A passageway leads away from one side of the ramp.  The weapons fire comes from straight ahead, and flashes are occasionally visible through the miasma of dust and smoke.  The passage seems to lead away from the commotion... 

Rhijans leads the way into the passage, which is lit by dim emergency strips, and about twenty metres in, there is a vertical shaft in one wall with a metal ladder running both up and down from this level.

From the ship, a large number of people can be seen exiting the building very rapidly...

There's some odd thumping coming from belowdecks...probably Juragga hammering on the walls in frustration at her waffling opinions.  Fingers opening and closing -- searching for drink, or something sronger, something more lethal -- Shard stands paralyzed for a long moment, heart pounding.  Then...

Haarmon?

"They're alive!" she shouts.  "And I think they're okay!"  Nodding and smiling, why would Haarmon be nodding and smiling?  Alive, yes, but...it only takes a moment.  "And I think Haarmon has a plan!"
First thing that jumped to mind, really.

"Preflight.  Curse it, what does Jalt do?"  No idea, really; unwilling to randomly hit switches, Shard turns away from the panals.  "I'm heading for the boarding ramp; we'll give cover, and whatever else is needed!" And through the ship she goes; it's a short jog, really, and Shard isn't wasting time.  But there are more than enough seconds for her to draw her blaster pistol and pass it to her left hand, before finding a different, more-worn grip for her right.

She despises the cursed thing, but Shard would deal with the void itself to get the team out.

For his part, Juragga kept the gunsights trained and the turret warm.  He was ready to lay down covering or suppressing fire at almost no notice.

Haarmon shook his head. That was... not exactly what he was expecting to happen. It was nothing like that last time he'd managed to do.. whatever it is Jedi called that. Long Distance Brain Talking, or whatever.

Why was she smiling? And nodding? She never really did that. Did it mean she was happy he managed to talk to her? Or that she was happy he was alive? Was that the real Shard he saw, or a hallucination.

Either way, he'd done all he could.

Now they just had to get out of there.

It was a simple choice, really...down meant below ground level, which meant more material to try and get through to get out.  "Up!" he directed simply, pointing in the desired direction to make sure it wasn't misunderstood.  One level up would get them above the conflict...there might be an accessible window they could use for egress, and the drop from one level higher wouldn't be (too) bad.  If the window they found was above some drifted sand, it would be even better.

He pushed Jalt and Haarmon ahead to the ladder, holding his blaster and watching their backs.  The last thing they needed was to get their pilot shot by someone who thought the trio had a side in this conflict...and, well, he wouldn't say it out loud, but he'd never forgive himself if Haarmon got shot when he could do something to prevent it.  So he went into bodyguard mode...and hoped that leaving the conflict at the entrance didn't put them in equal danger wherever they were going.

The next level up is a large room, familiar looking, with the ladder in an alcove in one corner.  And an open door that admits a lot of bright light.  This where they entered the building.  Looks like somebody miscounted how far they'd climbed up.

So it's just a matter of walking out the door.  Cool and casual as you please.  No worries...

And at that moment four armed individuals trot in through the door.  They're dressed like Nuq Clade, wrapped in strips of cloth, but they have dirty yellow sashes slung diagonally across their chests...

Four to three...  In different circumstances, Rhijans would take those odds.  Now, however, he was just worried about getting his teammates out unharmed...and there was a very good chance that, since they were obviously NOT Nuq Clade, the intruders would ignore them...or briefly question them and then let them go.  This seemed to be a territorial struggle, and since they didn't have any territory here to take away, there was, tactically speaking, no reason to engage the trio.

But that assumed rational detachment...and Rhijans had found that not many beings in the galaxy seemed to use detachment in analysis.  So, he made sure his blaster wasn't pointed at the foursome...but it was in a position to be employed quite readily if any one of them looked like they were planning to start shooting.

The four newcomers approach, weapons trained on the trio.  "Djaquag daffult. Nadjoa yertak zidosht.  Haz'zun kjerfar hako noqas?"  It sounds like a question.  "Uba doth tee kouuedahiua.  Doptkahiua koose wa dan maovaka.  Woy uba gee kae waajo?"  So does that, but it also sounds like Na-Huttese.

"They say," murmurs Jalt, "that we're their hostages, and they expect to collect a good ransom from our friends.  And they want us to empty our pockets."

One of the hostage-takers tilts his (its?) head to one side.  "Bay-zik?  I talks bay-zick number one good.  Whats you does here?"

Rhijans gave a grim smile.  "Rejecting a job offer.  And we should probably thank you for giving us a graceful way to get out without having to worry about fighting the whole Clade to do it."  The enemy of my enemy...maybe...  If that thought process didn't win them over, well...he still had a surprise for them if they insisted on everyone emptying their pockets...

There was an Ewok's chance on Coruscant he was emptying his pockets for these jokers. No way he was walking out of a burning Star Destroyer, jettisoning an evil Space Wizard, only to get gut shot by guys without the sense to wash their own sashes.

So he was glad Rhijans had a play. It was a good play.

He sneered and nodded. Kept his mouth shut. He had lots to say. But Rhijans was talking badass to badass.

The self-proclaimed interpreter nods at Rhijans' words, then says something to his own companions.  This followed by some excited discussion, but the weapons never waver...

Then, "You comes with us, then all am number one good.  You is outworlders.  We makes big creds for you.  You has friends with much creds.  All outworlders rich.  We gets more if you lives, less if you deads, but still is big score.  You chooses."

From the ship, Shard and Juragga can see that something seems to be going on.  People coming out of the burning building are now faced by another group which has appeared from among the rubble an wreckage.  The refugees look to be getting herded into small groups and forced to sit on the ground...

Rhijans grimaced, inwardly.  "If we had money, we wouldn't have been interested in the job they offered..."  Thus far, they'd not moved to take anything away from the trio, but Rhijans was sure that wouldn't last.  He eyed the four of them carefully, his weapon still drawn but not pointed at any of them, trying to gauge just how seasoned they were...and if he could maybe get close enough, approaching the door, to grapple with one of them long enough to get shots off at the others.  He started forward, reluctantly, and commented, "This could get complicated..."

"Oh, that's fantastic." She triggers her comm.  "Rhijans?  Haarmon?  Jalt?  Anyone there?" Then, hand over com, she shouts to Juragga.  "We've got a problem!"

Understatement of the year.

"Split the group, this is what we get," she mutters.  "Split it again?  No.  Can't leave the ship alone, though; way things are going, someone will crack it and take off." Still waiting for someone to connect with her over the com, she allows her thoughts to clear.  'Allows' is perhaps the wrong word; it's a struggle to find the balance point, especially now.

But Haarmon is out there somewhere, and she knows Haarmon.  Has touched his mind.  And he has touched hers.

"

"GROWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWR!!!" Juragga suggested.  Can you sense them with your powers?

Should we lift off?

Haarmon put his hands up and walked toward the Basic-talking-leader-looking guy with his head down, defeated.

And then, just as he was about within hand's reach, he took a breath, and moved. Haarmon had never been in a real fight before hooking up with this crew. Had never seen actual violence. Had never really done a thing except talk about the things he had never done. But one thing he HAD done was practice quick drawing his pistol. Hours and hours and hours a day until it was fast and as smooth as a streak of blue summer lightning.

His hands became a blur, one down to his hip, drew and put the pistol to the main guy's head, and the other on the guy's arm, gently pushing his rifle muzzle down and away. And all of it faster than a blink.

"You die first," he said, his voice low and intense. He was shaking inside. Sweating under his clothes like a damn sauna. But he was relieved to hear his voice was steady. "Your friends might get us, but you die first. Yeah? So you tell them to back off. Guns down and walk away. You go your way, we go ours, and nobody dies. Anything besides that goes on? And maybe we die. Maybe. But you die first."

He could have gone on in this vein for some time. But he made himself shut up.

Strings of profanity in a few different languages went through Rhijans' mind as Haarmon drew on the spokes...being, for the others.  Personally, he wasn't willing to gamble on some intense loyalty between the group.  If they were a criminal gang, it might be there...but based on his limited past experience with those beings who spent much time around Hutts, he was guessing there was too much of a mercenary sensibility for them to care if their partner/leader got shot...

He moved.  Fast.  Away from Haarmon--split their focus, make them choose who to concentrate on.  And fired, twice, as he moved to be as far from Haarmon as possible within the space available.

Haarmon took a half-moment to curse inside his head. He was hoping Rhijans should have let the mug play out a few more moments before going full tech-ninja. So long as they were talking they weren't shooting. Get a chance to sow some discord. Create some chaos. Increase the variables. And maybe find a way to talk their way out.

All that went through his head in a flash the moment he saw blaster fire. He pulled the trigger on Mr. Advanced-Basic, and then threw himself toward the nearest piece of cover (however paltry).

He was in it now, and not a computer terminal in sight.

At least he didn't have any more time to be scared.

Three blaster shots, and four bodies hit the floor.  Two of them are screaming, their wrappings smouldering, one is twitching feebly, and the fourth is scrambling for cover behind a freight container (holding a very ornate blaster as if it might bite him)...

The only Clade member still upright turns and runs for the exit... and Reldan Jalt calmly shoots him in the back.  "Couldn't let him fetch help."

Shard closes her eyes...

"Grab their robes.  If they're rounding up offworlders for ransom, we're either gonna have to bluff our way past, or fight our way past, and while we got lucky here, I don't think we could manage a sustained firefight."  He was already putting words into actions, dragging bodies away from the door and peeling off the outer robes.  It wouldn't be pleasant, quite likely, unless their Clade either had a hidden supply of water or some form of personal hygiene that didn't depend on washing.  But their chances were a lot better in disguise.

As soon as it was over, the shakes started. Haarmon was pleased that he acquitted himself as well under pressure, but the come-down was heavy. His stomach felt watery and weak. His head swam. He just nodded at Rhijans, not trusting himself to speak.

He dragged the other bodies out of sight and picked out the least objectionable of the robes and started putting it on.

"And I thought they smelled bad on the outside," he managed, weakly. He paired it with a thumbs up. Because THAT always showed your steely resolve.

Rhijans shrugged into a robe, not terribly concerned about the smell...if they were lucky, the foursome had a reputation for being physically unpleasant and everyone would try to avoid them.  He wasn't about to bet on that, however...they'd been lucky thus far, and luck only got you so far...

He glanced up at Haarmon, from the slugthrower he'd retrieved...he was mildly curious about it, from the standpoint of weapon technology, but he grabbed it to get a more complete look to the outfit.  "Better make sure the blasters are accessible...but not visible.  The shooting may not be over and I don't trust these things for a fight...no idea what their capacity is or how they act when you shoot them, and that's bad news when your life is dependent on solid results." He paused for a moment, gauging Haarmon.  He'd gotten himself out of thinking of Haarmon as a kid...but he was still young, and new to most of this.  He was also doing a solid job of containing the jitters that often accompanied that kind of brief, intense action...

"Hey, Haarmon.  Good work there.  Wasn't what I had in mind, but you adapted to the situation.  Just keep telling yourself that the shooting isn't over yet...we can relax when we're back on the Bantha."  There was almost...almost...a kind of fondness in his voice.  At least, there was something more than the standard detachment his tone normally carried.

Jalt drags on one of the robes and pulls it around him.  "Need to hide the fact that we aren't wearing those bandage things that they're all wrapped in.  So pull the robe tight, and keep your head down when we go out the door."  He pauses, considering the bodies.

Then, "Wait... I hope they don't wear the bandages because they have some kind of disease.  Oh, well... too late to worry about that now.  Make sure you both grab one of the sashes too.  It might be some kind of ID marker."

He snags one up himself, and dons it in a close approximation of how the original owner wore it.

Rhijans nodded at the suggestion, and grabbed a sash, doing his best to don it in the same fashion it had been worn before the shooting started.  He hefted a slugthrower in his off hand, so he could grab for his blaster, if needed, and paused by the doorway.  "Ready?" he asked.  He didn't bother reminding them that the next few minutes would be critical...either tensely quiet, or explosively noisy...

Shard shakes her head.  "I'm sorry, Juragga," she calls back.  "I'm just...I tried.  There's confusion, some screaming, all kinds of things I'd expect from...that." She points at where the group went, knowing he can't see but will get the idea.

Trust the people on the ground.  "Comm lines as still open, I think, but I've gotten nothing from them.  They're busy."  Or dead, but she can't think that.  "I'll try to contact them one more time!  Then we're going to need to go in - maybe with the ship, if you can fly it!" Once more she tries to raise the group with her com-link.

++  Haarmon?  Rhijans?  Jalt?  Is anyone still there? ++

After a few moments in silence, tarting himself up in the latest wasteland-nomad fashion, Haarmon felt a little better. And Rhijans' not getting on his case for messing everything up helped a little too.

He was mildly concerned about how he was going to carry the heavy, unwieldy slug thrower and sill have access to his blaster, but between slinging the pistol under his robe, and holding the larger weapon in his left hand sort of casually, he thought he had it.

He nodded, trying his best to keep his face impassive. "Ready," he said.

And just as they started out, he took a moment and tried to send another message.

Still alive. Still coming.