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.

Fel was in the hold before anyone could breathe twice, or curse once. He looked around, frustrated that he couldn’t immediately find Zane. But it didn’t take long. The kid was in completely unfamiliar waters, huddled near a bench that was bolted to the floor, but wasn’t on the bench. He crouched beside it, as if sitting on it might cause the bench to bite him. ”C’mon, Zane. We got work yet to do.” He didn’t wait for a reply, or hold on to let the appropriate amount of time pass to ask a second time. He simply assumed that the kid would find the strength in his legs to follow the Spacer. Zane took a deep breath, knowing that things were about to get tetchy in a hurry. He didn’t know how or when was going to be the best time to try and bring up his brother - it seemed like things were once again moving at a rapid pace, and he’d be doing well just to keep himself out of the dust storm here. He adjusted the scrubber mask that he nabbed from the shuttle back into place on his face, turning it on, and followed Fel wherever he was heading to.

Back in the main hold, Fel released a tie-down, which whip-snapped as the tension was released from the lock-down rings in the floor. The Outlander put his shoulder against the cargo crate he’d just freed, and slid it a few feet aside, revealing the ventral exterior hatch. The older smuggler worked fast, letting Zane watch as he performed a task for the hundredth time in this ship, his home. Taking a step to the bulkhead, he pulled two earpiece comlinks, with microphone stalks built in off a small rack, and tossed one to Zane. The earpiece was pressed into place, and Fel tested the internal closed-circuit comm as he continued moving. ”Jet, Aellyn, can you hear me? Wrench, Doc – how long to target?” He could hear the cannons lighting off, so they were likely nearing the shanty-town.

“Yeah, hurry up will you?”

“Two minutes..” The Chiss pointed toward a warehouse up ahead. Wrench beeped in response.

The pilot typed a series of code into an ancient terminal near the retracted planetfall ramp, and called over his shoulder to Zane. ”flip your glasses down, kid!” The ventral hatch spiraled open, making for a portal in the floor a little over eight feet square. Dust, flying debris, and the scent of Lotho rushed into the compartment, swirling and buffeting. Fel had to raise his voice to speak to Zane above the din of the ship, the rush of wind, and the sounds of cannon and blaster-fire, no longer insulated by the hull. In a heartbeat, it was like they had stepped out of the safety of the ship and into a battlefield. A few bolts slammed against the shields mere feet below their boots.

Fel stepped into a harness that dangled from the ceiling, and passed the second to Zane. Wrench’s voice, such as it was – a cacophony of whistles and toots, sounded in their ears, letting them know the UA was slowing to hover at fifty feet. Fel looked to Zane, who was putting on the harness incorrectly. He stepped in, fixing the straps and cinching it tight. ”You speak droid, kid?” He secretly hoped Zane didn’t, as Wrench was in the midst of lecturing the pilot about their chances of getting offworld alive, and how much the odds stacked against them, even without TIE fighters currently incoming. Fel keyed his transmitter, silencing Wrench’s profanity. ”Just hold it steady for three minutes. That’s all I ask. We’re dropping now.”

Zane gave Fel a look that was equal parts ‘where’s the jetpack?’ and ‘you’ve got to be shitting me’ to which Fel simply grinned before diving out the portal, better than five stories off the ground. The harness, taking telemetry from the UA’s guidance computer, clamped the brakes on the cable at the appropriate height to slow the Pilot before he was pancaked on the ground. Blaster out, Fel shot wildly at two troopers while moving for the storehouse, a few paces off. He waved overhead at Zane, motioning for him to follow. ”Come ON!” As Fel moved, the UA paid out more cable. The ventral cannon coughed again, and again as Aellyn fired on the incoming troopers. At least there was no tell-tale sound of incoming TIEs… yet.

Zane watched as Fel jumped off the edge of the portal, instinctively reaching out as though the man had just willingly plummeted to his doom. When he observed the semi-smooth landing that the seasoned spacer had managed, the boy’s look was one of pure fear and utter shock. Fel was expecting him to do…that? He laughed in disbelief, unable to really process which emotion he should be feeling right now rather than experiencing all of them at once. It took him a few moments to amp himself up, and he wasn’t even really sure what situation he was about to get himself into. All that he knew was that Fel was on the ground, shooting at something, and that should have told him then and there that it wasn’t going to be good. ”Kriff me…I shoulda just let Wibb kill me…” he said under his breath, hoping the open comlink in his ear didn’t pick up the chatter. Internally, he gave himself a small countdown before forcing himself to step off the edge and start descending rapidly toward the ground.

“Ohhhhhh SHAVIIIIIIIIT!!!” he screamed, all the way down until he felt himself being slowed just as he alighted the ground. The transmitter definitely picked that up, he surmised. Once his boots met dirt, he began looking around like a frightened animal, grabbing the blaster off his back and trying to get it into his hands properly and swinging around in every direction. He thought he heard Fel’s blaster barking behind him, and turned in that direction expecting to see a whole swath of troopers. Instead, there were just a couple of them on the ground, and Fel was already moving inside of the storehouse. Frantically breathing, he followed the old space hound, crossing the threshold and letting his eyes adjust to the lack of light when he made his way inside. Once he spotted Fel, he quickly made his way over to him, and spotted an annoyed look on Fel’s face. ”Oh, right. The comlink. Sorry about the screaming…”

Fel Chuckled in spite of himself, killing his comm. ”It’s ok, Zee. First time free-falling from that height, I sure as the dark place had second thoughts, too. Partly thought you weren’t going to make it. But I’m glad you did.” He moved as he spoke, assessing their status in this place. The guard must’ve run outside at the first sign of trouble, because there sure as fireblast wasn’t anyone stationed in here. Kark… There were a lot of crates. A lot of kolto. He started instructing Zane as he did what he was describing, essentially showing him as he went. “Take your main line… the one you’re clipped off to, unclip, and feed the clip through the rings on four or five crates. Clip off to the last one. Then, pull your secondary line, and clip off to the final case. Yell out when you’re done.” Fel finished up with his fifth case, and then stood guard, watching the doors for any sign of troopers, his Power5 pistol held at the ready. ”And Zane! …make sure you clip off your secondary to the last case…” He flipped on his comms, not much time had passed, but even a minute or two was seconds they couldn’t bear. ”Jet, situation? Wrench, not long now, just finishing up here. Hold… hold…”

Jet kept a weathered eye on the horizon, scanning for any movement yet still found nothing. It seemed odd to him that they still hadn’t sent out the plethora of TIEs that the Basilisk was surely hiding but as it stood, they were in the clear, aerily anyway. “All clear so far, kid, wouldn’t count on it for much longer, though.” Jet barked down the comlink.

Zane nodded as soon as Fel gave him the orders, moving quickly to do as he said, trying to mirror what the spacer had done to his own crates and doing a rather-passable job, albeit slower than the seasoned smuggler was capable of doing. As soon as he finished up, he clipped his secondary harness line to the final crate and turned back to Fel. [color=cyan]”All right, it’s done!”[/cyan] He knew this was likely the only chance he was going to get to inform the captain of his “situation”, so he called out to him over the comlink, ”By the way, I need to tell you something when we’re back on the ship, before we end up leaving this place…I know it’s not the best time, but it’s important to me, okay?!”

Fel weighed the options. He had been about to contact Wrench, and tell the UA’s current / substitute ‘pilot’ to get them the hell out of there, but this gave him pause. The only thing that delayed his activating the comm was Jet’s ‘all clear’ for the moment. ”Those two things don’t really work together, Zee. When this load gets back in the hold, our next stop is offworld.” He had a feeling the young man had something he needed off his chest, it had been hinted at earlier, and if it concerned this place, and an attachment for it, or to it, then there was only one time. ”You got something you need to say – something about Lotho, you need to say it now. Because once we leave this place, we ain’t turning back.” As if to punctuate his words, a peal of blaster-fire tore across the front wall of the storage depot. Trouble was on the way, and Aellyn could only hold it off for so long…

Zane knew that they were pressed for time, knew that there was a lot at stake. But he also knew that if he didn’t try, didn’t manage to tell Fel about things, then he might miss his chance to say something - anything - to his brother. ”Fel…I’ve got a kid brother. He’s the only family I’ve got on this crap rock. I know you guys are all about getting clear from here and never looking back, and I’m pretty kriffin’ sure I’m gonna have to go on the lam with you, too, but…” He paused, stopping to scratch his head, trying to figure out what to say, ”if there’s any way that we can get word to him, or even just my family’s old friend, Parlo, I’d be grateful. I know it’s a big ask, and I’d understand if you just wanna cut bait and leave me for the Imps; but I also hope I’ve proven that I’m at least not dead weight.” He walked over beside Fel, looking him dead in the eyes with his sunken, dark brown pools staring the old spacer down through the clear pane of the scrubber mask on his face, ”Can you help me, or do I need to just unclamp this hook and start tryin’ to find a hole to go hide in?”

Taking time meant the possibility of them all getting dead. Vinoor Kara was not going to let an insult like their little heist, rest. And to an Imp, there was only one, simple solution. Eradication. Pest control. Fel knew this only too well. Never an eye for an eye… payback for the Empire amounted to a legion of troopers vs. a village of non-combatants. That was ‘fair’ to the Emperor, and his stooge, Vader. Dantooine flashed in Fel’s mind. He tried to give the kid as much empathy as he could muster in the scant few seconds they had… but ‘family’ was not something Galdaart had much understanding of. At least not in the traditional sense. His mind whirled with the astounding lack of viable scenarios playing out in his head. Each one potentially worse than the last. He didn’t want to lose Zane. Indeed, the young man had proved his worth. And Fel was sure he saw more than Zane did in himself. Time ticked on, and in the moments Fel spent thinking, blaster-fire continued outside the storehouse. Each blast could have meant the end for the UA, and their lives. They were out of time, and low on luck. Galdaart could feel it with every breath. ”We’ll find a way, Zee. We’ll find a way. I promise you that. Will you trust me? I give you my word. But we need to go. NOW.”

He looked for a sign of recognition or understanding in Zane’s eyes, then flipped on his comm to speak with the ship. “Wrench? Let’s go.” He killed the comm, and turned back to Zane. ”Brace yourself, Zee. We’re going for a ride.” Two things happened virtually at once. Wrench banked and veered sharply away from the building, feeding power to the main engines and gaining altitude, and also retracted the cables, which hauled ten crates skyward, busting violently through the front wall and ceiling of the storehouse, with Zane and Galdaart dangling safely below the last of the kolto crates. Thankfully, it didn’t take a genius architect and metallurgist to see that the cold-storehouse had mostly been made of the same scrap that surrounded the town in mountains. In moments, the two were dangling over a hundred feet above the ground, quickly approaching the hold of the UA, which was blasting skyward…

Zane felt that cold, gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach returning as Junktown became smaller and smaller beneath him. In the moment, he had agreed with Fel that they needed to leave; there was certainly a point to be made that the Empire wasn’t known to “gently coerce” their enemies into surrendering. Especially when it was a point of pride to them that no one dared to make a move against them. Still, the boy felt as though he was abandoning his brother to this planet. If the Empire didn’t come looking for him first, then the Dorbeks might actually end up on Parlo’s doorstep before long.

As the ship continued skyward, Zane reached out toward the ground, shouting with all his might into the swirling winds as if anyone could actually hear him, ”Marcuuuuuus! I’m sorry! I’m so–...I’ll be back, I swear!”

The cables pulled them and their heisted cargo into the hold, dangling them from the ceiling until the bay doors closed beneath them. As the winch mechanism lowered them onto the floor, Zane quickly unhooked himself and staggered off toward the wall of the storage area, bracing himself against a bulkhead beam as he felt his knees threatening to give out. Slowly, he knelt, ripping off the scrubber mask he’d been wearing and tossing it across the room. It clattered to a stop over next to some shelves, not far from where Fel stood. Zane struggled to breathe, feeling the tears start to well in his eyes as he clenched his fists, slamming them weakly into his thighs.

”I can’t believe I just left him there!” His voice was straining and cracking under the emotional stress threatening to overtake him, ”He depended on me to keep him safe, to keep him whole – and I left him!” His tear-filled eyes turned toward Fel as his expression twisted into one of sadness and shame, ”What if…what if the Imps nab him?! What happens when the Dorbeks show up and think that ‘one Corvus is just as good as another’, huh?! You’ve got all these ‘plans’ and ‘schemes’, right? Whaddya got for that?!”

The youth was lashing out, that much was certain. Zane knew that Fel wasn’t responsible for anything having to deal with him. He knew that there was nothing the man needed to answer for, nor would any answer be likely to balm his wounded heart. But still, he was clawing at anything, hoping that there might be something that could be done to help the only family he had.

Fel was likewise extricating himself from the harness, unclipping the several buckles that held the web of nylon and leather in place, the cables dangling from their retractors in the ceiling of the hold. It was several seconds before he realized he was holding his breath, as Zane let it all out. When the scrubber landed near him, he picked it up, turning it over in his hands. He was listening, but he was also light-years away from here, the kid’s anguish in keen, angular contrast to the apathy he had felt for his own shithole upbringing, and the chance to escape it. When Fel thought back about Taris, what he recalled was the hollow ache of an empty stomach, and the feeling of utter loneliness and helpless insignificance of a listless, meaningless life spent perpetually on the run. Nobody to turn to, nowhere to go.

The smuggler looked at Zane, one crystal-clear blue eye and the other a sickly yellow, peering at him with an inscrutable look on his gaunt features. Zee looked for all the world like he might lash out, or keel over, or curl up and hug his own knees, or cannonball back to Lotho. He looked shell shocked, like a stow-away caught by the scruff of his neck. Silence was deafening for what seemed like a long time, until Wrench’s binary scratchy tooting bleeps came through their earpieces, asking their situation. They weren’t out of the woods yet (though the Spacer felt more at ease, airborne, rather than planetside.) He held Zane’s gaze as he replied, quietly. “Two safely aboard, with cargo. I’m on my way to the bridge.”

He stepped carefully, closer to Zane, placing his hands on Zane’s shoulders. Fact was, there wasn’t much Fel could do or say to make the hurt go away, besides stay true to his word. And comfort wasn’t exactly his strong suit. Hell, communication in general was painful. He thought of something to say, discarded it. Thought again. Zee was right, of course. His brother would likely suffer. But if he’d stayed, Zane would be dead now. That much was for sure. What eventually came out was surely not what the youth wanted, or needed to hear. But Galdaart wasn’t prone to bullshitting. Even so, he tried to sound as warm, as earnest as he could, given the situation. ​​”Welcome aboard, Zane. This is my home. Maybe for a spell, it can be yours, too.”

It wasn’t long after the two returned to the ship that Jet noticed two black specks on the horizon. From his vantage point, he watched as they gradually grew in size. It became clear that the Basilisk had finally deployed TIE fighters. Jet’s heart rate quickened, each beat pounding in his ears.

“Not a moment too soon, Fel. I’ve got two coming up on us. I’d say it’s time we make tracks,” he barked into the commlink, his voice steady but urgent. He trained his aim towards the TIE which he assumed to be the closest. Firing at this range would be a fool’s errand, but being ready was the best thing to be done.

A single drop of perspiration perched upon his brow, nestled into the fine, greying hairs that crossed his weathered face. The muscles in his arms tensed, his grip tightening on the cannon’s controls. The hum of the ship’s engines reverberated through the hull, mingling with the distant, ominous drone of the approaching TIEs.

As the ship made its distance from the village, Jet took a deep breath, steadying his aim. The TIE fighters were almost within firing range now, following the UA as they made their ascent off world. He could see the faint glint of the sun off their solar panels, the menacing shape of their cockpits becoming clearer with every second.

As the UA breached the veil of hyperspace, the triumphant grin that had stretched across Jet's face faltered and dissolved, leaving behind a stark, sobering clarity. The pilots in those TIEs were merely doing what they had to do to survive—a reality that stung with a poignant truth. Jet could have taken their lives, but to what end? He lingered in this moment of contemplation, sifting through the fragments of his life, each piece a testament to battles fought and choices made. A slow, methodical sigh escaped his lips, akin to the hiss of an airlock, as he released his tumultuous thoughts, allowing them to drift away like so much space debris after a skirmish.

Descending the ladder, each metallic clang of his boots against the rungs reverberated through the hollow corridors, echoing the doubts and uncertainties that swirled within him. The sound seemed to pulse with the rhythm of his heart, each beat a reminder of the existential weight he bore. Upon reaching the deck, he moved towards the cockpit, his steps heavy and deliberate, as though each one carried the burden of his reflections. The corridor's dim lighting cast elongated shadows that danced mockingly, mirroring the inner turmoil he fought to contain.

As he neared the cockpit door, Jet paused, drawing in a deep, cleansing breath. The exhale was forced, a tangible effort to reclaim his composure and bury the introspection that threatened to unravel him. Stepping through the threshold, he donned his familiar facade, the mask of resolve and duty, even as the echoes of his doubts lingered, whispering through the vast emptiness of space.

As he attempted to step inside, Jet faltered once more, his gaze falling to the cold, unyielding steel floor. The weight of the facade he needed to uphold seemed almost insurmountable. He lingered for a moment longer, the silence amplifying his inner turmoil, before stepping back and resolving to retreat to his quarters. He decided he would face the others later, once he had composed himself.

Before heading back to his cramped quarters, Jet retrieved his rifle from where he had left it. Returning it to its designated resting place was more than just a habit; it was a meticulous ritual, a methodical way to reorder his mind and thoughts. Each action was deliberate, serving as a way to compartmentalize the chaos within, much like stowing away pieces of himself that he wasn't ready to confront.

Jet stood and walked over to the shelf. He picked up the picture and gently brushed his thumb over its surface, tracing the familiar contours. "Another job done, Rexa... Thanks for watchin' out for me," he murmured, his voice soft but steady, imbued with a quiet calmness. He placed the picture back on the shelf with a deliberate and purposeful exhale, a moment steeped in reflection and the bittersweet remembrance of a love lost.

As Jet returned the picture to its place on the shelf, a tidal wave of emotions surged within him, breaking through the dam of his carefully constructed facade. He clutched the edge of the shelf, knuckles turning white, as memories of Rexa flooded back with an overwhelming intensity. She had always been his anchor, the steady presence that assured him he was on the right path. With her by his side, every mission, every choice, had felt justified. Her unwavering belief in him had been his guiding star, illuminating even the darkest moments.

His breathing became ragged, and he felt a crushing weight on his chest, as though the very air had turned to lead. He sank to his knees, the cold steel floor biting through his fatigues, grounding him in the stark reality of his solitude. Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision as he fought to suppress the sobs that threatened to escape. The relentless ache of loss, guilt, and loneliness gnawed at his insides, each pang a reminder of the battles he could never truly leave behind.

Without Rexa, doubt crept into every corner of his mind. He questioned the righteousness of his actions, the moral compass she had once kept aligned now spinning wildly. Jet buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with the effort to hold back his emotions. But it was futile; a heart-wrenching sob tore through him, resonating through the otherwise silent quarters. The sound was raw, primal, an unfiltered outpouring of grief and pain that he had kept locked away for too long.

He stayed there for a while, letting the tears flow freely, each drop a release of the pent-up anguish that had been festering within him. As the storm of emotions began to subside, Jet felt a strange sense of catharsis. Though his heart still ached, there was a newfound clarity in the aftermath of his breakdown—a fragile understanding that he could not carry the weight of his past alone.

Rising to his feet, his legs trembling, Jet took one last look at Rexa's picture, the familiar features now blurred by his tears. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "For everything." With a renewed sense of resolve, he turned and made his way to the cockpit, each step a testament to his resilience and his determination to keep moving forward, even when the past threatened to pull him under.

Stepping into the cockpit where his comrades were waiting, Jet enforced a broad smile, his usual exuberant demeanor quickly taking over. With a light-hearted tone, he said, "So that was fun, huh?"

And then, there she was, sliding into the right-hand seat …her arms crossed, staring out the viewport. “Well, we didn’t die.” Aellyn turned her head toward the captain who seemed relaxed for someone that pulled off a heist. “Guess I misjudged you…” It wasn’t an apology but she admitted to herself she had made things a bit too complicated. Still, the crew made it out and she hoped the pay day would be worth it.

Fel exhaled slowly, and pulled his feet off the console, drawing a thick band off his wrist and putting some of his dreads up into a half-ponytail. He checked a few readouts before responding, mostly the navacomp and damage control, both of which were of nominal concern. “Hold on…” he breathed, and cut in the sunlight engines, dropping them out of the hyperspace lane and into an uninhabited system deep in the Black. They floated there for a spell, as if the spacer was catching his breath, or just letting the silence envelope them. ”We coulda died. Maybe shoulda died. We were lucky, and that’s fine by me.”

He thought about what she had done. What kind of hell it could have brought down on them. But if Fel was guilty of anything (and he most certainly was, on many counts) it was of donning rose-coloured glasses after the mission, as long as they made it out alive. A win, was a win. And the fact was, if not for her quick thinking, they wouldn’t have the Kolto. ”We’re twenty-five, mebbe thirty thou richer because of that Kolto. Won’t be sure till we’ve done a count of exactly how much we were able to snag. That’s thanks to you.” He stood, and started removing bits of the ‘trooper armor, the arms coming off first. “I could be mad, sure. And if something had happened to Jet, or my ship, we’d be having a different kind of talk right now …but it didn’t. We got the job done. And I realize that trust works both ways.”

“I would have blamed the droid for the ship.” she quipped.

He considered continuing down that line of thought. But enough had been said on the matter. She had been little more than a passenger before being roped into their caper. That was on him. And truth go on ahead and be told, Fel wasn’t honestly sure if he would have acted any differently. Hell, his own well-being was always at the forefront. She hadn’t done any worse.

The outlander bent over the navacomp once more, inputting a series of complex coordinates and vectors. When he next spoke, his back was to her. It wasn’t much of a gesture, but Fel knew it was easier to turn down someone when you didn’t have to look them in the eye. “You did ok, Aellyn.” more computations, the console twinkling and churning. “Y’know… I’d understand completely if you still wanted off at Abilene. But knowing a little about what you left, and what you were getting away from, you’d likely do better on the move, than jumping from ship to ship till you find your place to settle. And you could do worse than be here, with us.”The pilot swung back a moment later, dropping himself into his threadbare seat, just as the aft door opened and Jet blew into the cockpit.

“So that was fun, huh?”

”As much fun as one would have heisting a Star Destroyer.”

Fel smiled wryly at the big man. ”I have yet to figure out what counts as ‘fun’ for you sometimes, Jet.” Fel casts a sidelong glance at Aellyn, trying in that instant to decipher her inscrutable look, and was simultaneously glad for the distraction of Jet, but also thrown by the poor timing of the big man’s presence. He activated the comms, punching a few buttons on the centre console. ”Hang on folks, we’re making our second jump. First was just to put space between Lotho and us, now we shake any tail and get further off the beaten path. We’ll be in the lane this time for a number of hours. Fine to rest, sleep, find the galley… whatever you like. Let’s take a meal together at 1800.”

He activated the hyperdrive again, and the ship swung in a tight arc to port before disappearing into a streak of white/blue light. The three sat silent in the cockpit for a few seconds, the blur of hyperspace taking their attentions, until the silence was broken by Wrench, informing them that the course as-plotted was inefficient, slower than optimal, and would use 12% more fuel than his initial course. The little droid also added that Aellyn’s continued presence was bound only to add unnecessary ballast, and that adding a former Imperial officer to their ranks was not only foolhardy, but moronically dangerous. Yet another solid reason why he should be Captain.

…Wrench had been doing some digging, while they had been planetside.