Shard, his paw in his pouch, finding the deadly egg he sought... and priming it.

Rhijans felt the unfamiliar pull of conflicting senses of duty...and opted to help secure the direction they were heading, rather than worrying about what was behind them.  He spared one comment for the matter...

"Look, it's going to take time for them to get a hole big enough to do anything.  Let's not waste it standing here arguing about who's going to wait for them to do it.  Get moving, make them come find us.  Let's not make their job any easier..."  He could only hope Jalt was still close enough to the others to pass the comment along, as he turned to Haarmon.

"You're point element on this...tech uniform gives you a legit reason to be in an access tunnel.  You lead.  Run into anything that you can't talk us past, stand aside...we don't have time to finesse this much longer."  His hand rested reassuringly on the grip of his blaster, before he raised it back up to rest, briefly, on Haarmon's shoulder.

"You've brought us this far.  Take us home."  Somehow, miraculously, in the icy cool of his tone, there was an echo of something that could, possibly, be taken as encouragement...or possibly even faith.  He gave a nod as he let his hand drop to his side.

Haarmon was pretty much awash in conflicting emotion. Fear, sure. Lots and lots of that. But it was less the diffused fear of 'everything going bad' and more a sharp, keen fear. For one horrible, horrible second, he thought Rags and/or Shard were going to throw themselves at... whatever that was coming through the door... to save the rest of them. And the thought that Rags could die on purpose somehow brought home the spare, bare-lightbulb-in-an-empty-room realization that any of them could just up and die by accident.

And then Rhijans, like he so often did, cut through the bantha poodoo. The dry, clipped voice, the hand on his shoulder, the calm, even logic of what they should, must do next.

And then the fear was overloaded with pride, anxiety, a desperate, desperate desire to do right by these people.

He had the utterly alien urge to salute. What would he think of that? Even Mr Invincible Tech-ninja wouldn't see that one coming. That thought almost made him laugh. The almost-laughing felt good.

He smiled. Nodded. Took a moment to slide the ceiling E-web's settings to 'motion detect, continuous' so it would just fire nonstop at whatever was coming.

Turned to the others. Got his game face on.

"Follow me."

Haarmon is, once again, leading the group.  He has an escape route, and he knows how to reach it...

So all of them move quickly through the vapour filled cell block, while at their back a lightsaber is being used to cut through the blast door.  Sparks and droplets of molten metal scatter across the floor...

And soon they reach the escape route - a low hatch in one wall.  So low, in fact, that they are forced to crawl through, while Juragga must slide on his belly.  Beyond the hatch, there is a little more room, and everybody, including the Wookiee, is able adopt a low crouch.

As Haarmon locks the hatch, there is a loud clang from outside, and the sound of blaster fire, which soon falls silent.  Then a woman's voice, muffled and indistinct.  Something about checking all the cells.

Inside the hatch is a narrow service way, which slopes gently upwards, away from the cell block.  It looks like it'll be single file and bent over the whole way, and the lighting is dim.

But considering the alternative...

Rhijans nodded grimly at the sounds beyond the newly-secured hatch.  He wasn't about to risk anything by speaking aloud, but one thought clearly resounded in his mind...Good timing...

Moving as quietly as he could in the armor, he started up the service way, trying to make room for Haarmon to get past them, away from the hatch, and back into the lead position again.  He gestured for the others to follow...there was nothing to be gained by lingering.  It wouldn't take them long to check the cells...and when they found Kourene missing and nobody to blame for it, it wouldn't take them long to start looking at other ways out of the cell block.

Once the escape hatch becomes evident, Shard exhales slowly, abandoning her attempt to find the proper balance...rather, the balance she has recently begin to seek, rather than the emptiness her past mentor taught.  Best if she's not touching the Force in any way, shape or form at the moment; it's unlikely, but possible that someone with sufficient skill could feel her out.  And now?

Now they want to be quiet.

She slips in with the others, into the service way.  It forces her to move bent over; her back aches, a chronic problem exacerbated by the poor posture.  But she remains silent, gritting her teeth against fear and pain both - the former far worse than the latter.

They need to move quickly but quietly; time is against them, with the ship falling apart, but so is noise.  They can't alert what lies behind them.  But she's considering what might come next, and it comes up poorly.

If she were Nimadda, with Kourene gone and proof of assistance, she'd start by trying to secure whatever ships she had taken aboard.

After what seems like several hours, but is probably closer to a couple of minutes, the crawlway opens up into the base of a vertical shaft some five metres in diameter.  The top end of the shaft is visible about twenty metres above, and there is a central column of power cables whicc connect to complex arrays of machinery at both the top and bottom of the shaft.

More interesting at the moment are the access ladders which lead up to four doors, spaced equidistantly around the midpoint of the shaft.

Another explosion rocks the ship, and sparks shower down from the overhead machinery...

Rhijans regarded the ladders.  "Which one, Haarmon?" he asked, simply.  "Or does it matter?"  It would, of course, be faster for them all to climb different ladders, rather than trying to fit the whole group up the same one...but getting to the proper level quickly wouldn't do them much good if they all ended up going in different directions when they got there...

Gritting his teeth and checking, double, triple checking the route he'd mapped out on his datapad, Haarmon pointed. "It matters. And... yes... that one." He pointed to the second from the left. Checked the map again. Nodded. Pointed a little more forcefully.

"Guess I'm in the hot seat, huh?" And took a breath and started up the ladder. He could feel the weight of his blaster inside his tunic, but it wasn't comforting. If things came to the point where he felt the need to draw it, then he would already be well in over his head.

Focus! Focus, void curse it!

He tried not to think about the fact that they were pretty much drowning in a sea of Bad Things. One rung. The next. One step. The next. All he had to do was walk.

He was sweating profusely despite the cool of the column.

He checked his datapad again.

Kept climbing.

Rhijans nodded.  Whether it was just acknowledgement, or encouragement, was impossible to know with the trooper helmet on.  He gave Kourene a gentle push toward the ladder, then Jalt...

Haarmon knew the route, he had to go first.  The Colonel was the target to exfiltrate, he had to go next.  And Jalt had to fly.  The rest of them...

"Juragga, you follow them...if they run into trouble, they'll need you to back them up."  Out of the three 'expendables', Juragga would be the logical choice to send ahead...his strength and bulk could swing the balance in an encounter, if Haarmon couldn't talk them through it and Kourene and Jalt couldn't handle it quietly.

He looked at Shard.  "Don't suppose there's a chance you'd agree to follow him, is there?" he asked.  Filtered through the helmet's speaker, it sounded almost like...concern?  Entreating?  It was hard to say...but it wasn't the typical flat, emotionless, expressionless tone he commonly used.

Up the ladder, and through the door into a familiar looking corridor.  Which isn't saying much, because it's an Imperial warship, and all the corridors look pretty much the same.

Jalt nods to Haarmon, who has done a good job in guiding them so far.  Both finding Kourene, and locating an exit.  If they get out of this in one piece, then the slicer definitely deserves a drink on Jalt's tab.

Noises echo up the shaft, muffled.  But it sounds like somebody, or several somebodies, moving through the tunnel in armour.  "Company's coming.  Can you close this door so they won't know which way we came?"

He looks down the corridor.  For the moment there's only one way to go from here...

Shard eyes Rhijans for a moment before nodding.  "I'll go."  Just that.  He's serious, and this is no time to argue...and she trusts Rhijans.  If he has a reason to send her up first, even with what's coming after them, then she'll honor that reason.

Even if his delivery makes her question it.

But time enough for that later; right now, it's up the shaft, thankfully with the bounty-hunter right behind her.  Shard's heart pounds against her ribs - the others, ahead, in danger, and Rhijans left behind in worse danger, these are sickening feelings for her.  She can't lose them; not now, not with what they've built together.

Finally, egress; egress, and cohesion as her little group comes together again.

"Secure the door," Shard mutters. "And don't bother breaking the lock, that'll just tell them which door to cut through."  This particular one won't last an instant against what comes.  The cylinder is back in her hand; she has left the bloody pistol behind, curse it, with the cases, but that doesn't matter.  If trouble happens, it's going to happen fast and ugly now, and that means Shard will need to do more than just throw out poorly-aimed plasma to try to throw off the enemy fire.  She'll need to use this void-cursed thing.

Again.

"Juragga, you and me at the fore." That's where they'll do their best work - cleaning everyone out of the way if it all heads south.  "Haarmon and Rhijans, next up - Haarmon, sing out directions if we need them."  What follows is a ways back, and most danger will come from the front.  The colonel needs to live, and Jalt needs to fly.  One quick glance to Rhijans - rather, the blood-smeared armor, a step down - in a hunt for agreement or criticism.  Then she starts to jog.

Maybe that exercise will pay off...

Juragga growled his assent, and fell in with Shard.

Inside the helmet, Rhijans grimaced...but didn't argue.  Haarmon leading would have given at least a chance that anyone they ran into might dismiss them as an Imperial tech team under trooper escort...

Another explosion somewhere in the ship rumbled the deck beneath his feet.  Not like we can really afford the time to take a leisurely walk back, I suppose...  He grabbed Haarmon by the shoulder, giving it an encouraging squeeze before he gently pushed in the direction Shard had led.  "Looks like quick and dirty just became the order of the day," he quipped.  "Let's go before she gets too far ahead to hear you calling directions..."

"Yeah. Sure. No sweat." Haarmon was holding it together, but it was a near thing. They were back in 'operational' territory again and out of 'intelligence.' That meant it was his job to mostly to call out the plays and stay as out of the way as he could.

He held his datapad tight enough for his knuckles to turn white and he kept staring at it and scrolling through the route, although by now he could have done it blindfolded and backwards.

He gave Rhijans what he hoped was a confident look. Nodded.

Lit off after Shard.

"Straight down here and second left," he yelled out over the constant din of explosion and alarm. "We're almost there." And a pause. And then, lower. A whisper. To himself more than anything. "I won't let her hurt you."

Time slows to a crawl while, at the same time, speed becomes of the utmost importance.  The group move across a crowded corridor, where the Imperials are too busy dealing with fires and shifting wreckage to pay them any heed.

Into another passage, and there is an explosion behind them.  The crowded corridor fills with smoke, which vanishes almost immediately in a howling gale.  And then a blast door closes, blocking their view of the cross corridor.

"If anybody tries to follow us through that way, they're going to have to be able to breathe vacuum." Kourene says, glancing back at the blast door.

An elevator platform provides a ride to what Haarmon assures them is a deck that will give them access to the hangar.

And again there are more Imperials, all hurrying about their own business.

And the hangar is just ahead,  And guarded...

Rhijans slowed slightly as he saw the guards.  "Hold up...just for a moment," he said.

"I see three ways through this...we gut it out and walk in there like we belong there, we try and create a diversion--maybe stage an 'attack' that draws guards away so we can try and slip through.  Or, we just plain old fight our way through, and hope we hit so hard and so fast that we're through and gone before reinforcements arrive."  His tone made it apparent...he didn't have much faith in the third option.

"Going on guts has been working for us, so far...but it'll be up to Shard and Haarmon to sell it.  Juragga can't speak for us, and as troopers, the rest of us should just be following orders..."  He looked back and forth at the not-quite-a-Jedi and the slicer.  "You up for that?" he asked.

Never has Shard been more pleased to greet vacuum.  Thankfully briefly.

Haarmon's directions have done the trick - unsurprisingly - and their little group, with Kourene, has arrived at their destination.  Impossible as it seems, it's true.  Now, one final task.

And it's gargantuan.

Still, after that they can relax.  Oh, there's the small matter of flying out into a warzone, and so forth, but that won't be her responsibility any more; it'll be up to Jalt and their chosen gunners (which will not be Shard, unless everyone else is somehow incapacitated, possibly by the stench of Haarmon's earlier diversion...poor Juragga).  If they fail at that point...failure is a fact of life, and at least she won't have let the team down.

Rhijans has an assessment.  Rhijans always has an assessment, for which Shard thanks whatever deity she doesn't believe in: he's usually correct, and cursed-sure worth a listen.  Gere, it's pretty clear which direction he feels they should take.

Without any time for discussion in committee.

"Haarmon has carried us through most of this," she shoots back.  "I say ride that wave.  Maybe we're just readying the Bantha - don't call it that, Haarmon - for additional transport because we've lost most of the life pods.  Good reason to have You-Why and Oh-Oh with us.  Void, we can ask some of the troopers to help us - they'd be glad to, I imagine."

Her eyes jump from Rhijans to Haarmon.  "You're up for this."

It's not a question; it's a statement of belief.

The troopers guarding the hangar look to be wary, directing people away from the hangar.  The blast door opens, and one possible reason for their diligence becomes clear... there is an Imperial shuttle parked inside that hadn't been there when the Bantha arrived.

Kourene growls, "Bluffing our way through this is probably the best plan.  I think we should go for it, before anybody comes up behind us and starts taking an interest."

Haarmon nodded. And nodded again, maybe for himself that time. It was the right play. For sure it was. And it meant he had to get out there and make it work. Otherwise, well, there as a whole Star Destroyer worth of pain a-waiting for them if they messed it up.

"Okay. Yeah. Let's do this. Rags? You mind we put some binders on you? And you all with the armour, guns out and ready? And hup-to through the hangar like maybe the whole place is about to fall apart on us? And I'll be all pointing toward the Bantha  like I'm directing traffic?  Like the Wookie's under guard and we're taking the only way out? Like he's a famous Rebel operative or whatever? Then we have a good reason for hurrying, and if it all goes sideways, we're already locked and loaded?"

Game face. Game face. Game face.

"Let's rock."

A grim smile flickered across Rhijans' face, for just a moment...'guns out and ready' was probably the position all the armored personnel in the group preferred in a situation like this.  He gave a curt nod...wasn't the storyline he'd have chosen to bluff their way through, but he wasn't the one who had to sell it.  And selling it meant having as much faith as possible that it would work...which meant Haarmon was best off selling his own story.

Assuming Juragga was game, of course...

"If you keep your arms angled, just a little bit, we can just rest the binders around your wrists, unlatched.  Gravity and your hair should keep them in place well enough for a casual inspection.  Anyone wants to make more of an inspection than that, we'll have bigger problems than the binders...some of this armor would definitely not pass close scrutiny, with the damage and all..."  He held his arms out quickly, demonstrating, and gave a nod to the Wookiee, holding the binders easily in his left hand.

Juragga scrunched his nose at the smell, and growled at the binders, but nodded his assent.

Rhijans laid the binders over the top of Juragga's wrists, letting the latch section hang down below where the gap between the two edges would be hidden in the Wookiee's hair.  The metallic finish of the binders showed well, at least when the light hit it.

It would, hopefully, be enough to sell the idea to anyone glancing at a Wookiee with three beat-up stormtroopers guarding him...

"All right."  Shard draws in a deep breath, lets it out.  "Securing that bloody ship for transport, important prisoner here for later interrogation, we've been cut off from our way out.  If anyone asks, we lost some of the escort in an explosion, which is why there are two technicians press-ganged into helping.  Sound good, Haarmon?  Ad lib as you please, it works for you."

"And if we run into any trouble...we don't have time for discussion, this ship is coming apart.  So hit hard."

Her fingers check the position of her weapon.  She eyes the distant stormtroopers for a long moment.  Finally, Shard nods.  "We're moving."

The stormtroopers watch the group approaching.  One of them steps forward, raising a hand.  "This hangar is off-limits, by order of Lady Ghea Nimadda."  His head turns in Juragga's direction, and he looks the Wookiee up and down.  Mostly up.

"Nobody is allowed inside."

This close to the door, the shuttle can be seen more clearly.  Jets of coolant are spraying out below it.  Some crewmen are struggling to manhandle a heavy looking cargo container up the loading ramp.

Juragga did his best to project the tired, defeated demeanor he'd practiced for such situations.

It was getting to be less of an effort.

Go time. Haarmon usually didn't know what he was going to say until he said it. Sometimes that meant he opened his mouth, inserted his foot, and sat there like a putz while the walls came tumbling down. And sometimes it meant that he could say something, anything, no matter how  outrageous, and it would sound true because, hey, who would make something like that up?

But he could never tell which was which.

For him, his whole life was basically bluffing his way through a final exam when he'd never been to any of the classes.

"Who do you think sent us up here? Some void-cursed Moff? Listen. The whole ship is coming apart. There's Rebels in the ducts. Slicers all through the 'nets. The whole systems compromised. And the Lady has decided that, no matter what, two prisoners are making it off this boat. One of them, you know which one, she's dealing with herself."

A cocked back thumb.

"This one's the other. This is the guy who lead the assault on Alkirk. Who bombed Osmur. He's what's-his-face's personal errand boy. And if I have to walk through someone to get him out of here in one piece, I'd rather it be you than her. Dig?"

He'd taken a couple of steps toward the trooper as he ranted. So he would up, well, not exactly all up in his respirator. But closer than you generally wanted to get to am anxious Stormtrooper.

Haarmon was pretty good at passionately unhinged. He'd been into a lot of fandoms back in the day, where he'd gotten more than his fair share of practice.

OOC: Rolled a 19 on Con (Braggadocio) and 15 on Persuasion.

Rhijans stood easy...lightly tense, but you'd expect that from a battered-looking, blood-smeared stormtrooper guarding a large and dangerous captive.  His blaster was held at the ready...not quite on Juragga, ready to start shooting the guards if things went sideways.

Inwardly, he gave an approving nod.  Haarmon had a line ready, and he was running with it, full speed.  And there was just enough truth to it that it was easier to sell...he was shaving details, yes, but Juragga had been in all those places.  The best lies were mostly truth...

Shard eyes the shuttle.

Cargo containers...they look important.  If they're trying to get them aboard the shuttle at this time, the shuttle no-doubt to be used by Nimadda, they're probably something interesting.  If the Rebels gets through this, they might take that shuttle rather than the Bantha...

No.  The Bantha still seems the best possible choice.  But maybe, just maybe, they can do something about that shuttle as they leave.

For now, she waits.  Haarmon runs the show, and it's up to him to get them past the stormtroopers.  For now.  If he fails?  Well, at least she has gotten herself close enough to be of use.

The trooper regards Haarmon and the "prisoner" in silence for a few seconds.  Behind him, some of his squad are starting to look nervous.  It's almost as if they're worried they might get in the way of one of Ghea Nimadda's plans, then have to explain to her, personally, why they did it.

"Sir.  The rebel is probably being escorted to the shuttle."

The lead trooper looks around, then back to Haarmon.  Weighing the situation carefully for a few seconds longer.

"Very well, you can pass."

The squad move aside as the team head into the hangar.  As they walk out onto the floor, Jalt's voice, muffled by a stormtrooper helmet, says quietly, "As soon as we're aboard, I want somebody on the turret in case we have to fight our way out."

The perspiration on Shard's brow could be from the stress of the ship coming apart around them.  It isn't; she can't do anything about that, and neither can any of her friends.  No, it's from silently willing the troopers to believe Haarmon's outrageous speech.  Her stomach knots as she waits...

...and Haarmon, as always, sells it.

They're past, and Shard has to fight to keep her knees from shaking.  Just a little further, she tells herself.  Just a little further, and they're safe.  They can't run, they can't pull off Juragga's shackles (not that they're really inhibiting him), but just a little further....

"Not me, unless nobody else has any experience," she replies to Jalt. "I'm a terrible shot, but I can manage if you're not expecting rapid-fire." Her voice shakes as she continues. "Colonel, any chance we might get upgrades on the Bantha after this?  Figure it's a good time to ask."

One hand reaches out, blindly, and touches Haarmon's arm.  "Good...good job, Haarmon.  You've carried us through the worst of this one, no doubt; you and Rhijans."

It's a good thing there aren't any stormtroopers staring directly at them at that moment, because between his relief at not being dead, and the adrenaline from the whole situation, and Shard's praise, Haarmon blushed beet, beet red from the brim of his techie's hat to the collar of his techie's tunic.

"Not that good," he muttered, clearly pleased, "I just upped the price on poor Rags' head. Gonna have Bounty Hunters all up in his face-fur now. Sorry, Rags."

A pause.

"Are we commandeering the shuttle? Or headed for the Bantha?"

"Pretty sure Jalt would take very verbal exception to abandoning his ship in a Star Destroyer...not to mention the potential security risk involved with leaving behind a ship that's been to our primary base.  Unless he routinely wipes the computer, SOMEONE will be able to get information on where he's been."

He risked a glance back at the guards.  "That said, if nobody's watching us too closely...I'm not a great pilot, but I can fly.  This doesn't necessarily have to be an either/or prospect."  He gave the briefest of pauses before adding, "We're doing good, to me it's a question of whether we risk getting greedy, or if our odds improve with having two ships leave at the same time.  Pretty sure if SHE isn't aboard, however, then there are pretty stringent orders that the shuttle be destroyed."

Of course, with it being the Empire, they may well have assumed there would never be any such risk and it had never been addressed...

"Bantha it is," Haarmon muttered, and took out his datapad and started semi-theatrically typing, checking. muttering, looking harried and rushed (which wasn't hard) before looking up and starting toward the Bantha a good, hard clip.

Almost there.

Almost there.

Walking past the Bantha, the group suddenly veer towards the entry ramp.  A move which does not go completely unnoticed by the more observant troopers at the bay entrance.

As they ascend into the ship, the first blaster bolts start to explode against the hull.

Jalt rips off his helmet and throws it into a corner, as he slams his other hand against the hatch control.  "Turrets, now!" he yells, and heads for the cockpit.

"Somebody see if they can use the ship's weapons to knock out that shuttle." Kourene suggests.

Jalt throws himself into the pilot's seat and starts activating controls.  There is a rising hum from the drives.

And from somewhere inside the ship comes a muffled voice, very much like that of a stormtrooper.  "Who's there?"...

Rhijans peeled off his helmet as soon as he saw Jalt doing the same.  They were aboard the ship, that was the critical thing.  "Shard, Juragga...find whoever's aboard and make sure they're no threat to us."  He left the interpretation of that to them.

He scrambled for the turret...he wasn't well-versed in the particular weapons mounted there, but a gun's a gun.  And he didn't do passive-sitting-and-waiting very well...

Juragga rushed inside, arms splayed wide, frame hunched low for pouncing.  He was ready to fight.  Drawing his bowcaster didn't occur to him; in these close quarters, he was going to go with pure Wookiee rage.

Kourene parcel's out Shard's own, unspoken idea: if they can turn that bloody shuttle into blazing wreckage on the way out...well, anything that might trap her holiness Ghea Nimadda aboard an exploding Star Destroyer would be welcome to the older woman.  Better that than murdersticks at two paces, a situation in which Shard is certain she'd come out second best.

Rhijans is headed for one turret...Juragga looks ready to clear the room.  That leaves her and Kourene.  "On it, Rhijans.  Colonel, if you have any experience with turrets, I strongly suggest you take the other one."  This fired over her shoulder while Shard heads after the Wookie.  "Haarmon!  Get your pistol out and protect Jalt!" 

Speaking of murdersticks....

The metal cylinder fills one hand. Delicate components, here...don't screw up.  With that on her mind, it's rather difficult to reach for balance, but in a way the tension is an aid; they cannot afford any distractions, or the ship might not lift in time.

If it does not lift, her team dies.

Fire on one side, ice on the other, Shard hurries in Juragga's rather impressive wake.

The Bantha lifts and swings towards the force field sealing the hangar's space exit.  Jalt deliberately takes it slowly, allowing an easier shot at the shuttle for whoever takes the ventral turret.

At least there doesn't look to be anything in the hangar that's capable of shooting back, apart from the stormtroopers.  That will, of course, probably change when the Bantha gets outside, and straight into an ongoing battle.

Shard and Juragga go to investigate the noises inside the ship.  They round a curve and come face to face with eight stormtroopers and a tech with a repulsorlift pallet of scanning gear, just outside the medical bay...

OOC: Who wants to shoot that shuttle?