Fel moved out from the Turbolift, pushing the repulsor-sled in front of him. It was quiet, even though they had heard, over the lift comm display, that there was a mid-grade alert on decks 80 and 77, Galdaart had no illusions that it was Aellyn and their new Doctor friend. He had laid the Repeater atop the repulsor-sled in the lift, and now he picked it up, looping the sling over his shoulder. He counted five Stormies and an officer outside the shuttle. A couple other non-combatants (techs or maintenance workers, and a handful of droids) in the bay, and he took a deep breath as he moved out, crossing the distance to the shuttle, the shortest, most obvious route. He spoke at a volume that said they were pot-committed now… in for a penny, in for a pound. No sense in sugar-coating it for anyone’s benefit. “Jet, ready for anything now…” The officer at the foot of the Xi-class shuttle held up a hand as he called out to the approaching trio. ”You three – you’re bringing the biological agent aboard? On the double now… there’s a containment field aft.” He waved the approaching sled ahead. There was less than a hundred feet to cover. They were in the clear.

Despite the deceptive calm, Jet felt an unsettling ease in the air. It was all too easy. His fingers tightened around the grip of his DC-15A, caught between the tension of anticipation and preparation. Zane was also quite perturbed. The tension in the air was palpable, as though it could all fall apart at any moment.

And then… all hell broke loose, off to their right... Fel heard the sound of blaster-fire coming from a secondary accessway, and the troopers at the shuttle tightened their grips on blasters. Some turned to the sound of the fire-fight a hundred paces off, down the maintenance hall. Some looked directly at Fel and Jet (and Zane, trailing them.) ”Jet…” Fel said, once, clearly, loudly. The mech’s blaster barked once, and burned a hole through the officer’s chest. Fel raised the long-gun and let off a short burst, dropping two of the troopers. One of the troopers to their right, beside the planetfall ramp of the Xi, raised his E-11, and fired once, the shot low, and sparks flew from one of the cases they had retrieved. Fel dropped him, and his partner with another burst from the well-worn repeater, and after mere seconds, they were the only ones standing outside the Xi. Droids scattered away from the craft in the aftermath of what had just taken place.

Fel pushed the repulsor-cart, kicking it ahead, plowing into the still-moving form of the first Storm Troop he had shot, pinning him against the landing leg of the landing ramp. He followed the sled, covering the short distance in a few strides, and grabbed up the officer’s dropped E-11 blaster, checking the load and placing a blaster bolt directly in the top of his head. Handing the blaster to Zane, (it was better than his little holdout scout blaster) he turned to Jet. ”Help Aellyn and the Doc. Kid, you’re with me.” He watched for a second as Jet moved off, blaster ready, before he picked up a second Stormie’s E-11 for himself, and started carefully, quietly up into the Xi-class shuttle. It was possible they were alone, that the pilot wasn’t yet aboard. But Fel knew that was unlikely.

Zane barely managed to catch the blaster rifle that Fel had tossed him. His nerves were like a bundle of Kath hounds, tied together at the tail. He tried to remain as “professional” as possible, given the fact that the alarms had already set him on edge and he had to watch several people die in front of him. Checking to make sure the safeties were off, he followed Fel up the ramp and onto the shuttle, his eyes wide, trying to stifle the fear that had seized his gut.

Fel pulled off the helmet, placing it on one of the jump-seats in the aft cabin. His matted hair and sweat-soaked visage came into view once more. He didn’t bother even running a hand through his hair, leaving it plastered to his scalp and in his face. How the kark did Stormies see anything useful in those things? He trusted his own eyes far more, and the gig was definitely up. He moved silently toward the cockpit, watching, listening. If someone was aboard, there was no way they didn’t hear the firefight from the foot of the boarding ramp.

The hatch to the cockpit was open, and Fel moved carefully, ever-so-carefully… toward their freedom. The barrel of the E-11 poked into the flight deck, swept from left to right, and was immediately grabbed by a black-clad hand. Fel cursed, startled, and fired off a shot as reflex. The pilot brought his other hand down onto the gun, driving it from Fel’s grip, clattering to the deck. He appeared then, his face a snarl, reaching for Fel, grabbing him by the shoulder, kicking him back. ”You Rebel bastard!” he shouted, and then they were a mess of arms and legs, flailing, the pilot diving for the blaster, Fel fighting him off…

Zane watched as Fel and the pilot in black wrestled and fought, raising the E-11 and entering his state of fight-or-flight all at the same time. His heart was racing so hard he felt it in his ears, his adrenaline pumping through his system and making all of his senses hyperactive. His breath was short, dodgy, as he pulled up the blaster and aimed down its sights at the pair of them, trying to find an opening that he could clearly use to help Fel. He barely had time to think, to try and weigh the true cost of what it was he was about to do, when the pilot seemed to have the upper hand, diving for the blaster; and in that one moment, the boy didn’t hesitate. It took a very small amount of pressure on the trigger, but his aim was true. The blaster bolt barked from the E-11 and pegged the pilot right in the side, causing him to flail and roll away from Zane and Fel, leaving his back to face them. A very cold feeling suddenly took over Zane, and he knew he couldn’t leave it simply at that. With two more pulls of the trigger, the blaster sang out. The first bolt missed, hitting the bulkhead; but the second hit its mark directly between the shoulder blades of the pilot. The man ceased to move, and Zane’s knees buckled in that moment, causing him to stagger over to the shuttle’s bench seat, collapsing into it as he became a shuddering mess, realizing he’d just killed a man in cold blood.

”Holy shavit...what did I just kriffin’ do?!” Zane didn’t even know what to feel at that moment. He could barely process what was going on, everything suddenly became a spinning blur.

Aellyn and Viszt followed Jet into the shuttle. The gang was all here. She stopped just at the top and looked toward the kid. She knew the look. Turning toward the dead pilot, she motioned for Jet to help. The dead body rolled off the ramp and onto the floor below. “Get this thing out of here!” Aellyn yelled to the pilot as a blaster bolt came soaring past her. She shot back as several troopers were headed their way before pressing a nearby button to close the ramp. Moving to an open seat she buckled up looking toward the kid. “everyone has their first, you will be alright.”

Fel hadn’t hesitated, jumping for the pilot’s seat as soon as he was able, firing up the shuttle and boosting off the hangar floor, kicking in a bootful of right rudder that showed the advancing troopers their arse, before punching it and diving out, through the swiftly-closing blast doors and into what counted for ‘daylight’ on Lotho. Now… if only they could avoid TIE fighters, they’d be alright. He looked for a moment before finding the internal comm system, activating it. “Five minutes flight time to the Unfair Advantage… then we’re going fishing for a little kolto.”

The initial jolt as the shuttle blasted out of the bay was what brought Zane out of his shocked stupor as his weight shifted, causing him to nearly topple over. He quickly braced himself and began looking around with wild eyes as he heard Fel’s voice come through the shuttle’s internal comm system. Realizing the blaster rifle was still in his hands, he placed it over to his side on the seat, regretting that he couldn’t just toss it out of the shuttle’s doors. So many thoughts were racing through his mind, the primary among them being whether or not this was all just some nightmare that he couldn’t seem to wake up from. With so much happening in so little an amount of time, one could easily confuse the events for some sort of fever dream. When his mind finally caught onto the fact that they were heading to some location other than Junktown (initially), his blood nearly froze. It was becoming all too real. Zane hadn’t even thought about what was going to take place after the whole “caper” had been pulled off. From the time he’d been “escorted” onto the shuttle the first go-around, he felt as though he could only focus on what was directly in front of him.

But now, things were about to start moving very, very fast. Possibly too fast for him to keep track of. ”Wait, so…what’s the ’Unfair Advantage’?” He said, looking over at Aellyn, ”Is that some kinda ship? Your ship?!”

Aellyn shook her head, her finger pointing toward the cockpit. “Nah, not mine. His. I’m just hitching a ride to the next destination.” She shrugged, pulling out her data pad. Her thumbs moved quickly over the keys as she turned, plugging into the ship's console. “Hey Wrench…you copy?” She paused. Then a series of beeps and boops came through, she grinned. “Awesome, we are coming in hot, prep the ship for immediate departure.” Pause another series of droid talk. “Really? Fel is slightly busy right now…” She turned her head toward the cockpit. “Fel! Tell your stupid droid to prep the ship!”

Zane’s skin began to crawl, and he started rubbing his hands up and down his legs nervously. His mind had suddenly flashed to his brother, and Parlo, their caretaker. How was he even supposed to face them again, knowing that he’d actually killed someone? Would he even get the chance? It was obvious to him that his chances of avoiding the Empire here on Lotho Minor after this incident were practically nonexistent. He was going to have to run. But it wasn’t as if he could just take Marcus with him. And would these people even bother taking him to begin with? They could just as easily discard him, leave him to face the Imps - “holding the bag”, as it were. He felt his hand absentmindedly reach over to grab the blaster rifle again. If worse came to worst, he realized, his best play might be to have the weapon on hand. He hated that his life had taught him to be so distrustful of others, but that was life on Lotho. His gaze lowered from Aellyn for a moment as he pulled the weapon closer to him on the seat, not really knowing what else to do. All he knew was that he had to look out for himself and his brother, and anyone who would get in the way of that goal was the enemy…

Jet stood by the rear hatch of the shuttle, his eyes locked onto the two crates Abilene had sent them for, the ones that were top priority to transport to the UA. The Shuttle’s descent proved rough, but he knew the terrain planetside would prove worse, and, after seeing it first hand, he knew that the repulsor lift was going to be a bigger hassle than it was a boon. Ever busy, his mind was already working on the most efficient way to get the crates to their destination.

Frustration boiled over as he yanked off his helmet and hurled it to the ground, it clattering across the floor, echoing his own irritation. The armour had served its purpose during the mission, but now it was simply a hindrance. He started unfastening the clasps and buckles of the armour, the pieces clattering to the floor of the shuttle. Each piece falling made him feel a little more agile, more unburdened. From beneath his armour, he tensed, ready for what’s to come. Knowing how Fel flew, he also knew he wouldn’t have time to remove the lower half of the armour. It would take more time than he could afford.

He rolled his shoulders, alleviating his range of motion. He moved to the first crate, throwing his rifle to hang over his back, before he wrapped a single hand around the handle, he lifted it slightly off of the ground, testing its weight. Satisfied, he did the same with the second. Assured he would be able to carry both, each with a single arm, he was ready. The weight of them was formidable but his determination was stronger. He crouched between the crates, one on either side of him, using them to steady himself. His hands rested on each one, ready for the right moment.

Fel flipped switches, and guided the Xi-class in a long arc away from the Basilisk, flying low enough that anyone entering the flight deck was liable to evacuate their bladders. He was rusty in a shuttle such as this, and it showed, the flight path shuddering and rough as he fought the controls, finding the ship’s rhythms. He homed in on the UA’s hidden locale, first making sure they weren’t followed, and secondly making damn sure they’d be on the ground again before the Imperial at-ease flight response time of three minutes, thirty seconds. (in-flight, a Star Destroyer always had armed escort and a flight of TIE’s ready to launch at a moment’s notice. On the ground, not so much. They’d have been dead already if the Basilisk was in orbital dock.) He really needed a third arm to properly perform all the tasks he needed to do at the moment, and when Aellyn called out through the open hatch that Wrench was being, well… Wrench, he cursed the little Astro droid, flipping on the comms system and dialing in their secure band. ”Goddamn it Tin Can, fire up the converters like the lady said, or I’m tossing you out with the rest of the scrap-iron! We’re coming in hot, and leaving like your ass after the branding iron in Jabba’s fire-blasted slave pit!” He threw the comm earpiece against the bulkhead, not even waiting for Wrench’s retort.

Flying in these canyons of waste and scrap was suicide, and if he wasn’t trying to overcome the Basilisk’s substantial sensor suite, which was no doubt looking for them right that moment, he’d have eased off the throttle, and gained a hundred feet altitude. As it was, he was toppling leaning towers of scrap with the wake of their drive motors, and boiling the toxic lakes they were mere feet above as they torched the terrain, covering ground like a scalded Teek. Warnings flared up on Fel’s screens as he pushed the little craft to the breaking point, threatening to burn out the drive-jets. But he didn’t care. It would hold. This only needed to get them another thousand yards. ”Hold onta somethin’!” he called out, as the horizon loomed. Cutting thrust in a narrow canyon of trash, he dropped the Xi onto its landing skis, letting it slide and bury itself nose-first into a mountain of scrap at 60 knots, neatly burying it halfway into the mound, coming to a shuddering, violent halt. Fel killed all power, activating the landing ramp, which dropped about half of its prescribed descent before getting wedged against a wad of scrap. It was enough to slide out, underneath.

He moved back into the cargo and crew compartment, glancing from face to face. ”Sorry for the bumpy ride. This thing’s a piece of dank farrik… C’mon. We’re a hundred yards from home. And the Basilisk is still two minutes from being able to launch TIE’s – if they even know where we’ve gone. I’d be surprised if they’ve got us on anything other than possible visual.” Grabbing up as much gear as he could carry, he moved for the landing ramp, nodding at Jet and Aellyn, and catching Zane’s eye for the briefest of moments, noting the blaster tucked close by his side. There was a question in his glance, but the spacer said nothing..

With the shuttle suddenly coming to a screeching halt, Zane barely had the time to steady himself before Fel had come into the passenger compartment. He continued to clutch the weapon he’d been holding at his side, even as Fel’s eyes looked upon him. When Fel made eye contact with him for a brief moment, he held his gaze before standing to his feet, slinging the former soldier’s blaster over his shoulder by the strap and tucking it behind him. ”Uh, yeah…you’re prolly right. Lemme see what I can scav off this heap of junk and I’ll be right behind you.” The boy spent the next few minutes moving through the shuttle, grabbing up medkits, repair parts - whatever he could get his hands on that was of use or value - and tucking them up underneath his arms as he moved around the passenger cabin. Calling back over his shoulder as the seasoned spacer walked by him, he tried to put a sense of urgency in his voice, ”Oh…we’re gonna head back into town to get the kolto, right? If so…I might need to talk to you before we head back in. There’s…a few things you should prolly know…”

The landing was anything but graceful—a desperate manoeuvre that left the shuttle skidding across the surface like a pod-racer on a bad day.

Jet stood up, feeling the familiar strain in his muscles as he lifted the two containers from the ground, exhaling slowly and deliberately. His grip tightened on the handles of each case, knuckles whitening. He took a brief glance over his shoulder, a silent roll call of faces and forms, ensuring everyone was ready, before taking his first step forward onto the ramp, feeling the weight of the containers shift with him.

The ramp creaked under his boots as he descended, each step a careful balancing act to adjust to the shifting weight of the containers. Reaching the bottom, he carefully set the cases down. With a slight grunt, Jet slid out of the shuttle, lowering himself to the ground, and pulled the cases out after him. His senses were immediately hit with the stench of the planet—a foul mix of rust and decay. His breath caught, "Kriff," he muttered to himself, missing the stormtrooper helmet, for the first time, and its filter that had once shielded him from this harsh reality.

Jet’s breaths came in measured puffs, a steady rhythm that matched the relentless beat of his heart. His muscles strained with the effort of carrying the heavy containers, but he embraced the burn—it fueled his drive; keenly aware of the responsibility on his shoulders, not just the physical burden of the crates, but the critical importance of their contents.

The path to the UA was treacherous, a battlefield of twisted metal and shattered remnants. The ground was parched and cracked, yet the residue of past acid rains had left it coated in a fine layer of corrosive dust. Jet’s boots scraped against the dry surface, each step a careful negotiation with the unstable, corroded surface.

He could feel the weight of the containers in his shoulders as he continued toward the UA, each step bringing him closer to the goal. The constant reminder of what was at stake kept his mind sharp, pushing him to maintain a relentless pace.

The UA's silhouette came into view, a stark contrast against the barren landscape. Jet’s heart pounded with a mix of exhaustion and anticipation. The sight of their destination injected a surge of energy into his tired limbs. The path had been arduous, but now the end was in sight.

With a final surge of effort, Jet closed the distance to the ship. The weariness in his limbs seemed to dissipate as he reached the old hull. He carefully placed the crates down and sat on one of them, wiping his brow with his arm. Looking up, he caught Fel's eye and said, "That was a tough haul." Jet paused to wipe a drop of sweat from his cheek, "But we made it."

Fel was a dozen paces behind the mechanic, hauling anything not too broken or bolted down from inside the wrecked shuttle. “Too tough.” Fel agreed.

“They may have been on me…” Aellyn gave a look of resentment as she passed Fel. Perhaps she was a bit harsh on his plan but she wasn’t going to let him know that just yet.

His dreaded, matted hair gave away the measure of his emotions. There were a lot of things Fel could have added, and might have, were he and Jet alone. The mech knew Fel often used him as sounding board and conscience. Almost as often as Wrench …if they had been alone, and not carrying a boatload of strangers. He might have said “too tough, considering the payoff.” Or that they were taking too many risks, trusting in folks that might just as soon have ditched them or turned on them. He might also have said that he’d be reserving judgment on whether or not they’d “made it” until they’d left this rock, done and dusted. But he didn’t. And for the last bit, Jet knew that was exactly how Galdaart felt, from the look in his eye. Instead, dumping two cargo crates and an armful of Imperial-grade weapons on a workbench in the hold, he raced to the flight deck, barely acknowledging Wrench, and powered up the ship, beginning the quick process of closing her up, and getting airborne. Even without taking visual stock of the beings boarding the UA – the thirty seconds he’d spent getting to this point was more than enough for them to haul ass aboard. If they weren’t hauling ass, they didn’t want offworld, or didn’t mind a firing squad.

Zane had been grabbing everything he could think of that would be of use to himself or the crew - whether it be medkits, repair items, tools, or even the environment scrubbers, putting everything into one of the extra-large bio bags that were normally used for body removals. Grabbing one of the scrubber masks and the attached unit, he masked up and turned on the device. Once he had accounted for everything Fel hadn’t grabbed, he zipped up the bag and hauled choobs to the Unfair Advantage. The engines were just beginning to spool up when he was fumbling across the entry ramp, taking a moment to look back and see that the doc was coming up behind him, likely to be the final one coming aboard.

The boy stowed his ill-gotten haul in one of the (assumed) cargo bays where Jet had stored the other crates, assuming this was where they were likely to go through all of their “acquisitions” when they were off-planet. The feeling in his gut about his brother hadn’t gone away, and he was wondering when - or even if he would be able to tell him what was going on.

Fel didn’t go so far as to remote-close the boarding ramp – leaving that to Jet or the last aboard, but moments after firing up the retro-rockets and repulsors, they were airborne, angling toward the wretched ville they’d left behind only an hour before. Wrench was all over him with warnings about proximity and the percentage chance of enemy interception. But that kolto was worth the risk. Wasn’t it?

Two minutes later they were slowing to a stop, hovering over the ville at about seventy feet, while Fel angled the deflector shields and flipped on the internal comms. “Jet, I’ll need you in the dorsal cannon. Watch for incoming. Aellyn, the ventral cannon. Take out any troops that decide to pay us a visit. Doc – get up here!” He flipped off the comm and turned to Wrench. ”Keep us level and low, partner. If things get too hot, you fly us out of here, understand me? When the doc gets here, you centre us over the building he marks for you. That’s our target. I’m going down to secure the load.”

Jet couldn't help but smirk as Fel's voice crackled through the intercom, taking on that familiar authoritative tone. Jet knew this was Fel stepping into his leadership role once again, as he often did. Even before the orders were fully articulated, Jet was already making his way to the dorsal gun. The clarity of everyone’s positions thanks to Fel's directives was an added advantage.

Jet firmly gripped the ladder and began his climb, the metallic clang of his boots resonating with each step. With every rung he conquered, he felt the weight of responsibility settle more firmly on his shoulders. He swiftly reached the top and secured himself in the turret, ensuring his vision was broad and encompassing. The threat of TIE fighters was imminent, and he knew they could strike from any direction, not just straight from the Basilisk.

As he settled into the gunner's seat, his eyes scanned the vast expanse, his senses heightened and alert. The hum of the ship's engine, the distant echoes of the intercom, and the soft beeping of the radar served as a backdrop to his focused vigilance. This scenario was all too familiar to him. He had spent countless hours aboard ships like this during the Clone Wars. The anticipation of the possible coming conflict brought back memories of those intense battles. This was his element—poised, ready, and determined to protect his crew from any impending danger.