Star Wars Intervention: Echoes in Eternity (An Original Trilogy Game; Always taking new players!!!)

OOC: this is a joint post between Bardan_Jusik, Heavy Isotope and Skywalker_T-65

IC: Beskaryc Taab, Masha Tinovorsh, Sunri Lasca
Dep S Bulwark Crusier in orbit of Craci Prime, three days ago

The darkness of the bulwark cruiser was working in their favor, two Rodian guards entered the hangar bay. One walking the catwalks between docking areas, his glow rod illuminating his figure partially, the other moved across the hangar nearing Taab.

Sunri cautiously opened the hatch leading out of the Caravel, finding nothing but more darkness to greet him. Leaning his head out, the pilot carefully raised his DH-17, the sight he had added to the pistol providing some illumination to work with. Looking through said sight, he scanned the hangar of the Bulwark, looking for any enemies.

Anyone out there...no...no...there!

Sunri saw two Rodians approaching the Caravel, talking to themselves.

"Hello?" one of them called tentatively into the stygian cave-like blackness.

"We're your new neighbors." Byron clarified from the same side of the hangar as Taab took cover and quietly waited for his chance....

"Don't be alarmed, we're rodians."

"Naw man, naw. There's too much bass in your voice. That scares Humans. You got to sound like them." Byron adopted a whiny, high-pitched tone. "We were wondering if we could borrow some green sugar...?"

Slowly placing his finger on the trigger of his blaster, Sunri sighted in one the second Rodian. Taking in a deep breath, he readied himself to fire...only for Taab to step out of the shadows and beat him to it.

Taab didn't respond, he had no time for their stupidity, stepping out confidently in front of the nearest one, Byron; he raised his blaster pistol and fired a single round in between it's eyes. Sunri turned to find the other one. That Rodian had moved further along the Caravel. The noise startled Frankie, who turned and carefully walked around the caravel with his weapon raised. Masha readied her combat knife, quietly moving towards Frankie, using the darkness and scattered crates along the catwalk to conceal her approach. The light from the glowrod silhouetted his form, it illuminated Masha as well, with his back turned though; that didn't make a difference. She tried to remember her survival and evasion training from flight school....

Sunri looked down his sight, noticing something out of the corner of his eyes. That something was Masha, creeping closer to the Rodian with a knife drawn in her hand. Before Sunri could do anything, she had knocked the Rodian to the ground, and started a full on brawl with him. The young pilot couldn't stop a small frown from crossing his face at how she killed the Rodian, but it wasn't his place to judge...who knew what had happened to Masha after they got separated.

Take down, timing it right was key, Masha reached forward and grabbed him by the ankles. Pulling his feet out from under him, the Rodian fell flat on his face, breaking his snout. He yelped in pain and scrambled to turn over, kicking Masha in the process, adrenaline coursing through her numbed the pain but the impact still knocked her to the side. She dropped her knife due to the impact, it clattered to the floor, just out of arm's reach. Masha quickly got to her feet and Frankie attempted to do the same, before he could she delivered a hard kick to the hand he was using to cover his face, he yelled in pain again before collapsing to the deck. Grabbing up her knife, she stepped on his trembling form, turning him to his back. Rage coursed through her veins, before the Rodian could plead or whimper, she cut his throat.

She wiped her knife off on the cloth of the alien's jumpsuit then sheathed it, the adrenaline rush made her limbs begin to feel weak and tired, this time she was lucky. She wasn't very good in a fight, the combination of anger and adrenaline made her stronger than her adversary, but that was too close for comfort.

"Sloppy. Your approach was good, your take down was pathetic. You need work." Taab glanced around the darkened bay, the night vision gear in his buy'ce (helmet) turning the night into day, at least for him. Masha tensed at his sudden arrival, he came seemingly from nowhere.

"OK, threats here are neutralized." He looked around again. "We need to get to the bridge and disable it, that way we can egress on the Luck's Gamble in peace." He snatched up the blasters dropped by the two most recent beings to encounter the Mercs. "They won't be needing these anymore" He handed the two liberated weapons to his comrades. "Judging by what I just saw, you will."

Whatever, Masha thought as she took the small blaster rifle.

Without another word he headed to the hatch that would lead them to the rest of the ship and peaked outside. "OK, follow me."

The trio encountered surprisingly little resistance on their way to the bridge. Their biggest obstacle came when they ran across a repair party which was headed forward on B deck, but they were easily dispatched. Taab had to admit to himself that both Edge and Sunny were...adequate shots, which coming from Taab was high praise. They continued onwards (and upwards) coming to the closed (but not sealed) hatchway leading to the bridge without further incident. Taab prepared a concussion grenade and hissed to his compatriots.

"We go in fast and hard, violence of action carries the day in this sort of thing." He paused for a moment to let that sink in. "Shoot anyone that moves, honor every threat." Waiting for them to nod their assent Taab opened the hatch and tossed in the grenade. Masha hated all this running around, a firefight wasn't her specialty, but keeping pace with her comrades pushed her forward. The tiredness was counteracted by aggression and anger. Violence of action...

BOOM!

Taab went in first, followed by Edge and then Sunny just after it exploded and got to work. The bridge crew seemed half prepared that they were coming, the firefight was quick, the Rodians were stunned by the explosion of the grenade. The Mercs opened fire and a few blaster bolts were returned, Masha was hit on her upper left arm by a small pistol... Quickly though, the bridge crew was subdued, either dead or a casualty. The three moved about the bridge, Taab, Sunri, and Masha checking behind console boards for anyone hiding. "Clear," Taab said. "Clear," Masha confirmed. "Clear," Sunri replied from his position. "Edge," Taab called, being a pilot she should know how to do this, "disable the ship computers, keep this thing from being able to follow us or take us down when we get outta here. Sunny check for anyone still alive and take care of them." His meaning there should be clear.

Masha moved to the captain's console, stepping on the body in the way, a rattling groan would confirm that the Rodian died as she did so. Good, she thought. The console was simple, but one couldn't disable a ships computer by just pressing buttons... However, she input coordinates for a target that would destroy the ship after she left, Craci System's Sun, setting a launch timer to give them enough time to escape. Reaching under the panel she searched for the wires which would be the power source. A system this complex though... There were too many variables... Her arm began to hurt more. Masha's frustration peaked and she took out her knife, cutting wires to prevent them from being reattached in any hurry.

"Done," she said as Sunri was finishing his work, Taab stood guard by the door. One of the Rodians still alive began to crawl for his blaster pistol, his panting was heard and Masha quickly walked to him and stomped his hand under her boot. "Easy there, boyo," she growled, grabbing him by the shoulder and turning him over. Immediately the Rodian yelled, "You! How?!" his antennae stood up in surprise, "Wha -- " he never finished his sentence, Masha recognized his tone and voice, delivering a swift punch to his face. Putting her knee in his chest to hold him down as she continued to pummel him. Being stuck in the pod... Those blasted outfits, knockout gas, his mocking voice... All she saw was red. Each repaid with every blow until his eyes were closed and he was left barely conscious. The blaster fire from earlier was fatal, Masha's attack.... Was revenge.

Taab turned at the sound of the commotion and motioned to Sunri to pull Masha off of the captor-turned-victim. Sunri ran to Masha, grabbing her by the arms to try and pull her back and away from the alien, his firm grip caused pain from the blaster shot to sear in her arm. She yelled in pain and anger, wrenching her injured arm from his grip and sending her elbow back to the side of Sunri's head. He stumbled away, falling back onto the disabled control console, Masha fell stumbled as well. Regaining her footing and stepping forward to deliver her killing blow, placing her boot on his neck to cut off his breathing. A moment later, Masha was knocked to the side by Taab, after he grabbed her by her jacket's collar he pushed her to the wall. "Haar'chak! What do you think you're doing? We need to leave, NOW!"

They piled onto the Merc's ILH-KK, with Formal and Edge taking the control stations. Taab took command and also managed the gunner's station while Sunny handled communications. "Let's get out system ASAP, before anyone knows we're here," Taab told the pair of pilots as the ship detached from it's larger host with a clank and a screech. "Too late," Sunny reported. He pointed out the forward transparisteel canopy towards a distant Vindicator class cruiser.

"Shab."

Sunny piped the incoming message from the cruiser through the cabin.

"Repeat, this is the Imperial Cruiser Battleaxe to transport. You are required to pick up civilian casualties from specified co-ordinates and bring them out system for medical treatment." There was no threat, no mention of what failure to comply with the Battleaxe's order would bring upon the Luck's Gamble but it didn't matter. Taab knew they would never hear the end of it from the Elf if they ignored a request for medical transport of civilians casualties.

The set of co-ordinates popped up on their comm gear and everyone aboard looked to Taab. The Mandalorian slowly nodded his head, it would just be easier on them all to comply. "Tell them we're on our way."

As Edge angled the Luck's Gamble back to Craci Prime the Bulwark cruiser fired it's engines and swung onto it's new course, the primary star of the Craci system. "What did you do... ?" Sunri remarked as he saw the cruiser heading towards it's programmed destination.



"I disabled the ship," she said, using one hand to control the ship and the other to pull out and light a cigarette.

Taab simply grunted at her remark, wondering if she knew that there were probably other girls like her, innocent girls, still trapped aboard. Oh well, didn't matter they weren't here on any mercy mission. Except of course now they were, and one directed at them from the Empire itself. The Luck's Gamble set down with little direction from an overwhelmed planetary control network and took on the radiation casualties they had been told about. Taab didn't envy the treatment he knew they would all have to go through when they reached specialist care out system. But maybe most of them would survive if the Mercs could get them there fast enough.

One casualty, a Cathar, didn't seem as injured as the others. Perhaps less exposure or maybe Taab just wasn't reading things right (dammit, he was a soldier, not a doctor). She expressed an interest in joining up, and Taab didn't see a reason not to let her. The Skipper could give her his normal spiel when she got aboard the Johnny Boy, and if she didn't check out, well Taab could space her then.

Tag: No One.

 

IC: Major Christopher T. George
"Command," Outpost Nowhere (building to right), Rhen Var


The comm chatter was going back and forth for orders then, suddenly, one of the soldiers by the Major said, "Major, General Perez has just entered the cargo vessel!"

"WHAT!!!???" the Major breathed in an effort to not yell as he looked from the com device and grabbed his set of white camouflaged Model TD2.3s and glared down at the retreating form of Perez into the cargo freighter, "For the Queen and King!" the Major replied, using a familiar swear word of the Kingdom of Jod, "When your the only General left on this side of the galaxy for the Royal House, I guess you can do whatever you Force will please! I told Streets to not go to Craci Prime, but no, he just had to insist on being the 'back-up' plan!" the Major exhaled after his small rant, "I hate Generals. Always thinking they can do whatever they want! Okay," the Major thought quickly; despite the "disappearance" of the Kingdom of Jod in the last five months, Christopoher was still an Honorary Reserve Officer of the King's Army, an infantry Major in the Strategic Command Army, and part of the Loyalists forces for the Royal House. He had an oath to uphold and a duty to do by the Kingdom of Jod. Now was no time to think about becoming a freelance mercenary and it was, even more so, not a time to loose the only known surviving General of the Loyalists forces in the known galaxy. If he lost Perez---although the offer was tempting to write up an "accident report" sometimes---he could pretty well kiss goodbye his career (assuming there was one left with KOJ disappearing) and the Jod's any real chance in fulfilling any of that Prophecy with the Mercs. And the Major realized that he was probably one of the few officers left in the Army who honestly, one hundred percent, still believed in the Prophecy and the Mercs. So, at least on a personal level, Perez's safety had somewhat of a religious value to it.

"My MG Team," the Major said suddenly over the comm, "The General's safety is your top concern. Inform the General that a scanner crew is on the way, as is his request approved for the DD."

The Major looked to one of his soldiers, "Go back to the speeders. Pull up the one with the scanner. This might be a frozen dead world, but I don't like being in the open like this."

"Yes, General!" the soldier said, running off.

The Major sighed as he out his eyes back to the Model TD2.3s and observed the on-goings. The last communication from any Kingdom of Jod unit---or from the House of Royal Intelligence---was a sealed Royal Order, delivered in secret, to the Major personally; it was the communicate he had heard from the Royal House or from Queen Christina herself.. It was addressed to the Major and Major alone with specific orders to not allow any of the Order's contents be known to Perez or anyone else. The Order had cited "extremely sensitive security concerns" involving Perez's pending capture by "forces unknown" along the Rago Run and until such intelligence could be confirmed, all whereabouts of the Jod were to be kept classified at the highest levels (in case Perez was captured, his mind couldn't of been scanned for any useful information involving the Jod). In any event, the Major thought half of the Royal Order was bull-Sith for covering up the real reason why the Jod disappeared. But, for some reason, the Royal House gave him just enough information to start looking for anyone that could remember someone from the Rago Run. And truth be told, medical supplies or not, a "mysterious" ship claiming to have communicated with Lasso and company and looking like smugglers or mercenaries themselves, could hail from Rago Run or have come in contact with someone from there.

So, there was a reason for Christopher's concern for the General's safety. First, the HRI was concerned enough about it to use the General as bait for his own assassination. But second, which made Christopher smile a bit as he took his eyes briefly away from the Model TD2.3s and scanned the sky, it meant that the HRI were listening, close by, and ready to act when whoever wanted Perez dead or alive showed their hand. Perez wasn't only attached to the Royal Engineers, he was a high-ranking military officer of Royal Command itself, the military branch of the Royal House. Which made him a very sensitive intelligence package all by itself, one that the HRI would protect against all costs and one that others would attempt to steal at all costs because of Perez's knowledge of the workings of Royal Command and the Royal House. Perez knew things, had done things, for Royal Command that fairy books were written about. Despite the General's "all in" approach to bravado and combat (evidence of his recent act to just board a strange freighter with no security detail), the man was well respected both in the JMF (Jod Military Force) and Royal Command.

Something was going on, something big Christopher knew, out near the Unknown Regions. What that something was, the Major had no idea as he put the Model TD2.3s back to his eyes and surveyed the freighter once again. But it was something big enough for the HRI to retract all operatives from the "Outer Galaxy," erase any trace of the Kingdom of Jod in the Outer Galaxy, and essentially become invisible, even to it's own people, almost overnight. Several months ago, the Kingdom of Jod was a real threat to the Empire. Now, it was like the Jod never even existed.

Well, except for, on Rhen Var.

Soon, the speeder with it's soldier arrived at the freighter the Major saw and, with one of Perez's men, was unloaded and brought up the landing ramp into the freighter.



TAG Wildwookiee and Sith-I-5

 

IC: Beskaryc Taab
Armory, Johnny Boy. Hyperspace en route to Rhen Var

It was quiet and Taab was alone, just the way he liked it. He leaned back in the chair in his security office and put his heavy beskar boots up on the desk in front of him. He was supposed to be off duty, but rather than retreat to his cabin for sleep or to the crew rec room for some relaxation, he found himself here, as he often did when they were between ops and he had nothing better to do.

He was chief of security on this boat, and he took that job seriously. It also meshed well with his other jobs of keeping the Skipper safe for the Kingdom of Jod (whom he hadn't heard from in some time, though the deposits from them were still being made to his accounts) and training his son Atin in the ways of mercenary life. From his office here he was able to keep tabs on both of them and while he expected no trouble while the ship was in hyperspace, old habits were hard to break. So he found himself with his boots up, bucket off, watching the monitors in front of him as they cycled through various security holos of the ship's interior.

The Captain was on the bridge right now, alone of course. There were times where Taab suspected the Skipper was very much like him in wanting his solitude, though he expected their motives for this were vastly different. His son had just left his quarters and was headed aft. Probably on his way to either the rec room or even the combat simulators, but what was he doing up? Taab had ordered the boy to get some rest, and though it was good to see the lad take some initiative in his own training, there were times where Taab just wanted him to follow simple orders. The image shifted now to just outside the security office where two B-1 battle droids (or Bones as Taab called them) stood watch, ensuring that not only the contents of the armory were kept safe, but Taab's seclusion as well. Sometimes this was a detail entrusted to organics, but it was late and with Taab inside there was no need for anything other than droid protection. They should be able to deter anyone from bothering him, or at the very least give him some advance warning if someone did plan on disturbing him. He wanted to be alone for what he did next.

Sliding a data card into the terminal before him he entered his access code for the comm system. It was the only way to gain access to the personel message that had been sent to him a few days before, one he hadn't yet had the chance to go over. A holo of a woman appeared before him, a Mandalorian in full battle rattle save her buy'ce (helmet), his wife.

"Su cuy'gar cyar'ika (hello sweetheart)" she began. "I am sure this finds you still drawing breath." Taab was never sure how she got messages beamed to where ever he was, but she had always managed to find him no matter where he was or what he was doing. She was the very definition of tenacious and resourceful. She was also one who always came to the point. "Work goes on with the Crusader." That pleased Taab, he had left the old YT-1300 in her care for the duration of his current assignment as there was no room for the old bounty hunting vessel on the Johnny Boy. The action had at first perturbed his son, but it was necessary. His wife was now using the time to add some much overdue upgrades to the battered old ship.

"I had to disable the lower quad turret, the VULTURE droid brain there wouldn't accept commands from me. Not sure if it is a voice print ID issue or if it just doesn't like me." Taab smiled slightly at that, the droid brains had always given him problems, choosing their own targets or refusing to fire on the targets assigned them. Still they had proven their worth over the years and had helped Taab get out of many a sticky situation in the past. "I'll rip the osikla beskar'ad apart and rebuild it again if I have to, it will learn." Taab's smile grew, if anyone could strike fear into whatever a droid called a heart it would be his Ruus.

"But that will have to wait. The Ion cannons I installed aren't getting a proper energy feed. The flow keeps alternating between the two instead of being constant. Not sure what the issue is yet, never had that problem with the blasters there. I'll get it, but I may need a tech from MandalMotors to poke around in her innards to pinpoint the problem." Taab's smile turned into a frown. He didn't like outsiders poking around his ship. Well at least they would be from MandalMotors, so they should be trustworthy. If not, well he knew Ruus would deal with them...harshly.

"Got another sounding from my contact as well. That potential employer you have looking for you is getting quite insistent." Taab blinked at that. He knew what job she was talking about and took her discretion for granted. The message was encrypted of course, and he doubted that anyone on the ship (save perhaps Streets) would be able to de-crypt the letter. But what made him stop to consider what was being said was the tenacity with which this potential employer was courting him. He had honestly figured they had initially contacted him about the job because Fett had (probably) turned it down. Taab wasn't about to play second fiddle to anyone, especially not that arrogant shabuir Fett, but maybe they had never approached him for this job at all. Her next statement gave credence to that idea.

"According to my contact," she smirked "they say you are uniquely qualified for the job." Well that much was true. He had done something similar in the past, but that was long, long ago. Shab even Fett had been just a child back then. Tabb knew that for a fact, because the snotty little kid was there on Kamino, along with his father. "I'll have to think it over," Taab said to no one but himself. He wouldn't reply to this message. There was no need, and his wife would know that. She also knew that no matter how tempting this new job opportunity was he couldn't take it until his training of Atin was complete. That meant sticking around with the Mercs for a while longer.

The message ended abruptly, as they always did, and Taab deleted it from the comm system's memory. While no one should have need or want to de-crypt Taab's mail it was better to be safe than sorry. The crew wouldn't be at all happy to know what was going through his head right now, least of all his son. He honestly didn't care what the aruetiise (foreigners) thought, but his son was another matter. The boy couldn't know, not until it was far too late for him to do anything about it.

Taab glanced back at the security holos. It looked like the Skipper had been joined on the bridge by the Doctor. Taab suppressed a chuckle. It looked like the Captain's attempts to evade the good doctor had been for naught. Well it was bound to happen, the Johnny Boy was a small ship after all. Now...where was At'ika (little Atin)?

TAG: No one for now. (or anyone willing to disturb him in his office )

---

IC: Atin Taab
Corridors of the Johnny Boy (level three headed aft). Hyperspace, en route to Rhen Var

Atin couldn't sleep. He had tried to, even been order to by his father, but it was to no avail. There was just too much going on in his head right now. The run to Craci Prime was to have been an easy one, pick up some supplies, get some R&R, in and out with no fuss and no muss. Instead the crew of the Johnny Boy had ended up in the midst of an invasion. At least they had come back with some new crew members to show for it, but Atin still didn't know what all had happened to his buir (father) when he had been out of contact there. "Talk to Edge about it, she'll love to tell you," was all he had been told.

Atin shrugged as he left his room. He hadn't had a chance to do that yet either, and something about the way his buir said it made Atin think it was some sort of trap to ask the pretty pilot what had happened. Maybe if he ran into Sunri he could ask him. The new Merc supposedly had also been with them during their time on Craci Prime, so he might know. Yeah, that was a good plan of action. Until then, he would head down to the rec room and work up a good sweat. Running in full plates would certainly do that and it might clear his mind. Hopefully that would be enough for him to finally get some sleep.

TAG: Anyone else he might run into in the hallway on the way to the rec room.

 

IC: Ler (LE-series repair droid)
Hanger Bay, Johnny Boy


There was a long moment of silence in the hanger as everyone---droid included---stared at Ler as Sydney retreat. The droid looked around at everyone and yelped, "WHAT!!?? Get back to work!"

Some of the droids started to move back to work, but the two Wookiee brothers glanced at each other across the hanger and grumbled a growl, putting their massive arms across their chests.

If Ler could, he would roll his eyes, as he reached out to the retreating mechanic, "Sydney, WAIT!"

The droid was fully expecting the mechanic to come to him, but the Wookiees looked at him and growled softly, but firmly, in union.

The droid, as if being forced to do something he really, really didn't want to do, stalked his way over to Sydney, "Look, I'm sorry," Ler said to the back of the mechanic, "Taller and Lasso never made me the Hanger Chief. I was only ever the replacement as the Lead Hanger Tech. Maybe it's time I realize that there's a reason for that. Here," Ler took the data-pad he had strapped to his metal leg casing and held it out to Sydney's back, hoping that the Mechanic would turn around, "The Master-Control Datapad. I installed it while you were gone. It can control almost everything in here, from the fuel pumps to the air recyclers to anything that is hardwired into the Hanger Bay's systems. It might of been the one thing I did right in the last few months."

One of the "female" droids looked at Ler with longing eyes and Ler pointed a finger at her, "Get back to work! Until he accepts this data-pad, I'm still in charge!"

Somethings, like with Ler's attitude, never changed.


TAG Vehn

 

IC: Imperial Agent Thomas Ford
East Wing, Imperial Palace


"I just don't get it," the Devaronian named Chuck replied as both he and Thomas had finished breakfast and had reached the Surveillance Division doors, a Stomtrooper checking their identichips through a scanner, before allowing allowing them entrance into the office; as the blast doors parted ways and the two entered, the doors closing behind them, Chuck went on his rant in more detail now that they were in a 'secure setting,' "Why are they sending you, one of our best, on a wild goose chase for a bunch of pirates in a backward Sector! That's something you send a new field agent on, not someone like you or me! I mean seriously, all the action is happening up by Rago Run!"

"Yes!" Thomas said, holding up a finger as he reached his desk and he sat down again in his chair, Chuck taking the corner desk area again, "That's why!"

"What in Imperial Center are you saying Thomas!"

"Think about it like this," Thomas said as he finished the rest of his cold coffee and withdrew a cigarette from the more full pack on his desk and lit it up, taking a drag of it as he put his boots up on his desk and let the cigarette hang loosely in his mouth as he spoke, "What does anyone do if they want to hide what their really doing?"

"A distraction," Chuck replied, "You hide your true intentions with a larger, more bold one, and slip under the sensors. Classic, text book. But Thomas, the 17th Battalion of Snowtroopers went to Burska and never returned! You have Imperial Intelligence working their tails off to try to find out what happened to an entire BATTALION! And your saying a few pirate gangs in a backward Sector are somehow connected to five hundred and twelve missing Stormtroopers! Not to mention the Listening Post they went to investigate in the first place."

Thomas shrugged, "Yea."

"Your insane. What proof!?" Chuck demanded.

"Lets assume the timeline," Thomas said, spreading out his arms as a professor about to dismantle a college student's argument in class over the subject lesson accuracy, "Three months ago---while nothing entirely new to the area---Analysis receives rapidly increasing reports regarding the Rago Run involving increased pirate activity. But more importantly, it is noted through several debris wrecks of vessels searched for survivors by the Space Rescue Corps, that at least two of those survivors from separate wrecks both reported seeing large warship-like vessels in the area; Flight Recorders were, mysteriously, missing from all wrecks attacked by the pirates which, in most pirate raids, the pirates don't even bother with removing them. Not surprisingly enough, being so close to the Core Worlds and on the edge of the Unknown Regions, the Empire decides to solve a problem before it becomes a crisis and sends in the Imperial I-class Star Destroyer Order with a Battle Squadron, including eight Corellian Gunships, four EF76 Nebulon-B Escort Frigates, 6 Carrack-class Light Cruisers, and 4 Vigil-class Corvettes. Despite the twenty-five vessel squadron already, given the sensitive nature of the operation, the Empire adds a detachment of one Acclamator I-class Assault Ship with an Imperial Army Assault Battlegroup of 10,210 Army Troopers, 4,680 support personnel for the Battlegroup, and two battalions of Snowtroopers and Sandtroopers respectfully. In addition, the Fleet also added an Immobilizer 418 cruiser, a EF76 Nebulon-B Communications Ship called Lone Ranger, and two Dreadnaught-class Heavy Cruisers, bringing the total squadron count to 30 vessels.

"Just like with the Last Chance, the sudden presence of Imperial warships in the area and the piracy reports drop back to normal levels. But nothing of the large warships could be found and engagements with the pirates were almost non-existent. Despite this, very smartly, the Empire deploys elements of the Assault Battlegroup, it's support personnel, and armor and other vehicles in an Imperial Garrison Base as a added presence on Gilatter VIII and additionally deploys much smaller Outposts on Namadii and Keitum. Then the Empire leaves three EF76 Escort frigates, three Carracks, three Corellian Gunships, the four Vigil-class Corvettes, and keeps one of the Dreadnaught-class Heavy Cruisers from the original Battle Squadron to act as the Command Ship of the newly formed Rago Run Squadron whose sole mission is to patrol the Rago Run, perform anti-piracy and anti-smuggler duties, and keep the peace. In a final act of security, the Empire deploys a Listening Post on Burska; while not necessary in the Rago Run, its close enough to monitor the Run and the Unknown Regions at the same time. By the end of three months, the original Battle Squadron is dismantled and returns to the Core Worlds, the new Rago Run Squadron is brought online, and the Garrison, Outposts, and Listening Post are online. Analysis concludes that Rago Run is safe, Surveillance closes the case, and everything returns to normal..."



TBC
OOG: Ran out of time, I will have to finish this later tonight.

 

IC: Masha Tinovorsh
Johnny Boy, Rec Room/Gym

(Music)

The voices echoed in her head. She closed her eyes to try and block out the thoughts, rhythmically punching the suspended bag, no actual form taken. Just low blows with taped hands. The solid hits created small but audible thumps.

Harder... Faster... That blasted voice...

Breathing harder she raised her fists and opened her eyes, seeing the bloodied face of the Rodian she took her revenge on in her mind, taking a more refined stance she punched harder until her arms were sore and hands in pain. She was tired, but she didn't care. After boarding the Johnny Boy again, Masha could hardly sleep. Everything aboard that cruiser was a blurr...

The crack of bones and sinew. The knife that cut the deepest. The screams.

She ran her fingers through her hair then shook her head, trying to ignore the thoughts and memories. Squaring back up and going at the bag again, counting... 1... 2... 1.... 2.... Closing her eyes again, trying to focus.

1... 2... 1... 2...

Sweat soaked into her training clothes... How long had she been here? She panted heavily, her blows began to soften as the fatigue finally overwhelmed her. Walking into the head she picked the nearest stall. Masha slumped over with her hands on her knees and vomited, always reminded that physical combat was never her expertise. So why did she do it? Keeping the mind sharp and focused. She knew she was the best of the new pilots in the Mercs, well at least that was the opinion she had, which she saw as fact. Months of maneuvers with them had refined her skills. But there was always more to learn. She had to focus, train, push her limits.
Three days she's done this. Starting an unfortunate routine, walking with Ellie in their 'mornings' after breakfast to inspect and work on Blade Dancer for a few hours, then to the chow hall. Parting ways after lunch, Masha going back to her quarters, Ellie either to Engineering or the hangar bay. For some reason they wouldn't let her on the bridge, yet. After spending hours in their quarters distracting her mind, an attempt at sleep, to no avail. Wake up, change, and go to do this same unfortunate routine all over again. Shower, chow, then a few hours of fitful sleep.

She knew it was because of what happened on the cruiser, partly; something else ate at her, barely being able to recall the events on the cruiser was bad enough, but... Port Haven... That thing...

She walked to the sink and splashed water on her face... Time for a run...

TAGS: Anyone heading to the rec room/gym and would see her approach the treadmill or whatever the SW equivalent is.

 

IC: Dagnir Dolin - Pilot's Station, 'Grey Pilgrim'

Professional Scavenger! Hardly an occupation beings came across every day, but one that suited Dagnir very well, and was generously remunerative to boot. Very, almost indecently, remunerative in fact, provided well-heeled beings continued to spend their Credits on collecting yesteryear's cast-off technology; technology that hadn't been entirely fit for purpose in the first place. Of course, it helped that his was a minimum-overhead operation. That factoid had never seemed to cross his Clients' minds, nor had the truth of the matter; that he was supplying from ex-CIS stockpiles instead of negotiating with other collectors!

The other side of the equation, continuing to find forgotten CIS Supply Dumps or wrecked ships for the 'Supply' side, didn't bother him that much. He had several nice caches scouted out already, most of them hardly plundered at all. When they got low, his reading of old news stories commonly led to 'hunches' that, more often than not, panned out as actual finds.

This trip, he was headed to "The Depot", as he called it, a hollowed-out asteroid in the middle of a swarm of them. His quarry; a flock of 'Buzz Droids' for a scrapyard on Nar Shaddaa. That the scrapyard's title ultimately lay in the possession of Gorgo the Hutt, and was therefore probably more 'chop-shop' than legitimate scrapyard, didn't concern him unduly. It didn't hurt to have a satisfied Hutt or two on the Client-list, or a selection of Imperial Moffs or Governors either; name-dropping could be very useful for negating potential unpleasantness before it really became an issue!

The one time that name-dropping hadn't worked, the pirates concerned had died of shock. Well, Blaster bolts from two of his six Droideka and an even dozen of the Pilgrim's then Super Battle Droid cargo were the exact cause, but shock definitely had something to do with their demise! With the boarding party felled, the Droids had returned the favour with a vengeance, entirely depopulating the pirates' ship then opening it to space for good measure. He had helped himself to fuel (for his time and trouble) then had set up the pirate ship with a timer-actuated minimum-fuel course to the nearest Imperial Naval base. They could arrange for the 'bling' he'd seen on his walk through cabins, salon and hold to be returned to its rightful owners. He was no thief, besides, that sort of tat held no interest for him. His one addition to the ship, a datacard stuck to the forward viewport, read "They tried to rob the 'Supplier'!". To date, no one had ever tried again.

This latest 'requisition' from "The Depot" would normally require multiple round trips with the CARM. The Pilgrim could get in there, he'd done it.... once, and that was one time too many for his peace of mind! So, he was going to "The Depot" by way of "Ice-Ball-One" where he could not only top-off the Pilgrim's tanks with the last of the fuel stored there, but could also commandeer a couple of the virtually brainless Lifter Droids to stow the bulk of the cargo on the CARM's external surfaces then move it in through the Pilgrim's airlock. Thereafter, he needn't visit the Force-forsaken ice-cube again.

Reversion! Through the viewport, hyperspace gave way to star-lines, then to the discrete points of a normal star-field, but.... "Kriff it! What's a kriffing Imperial Interdictor doing all the kark out here? Transponder is ID-ing her as 'Delicate Delinquent'.... that can't be right, surely?".

Safe in the knowledge the Pilgrim still had enough way on her for an emergency Jump to anywhere, he keyed the Comm and hailed;

"Ahoy there! What in the Nine Hells is a 'Delicate Delinquent'? Sounds like some teen femmes I used to know! Don't tell me that the Imperial Navy has got so big that its run out of decent Interdictor names like 'Constrictor', 'Binder' and 'Constrainer' already!".


TAG: Sith-I-5, (Intervention, Wildwookiee - if they hear the transmission).

 

IC: Mahaben
Aboard the Johnny Boy

The spinning lightsaber hilt slowed down, marking the end of the ex-jedi’s meditation session, then came to a stop before floating back to the rising miralika, where it ‘clipped itself’ to his side. Once on his feet, Mahaben gathered his now clean robes and donned them.

The grey haired blind man issued a final exhale as he straightened. The cleansing brought by meditation left him feeling rejuvenated, almost like new. Only thus, could he trust himself to act and receive inspiration from the Force with our ‘personal bias’. It was the way of those who sought to serve Ashla.

Now, it was clear to him what he should so next. His own agenda he set to the side. After the breaking, came the mending.

Having familiarized himself with this new vessel he found himself on, Mahaben quietly traversed the passage ways of the Johnny Boy. He did not mind some of the stares he got from time to time. They were expected and quite understandable. For those who had a word of greeting, he returned their pleasantry in kind.

It did not take him long to finally reach his destination on the second level of the ship. Pressing the access pad, Mahaben entered the chamber in question.

He had no doubt the sound of the opening door had announced his arrival, but even so, he politely ‘cleared’ his throat before speaking as he addressed the familiar form he saw.

“Forgive the interruption, Nurse Ulrike. I might not be a physician by trade, but I do have some training in the ‘healing arts’, albeit of a more holistic persuasion. Perhaps, I could entrust what skills I have to aid you in the treatment of any ill crew members? Please consider myself and my ‘aptitudes’ at your disposal.”

Mahaben offered the good nurse a deferring bow, then righted himself as he awaited her answer.

Tag: @Sith-I-5, @Jedi_padawan_leigh, @Master Selkath

****************************************************

IC:Winterkill
Aboard the Johnny Boy

He was wrong, this time around. Winterkill was not the only one interested in using the merc rec room at this time.

Walking soundlessly through the corridor and almost reaching his destination, the nagai came across a figure he recognized. That of Atin, the young mandalorian, son of the Merc Chief of Security.

Winterkill’s dark eyes regarded the young man for a moment as he offered a perceptible nod in acknowledgement. The son was not quite like the father…at least not yet.

The elder Taab had no questions. He spoke and moved with great certainty. He was a master of himself, or at least as far as Winterkill could tell. Havah Jeth could learn a thing or two in that regard. Young Atin, the boy still had questions. It was clear to the nagai. He could see it in his face, in his walk, even if others could not perceive it. Despite that, he could also tell that in time, Atin could be strong, like his father, once his ‘forging’ was complete.

Winterkill respected possessed a great deal of respect for mandalorians. After all, it was they who helped liberate Nagi from the Tof invaders. It was they who helped forge the ‘specter of death’, who rebuild a broken survivor into a lethal weapon. They had taken him in when he had no one, and made of him more than he could ever dream to be or repay.

But those were memories now, academic history at best.

Refocusing his mind, Winterkill maneuvered so he and Atin could enter the rec room almost simultaneously, one smoothly after the other. He owed mandos a great debt, so by default, he offer honorable respect. Few others deserved as much.

Once inside the rec room, Winterkill took an audio-visual survey of the place. There were no ‘traps’ he could readily see, but he wasn’t about to let his guard down either. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched where young Atin situated himself. Winterkill hoped the lad would go for weight training. The nagai was in the mood to ‘hit’ something, ( and hit it hard ) so he wasn’t sure if the young mandalorian was up to full contact sparring. Of course, there was one sure way to find out, but that would have to wait.

A sound from the training room drew his attention.

Soundlessly, the nagai made his way to the door and stood there for a moment, his dark eyes focusing on the figure delivering punishing blows to a suspended practice bag.

Winterkill had never been introduced to her formally, but he’d espied her now and again. A pilot, Masha was her name, if his intel was correct. She attacked the bag with no real form at first, but her blows landed solidly. Her practice suit was covered in perspiration, yet she kept on, attacking relentlessly. Winterkill watched her. She wasn’t merely working out. It seemed to him that she was working ‘something’ out.

Fatigue started to settle in. Masha was slowing down as her breathing became heavier. It could be that she had not been trained in ‘combat breathing’, or perhaps she didn’t care about such things at the moment. Winterkill surmised the pilot was quite taken in by her thoughts. She either didn’t care to notice him or had missed his presence altogether. It didn’t matter. She was off to the stalls now.

A moment passed before the nagai moved again after cracking his knuckles and rolling out his neck and shoulders. Some stretching warm ups and calisthenics were in order before the ‘attack phase’ of his routine.

When Masha returned from the stalls, Winterkill offered her a silent nod of acknowledgement. He’d been working on a handstand and backflip variant exercise which included hand-stand push-ups. With a quick kip-up, he was back on his feet.


Tag: @Bardan_Jusik, @Heavy Isotope

*Gotta run. More laters.

 

OOG:

• @Sith-I-5, I am NPCing your bridge, so no need to worry about anything on this front. I'll NPC Perez as needed as well. Go enjoy your vacation!

---

IC: Technician Flavin, Bridge Officer Bob, Delicate Delinquent Immobiliser 418 cruiser
Location: Mash Shareo orbit


"Ahoy there! What in the Nine Hells is a 'Delicate Delinquent'? Sounds like some teen femmes I used to know! Don't tell me that the Imperial Navy has got so big that its run out of decent Interdictor names like 'Constrictor', 'Binder' and 'Constrainer' already!".

"Why does this always happen with me!?" Flavin complained as he looked at Bobob, "I mean, seriously, just once," Flavin held up a single index finger, "I want a normal day!"

"Your a Jod," Bobob said not so much reassuring as he cleaned his pistol, "And work with the Mercs. Your screwed for any luck on that," Bobob finished with a wink.

"Hey, your in the same boat too!" Flavin replied.

Bobob shrugged, "In a manner of speaking. I'm a noble so I have some say in where I go."

"Right," Flavin said, "And you, being Mr. Noble Man, just decided to come be a liaison officer between Jod and Mercs. And now, just decided, to be with us on the Delicate Delinquent waiting for our Jod brothern to reappear. Ever think maybe just maybe, someone didn't want you at the Royal Palace so they shipped you out here?"

Bobob shrugged as he re-holstered his blaster after cleaning it, "As I figure it, the 'Yav needed a reliable Second-in-Command."

Flavin laughed, "What dream land are you living in? I'm second-in-command with the Captain gone."

Bobob rolled his eyes, "You need to be of noble birth you idiot. Dah!"

"Well, why don't you take this comm call then?" Flavin said, nodding, "Mr. Second-in-Command."

"Fine," Bobob said, getting up and keying the comm to sound as official as possible, "Unidentified freighter, state your business and intentions immediately!" Bobob replied back with all the Noble upbringing he had, which would make an Imperial Officer look like a rookie at this, "You are entering an Imperial warship's proximity! You will state your business and intentions immediately or be boarded for inspection!"

"Not bad," Flavin said as Bobob killed the comm, with arms crossed over his chest nodding with approval, "What did you do? Pick nose hair out this morning to sound that rude?"

"Scramble the TIEs," Bobob said, "We may have a security risk on our hands. Make sure communications is jamming him!"

"Ah Bobob," Flavin aid, "You are communications and sensors. I'll handle flying and gunnery control. We don't have a whole bridge crew, remember?"

"Oh...yea," Bobob said, finding one of the many empty stations and occupying it, "Sensors adjusting to freighter. TIEs launching. Jamming any out-going comms...now!"

"Bringing up gravity well generators. We'll need to move out of the planet's own gravity well and let the generators warm up. Full speed ahead, generators powering up. We should be in intercept range in 3 minutes."

"TIEs will catch him faster," Bobob said matter-of-factly as six TIE Fighters sped out from the DD's bow and towards the freighter.

"No Sith!" Flavin replied, "That's why I said we and not TIEs! So much for all that Noble education," Flavin shook his head as the DD started to break over the asteroid belt and Rhen Var came into sight with the freighter just in range and hit the ship-wide comms, "Gunnery, I need a target lock!"

"Generators?" Bobob asked.

Flavin checked his screen, "Thirty percent and rising."

"If he makes a run for it, we're in trouble!" Bobob said.

"No we're not," Flavin said, hitting the comms again, "Hanger, launch all remaining TIEs! Emergency scramble! Box in that freighter and guide him AWAY from the planet! But don't look like your guiding him away from the planet!"

"Hey!" Bobob retorted, "That's my job as Second-in-Command!"

"Sorry," Flavin replied, "I don't have time to hold your hand and walk you through it! Generators at 40%!"

"Sensors clear!" Bobob said through gritted teeth, "He looks to be alone. In range for Quads in a minute and a half!"

"Should we alert the base?" Flavin asked.

"No," Bobob replied, "We don't want him to think we're guarding something on the planet."

"Oh," Flavin replied.

"Sorry," Bobob said, "I don't have time to hold your hand and walk you through it."

"Hutt-slime," Flavin said under his breath.


TAG Tim Battershell

 

IC: Dagnir Dolin - Pilot's Station, 'Grey Pilgrim'

"Unidentified freighter, state your business and intentions immediately!....You are entering an Imperial warship's proximity! You will state your business and intentions immediately or be boarded for inspection!"

"How rude!", Dagnir commented as he monitored the Interdictor's various responses, "Rude enough for Imperials, but things seem 'off' somehow! COB, Jump us into cover of the Belt relative to 'Delinquent' and as far around as possible from our current position. Engage just before her fighters get into firing range or her Grav Projectors pin us, but don't wait for my order! Let's dance with these characters a little! We may have to thread the ring and throw them a scarlet ribbon!".

As the R2 Droid he called 'Chief of the Boat' tweetled an affirmative, he keyed the Comm again, "Codename is 'Supplier', 'Delinquent', all Imperial vessels that are supposed to be in this sector have a 'non-interference' directive from Moff Densra about me and my ship in their 'Special Instructions File'. My business and intention is a couple of hours stay ice-side, less if at all possible, its cold enough to neuter a bronzium simian down there! That saying is exact, by the way, on my second visit I brought one along and saw what happened to it!

But you're either the worst bad-bargain the Emperor has had foisted on him or not Imperial at all! Your response times are poor and your TIE pilots look sloppy! Plus you don't seem to know much about handling an Interdictor! If you're Pirates, I'll just leave you to wreck yourselves; if other, give me a name that I might recognise! I mix with both sides of the street in my line of work, so if certain recent rumours are true, we might be able to do a little business together!".

Dagnir had been well schooled in the capabilities of this type of Interdictor, and also in its flaws.

First and foremost, it was underarmed. No Turbolasers, just Quad Laser Cannons, similar to the pair Solo and his Wookiee sidekick had had fitted to their beloved 'Falcon'. Secondly, it was underpowered, unable to use the maximum potential of its weapons, its Grav Projectors and its Shields all at once. Thirdly, and most important in this situation, the Grav Projectors were liable to haul in any space debris in their zone of influence at a rapid clip. Space debris such as that normally found in and around an Asteroid Belt! The small stuff shouldn't cause anything much more than cosmetic damage, and the larger pieces could be destroyed (or converted to small stuff) by the ship's weapons - but at a cost of distracting the gun crews from engaging other targets! And those ships were repair and maintenance intensive, too!

And then there were the rumours floating around the Fringe; travelling, as was their wont, at several multiples of Lightspeed; to the effect that the Imperials had lost one of these a few months ago to a boarding action. Several groups had had the finger pointed at them as the culprits, but the 'reliable' rumour-mongers (if that wasn't a contradiction in terms) were putting their metaphorical Credits on a shadowy outfit called 'The Mercs', who (if some of the tales about them were anything near the mark) had ample gall, skills and panache to pull off that sort of hostile takeover! There was also that Shadow-Port recruiting drive that had happened at about the same time.... interesting!

Just then, the familiar sights and sounds of a hyperspace insertion occurred, immediately followed by a reversion. Both processes felt a little slower than normal, but a glance at the board showed why. COB, bless his electronic heart, had used the backup hyperdrive for extra positional control; leaving the 'Pilgrim' separated from the 'Delinquent' by the thickness of the Asteroid Belt and following it in a spinward direction, exactly as ordered.

"Have you ever seen a tree-rodus respond to a predator, 'Delinquent'? If not, you're about to get educated! And I can keep this up as long as needed, especially if your TIEs follow me into a rock garden I know like the inside of my mouth! If I have somehow stumbled across 'The Mercs', I must say I thought you'd be better!


TAG: Bravo (for Sith-I-5 and Intervention).

 

IC: Commander Yavscout, Commander’s Ready Room, adjacent to Johnny Boy Bridge
Location: Hyperspace

Frag me gently. Yavscout tapped into his After Action Report regarding the clusterfrag at Cadomai Prime, that he had up on his main screen at the crescent-shaped desk that the Kingdom of Jod starshipwrights had installed in the ready room. So that was Boba Fett, eh?

On the other side of the bridge, Jase, Captain Lasso to most of the crew, had a duplicate of the well-appointed workspace.

“Err, so we’re just going to leave him here?” The Surefall Paramedic had queried of the rest of the Mercs as they had made their way back to the transport after leaving Mr Vortex on the tourist-heavy ice world, where the former Corporate Sector exec was due to meet Rebel agents.

Dis-satisfied with the response that the contract had been to pull Vortex’ choob safely off Craci, and only Craci, did not sit well with the elf, and he had excused himself to covertly shadow the exec to his meet point.

After a moment, Deputy had rolled up beside him, and the two had followed Vortex through several teeming but spacious underground corridors and thoroughfares to a high-ceilinged artificial cavern with enough room form restaurants, a hyper-mall, entertainment zones, and an “open air” plaza.

If the designers had made it open air in the true sense of the word, they would kill off a lot off their clientele, which would suck for the next few seasons, so they compromised with very open.

There was plenty of room between building roofs and the cavern roof, avian species and some artificial flyers had plenty of response time before they risked crashing into anything.

So Mr Vortex ignored everyone and everything, and placed himself on a bench bordering a patch of grass and luscious hedges, near the centre of the plaza, while Yav Camo’d himself, and took up position on a fourth-level restaurant mezzanine balcony, overlooking the meet point.

He had a clear view of Vortex, and some two hundred metres around the man, whilst to the other side of himself, two tourists sat at a metal-finished table and chairs, tucking into a light meal and fruit drinks.

One eater reported on a local Snivvian entrepreneur who had visited an off-planet rainforest, and named his business after it.

What, ‘Wet and Full of Flies dot Gal’? Yav had wondered, silently.

To be continued…

 

IC: General Perez, inside the Paragon
Location: Rhen Var


Perez listened to Priest's story, nodding and mumbling affirmation of the statements as he read through the manifest; it was nothing new for fringe types to jump a mercenary vessel. With his time in Royal Command, Perez had personally overseen many back water world sales with shadowy mercenaries, smugglers, and pirates to know the give and take lifestyle of these types. The mysterious spacer's last words perked Perez's ears however.

"...I think it was Pierce's last will. I'll have Coffee brew some coffee, and if you need anything I'll be around."

"Last will you said?" Perez replied, looking up from the juicy datapad list, "Why last?"

While Perez knew, most likely, it meant death. For now, it was better to play dumb and get as much information as possible, whether truthful or otherwise, to help form a story of what was going on. With the Mercs, at least to the remnants of the Kingdom of Jod, being the Holy Grail of Holy Grails, the General couldn't put anything past him that pertained to a possible galaxy-ending war. And for all the General knew, he was the last General of the Jod...maybe the Beasts wiped everyone out? Or maybe there was a virus or plague that attacked only Jod (which that wouldn't be a first for the galaxy either)?And that left Perez even more depressed. If he was the last commanding officer to carry out the Jod's final statements well, that meant he would have to, somehow, finish this insane, half-drunken, quest to save the galaxy from a galaxy-ending war through a bunch of mercenaries who didn't even know how to restock medical supplies or refuel their ship on time.

Sometimes, karma blew, Perez said to himself as he thought of leading the last remnants of Jod with Mercs on a certain suicide mission to save the galaxy. Maybe he shouldn't of slept with his academy's instructor's daughter after all the night before shipping out some twenty years ago. But if this was karma coming at him twenty years later, Perez reminded himself with a smirk, it was well worth it that night. Well, well, worth it.


TAG Wildwookiee

 

IC: Priest, inside the Paragon
Location: Rhen Var

"Why last?"

Priest turned around and fixed a somber expression to his face. "Pierce is dead. When I met him he was dying and had weeks to live. I don't know what with, and I got the impression that it scared the hell out of him too. I offered to assess his situation and verify a prognosis, but he waived me away. After he signed and paid for the contract, his aide found him dead from an intentional overdose of pain meds. He left the instructions to deliver this cargo, the message on that data pad and a personal message that he wanted me to verbally communicate to Lasso."

Priest walked over to the galley and pressed a button on a machine which began to hiss and drip a dark aromatic liquid. Priest pulled the bandanna down to hang from his neck and retrieved a spice cigarillo from an inner pocket of the duster, which he lit with a small lighter produced from the same pocket. He drew a deep drag and offered one to Perez.

"These are bad for you, but I'm long past caring. Nothing funny, they're not narcotic...just straight up spiced bacca."

Tag: Bravo


Sent from my iPad using Tapatalk

 

IC: Technician Flavin, Bridge Officer Bob, Delicate Delinquent Immobiliser 418 cruiser
Location: Mash Shareo orbit


"Why! Why! Why!" Flavin said, banging his head against the console in despair, at this spacer's lack of fear against an Imperial warship. "Why me?! Why?"

"Because immortal beings like watching a mortal being bang his head against a console for no reason and hurt himself? Call it Heaven's comedy hour?" Bobob offered.

"Oh God! Your insufferable!" Flavin cried, "How are we suppose to access a 'Special Instructions File' without the password?"

"How do you know it's password protected?" Bobob asked.

"Well first, rocks for brains, it has the word Special in it, which usually means for officers and secured access. Second, I have it pulled up on my screen right now and it says enter password!"

"Try birth date, phone number, girlfriend's name? Pet dog?" Bobob asked.

Flavin buried his head into a palm. "Do I work with a Jod Bridge Officer or an idiot?!"

"It depends on how many drinks we're talking about after shift," Bobob offered, adding, "You know, for him being a spacer with all guts, he's being rather careless."

"Tell me, you have an idea!" Flavin cried in desperation.

"Our generators are at what?"

"67% and rising 3% per every 41 seconds."

"Remember, he said he could keep this up all day long? That means either A, he'll keep the same route or B, he can only change the route up so many times before logic catches the dreamer."

"So we transfer power to one of our globes and use it like an extended tractor beam? Catching him before he jumps to hyperspace?"

"Now your talking. We keep a pool of energy in the transfer tubes and don't use all the power, allowing us to transfer unspent energy to different globes quickly. The only risk is...?"

"Overloading our power grid which could cause an explosion in extreme cases and power malfunctions and temporary emergency power shutdowns in most cases. But if handled correctly, its nothing more the finding the 'sweet spot' before each overload and transferring accordingly."

"Your Bridge Officer material yet, Technician Flavin!"

"Huh...where did you learn that Bobob?"

"The Jod don't send nobles to the galaxy's best academies to get dates. They send nobles to the galaxy's best academies to be the best. Now let me work my magic, Technician."

Flavin smiled and it felt good, "I have your six, Liaison Officer Bob. Lead the way, sir."

"Redirecting power," Bob said.

"Setting ship on auto-pilot, basic combat maneuvers. Switching to primary globes' control systems. Remote bridge control engaged."

"Setting up grid on sensors," Bob announced, "I've predicted his most likely approaches and exits and have added dotted paths to least likely ones. We are set."

"Globes' control states all systems green. We are at 76 percent total power."

"Balancing out power," Bob said, "Redirecting excess to emergency sink pools. Keeping primary and secondary power lines at one-third percent between globes. That should give us enough of a current to send larger energy pools from one globe to the other without exploding the lines with rapid cooling and heating of energy currents. Powering Globe One to full capacity...full power and set. Sensors rpeort the Freighter approaching our aft starboard. We are ready."

"Confirm. Systems ready. I'm redirecting our TIEs through text communications to scatter into a boxing formation a fair distance from the DD, in an act to prevent him from moving outside of our range. I've also sent a faked data-burst transmission to a dead Imperial coms' satellite outside the system. This spacer's comms won't know the difference however. For all he knows, we're calling in the big guns. Ready at your command, sir."

Bob hit the comm button, "Unidentified freighter, this is your last chance to surrender. Our data systems are not showing such 'Special Instructions File'. Surrender now or you risk violating the Imperial Penal References and invoking a Class One offense. If your story checks out, we will release you without further incident. This is your last warning. Stand down. Now."

"Ordering gunnery crews to track our globes' projections to destroy any debris that we collect. Informing all off-target gunnery stations to stay on the look-out for the freighter and any additional hostile forces," Flavin said to Bob after he killed the comm.


TAG Tim Battershell

 

IC: Captain Jason Lasso
Bridge, Johnny Boy


Lasso glanced at his chrono as the first members of first shift's bridge crew started to stumble into the bridge with hot cups of coffee; most of them said 'Good Morning, Cap' and Lasso responded in kind; soon, Wa Yay entered, Lasso gave her the shift report between shifts, and Lasso was off, walking down the corridors and with a destination mind: the Amory.

Every ship, Jason thought as he walked through the still quiet corridors and rode the silent turbolifts, had a story. While the Johnny Boy had been rebuild from the ground up by the Kingdom of Jod, Lasso had ordered the reactor to be left alone. Every ship had a reason for being. And for the Johnny Boy, Taller had retold the Marauder-class Corvette's somber beginnings before becoming a mercenary vessel of war. At one point, the ole' vessel had protected it's cargo of refugees and it's brave crew fought to the dying breath. Lasso remembered the memory well and as he walked the quiet corridors, the memory playing in his mind:

Jason reached the armory, the two battle droids stopping him.

"Identification?" asked one of the droids.

"Captain Jason Lasso. Identification Code Quagmire J-99-Convenction."

"Confirmed," said the Battle Droid, "Security Override Brass. Welcome Captain Lasso," the droid stepped aside the the armory doors opened, Lasso stepping through to meet a likewise early riser, Taab.

The blast doors closed behind Lasso and the Captain said, "Early bird gets the worm, Security Chief. Do you have her complete?"

By her, Lasso meant his beloved A280 Blaster Rifle. During Craci Prime, Lasso had noticed the weapon's disadvantages all too quickly. Not in the weapon's firepower, by any means, but more so in the weapon's range of capabilities in the field to a rapidly changing situation as Craci Prime had been. So Lasso had paid for the work out of his own pocket to Taab, wanting not just a "favor owed" type of work, but something of superior design and operation. If anyone knew weapons, Lasso was sure Taab, Streets, or Havah did. If anyone knew them like their own hand, Lasso put his money on Taab and had approached the Security Chief a day after Craci Prime with the request. Naturally, the bounty hunter didn't have to explain much to defend his standards of quality so while the price was high, Lasso gladly paid it. He needed a weapon that was superior. So you paid the weapon smith correctly for such superiority.

Lasso's request was bold, yet effective: he wanted several double Jungle Style magazine with studs to supporting magazines to avoid dirt and other debris into the energy mags; this addition alone would of solved Lasso's ammo problem he experienced in continuous running battles on Craci Prime (when the mercenary captain left Craci Prime, he had left with enough energy left for 2 shots). Furthermore, the Captain had requested that the standard Orveth gas chamber be replaced with the much more powerful Sig gas chamber. Lasso requested that the Heter Valve be cleaned and refined for best use, while the XCiter being completely replaced with a new one or rebuild; Lasso had noticed some sluggishness from the blaster bolts after repeated use. He then requested a Precision Chamber to replace the Actuating Module for greater firing power (that the stock A280 already had).

In addition to the internal mechanisms of his favored A280, Lasso had requested a Hair Trigger with an additional (above the trigger guard switch) Needlebeam setting, Computerized Interface Scope with a mode to switch to a Target Imager and the scope, as a whole, to be aided by a Autosteady Gyro-Gimbal system; additionally, Lasso needed a Cautionary Pulser built into his hand-grip. Continuing, Lasso wanted a retractable Bayonet on the left side of the weapon along the barrel (the switch fixed just above the trigger guard), a vertical grip with flash-light and laser-sight set-up (the laser sight and flash-light able to be turned off and on, the switches just above he vertical grip itself), and the vertical grip set-up to be attached to the pump-action of the Scatter Gun attachment under the barrel with a side-loading capability and a magazine of 8 rounds; the pump-action could be locked in place with a simple switch lock to ensure proper weapon usage. Lastly, Lasso wanted the standard stock to be replaced with an extendable stock with an expandable ammo carrier for extra shotgun rounds, and finally for the weapon to be finalized over with Durasteel Bonding.



TAG Bardan_Jusik

 

IC: Dagnir Dolin - Pilot's Station, 'Grey Pilgrim'

"Unidentified freighter, this is your last chance to surrender. Our data systems are not showing such 'Special Instructions File'. Surrender now or you risk violating the Imperial Penal References and invoking a Class One offense. If your story checks out, we will release you without further incident. This is your last warning. Stand down. Now."

"Huh! Not giving up or biting at all, are they guys? COB, all radiating equipment off after my next transmission, please. I'll take her into the ring and let the metal deposits in the rocks foul up their sensors. Good thing the deposits aren't commercially viable, otherwise they'd have been extracted long ago! COSS, depending on results, I may have to ask you to take a little trip and work your particular brand of magic for me. Prep One and Two to go with you for protection and enforcement. Also please enact Security Protocol Cresh while you're at it, I think we have another pirate ship here!"

The R5 'Chief of Sensors and Security' Droid unplugged himself from the Sensor Station and rolled out of the cockpit, heading aft, as Dagnir keyed the Comm again,

"'Delinquent', If you actually are Imperial Navy, which you've given me considerable cause to doubt, you, or anyone in your crew who can retain information for more than five seconds, will definitely know the correct response to the Sector Emergency Recognition Challenge; Senth, Qek, Xesh, Aurek. All Imperial personnel in this sector know it, because they tend to get shot if they forget or give the incorrect countersign!. Give me the correct response and all that'll happen is that you'll spend the rest of your miserable existences scrubbing out the 'Freshers on Carida with a very small brush; and you'll find there are a lot of dirty 'Freshers at the Academy! Moff Densra will see to that as a punishment for negligently misplacing or deleting the Special Instructions File!

That's if Moff Densra is the one to decide on your punishment, that is. Many ships in the Sector Fleet are commanded by men trained under Lord Vader, men who share his attitude to incompetence if not his inimitable way of making his displeasure known! And if your data burst attracts one of them all the way out here, away from their proper station and mission, well....!

If, however, you're pirates as I'm coming to believe you are, how very careless of you not to have obtained the passcode to the SIF before you killed the ship's Officers. That's one automatic Death Mark for Piracy/Murder, another for Impersonating Imperial Personnel, a third for Theft of Imperial Naval Property and you should get a fourth for Poorly Researched Bad Acting; but I don't make the Laws! I sure hope you have, or get assessed with, a decent bounty-price on your heads; this simple man who's trying to make his way in the Universe would very much like to gain the means to live in the style to which he should rapidly become accustomed!

By contrast, your threats are insignificant. I can get Moff Densra certain collectables he is extremely keen to acquire and doesn't seem able to obtain from anyone else, so I'm quite Turbolaser-proof as long as I enjoy his favour!

Warning! My loyal crew and I have dealt with pirates once before; that's how I came to Moff Densra's notice. Those that didn't die in the firefights got frozen solid when we turned off life-support and let all the atmosphere out of their ship. Made it easier to deliver them that way! No decomposition facilitates positive identification; as the slogan says! Surprised you haven't heard of the incident, it made quite a splash on the Holo-news for a while; and I left my codename as a calling-card, so you should have heard of that too!".

With that he broke communications and inserted 'Pilgrim' into the Asteroid Belt on manoeuvring thrusters, knowing her irregularly blotched exterior - in multiple shades of tasteful grey, along with a few licks of black - made her almost impossible to visually detect in such an environment. As he did so, COB shut down all sources of electronic 'noise', removing that method of tracking her also.

Nervous passengers (particularly Protocol Droids) thought successfully negotiating an Asteroid Field of any kind to be impossible, a virtually suicidal act. Dagnir knew that not to be true, not for a highly skilled pilot in a sound ship, and he seemed to find threading most Asteroid Fields easy, for some reason. Then too, this accumulation of space-garbage, while still a respectable example, was nowhere near as tricksey as the fast-moving clump around 'The Depot'. He even found that one easy in the smaller and more manoeuvrable CARM, that field just wasn't sized right for something with the dimensions and handling characteristics of the 'Pilgrim', not if he wanted to keep his hair its natural colour and mostly in its customary place!

Via hard-wired linkage, COSS reported that Security Protocol Cresh had been activated, so now Dagnir just had to wait on events.


TAG: Bravo (for Sith-I-5 and Intervention).

 

IC: Nurse Ulrike, Johnny Boy Medical
Location: Hyperspace


Ulrike noted that the Selkath outpatient was late. What, did people lose the time-keeping gene as soon as they signed up with the Mercs these days?

She was standing to the right of the Cathar’s elevated bed, the third one from the double doors behind her, with the other two normal beds behind her empty and un-used.

The Ec Pand native did not know whether Kannari Oshi was asleep or conscious, but keeping her eyes closed and biding her time.

From her research on the patient’s species, she knew the female felinoid would be able to tell a lot about her surroundings without having to see everything.

“Is there anybody there?” She whispered soto voce to the Cathar, using an affectation that their Elven Healer, Yavscout, used, “One knock for y-” The words stopped in her throat at the hum of the doors opening behind her, and she turned as the newcomer cleared his throat.

Ulrike was surprised to find the “jedi” type character that they had picked up on Craci. Unlike most of this sort that the Mercs encountered, this one continued to wear the robes, or equivalent that the Guardians of the Republic were known for.

“Forgive the interruption, Nurse Ulrike.” She nodded an affirmative greeting. “I might not be a physician by trade, but I do have some training in the ‘healing arts’, albeit of a more holistic persuasion. Perhaps, I could entrust what skills I have to aid you in the treatment of any ill crew members? Please consider myself and my ‘aptitudes’ at your disposal.”

Aww, he even bowed!

She felt her face go hot, and silently struggled to bring the visual reaction under control.

Ulrike nodded again. “Master Mahaben, your offer is indeed welcome.” She hesitated, thinking that she should clear this with Doctor Cooke first, but frak it, he was off haranguing the Captain. If he’d found him, of course.

She stepped aside so that Mahaben could see the supine Oshi beside her.

“Can you do anything with mild radiation poisoning, Master?”

Tag: greyjedi125

---

IC: Aurora Cradmoon, PX-4 Mobile Command Base, Delicate Delinquent TIE Hangar
Location: Hyperspace


Dis-satisfied by her lack of knowledge of what in the Blue Hells was going on out there, Aurora paced the small cockpit of the PX-4’s cockpit, taking frequent glances at her control boards.

The large armoured and tracked vehicle’s near-permanent home was the smaller of the Interdictor’s two hangars, it’s primary heavy laser cannon aimed through the mag-con shield at the cruiser’s belly aperture, and the Main Hangar.

She and the PX-4 were responsible for guarding the interior of the ship from enemies that managed to evade their external defences, and tried their luck at damaging the cruiser from the inside.

To be continued…

OOC: Something came up, will finish later

 

IC: General Perez, inside the Paragon
Location: Rhen Var

"Pierce is dead. When I met him he was dying and had weeks to live. I don't know what with, and I got the impression that it scared the hell out of him too. I offered to assess his situation and verify a prognosis, but he waived me away. After he signed and paid for the contract, his aide found him dead from an intentional overdose of pain meds. He left the instructions to deliver this cargo, the message on that data pad and a personal message that he wanted me to verbally communicate to Lasso."

"Sorry for your loss," Perez offered; the General knew it was a poorly overused statement that anyone gave when they had no fraggn' idea who the dead person was, but Perez couldn't think of anything better.

The scanner crew came aboard just then, the two other MG members escorting them up.

"Start scanning," Perez ordered, "But be gentle. It seems legit."

The scanning crew nodded while one MG member walked back down the ramp to stand sentry outside with the other member while his partner stood by Perez's side like a lost puppy. Or maybe, more importantly, like someone assigned to his protection.

Priest walked over to the galley and pressed a button on a machine which began to hiss and drip a dark aromatic liquid. Priest pulled the bandanna down to hang from his neck and retrieved a spice cigarillo from an inner pocket of the duster, which he lit with a small lighter produced from the same pocket. He drew a deep drag and offered one to Perez.

"These are bad for you, but I'm long past caring. Nothing funny, they're not narcotic...just straight up spiced bacca."


Perez waved the favor off, "No thanks. At least not on duty. Later, however, that's a different story," there was a moment of silence as the scanning crew set up the equipment and Perez finally broke it, "You said long past caring. What is a Doctor like you long past caring for? Aren't docs supposed to care?"


TAG Wildwookiee

 

IC: Technician Flavin, Bridge Officer Bob, Delicate Delinquent Immobiliser 418 cruiser
Location: Mash Shareo orbit


"Does this guy ever shut up?" Flavin asked, thanking the Heavens that the man's annoying self-importance ramble about how high and mighty he was to the galaxy had ended.

"He spends more time talking then he does doing anything," Bobob said self-confidently, eying the sensor screen, "I was able to get a detailed read-out of his ship. Most everything is stock, which means two things. First, we're not dealing with anything too high end, which means we have a chance. Second, but worst, is that this guy relies on his skills more then the machine and from how much he talks, I will wager to bet that he is either suicidally confident or crazy."

"And how does this help us now? He's in an asteroid field!" Flavin replied.

"It doesn't. But, we do know he has Imperial ties. Which means we don't trust him."

"So we're back to square one," Flavin replied, "What do we do?"

"Let mother nature do it's work," Bobob said, "An asteroid belt can be a dangerous place, especially if you start exploding asteroids that then create ripple affects deeper in the belt. We're send the TIEs on runs to rattle up some of those asteroids from above and below, but avoid going into the asteroid belt, and basically make it rain rocks in the belt. Sooner or later, he'll have to come out, because the place will be a hailstorm of rocks no ship, however well designed, can survive. Unless, a course, he finds a cave in one of the larger asteroids."

"And if he is working for the Imperials?"

"Then we have kept the base a secret and we hyper out before they get here. The Imperials won't waste the time to check out a dead world without a large pirate or Rebel presence confirmed on the surface."

Flavin nodded, starting to bring the DD around and bring her batteries into firing range of the belt. The quad's started opening up, blasting asteroids from afar while her TIEs started above belt and below belt runs after Flavin relayed the new orders via a text order, their lasers taking chunks of larger asteroids and outright blow smaller ones into pieces as everything went flying and colliding in the asteroid belt.

"Our sensors may be confused," Bob noted, "But I got enough of a signature on his engine's read-outs that I can very roughly predict where he is. It may be wrong, but it will at least give us the general area of where he may be in the belt."


Tag Tim Battershell

 

Havah Jeth
Johhny Boy, Marauder Class Corvette, Engine Room

He had recently heard a good song, it was running through his mind as he hung by his feet in the engine compartment. Well, considering the mag-step boots, standing was a more appropriate statement. Humming a few bars he ruminated over all he had been through, the things left hanging in Tiaca's hands with every opportunity to betray him and the Mercs, and as he stood there drinking from a glass of wookiee wine upside down, he looked at the reactor.

It was a thing of beauty. Listening to it's hum he nearly could imagine that he could hear it echo the song back. Taking a sip he listened, felt the cool of the glass against his nose, the swishing of the fluid upon the roof of his mouth, the burn as a drop rand down into his sinus'. Swallowing the liquid fire he began to sing the words as he imagined the reactor kept the tune.



Even though he wasn't able to stand any closer to the reactor, and merely above the catwalks for organic crew, he felt a better connection here than down there. As the last verse echoed away he raised his glass to it. He may have lost his two families, but he still had this one spot that was in some strange way home. Just a few more years and he would of been here longer than his biological or government family. Scary thoughts.

Pic was somewhere close by with a sealed box waiting for him to come around ceiling to the wall and walk back down, to retake the glass and seal it in ontop of the wine bottle. Only it wasn't time yet, he had done his duties, even deflected the Doctor a few times. Still he waited and stood there letting all thoughts like his blood rush to and through his head. A simple time in a crazy life.

TAG: Any that wish to find him

 

IC: Dagnir Dolin - Pilot's Station, 'Grey Pilgrim'

Well, the Hutt-slime have shown their colours now, Dagnir thought, time to see if that package COSS and I cobbled together works as intended, or not!

The Grey Pilgrim had been kept on maximum thrusters since entering the Belt, going with the general flow helped in that regard. As a result, she was running silent just beyond the zone of disturbance; but the 'Security Protocol Cresh' package that COSS had dumped out of the airlock was still in the middle of it. After making the drop, COSS had moved into the CARM and positioned himself, head-out-of-hull, in its rarely-used Droid socket for the next act.

"COB, all sensors right off, please, I'll eyeball out exit. Now that Interdictor's stopped trying to searchlight us and we're just into the clear zone, plot a hyperspace vector to skirt Ice-Ball-One as close as possible to get us around the curve of the planet in minimum time. Shave the margins as much as you dare without risking damage to the hyperdrive. Main Drive onto Full as soon as we clear the field and Jump as soon as we have enough Delta-Vee. Shields to full-strength Double-rear and bring the backup to standby on space/atmosphere setting. Turn the sensors back on when the show stops and the wavefronts are at calculated safe levels. We're heading for the cache, if these sleemos want to play games down there, they'd better have an army!" He waited for the confirming pulses of Droid-speak from COB, then used the shielded connection to the CARM to contact this event's Master of Ceremonies with a terse "COSS, let it rip!".

On activation, the package's first action was to broadcast an overwhelmingly powerful and sustained burst of electromagnetic energy, formed of frequencies precisely matched to over a hundred of the Sensor frequencies used by Imperial vessels. Concurrent with that, an ear-piercing screech of 'white noise' was overlaid across voice and data-link communications channels.

There were safeguards, of course, Dagnir knew. Sentients, if fast enough, could slap the 'off' switch to stop themselves sustaining permanent damage to their auditory systems. Computers watchdogging sensor systems were even faster. However, getting 'spiked' (or 'zorched' if the systems were not sufficiently hardened) on that many frequencies at once set alarm flags racing up through the hierarchy, with 'brass' computers asking 'is it safe for normal operation yet?' and the 'grunt' computers replying 'the system stays shut down until I'm sure it will be, that's my prime directive! Sentient decision required!'

He also knew that none of the exchanges would take long, even with a great many repeats, but there would be a lot of them - all clamouring for attention from higher up the decision tree, so he was counting on 'Delinquent's systems being badly disorganised for a small number of seconds.

Then the package's power source blew up, it's job done, but providing what should be a lovely, if false, signature for the crew's visual receptors to lock onto and be distracted by. Since the 'power source' was a pair of Droideka Fusion Reactors, it made an impressively large - if silent - bang, and sent its own electromagnetic squall sleeting into nearby objects, which included ships, as a side effect.

With the uproar and confusion at its estimated height, Dagnir eased the Pilgrim out of the Asteroid Belt and allowed COB to take over control.


TAG: Bravo (for Sith-I-5 and Intervention).

 

IC: Aurora Cradmoon, PX-4 Mobile Command Base cockpit, TIE Hangar, Delicate Delinquent
Location: Mash Shareo vicinity


The Silverran woman paused to look down at the drive and control panels again.

They already had four TIEs out on a training run, she knew; and then she had seen a further six of the Imperial fighters, captured with this ship, scrambled as well!

Ten starfighters! An unprecedented sortie in her experience aboard this vessel.

She did not know whether they had gone out baying for blood, or simply to maintain the cover that they were an Imperial ship-of-the-line.

Aurora contemplated comming her room-mate, Corporal Loretta, who had been on stand-by shift in one of the top-side quad turrets even before they had gone to Condition Two, but rightly surmised that her potential interruption might not be welcome if there was combat going on.

She continued to pace. Then stopped, face turning back to look back towards the main part behind the cockpit, a barrel-like sensor analysis area that they had used to try to track the Johnny Boy when the corvette had been mysteriously star-napped.

Though she had no plans or reason to analyse anything, the Mobile Command Base (MCB) had a thick bundle of cables running from under the vehicle, across the hangar floor, and plugged into the hangar’s interior bulkhead.

TBC, danger of falling asleep at keyboard…darn it!

 

IC: Imperial Agent Thomas Ford
East Wing, Imperial Palace


"I get the timeline Thomas," the Devaronian said, "Everyone does. Get to the point. I have the Barma Sector case to get to. So get to your point professor!"

Thomas smiled, his desk fan starting to rattle again, as he opened up a drawer and handed the alien a Flimsiplast. "Its Top Secret," Thomas said matter-of-factly, "So you tell anyone even in this wing and I kill you. What do you see?"

The alien looked at the imagine and whistled, "Its a beauty. Heavy starfighter, clearly. What's the specs?"

"Better then anything we've seen. Its the best balance of speed and roughness anyone has ever laid hands on. It fills the Space Superiority Fighter, Interceptor, Reconnaissance, and Ground-Attack capabilities almost equally across the board, something we've never seen before. Its years ahead of the rumored TIE/Advanced starfighter rumors."

"Rebels?"

Thomas gave the alien a raised eyebrow, "You really think the Rebels could afford even one of those? With the specs I've been getting from Fleet Intelligence on this baby from the few photos we have, the Empire would be hard pressed for a fully equipped squadron. I don't know the full specs, but Fleet Intel estimates around a TIE Fighter speed, X-Wing's agility, and a Y-Wing like protection."

"And let me guess," the Devaronian said, handing Thomas the photo back, which he put back into his drawer, "These fighters have appeared both in the Nilgaard Sector and the Rago Run?"

"Yep," Thomas replied, "And in the same limited numbers, two starfighters, in a larger mix of various pirate gangs. From the few Flight Recorders' information and the few photos we have, Fleet Intel has confirmed that out of the confirmed sightings, there is indeed at least one extra fighter that they can confirm does not belong to the previous group of two in the Rago Run. Which means, we have a larger operation then just mercenary pilots---at least probably considering the technology of the fighters we're talking about here---and, from what we can gather from survivors and data information, these fighters are staying out of the main action and seem to be supervising the operations and conducting isolated, low risk engagements to, what it looks like, to test the fighters' abilities in combat."

"So you're linking the Nilgaard Sector to the Rago Run as the same group overseeing the various corporation of pirate gangs under one shadowy organization trying to insert an unknown agenda into galactic politics?"

"You didn't sleep through class after all," Thomas replied.

The alien smiled, "No, I just learned to cheat off of your tests really well," Chuck, the Devaronian, got up, stretching before his promising long day at the desk ahead of him, "So what are you going to do about it?"

"I'm hitching a ride on a Imperial I-class Star Destroyer into the Nigaard Sector to go looking for those starfighters."

"And how do you know their still there and not going back to the Rago Run? Or anywhere else for that matter?" Chuck asked, collecting his briefcase in preparation to leave for his own work.

Thomas smiled, "We all have our trade secrets, Chuck. Until I know I'm right, I don't want to say anything. But, if my hunch is right," Thomas got serious, "We better all start praying really, really hard."



NO TAG
OOG: The "parts" are done, I will be moving on to the next installments of this story arc soon.

 

IC: Mahaben
Johnny Boy, Med Bay

"Master Mahaben, your offer is indeed welcome.”

The blind miraluka offered a small, but amicable smile to the nurse. She had welcomed him without issue, nor did she ask for him to prove who or what he was. Neither did she jump in shock. Any surviving ‘Jedi’ were ‘wanted’ by the Empire. Mahaben briefly wondered if the sum was substantial enough to warrant the trouble.

Interestingly enough, she already knew his name without an introduction, just as he already knew hers. Guess they were even in that regard.

Nurse Ulrike stepped to one side so the blind ex-jedi could ‘see’ the Cathar laying upon an elevated bed, her eyes being closed at the moment. Her breathing looked normal enough.

"Can you do anything with mild radiation poisoning, Master?”

Mahaben mentally winced. He had chosen to ‘ignore’ the first time the nurse had addressed him using the prefix ‘Master’. He could not ignore the second. His lack of objection or correction was likely interpreted as consent to use the ‘honorific’.

"Please, just Mahaben…” he said, offering a polite smile.

The Jedi Order and its customs were no more. There was no need for such titles or affectations. Something else would rise from the ashes of the old order, but Mahaben knew not what that would be at the moment, or how long it would take. THAT, however, was something he needed to meditate on at a later time and with utmost seriousness.

Thankfully, the miraluka’s eyes were covered by his blindfold and the nurse was spared the kaleidoscopic effects that coruscated within the ex-jedi’s covered eye sockets. Mahaben focused his natural ‘Force Sight’ to screen the cathar’s body as he simultaneously called on his Force senses. He had learned new ways to use his abilities on the battle field during the Clone Wars, saving injured Clone Troopers and those experiences served him well now. This was not his first time encountering radiation sickness, and he doubted it would be his last.

Due primarily to necessity, Mahaben learned to extend and use his ability to detoxify on others. He could visually see illness inside a person’s biology. He could see, sense and even feel the sickness of others as he did now. By forging a strong connection in the force with the ‘subject’, Mahaben was able to manipulate things with greater ease.

First, he needed to identify and isolate the illness. In this case, he would need to go through a detoxification process, which was likely to be repeated several times. The process would be complicated and time consuming, but not impossible. It would definitely require a great deal of concentration.

“I can help her….” He finally said after a long pause.

The ex-jedi half turned to the nurse as he spoke.

“I could coax her to biologically ‘naturally’ discharge the toxins from the affected areas. You’d have to collect the toxic fluids of course. The process might take a few hours to complete, as long as she is hydrated. After the purge, I can begin to mend any damage suffered from the initial exposure, if any. Is this treatment acceptable to you?”

Mahaben became pensive again as he waited for Nurse Ulrike’s input. He’d also planned to induce a ‘calm sleep’ in the cathar while he worked. He well knew what agitated cathars were capable of from previous experience, that needed to be avoided at all costs. Nurse Ulrike, she was the physician in charge, and after all, he was only here to assist in the best way he could. If she agreed, then Mahaben was ready to help and follow her directions.

…Keeping candles lit was a priority in an ever darkening galaxy.


Tag: @Sith-I-5, @Jedi_padawan_leigh, @Intervention

 

IC: Sunri Lasca
Johnny Boy, Quarters

Sunri lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling of his quarters. Not the largest in the world, but considering the size of the ship they were fairly expansive. Part of him would almost prefer being back in his starfighter though...he didn't really...fit in, yet. The young pilot had gotten used to being a loner for so long, that getting used to being part of a group was a bit of a shock. Not that he was anti-social or anything...it was just a difficult adjustment to make. The last time he had been part of a group...

Manae...

Pulling a small holopad out of his vest, Sunri looked at the smiling woman pictured on it. Not a day went by where he didn't miss her. Her death was the reason he fought the Empire...the reason he was even on this ship. Not that he expected anyone to really understand that. He wasn't joining the Mercs for profit like any other mercenary, he was doing it because fighting as a team was better than fighting alone, and he needed the support. That was part of the reason he had avoided talking with anyone...he partially expected someone to ask his reasons for fighting, and Sunri wasn't sure he wanted to answer that question yet.

So here he sat in his room, looking at the picture of the brown-haired woman smiling at him from happier times.

TAG: No one