If Rhijans was at all ruffled by the quip, it didn't show...especially with the expressionless frown of stormtrooper armor in front of his face.  "It's all about timing," he responded.  "You have to do it when there's so much more going on that people don't have time to ask questions about why you're in a vehicle when nobody else is."  Was there the slightest hint of sarcastic humor under the words?  It was so very hard to tell...

"And there's no reason for us to stay in a barracks.  A facility like this will be running shifts around the clock...you just stay out of sight while one beds down and then turn up again after the next is up and running...you're still just another faceless body in the crowd.  And if we're stuck here long enough to worry about getting sleep, we've done something VERY wrong."

He gestured to the console.  "I would imagine that should be a good place to get an up-to-date location on our man..."

Haarmon nodded and went over to the terminal. "And that's about as close to snapping-fingers-snap-snap-chop-chop-my-lad-make-with-the-thing as Rhijans ever gets." He smiled a little. "I think he just figures out terminals shut me up for a few minutes."

And then, matching word to the deed, he kicked up the console and got to work, and as usual, the smart-talking mook drifted off and was replaced by Hyper-Focused Haarmon.

As suspected, the terminal is pretty well specialised for keeping track of prisoners.  A minute or so of Haarmon's magic, and a long list of names appears on the screen, shifting and growing shorter as Haarmon punches in characters.

Finally there is only one name.  Other data starts to appear...

As soon as Haarmon sat down and started typing, Rhijans shifted position.  He knew enough about computers to manage basic operations...and to realize that it was pointless for him to try and keep track of what Haarmon might end up doing in order to conjure up the information that they needed.

Instead, he took up what seemed to him to be the standard guard position, trying to make it appear to a casual observer that the group was actually just a harried computer tech trying to look up a request by an officer, with a sentry on duty nearby...a scene that he imagined played out hundreds--if not thousands--of times every day in Imperial installations across the galaxy.

Karra moves in to stand behind Haarmon, looking over his shoulder.  After a few seconds her right hand creeps up to her mouth, and she starts nervously gnawing on her thumb nail...

"Let's hope our timing is better now," Shard murmurs, waiting and watching. "Kara, don't stand too close.  If someone walks in, we don't want to be a group clustered around a terminal." Somewhat suspicious, that.

"In fact, better come over here and we'll look at...a datapad or something, together.  And talk quietly.  All right?" Not only will it seem a little more natural, but it's possible the deception might calm the woman down.  She looks almost ready to burst, and Shard worries that encountering bad news on the computer might provoke a dangerous reaction right at the wrong moment.

"Mrrph?" Juragga queried, unsure of where The Jedi wanted him.

Shard's words drew Rhijans' attention for a moment.  "Get your thumb away from your mouth.  I'm sure that not all Imperial personnel are supremely confident...but enough of them are that the only way to be sure to blend in is to act like you are, too.  Someone sees you chewing your fingertips, you're going to stand out, and that's what we don't want."  Despite the potential for it, his tone was calm, matter-of-fact...like he was discussing the proper alignment of a blaster component, rather than talking about possibly blowing their cover.  The only hint of urgency about it was the fact that he mentioned it at all.

Haarmon felt like biting all of his fingertips all the time, all at once, everyday, so he sympathized. It was a wonder he made it through the day, hands intact, most of the time.

"Got it," he says, "Work orders say he's at section 142, level 57, Main Control Center, today. Here's a map." He uploads some stuff to a datapad with a nice tight red line.

He frowns. Looks up at his team.

"Uh, guys. There's.... uh.... 130,000 names in this database. 130,000 forced labourers. Which is fancy political science talk for 'slave.' I don't want to complicate an already complicated situation but... can we... can we just walk away from the other 129,999?"

Rhijans' voice might have been modulated by the helmet, but the tightness in it could still be heard.  "This isn't Alkirk.  We can't just steal a transport and get them all onboard while the base personnel try to do damage control.  We might be able to open a window for some of them to get away...but we're here to get one person, and if we fail, You-Why dies."  He half-turned his head.

"Alkirk worked because we exploited opportunities.  We'll do what we can here...but the mission is the priority.  We have to focus on that."

While he never sounded particularly happy, his words were decidedly unhappy in tone.

"WAAAAarrrrgh?!" Juragga growled, not quietly.

Any Wookiees?!

Karra Hedine, a total novice in situations like this, follows the instructions she is given by the experts, and promises herself that she will remember to follow them in future.  But she feels like screaming.

And then there are the 130,000 slaves.  To think she waltzed in here to rescue just one, and convinced herself that doing that would make her a big damned hero.  Only now she knows that, in the grand scheme of things, her big important mission is nothing.  Not even a very small drop in the ocean.

Haarmon's map shows the appropriate building.  It looks to be some distance away.  At least a couple of hours, on foot.

But the map also shows something else.

A transport network radiates out from the Main Control Centre.  Some sort of repulsorlift  train, and there is a station a short distance from here.

Haarmon continues tapping at the terminal. If there was one thing you could say about the Empire, their filing systems were always organized and their databases were impeccably keyworded.

"So," he said, "Good new/bad news. The building we're looking for is about two, two and half hours away on foot. But..." he keyed up a map and leaned away from the screen so everyone could see, "There's a full-on train station here, just a short hup." A wry smile. "You can go ahead and decide for yourself which is the good and which the bad."

He did some more tapping at Rags' question. His eyes widened and his mouth stretched into a thin line.

"Yeah, Rags," he said, "There are. There are some Wookies. Lots of em. 2,536 of them."

He spun in the chair and looked at his team. "Two and some odd thousand Wookies would be a real boon to the Rebellion."

Plus, if he (Rags) said he was helping Wookies, then he (Haarmon) was helping Wookies too. No matter what.

"That means we can no longer grab any old hyperspace-capable vessel to get out.  We have to start looking at vessels that have crew and cargo space to hold a couple thousand Wookiees."  While there was a warning tone in his voice, he did not, actually, reject the idea.

"Most likely scenario is that we die and nobody gets away, security gets screwed down even tighter.  But there's always chances of beating the odds."

"GaaaaaaaaaHurrrrrHHH," Juragga breathed.  He moved in over Haarmon's shoulder, wanting to see the data for himself.

If there was a chance, even a chance, that some of his family were here... but even if not... they were Wookiees.  He would not leave them to slavery.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:43, Tue 20 Oct 2020.

Karra nods slowly.  Thoughtfully.  "We can do this.  My brother and Juragga's people.  I don't want to leave anybody behind.  But we need to find a ship."

She pauses for a moment, "A freight transport might work.  Fill the hold with Wookiees.  Wouldn't be comfortable, but I never heard that Wookiees were delicate flowers."  She smiles up at Juragga...

The whole idea of sneaking 2,536 Wookiees aboard a ship and escaping with them surely can't be any more ridiculous than sneaking into a secure imperial facility and rescuing her brother.

After all, if anything goes wrong, the Wookiees would be a fairly effective army...

Haarmon kept his face as impassive as he could manage, but internally he was a confusing combination of terrified and elated that they were going to try and help Rags rescue some Wookies.

"So," he said, voice even and careful, "What if we fooled the Imps into thinking the Wookies were going somewhere? Some other colony, or mines, or whatever? Get them to get them all on a ship? We go get our business done. Find whassisface. And then meet the ship?"

A pause.

"Way easier to steal a ship after the fact than to try and sneak two-thousand seven foot tall walking carpets out under our shirts or whatever."

"That could work," Rhijans responded, in remarkably even tones...neither for nor against, just...calculating.

"Forge orders from an Imperial officer of high enough rank to plausibly demand that many Wookiees, but still far enough down the chain to be just another name on a list."  He paused, thinking a moment.

"We have an ISB ID in the group.  At an appropriate time, we use it.  Tell the station commander that there's been a string of sabotage events that all trace back to this shipyard...and the Wookiees are the most likely suspects.  They all need to be taken in for interrogation."  He turned and looked at the others.  "ISB is notorious for draconian measures like that...and the whole organization is so shadowed that we can even claim we're here on higher orders but aren't allowed to divulge whose.  Personally, I like the odds of that one better."

He gave a slight shrug and turned away.  "Of course, I'm not the one who needs to maintain the masquerade."  And there might have been just the slightest suggestion of sympathy in his tone.  It was so hard to tell with the modulation of the helmet's vocal processor.

Haarmon kept a wary on Rhijans. He was so hard to read. And just because he was sussing out the practicalities now didn't mean he was on board. He was too cautious for that.

"Or, just spit-balling here. What if there was a base-level threat and they had to evacuate the Wookies? Like, I don't, a team of rebels setting off crazy bombs or whatever. That's a little farther down our wheelhouse and Shard can take advantage easier in the chaos."

A hint of amusement, perhaps, colored the response.  "You think we can concoct a threat big enough to make the Empire evacuate its primary shipyard?  What did you have in mind?"  And then, in a noticeably more serious tone, "How do we guarantee they don't just kill all the slaves before evacuating?"
This message was last edited by the player at 17:03, Thu 22 Oct 2020.

Haarmon shook his head. "No, no. Not the whole shipyard, just the Wookies. Look at the map, they've got them all stuffed in this one complex here. Gotta be something big we can blow up t that would set off an alert. And if Shard was on-site giving orders and being a badass, same time?"

He shrugged.

"Maybe I'm way off base. It's just that my experience with this crew is that it's easier to blow up stuff than make up stuff. Or, you know, at the very least we're better at it."

“I’d rather get them all off,” Shard breathes. “But…that’s impossible.  Even if we stole a Star Destroyer, and somehow could pilot it.”  Even so, picking and choosing…  “It’s a start, and the Wookies have the best chance of getting off alive if everything goes insane.”  And when they return?  They need to mount a serious rescue operation.  Over a hundred thousand slaves…the idea sickens her soul.

She listens to the others plan, reaching out to pat Juragga’s arm.  Rhijans’ practicalities put structure to Haarmon’s ideas, and something begins to emerge, slowly taking shape, it’s validity increasing with every objection, every adjustment. “That could work,” Shard breathes.  “Enough of a localized emergency and it might take them in, where something generalized for the entire base might end up having the Imperials button up, or react in a way we don’t want.  Void, even a disease that’s going to require the Wookies to be shipped away for treatment before it jumps to other races – or disposal, sorry Juragga – something like that might work as well.   Anything to show some kind of need to move the Wookies, and just the Wookies, and right now.“

Rhijans shrugged, the gesture barely visible in the armor.  "I think you're over-estimating the value the Empire puts on slave labor," he commented...but it wasn't a dismissal.

"So what do you have in mind?"  He was aware that, when it came to initiating a chaotic panic, it was often his idea...but as he couldn't come up with an idea that he had any confidence would result in evacuating slaves instead of just letting them die, he was curious to see if different eyes saw a plan he didn't.

"GuuHHHRRAaaahhrr," Juragga said, softly for him.  He didn't make eye contact with Shard. "Rrrhuuunnnhhhhrr waaaaargh."

We have to save all the ones we can.  Then arm the ones we can't.  Let them die fighting.  I will be with them.

His tone was both resigned and determined.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:05, Fri 23 Oct 2020.

"We need crew for a bigger ship... well, I've heard that some Wookiees have been known to work ships.  Maybe, if we find a transport, enough of the Wookiees will know enough about ships to be able to handle it.  At least well enough to get to another system."

Hedine looks at Juragga desperately, "That's right, isn't it?  Some Wookiees know about ships?"