As the Dancing Bantha drops out of hyperspace Dateen gleams ahead of her like a blue-green gem set against a backdrop of black velvet, strewn with a billion points of light.

The freighter veers slightly and starts to swing around towards the night side of the planet, and city lights come into view as the ship draws closer.

---

Sixteen hours earlier...

"It's a simple mission." Colonel Lias Kourene explains, standing in the almost-empty briefing room of Defiance Base on Mothessh.  The only other people currently in the room are Jihon Mogg, Mark Jacobs, Neary Narf (and her everpresent mouse droid, Wheely), Reldan Jalt, Rhijans Thanus, Shard, and Shisskurr.  Reldan Jalt's astromech droid, R2-O0, is not present.  "We've been having problems with some of the Z-95s lately, and it seems to be getting worse.  It looks like we got a bad batch of power converters, and the only replacements we have here are from that same batch."

A holographic star map springs to life behind him, one of the systems highlighted, "We do, however, have more power converters in a supply cache on Dateen, so we're sending this group to fetch them."

"We need Captain Jalt to take the Dancing Bantha to Dateen and land at Ker Aldas space port.  A Rebel operative will be waiting there, and will show the way to the cache.  Captain Jalt's astromech droid is currently being programmed to identify the operative."

"The rest of you will go along to help collect the power converters, our records indicate that there should be forty of them in four containers, and bring them back here."

He smiles, "It's a real blue milk run."

---

In fairness to the Colonel, it's very likely that he didn't know about the star destroyer and two light cruisers in low orbit above Dateen...

A voice comes in over the Dancing Bantha's comms system as the freighter comes within range of the Imperial ships, "Attention incoming freighter, please state your identification and business at Dateen, and prepare to be boarded."  Though they don't actually say, "Or else we'll blast you into dust.", anybody who has ever heard anything about Imperial inspections knows that is implied.

Jihon Mogg leans forward for a better view of the destroyer and cruisers. "Hmm. Bad feeling about this."^*

He didn't know much about space vehicles, but he assumed he was right in guessing they weren't going to outrun or out-gun the Imperial vessels, which meant they were probably going to comply. He hoped they had a good cover story in place and wondered if he should be looking for a place to hide.

"We have a plan?"

^*Just getting that line out of the way....

"Blast! What kind of laserbrained nerfherder did the recon for this one??"

The expletives coming from the mouth of the co-pilot indicates little love for the Imperials. Neary begins to flip switches and looks over at Reldan to take her cue from him.

"It's your call, skipper."

Under her breath she continues to prove that she possesses an impressive vocabulary of bad words for such a young lady.

An easy trip through hyperspace.  A beautiful world beckoning them onward.  A shining city below.

A Star Destroyer.

Rot-cursed intelligence and luck!

"'A real milk run'," Shard scoffs, belting herself in.  This part is all up to the pilots and their people - she's of little use, given her 'skill' with ship-to-ship weapons.  Or lack thereof.  Her head cocks as the orders blast over the intercom, and for a moment her lips thin as her gaze flicks about the ship, landing on whatever Rebels happen to be in sight.  A muscle jumps in her cheek, and her fingers go white in their grip on her armrest.

Kids.  Buncha kids, and now we're in the hot seat.  Can't outrun them, can't outshoot them....

Talking seems the only option.  Unless....

Her hands fumble about in her cloak, searching for the inside pocket.  Fingers find smooth, silvery metal, cold despite the heat the item contains.  Slowly she draws it out, thumb finding the stud on the side...

Click.

The flask snaps open and Shard downs a mouthful of the spiced, Baravian brandy.  Cheap stuff - it gnaws at her mouth, coats her throat, clenches the muscles of her jaw - but it does the trick, hitting the stomach and sending threads of warmth through her cold, cold limbs.  Jihon Moog shoots a question into the ship's air; wincing, she raises her voice in answer.  "Any of you kids up to talking our way out of this mess?  Or do we have illegals stuffed in one of the holds?"
This message was last edited by the player at 17:30, Mon 05 July 2010.

"Take it easy.  I'm sure I can handle this." Reldan says, only looking slightly worried.  "For one thing, we arent actually carrying anything illegal, except for ourselves.  If we stay calm, we should be fine."

He reaches for the comms, "Trust me.  I know what I'm doing." and then he hits the stud.

"Hello there.  This is the 'Voracious Rancor', out of Dor-Tennia.  We're here to drop off some passengers at a medical facility near Ker Aldas.  Will this take long, because they're really sick, and I think it's infectious.  I have these yellow blotches all over me."

OOC: Spent a Character Point to make this really convincing.

Reldan Jalt rolled 13 using 3 dice with the WEG Classic system with rolls of 2,4,{Wild}6(+1). Con roll.
Reldan Jalt rolled 10 using 1 dice with the WEG Classic system with rolls of {Wild}6(+4). Character point spent.

So a total of 23.  (-:  I'm a smooth talker.

Neary blinks in disbelief as she hears Reldan lay it on thick, real thick. Slowly sucking in air between her teeth she hopes that whoever is listening buys into this out of sheer boredom and fear of yellow blotches and that they decides boarding would be a really bad idea.

She waits for the answer and hopes for the best, no, the near impossible.

"Oh, that's good," Shard mutters as the pilot takes his best shot.  "Anyone happen to have some nice yellow blotches handy?"  She takes another pull on the flask, grimacing, then - as there doesn't seem to be any blaster-fire in the future - unbelts herself and heads for the nearest supply closet.

Maybe - just maybe - there'll be something in here she can splash on herself when the imperials board.  Paint.  Dye.

Muriatic acid.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:42, Mon 05 July 2010.

Rhijans had decided, after seeing a string of people proceeding to the cockpit, that he'd forego the pleasure.  Instead, he lurked just outside the hatch, satisfied to listen to the commentary.

These people were surprised to find Imperials on patrol here? he thought to himself.  Judging from the responses he was able to pick up...not-muttered and muttered expletives, grumbled irritation, and...was that a whiff of brandy?...they apparently were.

Then he heard Jalt's response, and shook his head.  It was a good story...Imperial inspectors weren't likely to want to spend much time inspecting anyone with a potential mystery illness...but there was no need to invent details that didn't exist.  "Seriously?" he called from the hallway.  "You've got a man on board with gray skin, and the best you could come up with is 'yellow splotches?'"  He shook his head, and checked the safety setting on his blaster.  He didn't intend to use it...but he wanted to make sure it was ready to go, if he had to.

Shisskurr waited, leaning back against a bulkhead a bit aways from the cockpit, and the remainder of the crew. He closed his eyes, feeling the hum of the ship's sublight engines vibrate through the hull. The familiar sounds of Imperial demand bore over the speakers. Shiss exhaled in agitation.

"Rrm. Never as easy as it seems."

He opened his eyes, checked the charge on his blaster as he moved away from the bulkhead; noticed Shard rummaging through a supply closet with some intent. Shiss turned, glancing behind him, saw Rhijans checking his weapons as well. Things seemed tense. Nothing he wasn't used to.

So he waited, making note of everything that was going on at the moment. Eventually, he moved to the back of the ship, by the engine room, to wait out the results.

"I'm going to need a bigger gun." Mark Jacobs said to nobody in particular as he saw the Star Destroyer. He hand touched the familiar Blastech DL-44 at his side as if to reassure himself that it was still with him.



Mark pulled out his medpac and checked the contents. He wondered if there was anything inside that would actually create such a condition if they were boarded. "Reldan, I hope you have a strong stomach. I might actually have something to back up your story."

Just hope it doesn't kill him. Mark stared at the Star Destroyer as it seemed to grow larger out the window.
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:06, Tue 06 July 2010.

Pausing in her digging, Shard glances back over her shoulder.  Apparently Jacobs may have a solution that requires neither painting nor skin burns.  Shoving everything back in the closet - a mop falls back on her head, and she irritably kicks it to the rear of the storage space - the older woman pushes herself up.  "We don't all need to to take...whatever it is," she mutters, ambling over to Jacobs.

Slipping the flask back into her heavy, stained cloak, the woman grips a convenient handhold and cocks an eyebrow at the medpack.  "So what d'you have in there for me?"  Better that than another one of the kids hurting through it.

Besides, I've lots of experience with chem-induced pain.

From his position just outside the cockpit, Rhijans overheard Shard's question.  "Well, whatever you take, we've got to give to 'Smooth Talker' in the cockpit, since he's just told them all he's the one with yellow splotches."  He shook his head.

"If it was anyone but the Empire, I'd say we tell 'em Shiss was the sick one...who would know enough Trandoshan physiology to tell any better?"  Again, he shook his head.  "Imperials, though, would probably insist on taking him 'for quarantine holding'...and then space him to save themselves any further trouble."  The last was spoken in a lower voice, more for his own benefit than anyone else...but voices carry in the metallic interior of a space transport, and he wasn't accustomed to travelling as part of a group. He'd never really learned just how low he had to keep his voice if he didn't want to be overheard.

"Thank you, Voracious Rancor.  As you are declaring a medical emergency, the inspection has been waived." the voice doesn't sound particularly concerned about the sick passengers, or a Captain with yellow splotches.  It definitely sounds more like a case of somebody not wanting to catch a mysterious rash.

"However Ker Aldas has currently been placed under security lockdown.  All traffic is being diverted to other destinations.  Proceed to Ker Zaineer instead.  We have information that there are extensive medical facilities there which should be able to provide treatment for yourself and your passengers."

"Well, I'll be a two-headed Worrt!"

Neary nearly laughs and slaps the shoulder of the captain. It is followed by a smile that sits askew as she looks him over.

"You'll have to show me those yellow blotches at some point, skipper. Mmhmm."

Next comes a sigh of relief as she returns to prepare for the descent and the landing.

"Drink to that," Shard mutters, no longer concerned about mixing medicine and alcohol.  Click.  She takes another pull at the flask, grinning down at Jacobs.  "Thanks, 'doc', but it looks like we're home free.  Still...might want to keep whatever you've got handy.  The impies might call ahead and have a med-team waiting."

At the thought, her black mood returns and the weathered woman moves to stare into the cockpit, past the crewmembers and out into space - at the view before the ship, a gleaming world of light and the darkness above it.  That's just a taste, Shard, she thinks.  This isn't going to be as easy as you were told.  Spinning on her heel, she gives the yin-yang of planet and void her back, marching back into the rec-compartment to strap herself in.  She should relax.  Meditate.  Try to center herself, to gain some kind of distance and appropriate detachement.

But she can't get Neary's laughter out of her head, nor Reldan's brash bluff.  Nor, if it came to it, Jacobs' muttered concerns about the size of his weaponry - potential puns never cross her mind.  The flask pops open again.  Kids.  Just...kids, these days.

Gotta get them home in one piece.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:45, Tue 06 July 2010.

"Ker Zaineer," Mogg says. "We should be able to take a transport from there. Get closer to Ker Aldas. Get through security. Watch out for tails. Fortuitous."

He stands up straight and stretches. One hand rubs his chin, another scratches idly at his head-ridges, and the other two plant firmly on his hips.

"Be in the back," he says and turns to make his way out of the cockpit. He's seen the planet. Beautiful gem. And the big ships. Always impressive and a little disconcerting. Not much left to do but rest a few minutes before things got interesting.

He lumbers into the compartment with Shard and Jacobs. Strange. Soft-skinned. The lack of middle appendages always made him a little queasy. Entire races. Disfigured by design. The universe was full of wonders.

"Reflection is noble," he says, as if to himself. "Mimicry is easy; Experience is difficult ... often bitter. All three grant wisdom."

He smiles, leans back, closes his eyes, and grows still.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:58, Tue 06 July 2010.

Rhijans watched as Mogg came out of the cockpit, walking past him back to the passenger area.  Soon, it'd be time to strap in for the landing cycle...but for now, he was content to stay on his feet.

He turned his thoughts to the potential change in plans.  Yes, they could be stupid and try and run for Ker Aldas...and run right into security.  Security lockdown, he thought, musing over the implications of that.  Knowing they had a contact in the middle of that...without any idea of who, or how they were connected...left him a little leery.

Just like usual, the best option was going to be to wait, until they were on the ground and had up-to-date information on the situation, and then make a plan.  At least there was no immediate threat.  He reached down to his hip and flipped his blaster to 'safe', and scowled at the long nick in the barrel.  He'd have to replace that, sometime...