Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting

by Guest Thu Sep 03, 2009 12:46 am

OOC is Here

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

"Finally, shab," was the only comment Kelborn had when the sensor’s automatic alarms went off for the crew, those who weren't actually manning the pilot or the co-pilot station, to get in the gun wells. As far as anyone could tell, the Mando'a word was not a good thing, but definitions weren't forthcoming from Kelborn.

They'd come out of hyperspace in the outskirts of the Untbrodl system a week ago, expecting trouble. At least, that's the briefing that Isi'mosat, or just Isi Mosat, the Twi'lek cantina proprietor out of Queloro that acted as Alliance Intel's communications pipeline told them to expect. But a week's time of sitting in among space junk, keeping surveillance going and waiting for their target to materialize was arduous-- waiting was the worst, especially when you were trying to stay alert and fresh for what would be sudden mayhem and danger.

Kelborn was probably not alone in being thankful that the waiting was over, and the action was starting -- succeed or fail, at least it was happening, and one didn't have time to doubt or wonder, about the Rebellion, about his tangled and messed up personal life, about all of it.

The target was Atria Serat, the popular prime minister of Rysul and something of a fence-sitter in the great galactic game of politics. She was privately and quietly considering where her planet, a producer of high tech components and repair parts in this part of the Outer Rim, stood in this whole thing. For a variety of reasons, she protected her planet's native industries from the larger conglomerates by maneuvering negotiations through skillfully with various other planets, and generally tried to look out for her people. But now certain interests were unhappy and word came down the pipeline that Serat, a neutral, was about to be attacked and destroyed by hired privateers masquerading as the Rebel Alliance.

It was evident what would come; on her way to a negotiation on behalf of one of her planet's industrial concerns, she'd get jumped by 'pirates' and then the planetary population would blame the Alliance and ask for Imperial help to defend themselves. The Empire would negotiate it in return for certain commercial concessions on the part of Serat's successor, who would no doubt be someone who was pre-disposed to work with the Empire anyway. The new Prime Minister would cut a deal whereby imports from the large corporate conglomerates like Kuat Drive Yards, Sienar Fleet Systems and Merr-Sonn would not be taxed, and the native factories forced to compete with interstellar trade. Eventually, the small competition would be driven out of business and the monopoly established in that part of the Outer Rim, with the companies able to price as they pleased.

Everyone won, except the mere inhabitants of the planet, who could always join the Imperial Army or Navy.

The Rebel Alliance, if at all possible, wanted to try and stop the assassination. And Alliance-friendly members of Parliament were able to wrangle out the coordinates for Serat's movements and other vital information.

Untbrodl was the easiest place to stage an ambush and also warn Serat of the ambush from the pirates; it was because there were space lanes through the asteroid rings cleared to allow easy freight traffic to and from Untbrodl, which was a very mineral-rich system. Outside of those cleared lanes, you had asteroid fields, harder to navigate safely, especially for the bigger bulk haulers. And it was slower going, even if you had a small enough ship to dodge the asteroids. The magnetic interference also made sensors harder to operate at long range. It meant that the pirates were hiding outside of the asteroid field, probably blocking off the lane, and probably in a much larger vessel than the Intruder.

Not that they were here to fight, and the less fighting they had to do here, the better.

The orders were clear; intercept Serat's vessel on the way out of Untbrodl, and give her coordinates that allowed an easy and clear escape from the system to a safe place, and then meet her to explain what was going on.

It depended on the woman being wise enough to take their advice; they had a bundled package statement from Councillor Bail Organa that explained everything, but Mission Group Hotfoot were on their own here as the delivery boys and rescuers.

It wasn't a matter of fighting the enemy as trying to get one over on them.

They could see the VCX-700 Courier ship, a Corellian-made ship designed for diplomatic work. Not exactly a common vessel, but favored for dignitaries, at least non-Imperial ones, in Outer Rim. They were fairly well armed, and this one was painted bright green, with the planetary government insignia.

Kriffing stupid to mark yourself out to enemies like that, but probably can’t be helped when you’re on a diplomatic mission in the first place.

The pirate vessel, cunningly done up with a very obvious Marek Phoenix to make sure that observers saw it as a Rebel vessel, was a CR-90 class corvette, also a Corellian ship but much better armed. It was actually a good choice; everyone used Corvettes, and that meant it could plausibly be a Rebel ship. This one was on an intercept vector to cut off Serat’s course toward the hyper lane, sneaking out from the asteroids as it did.

Kelborn, from the gunwell, waiting for the Corellian-quad cannons to power up, wasn’t optimistic about the ability of the Intruder to do any fighting; a Corvette was too well shielded and armored for these popguns to do much, but there could easily be fighters In the area, and that would constitute some sort of danger. Serat’s diplomatic courier was actually tougher craft in a fight than the Intruder, but might as well be throing osik for all the damage it could do to a Corvette.

But if all went well, they’d get the warning, then the jump coordinates to Serat and get her ship out of there. It wasn’t just getting her jump coordinates, it was getting her through the asteroid field; there were plenty of routes that smugglers used to get through, but they weren’t charted for anyone. Alliance intel supplied those, because Isi Mosat was extremely fastidious in that regard.

Really, this was Mosat’s plan, not theirs. But it was SpecOps carrying out the operation, and once the mission plan became unworkable, they had the discretion to deviate and start improvising.

For now, the idea was to get Serat out of this assassination, and then deal with the rest.

That was, if they could get her out of there.

“Alright, dorsal gun turret is powered up.” No one asked for a status report, but he gave it anyway. He had the vowel treatment of Mandalorians, sharp and nasal, accented differently from the rest of the Galaxy. But the Galaxy had a multitude of accents, and only one who knew Mandalorians knew what their accent was like.

Kelborn was a bit of a loner, and his time with the Alliance had not been free of scrapes and unpleasantness; Mandos were not the most disciplined in the way that Imperial and old Republic types were fond of, the toy soldier saluting and strutting about in polished boots. By contrast, Mandalorians were warriors, a nomadic people raised to defend themselves and make their way in a hard galaxy, and largely self-directing. Some university graduate or Core-world nobleman in a uniform with a little braid didn’t impress him or any other Mandalorian.

Mandalorians were conquering the universe long before these Rebel chakaare ever existed, and last time they had a war, it took a Mandalorian cloned-and-trained army to save their sheb’se. The Republic was weak, and it went down because of it. Without the Jedi, and Palps certainly took care of them, they would have fallen four thousand years ago when Mandalore the Ultimate started the wars and conquered much of the galaxy.

It was Jedi who finished off the Mandalorians, led by Jaster Mereel at Galidraan. Not that they felt much gratitude for the man who finished the Jedi, Palps, because now it was the Empire, not the Republic, looking for ways to do away with the troublesome Mando’ade.

Same old osik, new name.

The Rebel officers were nothing next to a Canderous Ordo or a Jaster Mereel, or even a Jango Fett, who was no great shakes as a Manda’lor, a leader of the people, but was fearsome and a great warrior nonetheless. Their sort of discipline was the discipline of moisture farmer militiamen being turned into mass-produced fighting men, but a man that was trained by his aliit, his clan, of experienced, hardened warriors from the age of eight until he was considered an adult at age thirteen didn’t exactly need to be taught those skills in a hurry.

And his adopted father, his biological parents died when he was an infant, a veteran of the Clone Wars, always emphasized the need to creatively interpret orders from officers that didn’t know how to do the job better than you. A couple Rebel officers pressed the point and got the so-called Keldabe kiss for it.

It was readily apparent that he was SpecOps material; not commandable in a conventional military situation but extremely skilled with weapons, a warrior in the Mando way. Adaptable. He didn’t mind that some saw it as a dumping ground for osik; smugglers, mercenaries, bounty hunters, other fringers.

We’ll see who does more for the fight when it’s all over, you kriffing aruetiise. The ‘osik’ with the skills or the chakaare with the pretty uniforms that can march in formation.

He was down there wearing his buy’ce; like most Mandos, he was very used to the HUD and the communications, which were plugged right into the intercom system. But, even more importantly, he’d be able to survive, not too long though, in vacuum if this tincan of a starship took a hit, from an asteroid or a turbolaser bolt.

The gun well was a standard Corellian layout, familiar to almost anyone that’d ever been in space, and Kelborn wound up learning via the simulations how to actually use the things. But he knew this can was thin-skinned.

Let’s just hope our luck holds…

by Igraine Fri Sep 04, 2009 3:51 pm

Long, agile fingers hovered over the components laid out on the table before her when the strident, insistent sound of the alarms began. Jahravvuk, “Jarrie” to those smaller, balder companions who knew her well enough, growled a bit in frustration as she lifted the goggles on her face. She let them rest back on her head, hands planted now on her hips as she shook her head. Long lengths of pale blond braids tied off behind her head shook in time with the wookiee’s consternation. Brilliant blue eyes looked over the unfinished work at her table, cataloguing the location of each least piece before she grabbed a plastic sheet and threw it over the delicate components. Not like a few good blasts into the ship wouldn’t send the whole damned thing end over end anyway, but… hells… Like there was a single other thing she could do?

Even if one didn’t understand a word of Shyriiwook, the expression on her face was certainly far from difficult to read. All this time they’d waited for something – anything – to happen out here in this damned system. Figures the moment she had finally gotten the loader’s auxillary components pulled apart, finally pinpointed the faulty pin… There wasn’t time to put it all back together though. Jarrie removed the thick machinist’s gloves and tossed them to the side of the work table before she turned.

With a speed and grace that belied her immense size, Jahravvuk strode from the hold toward the quad cannon turret below, her long hair flowing like a golden brown banner behind her. Kelborn, she knew, should already have manned the one up top. If nothing else, the Mandalorian knew how to make himself useful when it came right down to it - and she could respect that. Jarrie had to admit to herself that she actually found something to respect in each of these crew members – specialists and fighters every one.

Jarrie threw back the hatch, grabbing onto the holds as she swung herself easily into the turret. Sure, maybe the space wasn’t originally designed with wookiee gunners in mind – as if very much in this galaxy beyond Imperial slavers’ tools actually were? Still, a few tweeks here and there during their time in dock, a few pieces judiciously removed and a few others welded in at the right height and width… The story of her life, really – circumstances didn’t suit? Things not quite right? Tweek them, change them, until they did. And when the almighty “people in charge” didn’t like those changes? Well, that was just too damned bad…

Which was an attitude, of course, that accounted for the numerous scars that crisscrossed her body. Ever scar was a testament to a past hidden from most everyone, behind a tongue incapable of speaking basic, and beneath great lengths of wookiee hair. It was also probably how she’d found herself here in the first place, with the Rebellion’s misfits, miscreants and malcontents – the ones too brilliant to do without entirely, but too infuriating to the powers that be to keep under tabs.

A slow, fang-filled grin crossed her face at the thought.

Nimble fingers flipped the switches quickly as she listened contentedly to the familiar soft whine of the lasers coming online. She heard Kelborn’s announcement that the dorsal guns were already powered up – no surprise, of course, but it wasn’t as if she would be bothered to give the same report. Jarrie chuckled softly to herself. Shyriiwook didn’t translate well over the intercoms, it seemed…

She eyed the Corvette ahead of them, and the courier ship that held their target, and simply waited. Jarrie knew her place in this scheme - time to let the others do what they did best…

by Kaislynn Fri Sep 04, 2009 5:20 pm

"Right. And Jarrie is on the ventral turret." Fennery Che shifted over in her seat, though Kelborn had reported the dorsal guns up and running, Jarrie’s lovely language didn’t come through the com so nicely. The pilot had to trust that the wookie would be there and from what she knew of the mechanic, the ventral turret would be manned—well, wookied. Fen laid hands on the steering yoke of the Intruder. Without the upgrades she'd requested from the Alliance, the YT-1760 was sitting pretty with less firepower and less shield capabilities than she’d wanted. It was true that their orders were not to fight. But every diplomatic, political, partisan fool she’d ever had the misfortune to deal with had been frustrating and arrogant: stubborn to the last, mother-loving one of them. Fen fully expected this to be a creative mission. Why else would they send a Spec-Ops team? Gritting her teeth in anger at the Intruder’s lack of shields, she lifted the ship off the lane asteroid they’d been waiting on and drifted into the lane.

With a brief flick of a finger, she turned on the com and began pinging toward the Prime Minister’s ship. Then Fen lifted her eyes to scan the lane for better sight of them. The trade and access lanes opened in the Untbrodl asteroid rings tilted through her brain as she waited for the courier to come into view. The lanes were not big. With the two ships in the lane, maneuvering capabilities would be hampered significantly. It put Fen’s nerves on alert. They’d been told that the imperial posers would be waiting outside the lanes, blocking an exit, to ambush the heavy courier. If it was her, Fen’s plan would be staged inside the lanes. Outside there was the possibility of a jump to hyperspace, or supposing the Prime Minister had a really good pilot, even a skill microjump could slip her by. The bigger diplomatic vessel was already at a disadvantage in the lanes and could easily be shoved—accidentally or on purpose—against the asteroids. With just two ships cutting space for themselves in the area, there was a very real possibility that one or both of them could end up space junked. And the empire’s lack of concern for their troops wellbeing did not put the equation in favor of anyone’s survival.

In addition to the holes in the intelligence, the crew on the Intruder had been laid out in the asteroid lanes for a week. All of them were getting itchy; it was not a good feeling—didn’t bode well for the mission. Fen had spent a good deal of the week penned up in the cockpit observing the asteroids and the cleared out lanes around and in the route that Isi’Mosat had given them for the Prime Minister’s trip. The lanes were engrained like a road map on Fen’s dark retinas. Sure, they’d had to sit tight on the coordinates waiting for the moment when Prime Minister’s courier would swerve into their instruments limited view, but Fen refused to waste the time. The week had afforded her a tight glimpse at the size shape and movement tendencies of the asteroids around their particular lane based on the gravitational orbits of the Untbrodl star and relevant planets and asteroids. No, she couldn’t predict their movements or paths between them, but she liked sense that the Untbrodl rings gave her. The asteroids of the system were more porous than many she had encountered. Even if they did spin out of control in dizzying patterns, there were more holes and more places to hide should the need arise. Though as Fen sized up the courier whose cargo they were protecting, she doubted that hiding was going to be any kind of option.

“Star spitting politicians.” She muttered. There was an ugly possibility that the pilots on the courier could mistake the intruder for a pirate vessel. The VCX series courier had not yet responded to any of their pings for an open line of communication. A sudden thought occurred to Fen then, with a deep unease. Something wasn’t right. With a quick click to the boards, Fen pulled up a scanner. Coming up through the lanes was indeed another ship. Tuning in, she let the instruments pick up what they could: it was a CR90 corvette class and they were coming in hot.

“Stars and systems!” She flipped the com, “Hang on back there! There’s another ship coming in hot. Keep your eyes on the scanners. Kell, would you keep trying to hail that courier.” That CR90 would at the very least have the dual turbolasers in addition to the single turbolasers. And if it was the empire poser pirates—Fen had little doubt that it could be anyone else—there would probably be ion cannons to round out the lasers. Luckily, the empire’s sneak-attack blockade runner would be slower than the Intruder by a perfectly significant margin. “And their pilot will be a by the book square.” Fen muttered as she adjusted a couple instruments and ran over the maneuvering zone again in her mind.

by Deadman - D17 Sat Sep 05, 2009 4:32 pm

*Tap- tap- tap tap taptaptap- Tap- taptap- Tap tap*

"Keep hailing- got it."

Kell worked away furiously, muzzle nearly touching the screen of his datapad. He had wired it in to the ship's own systems, allowing him to work with something more familiar that the shipboard monitors. Familiar meant faster, more efficient, and therefore a better chance of success.

*tap- tap- tap- taptap- taptaptap- tap tap taptap tap- tap*

A useful modification? For the usually-silent interface to *tap* along with every stoke or key he hit? Probably not, but he liked the sound. It was soothing, methodical, helped him concentrate on what he was doing at that point and time, and nothing else.

Not to mention, he liked the sound, and there were far too few things to take enjoyment in.

"Come on, already-"

The target ship wasn't responding, which was complicating things. They needed to be warned of the ambush, he needed to be able to transfer the necessary information to them. Neither could happen if contact couldn't be established.

~Intruder to Courier. Urgent Message. Respond over given secure channel. Again. Urgent. Respond over given secure channel~

Almost before the message was sent, Kell had turned his attentions elsewhere, bringing up the channel he had been preparing over these past weeks. It seemed almost a waste, now. If it was really going to take this long for the target to arrive, couldn't they have simply warned them ahead of time? A one, two-man job. Get him in and out, he could leave the information where the target would find it, tipping them off to the attack, even giving them the jump coordinates ahead of time. Easy, a group like this would never have been needed.

Group missions never ended well.

~Intruder to Courier, come in. Urgent message, please respond over given channel. Repeat, urgent, please respond over given channel.~

Two weeks of modifying and testing, this channel was secure. Between this ship -or his datapack, specifically- and the target, anyone else would just hit encrypted static. Or that was the intention, at least. He supposed, if the imperials had a skilled enough hacker of their own, they could break in. So, in that case...

Still no response, so he sent a third signal, before turning back to his channel. A bit more code, another firewall or two, just to make sure. If he had learned anything, it was to always make sure, double-check, think of every possible and impossible scenario and plan accordingly. He paid no attention to what was going on around him, or even how much time had passed, intent only on his work. Nothing was ever enough, but at least he could come close.

"We're going to have a problem, if they don't respond soon- We need to make it clear, who their allies are, before the shooting happens."

Probably one of the longer series of words he had strung together these last couple of weeks, even so, they were more simply stated that directed at anyone in particular. It was fairly obvious all that could go wrong, though between the four of them, he supposed they could develop a contingency plan if needed. No one would be on this ship if their skills weren't useful, as good a plan for forming a team as you could get, he guessed-

~Intruder, this is Courier~

"Finally-!"

Kell broke into a frenzy, triple-checking the connections, ensuring everything was still functional and secure. Now that they had contact, no errors could be afforded.

~Copy, Courier~

~Intruder, what is the message? Who am I speaking too?~

~You may call me Scorched, Courier~ A long-unused alias of his, but one he had picked back up now that he was working for the Alliance. He wasn't one to use the same name for very long, but that couldn't be afforded now, so he would have to deal. ~We've come to warn you of Imperial Ambush. Beware of incoming vessels bearing Rebel seal. They are not friendly. Again, they are not friendly. We will escort you to where you can jump safely, co-ordinates are being sent now...~

A few more *taps*, and the data began t transfer. It wouldn't complete as fast as he might have liked over this connection, but sacrifices had to be made in order to ensure the safe exchange of information. The best news was that contact had been established, now it just had to be maintained.

"Target ship has responded. We have contact. Finally"

~Data being sent. Please remain in contact for the duration. Trust in us, Courier. It is our job to get you safely out.~

*Tap- taptap- tap tap tap- taptaptaptap- tap- tap*

by Guest Thu Sep 10, 2009 3:54 pm

"Dorsal Turret to crew, I count four, repeat four starfighters's on visual to the ship's 7 o'clock," he announced via comms; it was nice that Atria Serat was suddenly getting the picture, but Kelborn had those starfighters on his mind. The Wookiee...well, he didn't understand more than a phrase or two of Shyriiwook, but he'd make do. He understood enough to know that 'Growl' probably meant "they're coming your way" in this situation. The Wookiee understood him, and that would just have to do.

He could feel the gun turret's controls in his hands, somewhat responsive though a bit slow compared to what would be optimal for going against fairly maneuverable starifighters; his buy'ce was plugged via a cord into the targeting equipment for the turret, which saved him from having to remove the helmet and work off an unfamiliar HUD. Mandalorians didn't like to remove the helmet; they relied on its systems in a fight. Not that they couldn't do without, but they preferred not to.

"Comms, can you identify the class of shabla ship that is out there, I can't get a good visual to verify type. Looks like a ninety-five," The kriffing things turned really tightly, and it was hard for Kelborn to see just what type of ship he was up against with the turrets.

A flash of wing and fuselage as he tried to turn and get a shot off, the reciprocating quad barrels of the cannon telescoping out and then back with each shot in turn, filling the nearby space with blaster bolts. He gave a grunt of frustration as he barely got the bastard; somewhere else, he could feel the impact on the shields from another ship's hit.

Patience, patience. Line up the shot, don't just spray wildly.

He'd been taught to keep a cool head in a fight, even if he also learned how to put adrenaline and aggression to use. Instead of trying to trail one fighter and lose the other, he tried to keep the weapon covering a wide area. They were working them by pairs, one drawing the fire and the other attacking, but it was hard to tell which one of the pair would break and which would fire, and that was not a good situation.

The second pass, he decided to aim for the second one, the one that made the pass the first time; it was a guessing game, he figured they'd try to game him. Conventional wisdom would be that the lead plane would be the one to make the feint and draw the fire, and number two would take the shot. An unconventional thinker would think to fire at the first one because it was the one that broke before and this time they'd be taking the shot.

Kelborn kept on the second starfighter, and aimed for it; he was rewarded with good sight picture long enough to squeeze off a burst, even though he didn't make the kill. Despite that, the enemy craft lurched satisfyingly. Kills weren't necessary, just getting the enemy to flee the fight was. Unless the pilot was suicidal, he was probably doing an RTB. Still, it didn't feel like they could keep up this sort of fight very long at all.

Shab, we need to get out of here, fast. These guys are going to overwhelm us in this crate.

Meanwhile, the comms came back, ~Scorched, this is Courier, we are following coordinates now and will RV at hyperspace destination, good luck.~

The Courier was actually fairly maneuverable for a light freighter, with better overall shielding and equipment than the Intruder, but even they were a bit outgunned in this scenario. They'd probably need all that agility, moving through the asteroid fields. The starfighters could follow, but not the corvette. Meanwhile, the plot course in the ship's computers came up on the pilot's HUD, illuminating what was considered a fairly safe course through a dense asteroid field. The Intruder had anemic shields and weaponry by smuggler standards, but she was fast and maneuverable.

by Guest Thu Sep 10, 2009 10:46 pm

The VCX-700 had a typical Correllian freighter's cockpit, and a crew of two to keep it going; unlike others, however, it did not have gunwells. Instead, it used a central computerized control terminal at the co-pilot's station that could delegate control of certain systems to stations like the one that Atria Serat occupied as a precaution when the message came from an unknown source warning her of an ambush.

The message from Bail Organa was the only reason she trusted the ship that told her about the ambush, but it all seemed terribly unfair. She'd spent years balancing the good of her planet with the Empire's wishes, trying to compromise enough to protect her people from the Empire's wrath and the Empire's nationalized economic machine.

All she ever wanted was to keep her people out of the brewing unrest, and a part of her wished that this news, from Organa and Rebel Intelligence, didn't sound so convincing. She scrolled through the datafiles and breathed a sigh through her nose.

Apparently, those days of compromise were over and the Empire felt secure enough in its rule of the sector to risk unrest on her planet.

"A leader can't afford to wish away her problems, my sweet," her father once counselled, "nor can you substitute ideology for reality. You have to look at the situation for what it is, not what you wish for, no matter how painful that reality is. Otherwise, your solutions won't work and your decisionmaking will be faulty."

She peered over her shoulder at the crew in the cockpit, where San and Vesl, her two security guards/pilots watched the Correllian Corvette arrive at the edge of their visuals, "Brace yourselves, boys. Vesl, we're about to follow these coordinates that our new friends provided. San, can you activate access for the weapons systems from my terminal and divvy them up as you see fit? I think we're going to need all hands here."

--

From the perspective of Rygh Vayd, this was supposed to be easy money; he didn't even care whom he was killing, just that some contact came down with the coordinates and the description of the craft, along with IFF and the rest.

It was going quite swimmingly; he had a squadron of Z-95's out there, half to intercept here and another reserve force placed a ways out to mop up stragglers. He watched it all unfold from his captain's chair, with the holodisplay showing the small arrows and dots to indicate targets and units, with dashed lines to show vectors and other information.

The Barabel had a simple definition of "Swimmingly." He liked to overkill. They wanted a freighter finished off. He brought a Corellian corvette and some starfighters to handle the mess.

The first indication was any trouble came from the comms officer, a Quarren, who burbled, "Unknown frequency interference between unknown ship and target..."

The Barabel pirate gave a hiss of frustration, "What do you -think- it is, then you squidhead?"

The Quarren's face-tentacles writhed as he tapped away on the coms and brought up displays, trying to get an idea of what the static meant, before saying, "I think it's an encrypt of some kind, but it's compli--"

"There's another freighter moving in, it seems to be engaging our Headhunters! Both craft are starting to break for the asteroid fields!" called out the bridge tac-officer, a human.

Barabel were not known for their balanced temperament even in the easiest of times, seemed to be losing it as a milk-run seemed to be getting spookier; he was already gripping the edge of the armrest on his chair as he swiveled around to get a visual of the scene.

"Open battery fire! Do it!"

"Sir, at this range, all we can bring about are the turbolasers--"

"Then do it!" he snarled at the tac-officer.

by Igraine Tue Sep 22, 2009 10:58 pm

Jarrie let her mind slip easily into a mode that was quite natural to all her kind. Thought in three dimensions – it was something all wookiees took in with their mother’s milk, and living in their arboreal world without it would have been… ah… difficult, to say the least. And so when the incoming ships came into view, it was fair to say that only a part of her mind had to concentrate on anticipating their flight paths, their targeting…

Squeezing off several bursts in the space before the first, she watched it explode with only a small fanged smirk of satisfaction. The rest of her rather formidable attentions were actually focused on a mental checklist she was ticking off with every rumble of this thin-skinned bucket of bolts that passed for a ship.

’Shields… what in all the blasted worlds was she thinking, working on that loader when this rickety piece of dung had all the defenses of a newborn khyyyyshith? First thing… FIRST thing… we get out of here – straight to the nearest depot. And that Bothan better be worth a damn with all that sneaky sneaky… stuff… I’ve got a wish list longer than a pup’s Life Day starry-eyed hopes… ‘

Jarrie sighted on the fourth as they passed, content that Kelborn had already taken at least two out of commission before moving on to- She heard Fen’s proclamation, a low growling starting in her chest. More company – not that it wasn’t expected… but damn. And what did they have on their side in the face of dual turbolasers and, quite likely an ion cannon?

’Hope that Mandalorian has a remotely diplomatic bone in his body – or at the very least, a thieving one. This heap needs… oh… one or two upgrades in her weapons systems … ‘ Unfortunately for Jarrie, Wookiees were not exactly known for their subtlety, their stealth, nor their… ah… diplomacy skills… ? Unless beating a creature to death with its own limbs, freshly torn asunder from its body, actually counted as a form of guerilla diplomacy. Because that at least, she was quite confident, she could do very well.

With a small chuckle, Jarrie let off another burst of laser fire in the direct path of the last 95 in her sites, before she braced herself for whatever the hells Fen was about to do to get them out of there. Foregoing her usual aversion to using the comms, Jarrie couldn’t resist sending a quick – and likely painfully loud to the auditory nerves of most – message to their young pilot. In Shyriiwook, of course…

“Fen!? You plan on getting us out of here any time soon? Or you going to just pilot us into an asteroid or two, put this piece of shit tub out of its misery for good?”

by Deadman - D17 Thu Sep 24, 2009 12:06 am

~Scorched, this is Courier, we are following coordinates now and will RV at hyperspace destination, good luck.~

Kell gave a heavy sigh as the confirmation came in, nearly dropping his datapack in relief -which, of course, promptly resulted in him scrambling frantically to catch it before it fell. His primary job was complete, faster than even he had expected. So now? Now they had Imperials on one side, and the courier ship on the other... well, this was a terrible position.

Fennery was driving. Dral was shooting. Jarrie was shooting and yelling something over the comms. And him? He was communicating with the Courier, but now? That job was done, so what now? Nothing? No, he couldn't do nothing.

First rule of working in a group... okay, that was never work in a group, but second was be useful, always. If you had to do one thing, and you did it with time to spare, you spent that time doing something else. If people look over and you're not working -even for a moment- they begin to wonder. Make them wonder enough? Well, then you ran the risk of being replaced, or simply abandoned.

No, it was best to stay busy, keep working. He wasn't driving or shooting, but surely there was something a Bothan of his talents could still do. There were the fighters, and the corvette as well. That would have to be the command ship for this assault, unless he was sadly mistaken. If so, there would have to be communications, yes? Some sort of datalink between the corvette and the fighters circling them now.

And if so... and if he could find it... and if he could hack it...

Yes.

Fingers flew furiously once more, working with renewed purpose. Communications, communications and channels, they passed him by, acknowledged and discarded, as Kell searched for the one he needed. There weren't many to chose from, but he had to make sure it was the right one. Had to poke a hole in the security, just enough to peek through. Easy, but time consuming, he needed to peek and see something valuable soon

And.. And.. There! Data, co-ordinates, targets.. perfect!

He bowed down closer to the screen of his datapad, mouth gritted in tense determination. He needed to work carefully, subtly. Nothing much, not at first. A small virus, just a simple algorithm to alter that data.

"Dral. Jarrie." He spoke up, never so much as twitching from his work. "I'm going to try something, I'll need feedback."

He could manually corrupt the data as it was transmitted and guarantee it to work perfectly, but that would take time. With the virus, chances were only some or most of the data would be altered in any effective way, but it would free him up to work on something else. The only thing, then, was to test it, and see if the chances were good enough or not.

"Okay," Program up and running, the Data was being altered already. Randomly, co-ordinates altered just enough to miss, hopefully. "On the next wave, tell me if their aim is off, or anything different."

Okay, now to patch up the whole in security, remember it for when he would have to break through again, and get to work on something else. The Corvette itself was a threat, but it would take much more work than this. But that was all right, he could work while he waited for feedback. In fact... He could work on something else... even better than corrupting data.

Tension faded, a bit of a grin actually spreading across his muzzle as he worked, pulling out and piecing together this and that to suit his needs. Interference. You could catch a hacker, but if you didn't hack, but merely rendered their software unreliable? Sure, they could fire manually, but he could work on that later, while they wondered what was going on.

Kell continued to work as he waited. He was patient, he had a new problem to work on.

How do you make software see ships that aren't there? Or one that is there somewhere... else?

He would know soon enough.

by Kaislynn Thu Sep 24, 2009 2:13 am

"Comms, can you identify the class of shabla ship that is out there, I can't get a good visual to verify type. Looks like a ninety-five," Kelborn's voice crackled through the comms and Fen slid her eyes across the console. Lights were flashing all over.

"Affirmative, those are," she leaned forward and flicked a switch, "Z-95's, lousy headhunters." The smaller ships posed a more agile threat to the Intruder's minimal shields but with Jarrie and Kelborn at full tilt in the Dorsal and Ventral turrets, Fen let her mind slip into the three dimensional map of the lanes and field patterns she had worked on. Space seemed to come into sharper focus and a smile pulled across her lips. One thing she loved about having a good team taking care of the ship was the release it gave her to do her job. Kell would manage contacting the Courier. Kelborn and Jarrie would annihilate the Z-95s--unless she out maneuvered them first.

Fen took the Intruder for a steep dive toward the underside of the Courier and came up facing the CR90. It was no longer just sitting there, watching it's squadron. Three headhunters went down and the enemy ship was responding. It's turbolasers were firing up. "Stars and garters," she murmured as her console began to respond to the incoming firepower.

Vaguely, Fen heard the Courier finally respond, but her fingers flew across the console and she laid down the bars. The Intruder spun right and dipped as the first blasts from the turbolasers shredded by the edges of the ship. Panelling shuddered, but the shields held. She knew she had to draw fire. The courier had decent maneuverability but their job was to see it safe away from these imperial mercenaries. Fen felt her forhead moisten as she adjusted minute calculations and dragged the Intruder along toward the CR90. The turbolasers were charging again: the console buzzed and flashed at her. Helpful neighborhood warnings, calling for her attention like a minor migraine.

“Fen!? Jarrie's howl pierced her ear through the comm, "You plan on getting us out of here any time soon? Or you going to just pilot us into an asteroid or two, put this piece of shit tub out of its misery for good?”

Fen chuckled and turned the comm down a little. "Jarrie, we are going for a ride. You think one of you back there could take out something on that CR90 in the flyby? Headhunters are thinning out nicely."

She punched the accelerator as she suggested it. The turbolasers fired off their second shots. The Intruder rolled over with Fen's deft touch, continuing on route belly up. Fen dragged the back of her right hand across her pale forehead. Adrenaline coursed through her veins and she began peeking at the asteroids beyond the other ship. The patterns were shifting, but she saw one to skim through. She risked a look back on her console at the Courier. It was breaking into the asteroid field behind them, with only one of the headhunters following. The other two were close on the Intruder's tail as they approached the Corvette.

"Hold on . . ." she murmured. The turbolasers fired off their third shot as the Intruder ducked beneath the Corvette. The proximity of shield to shield screeched on the metal panelling; the ventral turret would be feeling some heat. In seconds they were passed and another chuckled rippled out of Fen as she felt the Intruder roll to the side once more and splice the space between two asteroids coming together.

The field was it's own vast puzzle. A game set in motion the moment they entered it. Checking the console briefly, Fen tracked the Corvette. It appeared to be turning about. The headhunters followed straight into the field.

"Two more birdies and mama might be coming in for supper too. Keep an eye on the headhunters, they're still coming in." She clicked out and caught the Intruder just in time to lurch away from a fast moving Asteroid. Heart beat pounding in her fingertips, Fennery ducked the Intruder down, around, and through another roll to get back on course. The whole ship shuddered and rolled. The sounds of crashing crates reached her ears, barely. All Fen's instincts fed to keeping the ship in one piece.

Something struck the back of the ship and the shields sputtered. "HOLY STARS!" The curse smacked out of Fen's mouth. "We're losing shields, get those headhunters taken care of!"

Fen had been mapping the asteroid patterns for days, but it still took every ounce of concentration to keep them from turning into space junk. She and Jarrie would have to talk shields later. And a weapons upgrade to go with it. Additionally, Fen felt the thought flicker across her mind as she dropped into a dive around another asteroid, some upgrades to the engines and controls would make her a happy girl. The dive sent a loose piece of something flying across the cockpit. It caught her square in the eyebrow. The bright blood began to trickle down her cheek and she cursed a blue streak, before wiping it with the back of a hurried hand.

It was time to get them out of this mess. Fen dragged her eyes across the field, looking for their exit route.

by Guest Thu Sep 24, 2009 2:29 am

"We're losing shields, get those headhunters taken care of!"

Kelborn was trying to keep up with things, and was gratified to see that the sight picture behind them was fairly clear of friendlies, which gave him an idea.

"Udesii," or so went the Mando'a term for 'Calm down,' or 'easy does it,' "I've got an idea. So long as the wookiee wants to try to take out something on that corvette with these shabla stun-guns."

Without further reference to the situation, he started to blast away at the asteroids in the field behind them, throwing up explosions as the water and other materials within superheated and caused fissures in the rock, and those rocks went flying all over the place, at a pretty screaming velocity, thanks to the initial force of the explosions.

It wasn't merely blowing asteroids up though; Kelborn was a man that understood explosives and weaponry, and the concept of a kill zone came into play here; blowing asteroids to the rear/port and rear/starboard of the craft, so as to force pursuers into a safer corridor that just happened to be within a zone of fire for the turrets, or at least, to create a smaller area that the enemy would come from. That made the job easier, or so he hoped.

But what they should have here was sonic mines or something that blew up properly. Instead, he was relying on the expedient of blowing up the asteroids, which they might not always have around them.

Meanwhile, the shots were lancing by, but missing a little more wildly; "Comms, this is Kelborn. Kandosii," Mando'a term of approval, "Looks like the di'kute are shooting everywhere."

He continued to rattle away with his weapon, breathing heavily and feeling the sweat pool down on the mesh undersuit to his armor. Even the Corvette's firing telemetry were off, thanks to the Bothan's tricks; little bastards loved to pull things on other people. Dral didn't mind, so long as it wasn't the case that he wound up the recipient of one of their gifts.

"Bridge, Kelborn here. I'm blowing as many asteroids as will blow, hoping to make life miserable for pursuit."

He had to slow down the firing, because the turret was getting hot, which meant the actual quad-cannon itself was dangerously close to overheating and blowing, with all the tibanna gas within. He could have wished for a manual cooling system, like with an E-web cannon, the kind the Imperial Army used as an emplaced weapon, but that wouldn't help in the here and now.

Not that he was really looking for more of a fight. He could hear the ship shuddering a bit from the near-misses and damage it took from ionization and energy discharge alone. He'd always known the Intruder was shaky, but then...it was all the Rebels had to give them, at the time. Or all they would bother to give them, with so much of the gear going to the shabla fleet.

Yet, who did all the work around here?

He gritted his teeth and fired some more at the Z-95's that were left, mostly trying to steer them into the areas he'd blasted up with bits of asteroid or to hit them outright. He was rewarded with one finally going up, an idiot that zagged when he should zig.

But even that victory was stale beside the need to escape. It was no good to buy it here.

by Kaislynn Thu Sep 24, 2009 5:07 pm

"Bridge, Kelborn here. I'm blowing as many asteroids as will blow, hoping to make life miserable for pursuit." The Mandalorian's voice sliced into Fen's consciousness and she spared a moment to reply.

"Nice work, Dral." Her eyes never left the shifting asteroids. The field could be disorienting. Especially if she lost track of where she had pinned her down: the edge of the field. As a child, Fen could recall hearing about pilots who lost track of 'down' in an asteroid field. Without that direction fixed, it was like being underwater without knowing where to get back to the oxygen. Death might be moments or hours away, but if you could not find down, death was inevitable. Fen held on to the 'down' with all she could mentally. The Intruder doggedly dodged smaller asteroids and swung wide circles over the big ones. Always 'down' was the goal.

A large asteroid to fore starboard suddenly blew into pieces as the Corvette's turbolasers missed, thanks to Kell's magical hacking abilities. Debris accelerated through space's vacuum and tap danced across the dorsal side of the ship. The shields shuddered again and the console begged for her attention to fix the problem. The aft shields that had held on by a finger nail were now joined by the fore shields dropping similarly.

"Kell, can you do something about the shields? Reroute some power around? Jarrie, Dral the Corvette needs a good hit or two. We're coming out of the field and we need to be ready to make the jump without interference."

There ahead of her was down with minimal blockage in between. Fen brushed a hand across her forehead, drawing the sweat away from her eyes and led the Intruder in a starboard roll. They shot around and asteroid and clipped out of the field. Like grease in a pan. Fen smiled and began punching the coordinates for their jump. It took a precious moments, once again Fen wished the programing supported a system that would hold jumps ready without making an accidental early jump. One of those could have been disaster in the field, but any second, the Corvette could pull out of the field and blast them. She doubted anyone would be able to hack the coordinates--Kell was too good for that--but every second it took to program . . . ah . . .

As the coordinates came online, Fen punched it "Gentlemen and Jarrie, make sure you're strapped down," and space dissolved around the Intruder as they jumped.

by Igraine Sun Sep 27, 2009 11:35 pm

Jarrie sighted in on the Corvette’s guns. Not a chance in hell she was actually going to take out the ship itself, even with the assistance of the asteroids Dral was breaking up. That, and whatever Kell had managed to do. The wookiee watched with no small amount of interest as the remaining 95’s began to target damn near everything but their ship. It was probably a miracle they, and the Corvette, didn’t take each other out…

The grin on her face was unmistakable as she still squeezed off a few parting shots at the Corvette anyway, just as Fen’s voice came over the comms. Jarrie chuckled a bit, knowing she was about as ready as she could possibly be for what promised to be a pretty hairy jump. She didn’t need instruments or readings to know by sound and feel alone that the Intruder’s shields were going straight to hell. Between the asteroids and the hits, this thing wasn’t going to hold together too much longer as it was.

All around the ship, space turned itself inside out and backwards, as they jumped. Jarrie released the herself from the chair in the suddenly smooth ride, deftly pushing back the hatch and pulling herself out easily. She landed lightly in the hallway and began to make her way toward the cockpit. The door slid back as Jarrie let herself in, the bulk of the door’s frame filled almost entirely with golden brown wookiee.

“Nice job, Fen,” she said with a wide grin, “I’ve become rather fond of the whole breathing thing I get to continue doing.” Jarrie then gave a sidelong glance to the Bothan Kell, who was taking up the spot in the co-pilot seat for the time being. “You too, Kell – nice bit of ghosting there, they never knew what hit them,” she added quickly in Shyrriwook, the grin on her face only widening as one giant hand rumpled the little Bothan’s mane relentlessly in genuine appreciation.

Jarrie let out a long, low laugh before she turned back to Fen. “But in all seriousness, we’re going to have to dock somewhere soon. The shields – such as they were – are completely shot. And there’s no way the Intruder’s going to hold up under anymore stress like the last, unless we upgrade. A lot. Last I checked, I can’t crap out the parts we need – we’ll have to… ah… acquire them.” She gave a meaningful look and one great, furred eyebrow raise toward the Bothan again before she winked at Fen conspiratorially.

But already, her mind was wandering back toward the bay, where she’d been taking apart the loader. Jarrie let out a long sigh of frustration she couldn’t keep in at the thought – of course every last component would be scattered here, there and everywhere. And she’d need to get it back together quick… First, repairs on the shield generators…

by Kaislynn Mon Sep 28, 2009 3:57 pm

Fen tossed herself back against the seat and stretched. Her hair tangled against the head rest and she blew a sigh vibrating through her lips like a descending floonorp. She shook her head as Jarrie came roaring into the cockpit. The space seemed to shrink into console and wookie fur. Jarrie flashed a white grin.

“I’ve become rather fond of the whole breathing thing I get to continue doing.” Jarrie's Shyrriwook filled the space and Fen giggled.

"Fond of breathing . . . yea me too." Fen rubbed her hands across her face and pushed the sweat into her hairline. Dark curls clumped in a mess on her head. She pushed her chair around in time to catch Jarrie dry washing Kell's head under one powerful hand. The half-etti's giggled turned into a full throated chuckled and she dragged her feet up beneath her in the seat.

“But in all seriousness, we’re going to have to dock somewhere soon. The shields – such as they were – are completely shot. And there’s no way the Intruder’s going to hold up under anymore stress like the last, unless we upgrade. A lot. Last I checked, I can’t crap out the parts we need – we’ll have to… ah… acquire them.”

Fen blinked, her Shyrriwook wasn't perfect, so she missed a couple words here and there. But Jarrie was right. Unbelievably right. There was no way they could even go back and do that Corvette again as they were. 'We're space junk,' she thought. It was a great ship, well it was a great base. But they were completely hampered by their lack of decent equipment. The Intruder just was not built for them at this point.

Fen stuck out a leg and pushed the chair around again. "Well once we rendezvous with Miss Prime Meridian and Courier, we'll have completed that mission. There should be a docking port somewhere near the rendezvous coordinates . . . where we can pick up . . . something."

And 'acquire' those parts they would, Fen thought, between the four of them they surely had the skills and capital necessary to procure those things they needed and wanted. Some upgrades to the flight control systems for a quicker buck and roll . . . Fen smiled. Oh yea . . .

by Deadman - D17 Mon Sep 28, 2009 11:30 pm

"Reroute Power?"

*sigh*

"I could use some rest, anyways..."

Storing his half-complete program in some encrypted file on his datapad, Kell shifted his focus over to the decidedly-easier task of rerouting power. Sure, it was important, but it was just so boring. There was no risk, no challenge, just simple 'take a little from here, move it there, check, repeat, check repeat...' until you either had no more power to spare or fell asleep from the tediousness of it all.

Fingers tap-tapping away like always, he pulled up a digital map of the Intruder, information scrolling beneath his eyes as he began to work.

Not much he could do about the weapons or engines. Both were essential, and he really didn't want to bother with the conflict that would arise from reducing their efficiency by even the smallest of percents. He could reduce life support to base levels, the climate control systems as well. It wouldn't be as comfortable, but they'd still have shields, at least. Other than that? Well he could pull a bit from here, a bit from there, a bit... argh this was too slow!

The engines... could he? No, they needed to work at full potential, same with the weapons, he couldn't ju-

Unless- Wait- were they working at full potential to begin with?

Kell dove right back into work, bringing up all the specs he could on the engines and weapons systems. The Intruder had some modifications, but not as many as any of them would like, if he could assume for the rest of them. Sure enough, neither were working at peak efficiency -though the engines looked close. If that was the case, then he could siphon off some of the power, with nigh-unnoticeable results. A lot? By the stars, no, but it would work for now, and save the time that would have otherwise been spent scraping and scrounging around.

"Shields shou- What th---"

He hadn't noticed the fact that they had jumped, so intent had he been on his work. He hadn't even noticed Jarrie behind him, that was, until her massive paw of a hand descended on him, rumpling- rumpling- his mane... his mane... rumpling his mane...

He blinked, twice, brain not quite registering what had happened. He understood nothing of Shyrriwook, was he being thanked or had he messed something up? Why did you do that to someone? What did- okay.... one called this 'confusion' yes?

Confusion... you know? Maybe he just shouldn't look up from his datapack, things seemed safer that way....

Dragging his incomplete program back out from its folder, Kell dove right in, or tried to. uncharacteristically distracted, his ears caught actually recognizable words as Fen spoke up, mentioning picking up additional supplies once this mission was over.

"Uh... Shields should hold, a while longer." He decided it might be safe to strike out into the world again, if only for a few moments. "Might get warm, but it's the best I can do, in our current condition. You mentioned.. acquiring more material?"

He was not an engineer, but he knew electronics. If they could get the right materials, there was a good chance he and Jarrie could vastly improve this ship's efficiency. Not only that, but if the communications arrays could be improved as well... Of course, there was the matter of requisitioning said required materials, but solutions could always be found-

Kell chuckled, actually chuckled, shaking his head at himself and the sharp turn his mind had taken. Never thought he'd be the one to plan out working with someone else... not yet, at least. After all, he hadn't been working with people this long, and apparently, even six years wasn't enough some times...

by Klikxx Wed Sep 30, 2009 2:07 pm

SYSTEM REBOOT

Initializing Start up sequence.

It was like waking from a deep sleep. Something didn’t feel right. It was as if he still found himself within a dream. Disoriented was the first notion that came to the forefront of his positronic brain. Could machines actually dream?

External Sensor Array Activated.

His sensors were now on the go. He could feel the electrons begin to pulse rapidly through his body carrying with them an array of information to his now active mind. There were life forms present within the space he occupied. How did he get here? More importantly where exactly was here?

He had a strange sensation of motion. The sensation could only be associated with an object dropping out of hyperspace. As an Astromech had experienced such phenomenon on several occasions or so he thought. Accessing his logs he found no such evidence of fulfilling that achievement. But still the feeling seemed familiar. Odd?

In the low light conditions of what he could only assume to be the cargo hold of a ship by its contents and disarray, he surveyed his situation. He felt as though had been in worse situations but once again there wasn’t any historical evidence to be pulled from his databanks. Large holes were one of the few things to be found as he scanned his memory for answers. It was as if his past had been erased.

It was deeply disturbing. Certain aspects seemed to present themselves to him clear as day. Others remained hidden as if shielded by a thick impenetrable fog. Was he experiencing some form of amnesia? He assumed that too was a human quality. If that was the case how did he end up in this current state?

FLASHBACK
(Playback holo recording R4-28)
“Blaster? Why are you pointing that at me? Wait. WAIT! I’m not ….”
A brilliance flash of light could be seen emanating from the weapon pointing his way. The recorded scene ended abruptly after the focused discharge.
End Playback

Try as he might he could not discern the figure standing behind the weapon. The voice on the recording was definitely his own. Was this how I came to be here? He thought to himself as he replayed the sequence trying to pull any additional clue from the recording. Why would someone blast a simple Astromech droid? The questions were already beginning to pile up in his mind.

“RUN SELF DIAGNOSTIC”

by Igraine Thu Oct 01, 2009 9:14 pm

Getting all the pieces and parts back together for the loader’s arm had been every bit as much a pain as she had expected it to be. With a small grunt of satisfaction, though, she did finally finish soldering the hairline crack in the pin that had been the source of so much trouble. Jarrie put all the pieces back together, smiling her fanged grin as she let her mind wander to most recent events, her brief conversation with Fen, and the Bothan Kell. Well, all right – maybe not so much a conversation with the reclusive little genius. But that noise he had made – almost she had not recognized it, her mind taking a few extra seconds to process what in hells that strange barking sound actually was.

Laughter. The Bothan had actually laughed. Jarrie had not even been sure he was capable of such a thing… But there it was…

A small smile still on her face, she pushed her work goggles back on her head, hefting the bulk of the loading arm easily as she moved from her makeshift workshop to the cargo bay. It was a simple matter to reinstall it. Nimble fingers belied their size as she rerouted the power for that small section, reattached the arm, and then ran through several diagnostics. This time it was she who chuckled, low and deep, satisfied that the thing would now work as it should. This hold was still a disaster, piled high with junk, junk and more junk that needed to be sifted and moved. Jarrie had no idea who might have commanded the Intruder before this small crew ‘acquired’ it – but apparently he or she had one hell of a bad hoarding habit-

Jarrie whirled quickly, ryyk blade in hand in less than an instant at the subtle sound of movement behind her. No, she never questioned the assumption that unexpected sound in an unexpected place equaled danger. That instinctual readiness to meet the unknown with overwhelming and deadly force had saved her life more times than she could begin to count. There was little that was going to change that now – even here in a ship’s cargo hold, in the dead of space.

One great eyebrow was raised in curiosity though, as she heard the sound of electronic bleeps, a mechanical-sounding whirring… The wookiee sheathed the knife, walking slowly toward one of the many piles of scrap and junk that littered this hold. Kneeling a bit, she carefully she began to sift through the wires and gadgets, the burnt out boards and the hunks of useless metal until-

Jarrie rocked back a bit on her heels, blinking a bit when she realized what, exactly, she was looking at. A droid? A functioning – well, at least semi- functioning - astromech droid – an… R2 unit? The wookiee spoke quietly, with an unexpected gentleness to the unit, even as she leaned forward again, peering over its blaster-scarred hull. “What are you doing down here? And where did you ever come from?” She reached into her ever-present bag of tools at her side, slung about her shoulders, and pulled out an arc wrench before turning back to the droid.

“Just have to take a bit of a look-see, here… “

by Guest Thu Oct 01, 2009 10:20 pm

He unstrapped himself from the gunwell and made it down the ladder, even as he tapped his own message into the comm system -- the RV point was empty space, for a good reason. This was the part that Isi Mosat added to the plan from the system force HQ that concocted it.

The idea was to deliver Atria Serat to the sector force leadership that, drawn mostly from her planet, had gone over to the Rebel Alliance and were a part of their heretofore small presence in the area, owing largely to Serat's fencesitting. These guys were planetary defense types at best, but had no clue how the Empire, or anyone else, could track enemies on the basis of things like ship designs and so forth.

"The ship has to blow, Kelborn." Mosat said; not because he was in charge of this team, but because he was the likeliest candidate for making it go up. Well, the likeliest candidate to explain the necessity of it to the politician's daughter in the other ship.

He did the transmission voice, "Courier, this is Intruder. Let's link up airlocks and discuss things face to face. We're not out of it yet."

It was surprising how un-Mandalorian he did his accent-- the crisp, precise sort of pronunciation of Alderaanian galactic, not nearly as sharp as Coruscanti accents, but nowhere near as drawling as Correllians could be. And certainly not the distinctive vowel treatment of a Mando hardboy, which might have put backs up.

Young as he was, Kelborn knew the tricks of the bounty hunting trade, and one of them was to be able to put on accents.

~"Intruder this is Courier, we will standby for the linkup."~

He didn't bother to strip off the buy'ce for this one -- negotiations went faster when you presented the unemotional facade of the 'helmet' to the other side, who only had the basic body language to work on.

"Bridge, this is Kelborn. I'm about to introduce myself to our new guests and get rid of the incriminating evidence. Too bad we don't have time to strip Serat's ship for anything useful." His tone was wistful -- he was sure that given even a couple days, they could strip that thing bare, even with EVA involved.

Some other time, then. He had a locker with weapons on board the ship -- not some huge arsenal of weaponry, but just a small array of useful little items. He had a code-lock on the thing that the Bothan could easily slice in three minutes and the Wookiee could pry open if she decided it was a bad fur day, but that was mostly because he was used to hauling the chest around from the pre-war days, even when he was at the University of Alderaan, one of the most peaceful planets in the universe, and the institution itself almost militantly pacifistic. Well, Mandalorians were as set in their ways too. He'd kept the armor in the chest.

He didn't bother with more weaponry than he had on him, beside the armor's own systems, of course, and so went with a blaster pistol at his hip. Bodyguards varied in quality, but Kelborn knew to trust the beskar and the hard reputation of Mando'ade to help do the convincing.

What he did pull out was the thermal well, a modification of the typical baradium-charged thermal detonator, designed to burn through rather than blow. The reactors on most of these ships were shielded enough so that it required a specialized cutting charge to get through and start a reaction.

He had it prepared in a satchel charge form of sorts, a casing with magnets and a kit with other ways to rig it up, including using synthsilk cord to just tie it there.

Once he felt the ship make the docking manuever with a thump, he headed toward the airlock itself.

Surprise, aruetiise! He waited for the seals to pop and the doors to open up, going over in his head what he'd say and do -- the first thing they'd figure was that he was a bounty hunter that cunningly got ahold of them. The second thing they'd do is distrust him by nature.

He wasn't offended.

The door opened with a hiss and the expected cries of surprise went up from the two men, in smart, dark jackets, the kind tailored to conceal blasters, fixed their weapons on them; his own blaster stayed right in the holster. DH-17's, pretty standard fare across the galaxy. but good kit nonetheless. These two held them in both hands, a good firing stance. Kelborn had the same sort of stance himself, though

Matching colors, dark green to match Serat's own diplomatic attire, which was somewhat robelike, but at least cut so that it wasn't as confining as real robes; more like a feminine corset, with embroidery and so forth, and a display of expansive chest that probably helped throw people off, and a short cloak that could be pulled over it all, as well as conceal things.

They were trying to pull the woman back from the airlock, even as he gave his spiel, "Hold fire! I'm not a bounty hunter, I'm with the Alliance. It's not like that. We haven't much time to waste, they probably have our hyperspace vector and are following."

To her credit, the woman brushed past her personal security guys to look directly into the t-visor, visibly shaken, but holding up.

Well, she'd been through a rather exciting day of death-defying stunts and working with the odds. It would rattle anyone, it rattled him enough, though he tried to stay well on task and deal with the babysitting job; Jarrie had the engineering job and repairs, the Bothan was a slicer and probably just wanted to bury his snout in code somewhere and the smuggler girl was running the ship. It left Kelborn with the socializing job.

"Of course, I understand. But why the rendezvous and the face to face meeting?"

"Because, Prime Minister Serat, we're your ride in."

Her blue eyes crinkled in confusion and the ornaments in her hair, several dark metal chimes, tinkled, "We already have a ship."

"You have a ship," Kelborn corrected, "That everyone knows the profile and registry of and is being hunted, presumably, across this sector. They are probably going to come up on our trail sooner or later, and we need a decoy."

The helmet thrust toward the corrior of the VCX Courier behind them, with the bottom rim acting as a jaw to point, "And that'll do."

"What do you mean, 'decoy?'" interjected one of the security guys sharply.

"I mean that we're going to rig the shabla thing to make them think you suffered a catastrophic accident from the blaster fire, turbolasers and the kriffing asteroid field. It won't hold up if Imperial Intelligence wants to sift through and figure out what the blast was, but these boys are privateers, or so Intelligence thinks. The point is, you need to get on this ship and I need to go set yours up for fireworks so we can haul our sheb'se out of here in one piece. Tayli'bac?" It was the most aggressive way to ask someone if they understood in his language -- an interrogative that demanded response.

It was Serat who was watching him carefully and mulling it over before she came to a response, cutting off her men before they said something rash, "I'm not sure I like this, but it sounds as if you have a greater awareness of the situation than you can fully explain without endangering us all. So we'll do as you say--"

She was sharply interrupted by the other security man, who got there before his partner, flushing and extremely uncomfortable with such an arrangement "But Prime Minister, this man is a Mandalorian, and we don't even know if the Rebellion is behind the attack or not. I don't think we can trust these people this far."

He glanced at Kelborn, unrepentantly, and Kelborn stayed outwardly impassive, though beneath the helmet his lip curled into a sneer. But he let the woman handle her own people, rather than act on any sense of insult -- it was always the same story, no one loved Mando's until they needed them, and he was smart enough to know that this was just the man acting on all that myth.

"Be that as it may, Bex, we're not exactly drowning in options. And that message was authentically from Bail Organa, whom I trust," she turned her attention back to Kelborn, with the attendant chiming sounds, "Which way to the passenger quarters?"

Kelborn was surprised how little actual convincing he had to do, but didn't show it, "Are these two and you it, or do you have more crew?" the woman shook her head, "Good. Quarters are around the corner back there and to the right. It's not the Astral Princess," famous cruise liner, "but we're also doing you a favor by not serving caf on this cruise. One of our people will be nearby to see to any needs you have. I'm sure you have things you need to take off your ship, so if you will excuse me, I've got work to do."

Once he was further inside the Courier, a much newer and nicer Corellian ship than the Intruder was, complete with fancy bulkhead plating that sparkled cleanly and the plush seats that weren't taped up, he commed Kell, "Heads up, the Prime Minister and her security detail are yours. Keep an eye on them and let me know if anything starts."

The ship had little relation, with its sleek, quiet engine, to the dilapidated, somewhat antiquated rattletrap they used; from the interior, there'd be no way to tell the two were related, with all the custom work done to make the courier into a comfortable place to stay for a travelling dignitary. He almost considered the idea of prying off some panels, but figured it wasn't worth it -- the Wookiee would probably regret having to let the ship blow, but orders were orders, and these orders, from the Twi'lek who handled their intelligence, had a solid case for wanting them to leave it scrapped.

He moved deeper in, with the actual charges, until he got into the, relatively small, engineering sections of the ship; like the rest of it, clean, efficient and glittering as only a ship maintained by top mechanics working for a government could -- a ship that didn't get used as much as the typical smuggler's freighter had a lot of hangar time for the technicians to work over it, to the point of polishing circuit covers and so forth -- they were paid by the hour, why rush the work, right??

He had a good idea where to place the thing, after having consulted the wookiee with information, but he had panels to pry off to find the right place.

--

Meanwhile, it was Kell who probably would notice the unusual nature of at least some sort of transmission, a burst type thing that came and went fast. It wasn't hard to dissect, because it was a sub-space radio transmission, giving the location of the Courier -- the how, why and so forth of that would have to be figured out later, because that transmission meant one thing: Bad news.

by Klikxx Fri Oct 02, 2009 3:43 pm

Reports from the self diagnostic were returned in rapid succession. Things did not look promising from the information he had gathered. All reports indicated the same alarming news; R4 was quickly approaching critical failure. He was focused so intently on the severity of the information being relayed to his processors he did not register the presence directly opposite him. It wasn’t until she spoke did he take notice.

“A droid? A functioning – well, at least semi- functioning - astromech droid -an… R2 unit?”

DANGER!

Arthur froze momentarily now fully aware of the large furry creature looming over him. There was no mistaking the ominous visage of the Wookie before him as the visual information taken by the photo sensors was processed into images. He tried to speak but found himself unable to articulate his message. Something was definitely wrong. All he could do at the moment was to wait to see what the beast’s next move would be.

“Just have to take a bit of a look-see, here… “ She spoke gently leaning in towards the battered unit.

Even in his damaged state the crippled droid knew something was amis as the Wookie reached into her bag of tools at her side. Had she been the one from the holo recording? Was she now closing in to finish what she had started? The shrill sound emanated from the helpless droid as she produced and arc wrench from her bag of tricks.

“WHOOOOOOAAAAA!” Arthur cried in response.

Without hesitation a small arm flipped forward from a concealed compartment somewhere near his left shoulder. A brilliant blue bolt leapt from the stick towards the tool held within the large hairy paw. The sizzle and crackle produced by the arc of electricity ended in a distinct “pop” as it reached its intended target. The action had produced the desired effect forcing the heavy metal tool to fall to the floor. But at what cost?

Chirps, whistles and various other musical beeps now continuously sounded from the diminutive droid as he proceeded to impart to the enormous furred creature what only could be described as “what for”.

by Kaislynn Sun Oct 04, 2009 11:55 am

The Courier came out of hyperspace and Fen sprang back to her console. It looked a little beat up, but it had survived far better than the Intruder. The comm was blinking. Fen frowned and grabbed her headset. It wasn't Kell, and Jarrie was fixing up her loader. That left Kelborn. She listened in and was somewhat surprised to hear him already hailing the Courier for their face to face meeting. She scratched her nose. His Mando accent was nonexistent.

The Courier responded quickly to the central planet accent. That was her cue. Fen readied the docking ports and began the delicate deep space dance. It was made more difficult by the Intruder's lack of shields. But a few moments of concentration and the docking ports slid together. Now she needed to watch for that Corvette. If it came out of hyperspace anywhere near them, there was going to be trouble.

"Bridge, this is Kelborn. I'm about to introduce myself to our new guests and get rid of the incriminating evidence. Too bad we don't have time to strip Serat's ship for anything useful."

Clicking her comm, Fen rolled her eyes. She half thought that when they actually met face to face again, he might continue to call her bridge. "Hurry up, Kelborn. We're sitting shy out here. Besides, if we stay too long, Jarrie and I might have to cannibalize that little freighter anyway."

This was the part of the job that Fen disliked the most. Waiting to talk with little Miss Politician. Instead, she let Kelborn do his job. Talk with the high and mighty so they could get off into their corner for some much needed repairs and upgrades. Suddenly she registered what Kelborn had said. 'new guests,' Fen sat up. Guests. They were ferrying Miss Politician back to the alliance, somehow she had forgotten. "Awww, Space Junk!" She growled, "Stars and blasters."

She glanced at the Bothan at his port. "Hey, Kell, did you remember that we were bringing that political mess with us?" He seemed to be intent on his computer. Fen leaned back and grabbed a squeezer ball off her console to chuck in the air. For the moment all her frustration was aimed at Kelborn. Of course she had forgotten, but he had reminded her. Plus to that, his Mando 'bridge' talk.

It really boiled down to: if she could avoid the guests, she would. End of story. Even if someone had to bring all her meals to the cockpit and she slept strapped into her chair. Politicians were not her thing. Neither were strangers. The team hadn't been together long and even they were just beginning to bridge that gap. If she had to make a run for it. She would barely think twice.

by Deadman - D17 Sun Oct 04, 2009 1:05 pm

"Political mess?" Kell muttered in response, all that Fen had said not quite registering yet, "Yes, politics, are a me- wait- What!? When were we, taking them on-"

"Heads up, the Prime Minister and her security detail are yours. Keep an eye on them and let me know if anything starts."

"....."

"Mine.... Joy...."

That worried, tense frown returning swiftly to his muzzle, the Bothan adjusted the bandolier across his chest and stood. He had hardwired his datapack into the ship's systems at the copilot's seat before, so he could work more efficiently, but that wouldn't work now. If he had to watch their guests, he needed to be able to work as well, even if it would be slower than he would like.

A few simple *taps* later, and then he disconnected the hard line, setting the systems on his Datapack and the shipboard computer to communicate remotely. There would be a time lag, now, so that just meant he would have to work faster to make up for it. A suitable challenge for one such as him, he guessed.

Mumbling a quick "Until later" to Fen, Kell began to make his way further aft in the Intruder, half hoping that this was all some Mandolorian joke. Of course, he guessed Fen couldn't leave her post, since she had to pilot the ship. Jarrie? She could definitely keep an eye on them, but then, if there was trouble, she would be needed to man the guns. That took Kelborn out, too. So, of course, the one who could work from anywhere had to watch their guests as well, regardless of how unqualified he may be in dealing with other people.

Well? What was the worst that could ha-

No- No. Bad idea, Kell, try and think of something positive for once. It happens, you know, positive, that is...

Nope... attempt to lighten mood? Failure.

At least it was quiet, so far. No sign of the empire, or any threats in the area. That meant he just might have time to finish up his program? Hopefully. It was almost done as is, and if he needed, could be put to use now with probable success. But it wasn't perfect yet. There were still things that could go wrong, still things that could be improved. It needed more wor-

“WHOOOOOOAAAAA!”

"What in-!?" Kell nearly hit the ceiling (An impressive accomplishment for one of his height) in shock at the cry, coming from the other side of the ship's hold. 'What in-' Indeed! That sound, it reminded him almost of... and Astromech? But there weren't any on this ship, where there? How did- What's this?

All curiosity at the strange cry vanished as a transmission frequency was picked up on his datapack- then gone again. What the-? There it was, again! Burst-frequency? Between what an- The courier? And what el-

Oh.... This wasn't good. No, not good at all.

"Kell here," He forced himself to speak calmly into the comlink, though his voice may have been louder than intended, more stress on top of stress, after all. "Problem, Courier's sending out a frequency, tracking. Get back here, Kelborn, could be trouble soon."

Just what he needed, what any of them needed. The ship's shields were being held together by little more than some re-routed power, their weapon systems weren't exactly top grade, and while his program was ready for use, it was by no means finished yet!

Oh, and then the guests. The dignitary and her escort. What did he have to do agai- oh yes, watch them, that's right...

"Welcome aboard." He greeted the Prime Minister and her two guards as they came on, diverting his attention back and forth between them and the datapack in his hands. "This way, we'll try to keep, you comfortable. If you need, anything, just ask. And don't worry, we should be, out of here soon."

Hopefully.. but he wasn't one to hope.

by Igraine Tue Oct 06, 2009 9:26 pm

It was probably a very, very good thing for the Mando that Jarrie was, at the moment he decided to blow the dignitary's ship without telling her, quietly nursing some rather singed fingers. With everything this ship needed in way of parts and upgrades, well... The idea that lovely little heap of very expensive scrap was about to be blown into oblivion - and she would never have the chance to cannibalize it?

Suffice it to say, Jarrie would not have been... ah... amused. Especially not in the mood she found herself in at the moment.

The distinctively acrid smell of burnt wookiee fur filled the air around her as she shot the little droid a rather dangerous ice blue glare. Jarrie bent down to retrieve the arc wrench from the ground, taking a deep, calming (almost) breath. All right - it was not as if this was the first time she had been shocked, burnt, singed or otherwise electrically assaulted by a piece of equipment she was working on, after all. She just hadn't quite expected the vehemence of the little R2 unit.

The look on Jarrie's face, were one able to actually read wookiee expressions, went quickly from irritation to thoughtfulness as she looked over this strange little enigma. Arc wrench still in hand, Jarrie knelt by the droid again, putting herself at its "eye level." She considered what she knew of "droid psychology," which was certainly not insubstantial, and thought a bit over what had just happened. The unit hadn't been trying to attack her with malice - it had, it seemed, been frightened. Well, even if one discounted the electronic invective it had hurled at her when all was said and done...

Still in Shyrriwook because, well, it was the only language she was capable of speaking, Jarrie began to speak in low, gentle tones to the droid. Sure, it probably sounded a lot like a cross between soft growling, loud purring and a bit of a bark to anyone who didn't know it - but she had hope the "I'm really not going to disassemble you horribly, though you probably deserve it" emotion could carry, at the very least.

"Easy now," she began, holding up the arc wrench, "I'm going to remove this cover, take a look inside, fix whatever isn't quite right in there for you." Carefully and slowly - really not feeling up to being zapped again, even non-fatally - Jarrie pulled the R2 unit cover aside and peered inside.

Her eyes widened no small bit at what she saw inside, hidden behind the inocuous little R2 headpiece. If Jarrie actually could have whistled, she would have... Well, well, well...

"You, my little friend, are not what you seem. Not at all... " She chewed her lip with one fang, deep in thought, as she looked over the insides of the droid. R4 - this was an R4 unit, the Intellex VI processor the dead giveaway. But someone at some point had given him an R2 headpiece and...

Jarrie's mouth fell open a bit. She blinked. Twice.

A vocabulator. Not just any vocabulator though - someone had installed a Tralan III. Literally millions of languages - which meant that this little droid could actually understand her too, but why wasn't it talking? Ah... there... Deftly Jarrie turned the arc wrench, fingers far more agile and precise than their size would have ever belied reattaching the loose wire before closing up the casing. There was more damage inside the little R4's circuitry, but that would have to wait until after whatever Drall was cooking up was done. After reattaching the little unit's head, she sat back on her heels, and looked him in the eye.

"So," she began easily, like a doctor to a patient, not bothering to hide the wide, fanged grin on her face, "How are you feeling now?"

by Guest Wed Oct 07, 2009 3:52 am

" "Problem, Courier's sending out a frequency, tracking. Get back here, Kelborn, could be trouble soon."

"Shab." came back the reply; Kelborn never did get around to telling people what the word meant, but one could figure it out by its contextual use. In any case, he was busily unscrewing the access panels as he reported, "I'm going as fast as I can, but this is the only ship in the galaxy that actually keeps the access panels in place rather than strips them for ease of maintenance. Pare sol, I'm on the last kriffing screw here..."

Finally, Kell's warning in mind, he just took a piece of the panel and a hydrospanner and used the tool to rip the thing right off -- the satchel charge, set with a timer on it, got thrown in close proximity with the reactor, close enough to breach it.

"Alright, ani akah. I'm on my way back. We have the option of a radio det and a thirty minute timer, just in case there's signal interference with the radio det."

He moved through the courier's hold and into the main living area warily, blaster out just in case; the Bothan's warning that there was a tracer signal on the ship twinged his instinct a bit, and he radio'ed toward Kell, "I think there are a couple reasonable explanation why the ship is sending that signal, and I'm going to assume that someone on our boat is going to try to send a love note to our friends in the Corvette..." He didn't say the rest -- that the Bothan needed to identify who the leak was and seal off the means of communicating and give over the fellow to Kelborn once it was decided who was the mole. It was one of only two, but convincing that politician would be the hard part.

Unless he just wanted to do both of them now.

"Let's keep this between the unit for now, eh? We wouldn't want to spook the game. I'm sure you know what to do for the rest..."

His helmet had external speakers that could be initiated if he pleased, but if he didn't, he could have screamed from within it without being heard, and that was handy. But he moved through the empty, silent ship methodically, checking corners and taking no chances. It was a breathy sigh of relief when he got back to the ship, coupled with a sudden worry that whoever the mole was, they might have tried to get access into his chest of goodies -- explosives, a grenade launcher, a blaster carbine, and other goods. He made his way toward his bunk, just in case.

Once there, he undid the code-lock and verified the contents -- it was a neat little collection of weapons and personal effects, and it was all there, but he didn't expect there to be much time for a breakin. All the same, he took a sonic grenade and rigged that on a code-timer, a quick matter of unscrewing one fuse and sticking in an anti-disturbance device with a timer and key-code function set to broadcast encrypted over his helmet's comms -- Kelborn wasn't a master slicer like the Bothan, but he knew a trick or two out of a very large bag of them, and booby traps were certainly part of that body of knowledge.

The last thing he wanted was the contents to fall into the hands of an Imperial agent, because the explosives kit and the various munitions constituted a terrorist's wet dream.

He activated the anti-tampering device and closed the chest with a loud click and a beep.

"Bridge, this is Kelborn. Courier's rigged to blow in two different, but equally satisfying sorts of ways."

--

Ustu Base, Rebel Alliance

The planet Ustu was a rocky hellhole of desert wadis, sand, howling wind and all sorts of unpleasantness -- there was no Dune Sea here, but a wasteland of scrub and small animals and jagged rocks. Baking under two suns, there was little of mineral worth here, and a nominal Imperial presence that were content to be paid off by smugglers...and Rebels, posing as smugglers. No one questioned, too carefully, what went on in this place, largely because no Moff had gotten around to it and the garrison was left out to dry here from time immemorial.

As fledgling as the Alliance was, this sector was quiet -- the Imperials were willing to be paid off to run 'search and avoid patrols' and, at any rate, were mostly old clone troopers, with their accelerated aging and rapidly declining bodies, thirty year old men who were ready for retirement. Except the Empire always needed more fodder. The Ustu garrison, aged and far from Coruscant, were not of a mind to pay attention unless they were personally endangered-- only then were they a nasty surprise.

But under the plan conceived by Isi Mosat, the Twi'lek chief of intelligence in the sector, the clone troopers were plied with liquor, spice and girls, an act of mercy that kept them occupied. In a strange way, it was an act of mercy, letting these manufactured men experience the pleasures of the flesh and a little decadence before they met their genetically-coded, premature end.

It made Kelborn, who was more than passingly familiar with the origin of the clone troopers, shudder a bit despite himself. It was known, to a degree, why the Mand'alor, Jango Fett, did it, but the revenge against the Jedi for Galidraan seemed cold and calculated.

His foster father was like these men, a clone grasping for a normal sort of life. The idea of being caught by these men always gave him the willies. They were slaves, and it felt anathemic to have to fight them, at least to his belief. Like it or not, though, Mandalorian history was full of those situations where Mando fought Mando. The latest was the Civil War that ended forty three years ago, a dispute between philosophical beliefs.

Mandalorian philosophical debate tended to be done at blasterpoint.

An hour before, the ship landed into the cave-bay of the base, and the entrance was quickly covered up to hide the existence of excavation, in case of an orbital scan -- painstakingly carved-out caves done by hand and laser-welders, with the exposed power cables running along the walls in tied-together bundles and the smell of ionized air a constant in the place. It was dry enough air to make him cough, with his helmet off. There was air conditioning, a constant whine of an overstrained system doing a job all by itself that probably required a lot more units, but that merely dried the air even more.

As soon as the Intruder landed, Serat was whisked off for some sort of conference with the Sector Force commanders -- Isi Mosat wasn't there, but he wasn't really a part of Sector Command. The actual commanders, Serissi Enun and Colonel Angtar, were a local political leader in exile, and an ex-Imperial officer respectively.

The people on this base, largely, were spit and polish clean and uniformed, bright eyed and eager, and there was a divided response to Hotfoot's arrival between them -- contempt or wide-eyed admiration at the exotic composition of the group. The Empire was still largely human, or at least humanity was the single largest species among all the others. Fast breeding and stubborn, as some alien races would say. Certainly warlike.

Colonel Angtar took one look at the beater freighter and the assortment that it spewed out into his little haven of military order and immediately put men on watch over it to 'keep watch.' Kelborn didn't bother to feel overly offended -- the man was a crew-cut priss in jackboots and a too-pressed uniform, and a Wookiee, a Bothan, a wisp of a girl that was obviously a fringer and a Mandalorian clearly upset his sense of neatness -- the way the man's lip curled conveyed the sentiment that he'd rather fight alone than with scruffy allies like this. He probably suspected they'd try to steal something.

Fair enough, Kelborn, at the very least, was of the larcenous bent. His attitude toward ownership tended to be dependent on expedience, and that was keeping in with Mandalorian culture, looters extraordinare.

In any case, one of Serat's bodyguards was here, also keeping an eye on them. It was almost by silent vote that Kelborn was assigned, without it ever being said, to watch back at these guys.

So he did, sitting on a crate while others stood stiffly or sat themselves, in the case of Serat's man, Tul, who seemed the friendlier of the two. Or, at least, he allowed himself the luxury of not looking as if he was concentrating on his bowel movement and was drinking kaf. He had no particular urge to see the rest of this cave-base of theirs, or he did, but knew that he would be barred from further access on orders from the martinet.

So he enjoyed the kaf break, holding the plastoid cup in one hand and holding his helmet in the other; he was swarthy skinned and blue eyed, with an aquiline nose and high cheekbones, shaved hair and a chin-beard, as opposed to the grizzled stereotype of a one-eyed, scar faced old brawler. He wasn't as fuzzcheeked as some of Angtar's youngsters, though, dressed in khaki utility uniforms with those oval white helmets -- they looked good for parade.

Too bad this wasn't the sort of war that was going to be fought in the open, toe to toe with Imperial stormtroopers. He wanted to ask them how the shab they thought they'd measure up against clone troopers, even very old clone troopers who were dying off from premature old age, but with a lifetime of experience, skills trained to a height that most people wouldn't ever attain and genetically superior from the start.

He was betting that Angtar was sticking to what he knew because the unknown was scary. So spit and polish.

Once the kaf was done, he slipped his helmet back on, in order to take comms.

"Kelborn to the rest," he intoned by the commlink, insulated via the helmet from the outside world, "Kaf break is over. Let me know if you need something done here, because I'm getting very bored watching these chakaare stand around like statutes."

--

TO:Ninay Jur
FR:Rygh Vayd
RE: Mission

Arrived at coordinates provided by signal, found debris in empty space. Looks like they took some sort of damage in the engagement in Untbrodl. Where's my payment?

TO: Rygh Vayd
FR: Ninay Jur
RE: Mission

Our data indicates that the target is still active in the Ustu system. If you want to collect your payment, and avoid the Empire's displeasure, you need to take care of your loose ends.

You will keep this operation covert, which means that the local garrison will not be aware of your mission. This must remain deniable or the operation is botched. You will not like what happens if you fail and Atria Serat reappears after we've announced that she is officially dead.

Be thorough this time.

Imperial Holonet News.

BREAKING - Prime Minister of Rysul, ATRIA SERAT, assassinated by anti-Imperial pirates in attempted coup. COMPFORCE elements assist loyalist government in maintaining order upon request of the head of the Interim Government, Chief of Planetary Defense, General IRDIVAN VORTUSK.

[video, of a latern-jawed man in a dark green uniform tunic with medals and a yellow sash across the shoulder, as well as a ceremonial sword and blaster, staring directly at the camera in resolute fashion.]

"We cannot allow these off-world malcontents to destroy the harmony of our planet for their grievances -- there is no disagreement that is worth resorting to violence to, and the safety of our citizens and serenity of our planet are our primary concern. We will not allow these rebels to continue to endanger Rysul's children for their own macabre political game. To give into these terrorists would be to dishonor what Prime Minister Serat stood for her entire life. I have requested the assistance of the Empire, and Moff Silar has granted that request, in order to keep our planet secure..."

by Klikxx Wed Oct 07, 2009 3:17 pm

It was almost an instantaneous effect after the assault the small droid he was gripped in the ice blue glare of irritation from the much larger wookie. He it comes thought R4 releasing out a few beeps and chirps as the massive brown shag carpet bent down to retrieve the fallen arc wrench. The distressed bot cringed with fear as he squeezed close his photo eye in anticipation of the blow that was to come. Odd, there was no resounding thud to follow.

Slowly he began to open the aperture of the photo eye once more. This time it revealed a much different picture of the beast before him. Where there had once been a face of irritation and displeasure there was a softer visage of thoughtfulness. Aurfur watched carefully as little by little she raised the arc wrench. There were no sudden movements to alarm him. He watched with anticipation for what was to come.

"Easy now," she began, holding up the arc wrench, "I'm going to remove this cover, take a look inside, fix whatever isn't quite right in there for you."

The large furry hands soon reached their mark during the distraction. He was curious as to the gentleness she displayed toward him. He didn’t understand but was somehow soothed as the gentle grunts and growls reached his sensors. Aurfur hadn’t even noticed that his dome was being removed until his perspective of the situation changed. From his new vantage point the creature seemed to be looking inside.

“Well, well, well...

"You, my little friend, are not what you seem. Not at all... "

The gentle grunts and growls had come to an abrupt stop. What caused her to stop? Aurfur thought as he felt her lean further in. Visuals were useless at this point. All he could make out was what appeared to be a close-up of a brown shag carpet. All he had to go on at the moment was audio and it wasn’t relaying much useful information either. A slight tingle could be felt as the distinctive flash of the arc wrench illuminated the room.

He seemed to loose himself in the moment. Aurfur figured his internal clock must have been damaged in the blast as well. Something else that needed to be looked into but right now there were more pressing issues. What ever the skillful surgeon had been doing inside it seemed to be helping. The battered droid was not longer receiving extensive reports of eminent shutdown. The cascading failures had been contained, for the moment at least.

Once again his world was shaken as the wookie reattached the domed head. It hadn’t been as painful as one might have thought but he had no idea how extensive the damage inside truly was. A fanged grin now replaced the fur wall he had been staring at. What happened next surprised him even more.

"How are you feeling now?"

What had surprised him was that he now understood what left the wookie’s mouth. The grunts and growls were magnificently transferred into a language he could now understand. Excited, he tried to respond to the inquiry right away. Disappointment washed over the R4 unit as all he could manage was a few tweets and twitters he was sure were not translated. A few brief seconds later the programming had rebooted and the chirps now resembled recognizable words.

“How bad is it?” Aurfor inquired.

“Where am I and……….”
“……..(Playback holo recording R4-28)”

Begin Playback
“Blaster? Why are you pointing that at me? Wait. WAIT! I’m not ….”
A brilliance flash of light could be seen emanating from the weapon pointing his way. .The background behind the attacker seems unmistakably familiar. He was shot aboard the Intruder .All that can be made out of the attacker is a rough man sized shape. The image is course and grainy. The recorded scene ended abruptly after the focused discharge.
End Playback

Cascading failure shutting down operating system.

by Kaislynn Sun Oct 11, 2009 5:41 pm

One last check of the Intruder's systems and Fennery left the cockpit. She spilled out of the ship with the rest of the Hotfoot crew into the excessively dry environment of the Ustu base and stifled a cough. The air always through her for a loop and the constant whine of the air conditioning unit gave her a headache. She tied the strings of the little half-jacket she'd thrown on for presentability--like a house coat and stared for a moment at the prissy little troops set to watch the Intruder. What a crock. She'd rather they just call it what it was and avoid the patronizing niceties of politics. The more 'disciplined' higher-ups weren't comfortable with the lowly, creative Spec-ops. If she'd been in a cantina after a long run, she might have made eyes at one of those boys--for boys they were--but their straight uniforms and mixed expressions of contempt and fascination were a massive turn-off.

Luckily, the politician had been whisked away almost instantly for negotiations and the general tip-toeing play that higher-ups engaged in. Fen felt the tension drain out of her. If she had actually been required to speak to the woman, there might have been and unfortunate incident or two. Kelborn sat off to the side enjoying some kaf, sans his pretty Mando helmet. She was surprised again by his youth. Fen was accustomed to being the youngest in the smuggling groups she'd been apart of. She'd begun piloting small freighters at the age of seven and joined her first crew at ten standard years. Of course, she hadn't been allowed to pilot her own ship until she was thirteen, but regardless, she'd always been the youngest. Perhaps it was simply a sign that she was getting old. She smiled a little. Probably true.

Jarrie had mentioned something about having discovered a droid in the back and so it seemed the job of checking the base for abandoned upgrades was hers. She wandered over one of the guards.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for the maintenance bay. Where would I . . ." She trailed off with a question mark on her face. The young troop had a fine sprinkling of peach fuzz across his face and a slightly awed expression in his eyes. She'd picked him for this reason. His buddy looked down his ski-jump nose at her. Silly humans.

"It's located at-" The youth rapidly knocked out the directions and gave her a tentative smile, less out of admiration and more out of terror bordering on wonder. Fen felt the lack of sexual heat and once again felt cursed to lack her etti mother's elegant and willowy build. Perhaps Fen would not have made eyes at this boy in a cantina. She gave him a terse smile back from her short, curvy stature.

"Thank you, cadet." She mock saluted him and scuffled off into the base corridors.

The maintenance bay was in a different section of the base from where they had landed, though not taxingly far. The Intruder was grounded in an out of the way hanger--another special courtesy awarded to them as Spec-ops. By the time she reached it her comm-link began to jitter. She unhooked it from her belt. Kelborn.

"Kelborn to the rest," his voice crackled through the link, "Kaf break is over. Let me know if you need something done here, because I'm getting very bored watching these chakaare stand around like statutes."

"Of course, you are. You could do something useful, like help look for upgrades. Or get our damage taken care of." She smiled and jammed the link back into her belt. Really, his official language was getting on her nerves. He sounded military at times and it really bothered her. She understood the necessity of someone on board who could communicate with politicians and the like when the Hotfoot crew encountered them: i.e. Fen was glad she didn't have to. But when he talked down to the rest of them like that, she gritted her teeth. Really, couldn't he leave it with the higher-ups?

"I wonder if they've got any military grade shield generators . . . " Fen murmured as she approached the maintenance bay's catalog. The worker's desk seemed to be empty. Fen leaned across the desk, over data pads and small parts, and looked in the back room. "Hello?" Nothing. After waiting a moment or two to be sure no one was there. Lunch break? She wondered. Fen smiled and hoped onto the counter, using her arms to haul herself into a sitting position so she could access the catalog herself. "What've you got? Broken ships? Imperial parts? Captured supplies?"

The lists scrolled before her in Basic, but she mostly looked at the accompanying holo-images. Noting size and compatibility. She didn't read too well beyond basic codes for her console and the heading lists. Probably she could have made her way through the descriptions listed by each part, but the process would have been arduous for her, in addition to long. Looking at the holo-images was faster and sometimes more accurate as she could diagnose some of the problems with pieces faster by looking at them.

by Deadman - D17 Wed Oct 21, 2009 8:48 pm

Find the mole, that was all he had to do.

Surely it couldn't be hard. Keeping an eye on their guests was easy enough, a program or two could jam most frequencies in the ship -except for the important ones- and actually finding the mole? Well, Kelborn had given him enough time to pull some background files from the courier's own systems, careful scrutiny of which would give him the target, or at least a good guess of who it was.

Oh yes, it would be a bit of a challenge, and take some time, but nothing Kell couldn't handle, certainly.

So why couldn't he handle it?

~-~-~-~

"Team, Sir?"

"You've excelled on your own, but that's not all our network is. You need experience working with a team, Dra'na."

"Of course, sir, I understand, completely."[/i]

~-~-~-~

Get a grip, Dra'na. A low growl escaped from Kell's mouth, lips curling slightly to reveal pointed fangs. He didn't need distractions. What he needed to do was his job, like always. And right now, that job was pulling up the backgrounds of these two, and finding what didn't fit, or what did.

~-~-~-~

Before he saw them for the first time, he was already well-acquainted with their history, exploits, and reputation. He had spent days doing nothing but reading, checking and checking over their backgrounds, until it seemed he knew them better than himself. His superiors trusted them, but he didn't completely trust his superiors. And so he had looked, searching for anything out of the ordinary, or too ordinary. Everyone had spots on their record, it was a bad spy who didn't, while a good spy tried to have just enough to avoid suspicion.

The better ones usually revealed one or two major errors, ones that could be backed up through cross-referencing, in hopes that one wouldn't delve any further. Everyon had their own strategy, Kell himself had four separate backgrounds -one under his name (the one the Alliance knew him by), the other three under separate pseudonyms- from his own true one. They were all either built-up himself, or stolen from a fallen 'comrade' or two. But even so, a good spy could usually find out another good spy. If you looked hard enough, if you peeled back the layers until there were none left, exhausted every angle, from the logical to the insane, you would eventually find the truth.

Kell had done just that, and had found nothing. So when he met his team, he did so with a smile on his face, and a feeling of confidence of an easy mission.

~-~-~-~

One time. One. Time. There's always one, forget about it. Fingers *tap tapped* away on the surface of the datapack, words and details scrolling before his squinted eyes. He would just do a basic read-over to start, get himself acquainted with the basic history of these two, before delving in. It was all so routine, really. How many times had he done this? For his superiors, or on his own? Call it a waste of time, but he would rather waste his time and be relieved to know there was no risk, than to not bother and lose his life, or have someone else lose theirs...

~-~-~-~

A thermal detonator, it had to have been, though he hadn't actually seen it. All he knew for sure, is that one moment he was slicing through the systems aboard the Star Destroyer, and then there was a flash of light and heat. In no time, two of his comrades were down, pain was lancing down his arm and across his side, and the only other one standing had a blaster leveled at him.

"No... argh... subtlety?"

"Can't." His fellow bothan -should have been 'fellow', he had checked! There was nothing![/i] Shrugged. "The empire needs evidence of the spynet working for the Alliance. Once they do? We'll have no choice but to side with them or risk destruction, no more running the middle."

"And you, get position," It wasn't hard to guess, position and knowledge were the two things his kin valued above all else.. except for maybe their lives. That wasn't what struck him, it was the fact that he should have known. He had scoured their backgrounds dry. It was impossible, he could not have missed something! Right?

~-~-~-~

He raised his blaster, and Kell jumped to the left. His eyesight was bad, Kell remembered that, and while the three shots that sliced across his arm and side certainly hurt, they were superficial, unlike the pair he fired into the traitor's chest.

~-~-~-~

Boots, the floor was shaking with their coming, he had to act fast. The mission was done, failed, cover-up and escape were his mission now.

Two of them had incinerators, and all of them carried at least a pair of grenades. Kell piled them all together, right in the middle of the three bodies of his teammates. The boots were coming closer, from everywhere it seemed, but he was done. Pulling off his entire bandolier of Cryoban grenades, Kell rigged up a quick proximity timer, tossed it onto the pile, and ran. He still had his cloaking device -fully charged- and so invisible he ran. He ran even after the explosion rocked the ship, even after he reached empty hallways, even after he reached the hangars, until he stowed away on a landing vessel set to launch in under an hour.

Scouted out for all four of them, Kell had plenty of room alone. It was then, finally, that he saw the bare, seared flesh of his arm and side, and the bright red channels were the blaster shots had dug out and cauterized flesh.

~-~-~-~

For. get. it. He didn't even see the information in front of his face anymore, too torn up, too focused on trying to focus. This wasn't him. He didn't get distracted, he didn't do anything below optimal efficiency, he didn't get like this. It wasn't logical, it wasn't rational. This wasn't him.. he didn't mess up... he didn't make mistakes....

~-~-~-~

"I destroyed, the evidence, all of it."

"Are you sure."

"I set six cryobans, to detonate all their gear an-"

"Are. You. Sure."

"I... didn't see, the effect."

"So no, you are not."

".... No, Sir."

"I can't risk this, we can't risk this. If they can learn the identity of any of them, if they can learn your identity- There is too much at stake. We need you to lie low, they can't connect this to us, it has to seem like it was the alliance."

"You are sending, me to them. I'm done here."

"Until the risk is gone, you can't appear to be connected to the spynet."

"I understand.. Sir.."

~-~-~-~

Finally, Kell focused enough to see the name of who's file he was reading now.

~Che, Fenne-~

"Enough!" He nearly threw the datapack at the ship's wall, stopping himself just before letting go. With a small, choked sigh, he shut it down and stored it away. Enough, more than enough, he couldn't do this now. It was absurd, crazy, but he simply could not work like this, despite everything.

It was beyond aggravating.

They had landed? It seemed so, he had missed a lot. Figured, of course, after working so well before, he simply couldn't keep up. Always, always, always always always always alwa- enough.. enough..... enough.....

"Kelborn to the rest, Kaf break is over. Let me know if you need something done here, because I'm getting very bored watching these chakaare stand around like statutes."

*sigh*

Kell stood and left the ship, running hands through his mane of hair, frown fixed unmoving on his muzzle. He ignored the soldiers apparently standing guard over their ship, moving purposefully aft. The hot, dry air grated his throat, and the droning whine tormented his ears, but he ignored the discomfort. Right now, he didn't really care, as he moved to stand under the engines of the Intruder. All he really cared about now, was getting some air, any air.

It was absurd, beyond absurd, for him to be like this. He just needed to calm down, focus, get back on task. All that waiting in space must have frayed his nerves, he just needed to stand on solid ground for a moment. Yes, of course that was it, logical enough. Nothing more, nothing less. This 'team' had worked well enough, nothing to worry about, just need to breathe.

Sure, that was all it was.

~-~-~-~

"Kell, is it?"

"Kell Dra'na, known also as Scorched. You already have my files."

"Yes. You will be working with...."

~-~-~-~

Just... breathe.. that was all he had to do.

by Sponsored content

Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting

Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting

Re: Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting

Re: Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting

Re: Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting

Re: Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting

Re: Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting

Re: Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting

Re: Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting

Re: Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting

Re: Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting

Re: Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting

Re: Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting

Re: Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting

Re: Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting

Re: Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting

Re: Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting

Re: Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting

Re: Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting

Re: Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting

Re: Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting

Re: Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting

Re: Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting

Re: Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting

Re: Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting

Re: Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting

Re: Star Wars - Desperate Days - Recruiting