It wasn’t an hour after Chief Millen’s team went missing on the surface before the galactic community had drawn up a response. Not one of mutual love, but one of mutual distrust – peace may have been created, but distrust had not passed. It had been only two months since the war had ended, and while the truce lasting was a surprise to all, it had only deepened suspicions of the rest, suspicions which were poised to be brushed away like so much stellar dust – it was time to move on. But, the disappearance of Millen’s team, in conjunction with the report of strange technology being unearthed, had set off a chain of galactic events. Remnants of the Centerpoint Party had demanded the Corellian fleet be recalled and seal off the system almost instantaneously, but the Chiss had arrived, followed by an Imperial force, and before long Hapan and Alliance forces had gathered with the Corellian fleet, and with Jedi mediation the blockade had became a joint venture. A hundred ships now surrounded Shadow, each government providing a twenty-vessel task force built around three large capital ships – be it Turbulent-class Star Destroyers, Hapan Battle Dragons or Mon Calamari cruisers. ’Nill’, YVH 1-1A had been picked to be the leader of an elite team created to scope out Shadow and report back about the technology that had been uncovered. During this process, every contributing party had pulled him apart and put him back together again, scouring his crevices and programming for anything which suggested he would breach his neutrality and assist any faction in acquiring the technology. Equipped with a powerful HoloNet transceiver, it was believed Nill would be able to communicate with the controllers in orbit for the team, even through the thunderstorm. Nill had yet to meet the team the Coalition had assembled, and now, through all the secrecy and politics, they were finally due to meet. Standing alone in the hangar of the Chiss Star Destroyer Fell Defender, Nill turned to look at the entrance to the hangar at 0955 hours, Shadow time, and waited for his team to file in and introduce themselves. Behind him sat GAT-24r Skipray blastboat, prepared with space for all of the team. The team was due to arrive at ten hundred hours, though he expected some would arrive late, or early. Nill silently hoped this would not be a consistent issue. And so, six hundred seconds began to count down within his skeletal skull, a brain capable of whole calculations in tenths of a second taking the time to run through all the lists of munitions and supplies and objectives. Done with that, he simply stood, for the remaining four seconds and ninety milliseconds.
Not much to look at on the inside either. The thought flitted through Mal's mind while walking along varied corridors on the ship. Having tired rather quickly of his bunkroom, not like anyone was staying in those for terribly long anyways, the stormtrooper had emerged into one of any number of nondescript corridors. That was the Chiss taking Imperial efficiency to the extreme. There was absolutely nothing unnecessary anywhere. Over all, from a purely ascetic sense, this was a very boring ship. It was only when one looked at the technical details that things got interesting, and then every ship builder in the galaxy could learn something. True, the amount of time he'd gotten to look at the schematics was limited, but they had proven most revealing. Definitely never want a fight with the Chiss. From their ships to their weapons, they knew how to be extremely deadly in a very short amount of time. Mentally reviewing what little that had been shared about his compatriots, Judder was not terribly pleased. He hated being under-informed, and there was absolutely no hope of anything else given the situation. All that the Sergeant knew was the names and ranks of those going on this mission. Well... there was general knowledge of what a Jedi could do, if one could believe the stories. Most likely exaggerations from a stressed mind. Time would tell either way, and the ARC was determined not to underestimate anyone. Thinking back to his training time on Bastion, the commando was glad to finally be stretching his legs again. It had been unnerving to be forced to not wear the armor. A feeling of being naked, especially when everyone around you has theirs on. It had revealed his pale skin, black hair and piercing blue eyes. It had also revealed the scar that had ruined his nose, stretching from near his left eye and passing to the lower right corner of the jawbone. A lesson in never losing one's helmet given by an instructor many years ago. A harsh lesson. A painful lesson. A lesson extremely well learned. Glancing at the chrono on the helmets HUD, it was time to start heading towards the hangar and time to meet the groups "Commander". Taking orders from a droid was going to be incredibly irksome. Well, having to take orders at all was going to be a pain. As a commando he typically received an objective, was inserted and given broad discretionary powers on what exactly to do. The result was a psyche that hated functioning in a group, hated camaraderie (that didn‘t mean he couldn‘t fake it though), and hated dealing with the distraction that other's inevitably would result in. [i}I understand why Boba Fett always worked best on his own. You have no distractions, you have no unknowns concerning what you can do, and only yourself to blame for failure.[/i] Failure was NOT an option, and Mal had never failed once. Never in a mission. Obviously there were a few shortcomings during training. Turning down a corridor on the outside of the ship he glanced outside. There were a hundred ships out there, but one could hardly tell it. Every once in a while something would pass in front of one of the stars, giving away the position of one of space faring boats. Mal would have loved to be back onboard an Imperial boat, not having to worry about gods only knew what with a completely unknown squad. Muttering to himself, Mal continued down the bland hallway. The chrono read 01003 as Mal came down the hall from the opposite direction as the others. It was a statement. Basically he was telling the droid that he may technically be in charge, but there was little respect from the ARC. Respect had to be earned. Marching at attention, the Imperial ARC Trooper entered the hangar in all of his black armored glory. There were no patches on his shoulders, nothing to denote his rank. Solid matte black, Mal seemed to be a man shaped shadow that absorbed light. Being late to the party has it's uses. It can foster a bit of anger towards the late party, but Mal had never minded that. To a degree, one could also find out who was impatient. Sadly, it turned out that he was not the last one to arrive so observing everyone was an impossibility. The three that were there, the Mandalorian (Alec Nephrite), Drall (Driggs Norghar, who consequently nearly made him miss a step) and the Jedi (Isis Stele), seemed to not care in the least. The droid... well, trying a droids patience was all but impossible. Mal marched up to the droid, skeletal and eerie as it looked, and stared it in the photoreceptors for ten seconds. Then turning his back on it he moved to the side, and stood at ease. The stormtrooper wished that a fake name could have been given to everyone else, but that wouldn't foster the kind of trust that was needed. Leave it to the politicians to screw me for a lot of things in the foreseeable future. The thought never occured to him that maybe this was his final mission. That being put out to pasture, as it were, was the only thing next in line. Training the next generation was all that was left. Glancing at Alec, he could tell that the man was definitely ready to go at any given moment. Basically a walking armory, there were weapons stowed everywhere on the armor. Then there was the beskar itself. There were seams in it, but trying to slide a knife in there would NOT be fun should it be necessary. Surprisingly the Mando'a had his helmet off, and was showing off the blonde hair and strange purple eyes. The way he was standing proved that he obviously knew how to handle himself in a fight. Still, Mal was very glad to be the taller of the two, standing 6'3 and not one to be considered much of a light weight either. Muscular, but not to the point that it would be restrictive to his movement, the troopers strength was a lean one. He'd always figured that being able to do something a large number of times trumped being able to do something extreme once. Satisfied that at least one other person knew what he was doing, Mal looked at Isis. She was a vision, if one went for the non-human sort. Being from the Empire, that was not something he'd ever even considered. She stood there, barely shorter than the Mando'a, the only visible weapon a Lightsaber. Her clothing was definitely not protective in any fashion, and to a degree could be considered provocative. The Jedi simply stood there, eyes fixed on the floor, the perfect picture of serenity and patience. Trying to rile this one up would be a trip. Oddly he felt some kind of connection to her. Something intuitive. Something decidedly unwelcome. Las of all, there was the Drall. Looking him over Mal could not for the life of him figure out how this... being was going to be useful. Roly poly and short, it seemed as though Driggs would be of little to no use in a fight. It was all that the Imperial could do not to stare at the other, but Judder managed. Has to be a scientist. There's no other reason for someone as apparently useless as him to be around. Incongruously the other also had a number of "treats" sticking out of a bulging pockets. Absurd was the only word for it. Strangely there seemed to be the same intuitive connection to this teddy bearesque being. Irritatingly the only conversation was between the chubby Drall and the Jedi. Turning his head to Alec, "You know, if things get much stuffier in here we might suffocate." This was nothing like the briefing's he was used to, but then there was some rapport with his commanding officer. "Mal Judder, Imperial ARC. I figure we should at least introduce ourselves, otherwise this is going to be a very long mission." As much as he didn't like having to trust others, Mal knew that if there was no trust the odds of any of them surviving were slim to none. And the only way to do that was to talk. Hopefully the others realized that.