The LT bought it on an Outer Rim supply station manned by COMPFORCE fanatics; well-armed and thoroughly indoctrinated in the stern joys of the New Order. Joys, that was, if you were a virgin with a lot of angst; those COMPNOR scout camps were places were sex was punished way harder than brawling, which sent, in Palp's eyes, the right message to the lads they were training to carry rifles for him. That stuff happened after marriage. And boy, those marriages were sure to be great too, right? I mean, look at all the preparation they had for it -- all the empathy and fun beaten right out of them in assault training.

If that sort of pissed off denial was the Imperial vision, it wasn't surprising that the Rebellion was a thing.

Beskad gave the kids one good grade though; they went down well equipped with the latest. The Alliance didn't care about that gear for salvage, cost more to move it where it was needed than it was worth. The Alliance cut orders for the Intruder to raid because they wanted the food to relieve a siege in some neighboring system.

So they sent the Intruder. The Intruder deployed an assault shuttle, a real nice rocket ride with mostly engine, designed, shockingly, for piracy. Out of the shuttle came the Liberators, rolling grenades, laying down withering fire and hitting fast and hard; they'd learned tight corridor fighting the hard way, and this was the platoon's kind of job.

Tally? One dead lieutenant. Kelborn was a good guy, a survivor of Uslam. But he was zapped.

"Fierfek," grunted Besk.

"That little Core World snot got lucky with a grenade throw," growled another trooper, "coulda been any of us."

"Zip him up; Slooga won't want the dead weight, but we have the guns."

Just because the loot of the station wasn't valuable to the Alliance, surplus to the needs, didn't mean that the stuff wasn't valuable; those COMPFORCErs came with deluxe kit. It would fetch a price, but only after the platoon took the spoils they fancied.

That was the deal. Shockingly, the Intruder's crew, literally pirates turned Navy rather than Navy, but suspiciously free-wheeling, kept their word.

--

Vanguard station was carved into a large asteroid, it reminded Besk of times past in that way. It was also a major resupply and refit point for the Alliance's diverse naval operations.

It was also a repple depple; cherries of all species, from factory fresh buck troopers barely out of a short "point it this way" training to Alderaanian university students converted into a semblance of an officer by dint of a diploma mill officer training.

And of course, for its successes, 1st platoon reaped its punishment.

The replacements were already lined up in the bay, fresh and totally at contrast to the ragged killers that just came off ship for a fast liberty-- say what one wanted for the Alliance, the base general, Salvathi, some alien, knew what made a fighting man tick. He has a slice of Nar Shaddaa set up, free of charge. Sure, the alcohol wasn't the finest-- processed right there-- but it was the right price. Free to anyone returning from a hostile contact with the enemy.

Two days went fast, then they were back in the troop hold of the Intruder, nursing hangovers, to meet the new guys.

"Check this out." Vannin turned over a mutilated helmet in his thick fingers. A scout model helmet, mean for their sharpshooters -- originally, at least. He'd been at it with a plasma cutter for days, and the only recognizable feature left was the shape of the face. "Gonna paint it black." He said the word with an air of reverence, which made about as much sense as anything else about his new toy, but clearly it made him happy. "I know what you're thinking. 'Keller, I can't bear the thought of fighting without your ruggedly-handsome face to inspire me.' Don't worry, see, I cut out the respirator and the cheeks, so you can still...."

"Brass. Lock it up."

Vannin reluctantly lowered his voice, but his mouth kept moving as he explained the bizarre design choices to no one in particular. He and a handful of other vets were lined up in (what passed for) their pretty uniforms in the hangar, ready to welcome some green rebel regs to the real job. Had to look all prim and proper for the marching types -- the captain even rigged up a speaker to play a very military-sounding tune for the fresh meat. The bullshit couldn't be over fast enough. Only one part in ten on this boat came from the Rebellion proper, and the rest was all black-market at best. They'd get the real picture soon enough. Then they'd adjust their expectations or they'd buy the farm like the LT. Slooga had just the medicine to fix that kind of hurt, and presently it was giving Vannin a headache that could tame a rancor. He put the picture of the LT in a box, and shoved it aside. New faces meant new work, hopefully. He didn't know much about rebel officers, but for this kind of work, the new guy better come with balls and salt, or they'd have to send a new one real quick.

Toland watched as the veterans of The Intruder entered the troop hold. '1st Platoon, Charlie Company, 2nd Uslam “Liberators"'. These guys were the backbone of the Alliance, and now Toland was here ready to get some payback. Ever battle he was about to go in with this regiment was for Berchest.

Toland looked over to Betuu, who was already standing at attention. The big droid's right arm was cocked back in an iron fist and his other arm stood parallel with his side.

"What do you think bro," Toland asked.

"If I had the capacity to care I wouldn't be wasting it here," the battle droid replied. "Bro."

"Roger roger good buddy."

Despite Betuu's mood, or lack of one, Toland was excited. He wanted to make the Empire suffer. Those bastards took away everything his father had worked hard for, and let him work himself close to death. Toland could never forgive them for the moves they pulled. He would make the galaxy a better place one dead stormtrooper at a time.

Toland knew he wasn't the best shot in the universe, but he would bet good money that Betuu would definitely make up for his inexperience. Even with a blaster rifle and pistol, he wasn't sure if he would be even close to up to snuff without his battle droid.

"Hey," Toland bothered again, "what do you think they will have us do first? Like some initiation bull?"

"I'm not worried," Betuu bluntly replied.

"Of course you're not."

Soon militaristic music began to play through the intercoms as the main bulk of the veteran members arrived onboard. Toland began to notice confused stares more often then not lining up his way. Toland just smirked and held in a chuckle.

"Hey, looks like you have a fun club dude," Toland told his droid.

Betuu scanned the room, literally, and noticed the veteran eyes looking back at him. Betuu knew that he was sore thumb in a room full of fleshy beings, but he not shaken by the revelation.

"Looks like you should have a reason to worried big guy," Toland joked.

Betuu simulated a laugh with a simple automated, "ha."

He watched some of the replacements come in with impassive eyes; the Intruder wasn't a standard Alliance Navy ship, though the fleet largely was sitting back and building itself up for larger actions while the starfighters and smaller ships, like the Intruder, took the war to the enemy in raiding actions. Hit and fade, hit and fade. And while the Liberators were a line regiment, in theory, the reality is that they'd been converted from urban guerrillas to an army regiment to marine platoons in their time in the Alliance.

That was the dice -- a new strategist came in and changed the old strategy, which forced everyone to adapt. It was the cycle of life and death, lessons learned and surviving in a tough environment.

He was like Vannin; stashing non regulation equipment away when the Captain showed up. He'd acquired a vibroblade on one of their boarding actions, that was carefully placed in a footlocker and stowed along with the operational equipment; he had a Compforce-issue armored suit vest that he was radically modifying and fitting out with attachment points that also was put away. The Captain looked the other way on things so long as discipline appeared in order. The pirate crew hid itself in their section of the corvette, and Slooga graciously stayed in his quarters when such inspections happened. It wasn't the Imperial Army, but obvious disrepair tended to bring down the disapproval and no one needed that.

The battle droid drew more attention from the assembled troopers than the replacement accompanying the battle droid. "A clanker?" whispered Besk, "I've never seen one of these before." Though there was at least one droid in the cargo hold that none of them could actually activate -- the security protocols were more advanced than their knowledge, which was saying something for a pretty tech-savvy crew. The droid looked like it had weaponry installed, and that made it a security model or something that could, theoretically, be put to use guarding the unit's armory when Besk wasn't around or the platoon was deployed. As the platoon's armorer, the locker's security was his job. Usually, the duty of securing it was done in shifts, or, if dropping, by a wounded trooper or someone not going on the drop. Never the Intruder's crew. Worse came to worst, they'd lock it tight, but a droid could fill the gap.

"Yeah, well you were knee-high to a strill when the Clone War ended, weren't you?" muttered another trooper.

"Look at it this way," Besk shot back in a low tone of voice, "At least one of the replacements is really ready to go. Wonder how Palps' vat-grown plastic boys are going to feel about that one...think those clones get nostalgic for the good old days?"

The captain was there looking over the troops, but he didn't linger long. Captain Valerin ex-Imperial Army and no one was sure where or how he'd joined the Alliance, but such people existed. When push came to shove, and when the fiction that the Imperial Army was stability and order in the galaxy wore thin, a lot of people decided that the Empire was scarier than the things the Empire told them to fear. The dark days after the Clone Wars were one of constantly justifying the oppression with an external threat. The Seps, the Jedi, the this the that and the other, until finally one came to the conclusion that the Empire was the primary threat. Slow process, but it went faster when you were blasting rock for crystals and the shifts got a little longer, company security got a little rougher and, when you talked back, suddenly a Stormtrooper was there with a blaster in your face.

The opinions of the captain were mixed; he seemed to be good at his business, though much of that business involved handling supplies and replacements for three different ships' worth of troops, and he rarely brought good news. The speculation was rife of what would happen if he had to actually command the company in combat, but it had yet to happen -- the entire regiment was broken up into platoons and stuffed aboard corvettes, though occasionally a task force got formed to hit a larger-than-usual target.

"Alright troopers, I know some of you," he didn't look at Vannin and Besk and the Sarge and all the other vets but he seemed to have an idea of just went on as soon as boots hit deckplates on Vanguard -- they didn't have the hangovers entirely hidden away, "just had liberty, so I hope you got all the fun out of your system, because you're going right back out as soon as you are replenished for supplies and personnel, because there's no rest for the wicked. Lieutenant Byron here will be assuming command of 1st Platoon and he has the details of the next operation. Carry on, Lieutenant."

Tadia jostled uncomfortably. As one of the "Veterans" she stood near the rest of them. Some people looked up to the veterans but it was nothing special. It was seeing more death, she had seen more than anyone else. Some joked that her death count was higher than that of anybody elses, she was yet to meet whoever started that joke but for their sake she hoped they never got hurt. Though of course she would actually help them it wouldn't be much of a threat if she didn't pretend that she wouldn't.

Truth be told every moment out of the infirmary was a moment wasted in her eyes, these were new recruits yes but they didn't need the pomp nor the ceremony that isn't what the life was about. This wasn't the Empire where everything was shiny and new, this wasn't a recruitment drive and it certainly wasn't the old Republic. It was the Rebel Alliance, they could call it what they will but they were all Rebels and pretending otherwise was just a waste of time. They wouldn't always be rebels, hopefully, but why sugar coat something terrible?

The worst bit was the new Lieutenant. Could they not promote someone? Fresh blood on the front line was likely to end up on her table if they were lucky. In fact the previous lieutenant was still in the morgue as they were trying to find some family to send the body too barring that the body would be released into space. She shuffled again uncomfortable in what were now undersized clothes, probably from one two many washes (and yet they still had blood stains on them despite them being her dress uniform), and just waited for this farce to be over.

"Lieutenant Byron here will be assuming command of 1st Platoon and he has the details of the next operation. Carry on, Lieutenant." The Captain dismissed himself and the atmosphere lightened up a bit. The formation broke into a loose gathering -- the newcomers on one side and the veterans on the other, sizing one another up. Neither group appeared particularly satisfied by what they saw, but that was life in the rim.

Vannin leaned over to the nearest neighbor ((anyone who wants it)) and whispered, "Is he even old enough to shave?" He was sizing up the lieutenant. "He looks like a singer."

"You don't even want a drink? Nothing has to happen."

He was still smiling at her when he said it, and she looked up at him from the console. "Sorry, Lieutenant--"

"Really, Serossa, it's Davin."

No, Sekula thought to herself, it's really not. Her eyes must have lingered on his longer than she thought, or they held a sharper edge to them than she realized, because quickly he was standing at his full height above her and all but demanding. "So come on; it's no big deal. We're just two Rebels needing to release a little tension and have a little fun before the next fight."

After a quick succession of keystrokes, the quick letter to her sister was complete, and Sekula was standing to her full height of near six feet...a few inches taller than the Lieutenant who was stationed at Vanguard, and likely never saw the field. Her eyes never waivered from the JO's, that stiff half-smile on her pink lips staying right where it was; unphased at the pressure presented to her by the man. "Apologies, Sir, can't--too busy working for a living. Maybe if I ever see you in the field? Thanks for letting me use your console."

The hardest part was not smirking as she turned to show the man her back, and walked off...knowing what he was looking at until he turned a corner and made a quick, soured, face. It was maybe the most irritating thing about being a woman in a male dominated organization such as the Rebel Alliance. Although at least she wasn't alone; the Rebels embraced the role of women far more than the Empire did. And of course they all needed their release and pleasures where such things could be had. Had the right guy asked, say a certain gentlemanly supply Lieutenant JG with pretty blue eyes, Verossa might just jump at the chance...Lt. JG or not.

But he didn't, and instead Serossa was happy to sleep in a real bed with a real shower and absorb as much information and news as she could from Vanguard's networks. That's how she spent her two days, until it was time to muster and gather Replacements. Serossa stood off away from the crowd of Vets, watching the Captain and the new Lieutenants from afar for a few moments before her eyes returned to the Replacements.

The only time she spoke, was quietly and (mostly) to herself after the Captain spoke, "What is HE talking about? The field is where the Liberators get their kicks, not sitting around this hole of rock and metal." The drunkeness? That was just the guys blowing off steam. And, hell, some of them were better shots when they were a little buzzed, or hungover. Not that she was about to point that out to the Captain.

"He looks like a singer." Tadia turned and shook her head. "You sound jealous. You aren't exactly young anymore yourself, we're working with Nexu lifespans here, didn't you know that?" With that she turned to leave, brushing past a couple of other people. She stopped as one of the other veterans was struggling with her crutches. "I told you to stay off that for at least another day until the Synthflesh sets or you're going to have more problems and then you're going to end up being kicked off. Though if that's your plan have at it." With that she just shrugged and kept going through the crowd, towards the rookies.

Seeing her target she looked for the one standing behind the battle droid, whatever model it was she didn't know nor did she really care. Undoing her "Dress" jacket so the bloody thing would stop itching she ignored the looks she got, as if people had never seen a woman with a JACKET open before. I mean it wasn't as if she was topless, they'd be in for a surprise with how lax regulations got aboard the Intruder, but she pushed on towards the guy with the droid. Pointing at him and making sure he noticed her. "You, I'm guessing you know your droids?"

"Welcome to the business end of the Liberators, sir!" so Besk wound up being the first one to throw the Lieutenant a salute. The guy might have been a volunteer, or maybe he was assigned there, but it made sense to keep the new Lieutenant relatively happy even if the Liberators had a strange way to their military method. For example, Valerin almost made faces, almost, at Besk's beard -- that'd been a conversation in the past.

"What's the meaning behind the beard, trooper?" the man asked, Imperial Army correct, all the way.

"It's my Liberator beard, sir."

"What do you mean?"

"It means that I intend to shave it off when we get to Uslam and kick the Empire off it, sir!"

That was the last he ever heard of it from the captain, though he hadn't been the first one to think of growing a beard -- it was a fast and easy way to tell friendly from hostile in a fight, because the Empire didn't do beards, but it also caught on as a fashion statement, along with longer than regulation hair and sideburns and various forms of facial hair. Even the aliens started adopting it, the ones that could.

In any case, they saw the Captain's back quickly enough and that was to the relief of everyone involved. Besk was tempted to give the new arrivals the spiel about a weapons function check, which also doubled as a way of assessing the skills the new arrivals had with their blasters, but decided to save it. So uncomfortable silence reigned for a moment after he saluted the Lieutenant.

HK-51 re-activated on cue to the Human Female pointing at The Master.
"Warning: Safety protocols disengaging - I am detecting aggressive behaviour towards the Master. I would not threaten The Master if I were you, meatbag."
His cold and synthetic tones pierced the room, and all eyes turned on him and the incredulous woman

Hayca had been standing behind most of the veterans. She had been observing and assessing the greenhorns according to her own weird measurements. The moment the captain was outside of earshot Hayca walked up to Keller. "So, who are you placing your bets on this time Bits?" She looked over at the group and started pointing at two men. "One, two aaanndd..." A grin formed on her face as she pointed at Toland. "Three." She looked back at Keller and gave him a shove with her elbow. "Those are my picks, gonna bet ten credits on each of em. Speaking about credits, who won last time?" She said, still with that same grin on her face.

She actually wanted to bet on the new lieutenant but saying that directly to a superiour officer's face might get you into trouble. Speaking about the new guy, it looked like the sarge would be the one who was going to have to keep the platoon together, cause this guy looked like a whimp. Besk saluted to the guy. Well, he shouldnt really expect any salute from her untill he had proven himself as a capable member of the unit.

Besides that, she was rather happy with her picks and was almost sure that she'd win this bet.

Right at that moment the droid which had been collecting dust all this time reactivated and started calling Tadia a meatbag. Well, it certainly seemed like things were gonna liven up in a few minutes.

"I think we split the last round. Lemme see...." Vannin evaluated Hayca's picks, rattling off baseless assumptions about each of them under his breath and listing things like 'funny smile' as if they would have an impact on the soldier's lifespan in battle. When he was satisfied, his volume came back up to a conversational level and he finished his train of thought. "... kind of a limp I guess or not, but you're right about Chompers there, he'll go for sure. And Tats for three? Maybe." He bobbed his head left and right, and one could almost hear the loose screw in his head clanging against either side of his skull. "But I'll take the squid over him, if droids don't count. And that one." He leveled a finger at Thanner Antares. "That one smells like a clone vat. I'll go double that he's first." The humor drained from his voice entirely. He knew imperial defectors were a dime a dozen, and sometimes -- like the Captain -- they even came with some useful talents. But this one had a grating air about him that, for some reason, was setting off alarm bells in Vannin's head. "Make it triple, if I'm the one that breaks his neck."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that, corporal," said the Lieutenant. Vannin shrugged, as if to say 'Whatever helps you sleep,' and straightened up a bit. He raised his voice, trying to draw some attention away from the myriad powderkegs that seemed to be springing up on every front. "My name is Lieutenant Durod Byron. I understand you folks have been holding your own out here for some time, and Fleet Command is real happy about the way you boy... you folks do work." The look on his face said that he hoped nobody noticed the blunder. "Now we're here to fill in some gaps, and help you keep doing what you do best. I know this can be a little awkward, and hopefully we'll get used to each other pretty quick, but in the meantime I just want you all to know that I'm not here to change the way you fellas do business. I'm gonna do my best to stay out of your hair, and together we'll get the job done, your way. So. Take a few minutes and get acquainted. The new guys brought a little extra gear, feel free to help them square it away, and we'll meet up in the briefing room in two hours. Got a hot new target in mind, should be a good hit." He glanced at the HK, and a glimmer of dread flashed across his face as he envisioned a brawl breaking out. "Better make that one hour. We'll get some introductions out of the way and go over the mission." He came very close to saying 'dismissed,' but decided against it at the last second, made a half-salute, and stepped off.

Before leaving the hangar he whispered something to Sergeant Sekula.

Vannin didn't make anything out of that conversation, but he turned back to Hayca and said, "Guess he doesn't want us punching the new guys just yet, huh."

Toland spasmed for a moment, being caugh off guard twice in a literal matter of seconds. He should of known that the HK-51 unit he had worked on weeks ago would be persistent, but being close to a stalker never came to mind.

"I'm sorry, one second," Toland asked Tadia politely with a hint of embarrassment.

He turned to HK, grabbed the droid by the "shoulders" and stared him directly into his sensors.

"I'm sorry, but this is getting to be a little much," Toland told the droid outright. "I am not your master. I don't want I be your master. I want you to find the person with the most facial hair in this room and make him your master. That is a direct order!"

With that done, Toland turned back to Tadia with as much composure he could muster and saluted her.

"Private Toland Vas, at your service. Not a complete idiot and yes, good with droids. My big metal friend here is Betuu. Say hi."

"Hi," Betuu copies as if he were a big weaponize parrot.

"Also, side note," Toland added in, "I don't condone anything the HK unit just said before. He's not mine."

Thanner stood among the regiment's new recruits, and could not help but turn up his nose at the stench of cheap liquor in the air. He knew that the regiment's soldiers considered themselves to be separate from the pirate crew aboard the Intruder, but he found it difficult to make that distinction himself. As he glanced across the room at the veterans of the unit, the likely source of the foul odor, he noticed one of the soldiers pointing a finger at him and muttering about. Thanner smirked and turned away, undoubtedly projecting a foulness of his own. It was the stench of arrogance. Of elitism. A stench not so easily washed away. In his short time with the Rebellion Thanner had become privy to such accusatory gestures and mutterings, and he had become exceedingly adept at shrugging them off. Perhaps too adept.

Thanner refocused his attention as the new Lieutenant spoke.

"My name is Lieutenant Durod Byron. I understand you folks have been holding your own out here for some time, and Fleet Command is real happy about the way you boy... you folks do work."

"Not a great start," Thanner thought to himself, glancing around again at the rugged folks in his midst.

"Now we're here to fill in some gaps, and help you keep doing what you do best. I know this can be a little awkward, and hopefully we'll get used to each other pretty quick, but in the meantime I just want you all to know that I'm not here to change the way you fellas do business. I'm gonna do my best to stay out of your hair, and together we'll get the JOB done, your way. So. Take a few minutes and get acquainted. The new guys brought a little extra gear, feel free to help them square it away, and we'll meet up in the briefing room in two hours. Got a hot new target in mind, should be a good hit."

To say that things would be a little awkward was surely an understatement, but Thanner was confident that he would soon be able to smooth things over. He had been in tough spots before, but he had always been able to talk his way out of a situation. In truth, his tongue had saved him more times than he could count, and it was what allowed him to excel as an agent of the Empire. Thanner had much less confidence however, in the Lieutenant’s ability to lead. Thanner knew that, above all, these gruff military-types responded to authority and detested weakness. After what these men had been through, they had no place for weakness. Lieutenant Byron possessed authority on paper, but he oozed weakness through every orifice, and Thanner knew that the veterans would detect this as surely as he detected their disgusting aroma. He wondered how long the Lieutenant could survive in this environment.

After the Lieutenant finished his address, Thanner made his way across the hangar, deliberately walking past the same soldier that had been unsubtlety gesturing in his direction previously.

"Guess he doesn't want us punching the new guys just yet, huh,” he heard the soldier say.

“I should certainly hope not,” Thanner replied casually, “For your sake.”

Turning his back to the soldier, Thanner carried on. He saw the Lieutenant whispering something to a woman before exiting the hangar, and he managed to catch the woman’s eye with his own piercing gaze. He strode over to the woman and extended his hand, ensuring that the display was seen by the soldier he had mocked.

“Sergeant Sekula I presume? My name is Antares...Thanner Antares.”

Tadia sighed at the response of the droid. Saying she was threatening, out of everyone in the room she was by far the least likely to do anything harmful towards him than any of the other veterans. She rolled her eyes as she sent it away. "You may regret doing that later, Beskad won't be happy with a puppy dog following him around calling him master." She paused for a second. "Or he might, however in the case that he doesn't your secrets safe with me." She briefly returned the salute, feeling stupid as she did so. "Also relax, I'm just a lance corporal-" She offered her hand.

"Tadia, though most call me Doc. As you can tell I'm the Doctor slash medic. Well I do a lot of medic work but I got my doctorate and one of the few of us who has so... yeah just stick to Doc or Tadia." She took out her datapad and brought up an image of a IM-6 medical droid. "I'm having some problems with the droid in the med-bay. His repulsors are shot, as is his diagnostic equipment so I'm needing to tell him what needs to be done and oversee everything he does to make sure that he doesn't do more harm than good. It's becoming a bit of an inconvienance."

She shrugged as she clipped her datapad back to her waist. "Can you fix it?"

Toland gratefully took Tadia's hand and shook. "Well first, sorry to bring this up but most IM-6 models were manufactured with feminine programming," Toland replied, "but yeah, this is like a half an hour fix tops. IM-6s may of been top class back in their day, but Cybot Galactica shit the bed manufacturing those girls for longvity. Fixing the repulsors will just take a little calibrating. She will probably have trouble the first few days, but after a week she will be zooming around like she found a chem stash."

Toland stopped for a second and scratched his chin. "Her equipment might need some tinkering. It's a problem I'd have too look at first hand. What kind of equipment is she packing? I'm only coming up with blanks right now."

Toland looked behind her for a second, noticing that the veterans had turned their interest from Betuu to him.

"So," he brought up abruptly, "how long do you think I have to live out here?"

"Hopefully, long enough," he replied to Toland's survival question "I'm Corporal Beskad, the platoon armorer. All you new arrivals need to see me so we can do a weapons function check," he said casually, "so we can make sure nothing goes 'click' when we need it to go 'pow.'"

There was a second reason he wanted to check people's weapons out, and that was to casually assess their skills at marksmanship. As the Alliance had diverse sources of training, it was important to find out what the new guys knew and what they didn't, and Besk felt that a 'function check' was a nicer way of doing that than telling them outright that they were going to have to qualify for marksmanship under his eye. Also, it was real -- the Alliance had multiple sources of blasters, and that meant having to inspect the weapons.

"Also, I notice that both the droids are combat models, so I'd like to see if we can start putting them on sentry duty over the weapons locker. The crew of the Intruder," and he said this without batting an eyelash even though he was shagging the gunnery officer and every one of the veterans knew it, "are not what we'd call entirely trustworthy and we have a Hutt on board. Security for our weaponry and explosives is a must." It meant they could free up more duty time by putting a droid on it for other jobs, so Besk was jumping right on that opportunity.

But as he spoke of 'untrustworthy' his eyes tracked Thanner; he wasn't going to say it where the Lieutenant could hear it, but there was a reason he wanted a droid on weapons locker detail -- they had an Imperial agent on board and he didn't like that any more than his comrades. He actually felt a little naked without firepower strapped to his hip in the form of a pistol or something similar.

"Yes sir," Toland replied. "No need to worry about Betuu here. His security subroutines are some of the best the old Seps could offer. Also, he is the type of guy to go pow-pow, or pow-pow-pow, sir."

Toland looked back to the HK-51 unit, who was still probably scanning the room to fulfill his new objective.

"Honesty sir, you can keep the brown one. Very clingy bot, but from what info I have it seems to be some kind of old assassin protocol droid. Favorited thousands of years ago. He might need a little weapons calibration, but he should be ship-shape for use. Nobody is getting at your guns with him around."

Betuu butted into the conversation, spamming beeps and boops like there was no tomorrow.

"What have I told you about not insulting people in Droid Speak," Toland replied.

"'It is not cool,'" the droid replied in basic.

"No need to sir me, I work for my living. Just do me a favor and make sure the droids get over to the armory and do some weapons calibration tests to make sure their blasters are functioning properly, and bring your personal weaponry along as well. I want to shake everyone's equipment down before the next drop, whatever it is. Then we can talk about putting the droids on sentry duty. I like the idea of having droids that shoot to kill on the locker, given our situation in here." He meant Thanner as much as Slooga or the pirates; the Hutt was no doubt salivating, ugly mental image, at the idea of some sort of Imperial Intelligence agent in the ship. Besk wasn't going to take a chance with those two on board. Heck, Slooga had a price on his head from the Empire too, and hopefully the Sarge was canny enough to remind the old slug of that.

It frustrated Besk a bit that they had no idea what the next op was, though they'd know in an hour, which was enough time to wash up a bit more and try to get the pounding out from behind his eyes. The Lieutenant could have given them a hint of what they were doing, but Besk took it all in stride -- for the most part, they were a pirate ship's unusually disciplined boarding force.

The Intruder's crew were old hands at raiding commerce and the Liberators had experienced guerrilas and miners in their ranks that knew how to fight in tight quarters. The truth was, the training on Uslam for conversion from guerrilla to line infantry was tough, but it made them more versatile. They just hadn't been called on those skills yet in any substantial way. The Rebellion just wasn't fighting open pitched battles with an Empire that could overwhelm them at any given point. The strategy was to hit fast and make them constantly react. But when the Empire showed up in force, the Alliance went to ground and just gathered the intel on the movements. Wash, rinse, repeat.