deegee

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

It never took long after Fel started grafting in the galley that the ship was soon enveloped in the tantalizing aromas of freshly prepared sustenance. Fel, with his unassuming demeanor, would likely dismiss the notion that these scents were anything but a natural consequence of cooking. Yet to Jet, these savory fragrances were harbingers of much more—a guarantee of a hearty meal shared amidst laughter and camaraderie.

Despite the inviting atmosphere, Jet found himself pausing at the threshold, hanging his arms from the edge of the doorframe. Another mission had been successfully completed, and it was now time to relax and decompress. As he stood there, Jet found himself observing the bustling activity in the galley, the chatter of the crew, and the subtle dynamics that played out between them.

His thoughts drifted back to the very reason he had joined this journey. With a sharp intake of breath, he thrust his hand into the pocket on the leg of his mechanic's overalls and retrieved a worn, slightly crinkled photo. It displayed an image of his former apprentice, Nova. The sight of her youthful face brought a wave of relief, and he tenderly returned the photo to its resting place. Comforted by the knowledge that the precious memory was still safely in his possession, Jet felt a small measure of peace.

With a sigh, Jet unzipped his overalls and tied the sleeves around his waist, revealing a grey tee shirt underneath. He walked over to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down, resting his elbows on the table, one hand wrapping over the fist of the other. Letting his stomach win over his heart for the moment, he glanced over at Fel who was still busy cooking.

"So, what culinary masterpiece are you whipping up for us today, Fel?" he asked with a wry chuckle.

Fel leaned to the side, essentially poking his head out from the galley to look into the common room, where he saw Viszt at the Dejarik table, and Jet leaning his elbows on the round table they used to share meals. It was, like the rest of the UA, worn and scarred from hot pots, spills, and often being used as weapons-cleaning stations, project-table, and even, after that one failed gig ages ago on ‘Shaddaa, a makeshift operating table. But it was clean, sturdy, and would fit all of them in a pinch.

Fel picked up the large pot, holding it out into the room with mock-pride. There was no wordstuff. Jet would know well enough, the appearance of that pot meant either ‘stew,’ ‘curry’ or ‘chili.’ And since the smells were obviously not curried, he had a 50/50 shot at one of the few recipes Fel turned to on the odd occasions he cooked more for himself than toast.

Setting the pot back on the cook top, Fel placed the lid and let the contents simmer. Bread was in the spinner, chilli needed time to bubble away. He came and sat opposite his old friend. “So. Abilene. How should we proceed?”

Jet inhaled deeply, drawing in the somewhat stale air, now tinged with the aroma of chili, before exhaling slowly.

"Abilene..." He murmured, hanging his head and rubbing the back of his neck in contemplation. "As much as I hate to admit it, our options are pretty limited." Jet leaned on the table once more, the old surface groaning under his weight. "We can either hand over the goods up front and hope her word is trustworthy... though that's a long shot, obviously... Or we take a hostage approach. We don't release it until we get what we're owed. But that could also end up burning more than it builds."

Fel shook his head, tossing the options back and forth. In their favour was the fact that Abilene had no planetary defenses. They could land anywhere they liked without incident. That part of the game was theirs to play. They could make the old lady come to them. But Jet was right about the exchange. Only a couple of ways to play it. ”No, we can’t hold out on her. The goods are hers. Holding back would assume we could find another buyer. We can’t. Our only play is to hand over the goods, and press for what she promised. That could go bad, but it’s a chance I’m willing to take. And what she promised, she can – and will – deliver on. I’m willing to fight that fight. And I can get close enough to put an ace on the line that she won’t like the fight I give her.” He smiled thinly.

It wasn’t much of a plan. But as usual, they were between a rock and another thing that was likewise hard, but not-a-rock.

“Agreed. The goods are hers, supposedly. Though, we risked our necks for it. I would make sure what she has promised is there before the exchange, like the big guy mentioned. Otherwise, no deal.” Aellyn shrugged. “Of course, there is also the kolto, which I want a crate. You can split the rest amongst the four of you. “

Fel startled slightly at Aellyn’s presence. He wasn’t particularly jumpy, but she had appeared from out of thin air, apparently. ”Kevarrik… better get this one a set of fuzzy socks… she could steal the Emperor’s eyes and nobody’d be the wiser.” He shook his head in mock frustration, then grinned at her ability to completely sneak up on two old outlanders unseen. ”What Abilene owes us is there. No question. Only question is whether she wants to let us have it. As for the kolto,” he shrugged, glanced at Jet and back again, ”…you deserve it. That was your score.”

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

Once they were safely in the lane toward nowhere (he’d zig-zag once more before plotting course for Abilene) Fel left the flight deck, slapping Wrench once on the noggin good-naturedly, the flat, loud metallic sound reverberating around the cockpit, before he left for his bunk, as if signalling “you’re it,” to the little droid. Getting the rest of the stormtrooper’s gear off felt especially good. And the shower that followed felt even better, washing away what remained of Lotho from the crevices and hard-to-reach areas, like getting rid of sand from a beach. When he finished, he said a silent word for Dazac, Jace, Liya, Mack and even Wade (that son of a motherless Eopie) – those who had gone before, and wished them well, wherever they were. Some above ground, some below. None here. Dressing in one of only a few different sets of clothing he owned, Fel omitted the gun belt for the time being. This was home, and home was as safe as things ever got for folk such as them.

He moved out into the UA’s main common area, nodded at the Doctor seated at the broken Dejarik table, and moved into the galley. It had, he mused, been a long time since he had cooked for so many, or even that so many had been aboard. The spacer took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. His skills in the galley were meagre. In fact, there were only a few things he ever cooked in great quantities. He pulled out packaged protein, and some dried goods, hydrating them. Then he paused and sought out Zane, finding him in the cargo hold talking with Aellyn. He cleared his throat to announce his presence, and excused himself. ”'Scuse me bustin’ in like this. When you’re all done here, Zane – I could use your help in the galley.” He smiled honestly at Aellyn, and returned to his task. Beginning to fry up the protein, he seasoned as he went. After a little while, he could feel a presence by his right arm, and glanced over to see Zane had arrived. The smells of not-half-bad cooking permeated the ship.

”Far smarter man than I once said that a good chilli was all about the seasoning. Now… I don’t know about that. But I can sure tell you that a man tends to forget about the dehydrated this, and the packaged that, if you can season it half-decently. Now, the bread we’ll be makin’ to go along with this… that’s science. Plain and simple…”

The boy, tall and slender, moved into the galley and looked around at the smattering of cooking utensils hanging from hooks and magnets, taking in the scent of the seasoned protein and feeling himself begin to salivate. This was likely the first time he’d smelled food that good in weeks. Most of what he’d had lately - if anything - was simple dried goods that kept well under the acrid conditions of that waste planet. He tried to listen to what Fel was saying, but his stomach started rumbling the moment he’d walked through the galley doors.

And then he’d heard Fel mention ‘bread’ - something he hadn’t had in years.

”W-Wait, what? You guys have bread?! That’s so wizard!” he exclaimed excitedly, ”I haven’t had anything but protein in various forms and packaging for stang near a decade…”

Fel smiled to himself, and pulled a few measuring spoons out of a drawer, and opened a small storage compartment beside the cook-top and extracted a few very old tins which had once been Navy field rations, now hastily scrawled with ‘yeast,’ ‘sugar’ and ‘salt.’ He poured off a cup of water from the internal storage tanks and began sifting ingredients – all average, run of the mill endeavours to someone who’s seen it done a thousand times, but Fel knew, even with the janky, homespun, jury-rigged nature of his galley and utensils, this would all seem like proper alchemy to Zane. ”Chilli ain’t no good without bread, Zane. Exact measurements. That’s the way with bread, and hell, I still kark it up half the time meself.” He used up the last of the sugar in order to get the recipe underway, and he was low on yeast, too. Fact was, the galley was almost out of most everything. That’s just the way it was.

He added more of some of this, and a touch more of that to the protein, and then dumped it into a pot. There were no fresh vegetables, but that’s what dehydrated foodstuffs were for. He opened another vac-sealed packet, which looked like a few tiny red seeds, and hydrated them, withdrawing four plump tomatoes from the steaming device. ”Here, kid. Get to choppin’ these up. Nice ‘n small. And try to save all the juice. We’ll need it.” The kid’s eyes were big as saucers as the process continued, each new item or pinch of seasoning adding to the flavours and smells.

Fel smiled once more as the scents began to permeate the UA, mixing with the gear oil, the smell of acrid, hot electronics, and the general waft of beings cramped aboard a near hundred-year-old ship. It was an odd mix, he’d have been the first to admit it, but there was something oddly comforting about it too. And as the crew began to congregate in the common space - drawn by their noses, and as conversations and laughter filled the gaps between the creaks of the airframe and the thrumm of the engines, it began to sink in that they had made it. They were alive.

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

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.

Love at World's End. <Seeking F>

I can play F for you... this intrigues me.

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

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…

Sci-fi interspecies galactic exploration type stuff

ummmmm.... colour me interested...

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

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.”

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

…Fel found himself counting first – the beings they passed in the halls and intersections. Then the doors they passed. Then the signs. Then the footsteps. Finally, he counted every breath. Just waiting. Waiting for something to change, someone to shout ‘hey, you!’ Waiting for a team in sec uniforms to pour out of a turbolift and surround them, blasters ready. His heart pounded in his chest. If it went that way, he gave them one chance in ten to make it out alive. The fact that his pulse was hammering in his ears, was not a good sign. He tried to focus, concentrate on what was important, get them where they needed to be, and when worse came to worse, rely on his memory of his time aboard these ships (or ones similar) and let muscle memory take the reins for a moment while he inwardly panicked (like every other Trooper he had ever spoken to.)

It almost happened. And damn the blood rushing in his ears, he almost missed it. “Hey! You. Troop!” By the time Fel had stopped, the officer had actually called out to them twice, had run after them, and was almost on them. They were a dozen paces from the turbolift. Could they make a run for it? No way. They’d get as far as deck 77, but they’d die in sight of their target. No, better to talk through this. Fel swallowed his fear, and turned crisply to meet the officer.

It was a junior officer. And Fel was relieved (after a momentary panic attack) that he was by himself, not leading a platoon. And this officer wasn’t Sec. He looked like a gunnery officer. And what’s more, if he had to guess, he’d have said this officer didn’t look overly frustrated or angry, which was the norm. He paused, catching his breath for a moment. “You should have stopped, troop. Chased after you fifty feet or more. What’s your Ident?” Fel knew enough to know there was no point in explaining himself. That time was past. “RT-774, sir.” The officer drew himself up to his full height, which was a few inches shorter than Jet, but taller than Fel. Straightening his jacket and cap, he curled a gloved finger at Galdaart. “Give me that weapon, soldier.” Kriff. It was an order. There was no turning it around. No denying it, or denying the officer, if Fel wanted to keep this civil. He looked quickly at Jet. It was tough to get a read on his partner in his armor, but he looked tense. Fel nodded slightly, before handing over his T-21. Full military safeties. He first checked the bolt, safetied the weapon, and surrendered it at full attention, as if he was on the parade grounds.

The officer checked the well-worn weapon, sighting along the barrel, checking the optics. “You Recon boys spend a lot of time planetside. This weapon is a disgrace.” The officer ran a gloved finger over the pectoral crease of Fel’s armor, wiping away some of Lotho’s grime and smudging it between thumb and forefinger. “The optics have seen better days. There’s better than a years’ carbon scoring on the barrel and action, and there’s corrosion on the charge port.” Fel thought quickly, thinking he had to salvage this interaction in some way. “Lotho has been tough on the gear, Lieutenant. We’ve been on a two week sweep, two sectors to the South. I apologize for my appea–” The officer waved off his reasons, silencing him with a raised hand. “You boys…” he insinuated Fel and Jet “...are on the front lines, or working without a chain of command for days on end. This old “A” model is at the end of its service life. Here…” he produced a pad of paper, and scrawled some vaguely intelligible words on it, tearing off the top sheet and handing it to Fel. “Take this to procurement. Get yourself one of the new “D” models. And get that armor squared away. Carry on, troopers.”

He snapped a salute, and Fel did his very best to return it, even thanking the Lieutenant. They moved off, and a moment later were safely in the turbolift. Fel cursed bitterly. He slammed a fist into the wall, hands shaking. “I nearly… I very nearly wasted that sonovabitch. And he gave me a damned requisition form for a new rifle. Kark.”

Jet clapped a firm hand on Fel's armored shoulder, steadying him. "Don't let them get under your skin, Fel. Maybe we snag that 'D model’ as a big middle finger to them." He smirked beneath his helmet. "Lucky it was you they asked... I might've clocked the guy for acting all superior." Jet hissed in disbelief. "Typical Imperial arrogance..."

From the time that the officer had called them down to the moment that the lift doors had closed securely behind them, Zane was - quite literally - holding his breath. To the point that his face was beginning to be tinged with a bit of a bluish-green color. Once he had found his way to the back of the turbolift, the boy let out such an exasperated exhalation that he thought he was going to expel the meager contents of his stomach in the process. In the few tense moments that followed, he was nearly hyperventilating while catching his breath, hands shaking like he had been jonesing for a glitterstim fix, with eyes as wide as a Rodian’s. He tried to steady himself, noting that he wasn’t the only one who was shaken by the encounter. He barely heard what the two of them were saying to each other over the sound of his own heart beating all the way into his eardrums, but he seemed to get the idea that neither Fel nor Jet held any love for the Empire.

The adrenaline started to thin in his system as Zane pointed out toward the door, still trembling, ”He was gonna, and then you were…how the kriff do you guys do this on a weekly basis?! I’m gonna need new jumpers if this keeps up!” He took a few more breaths as he slowly stood himself up from the wall, collecting what little remained of his wits. ”Whew! Okay, I guess we should be glad he didn’t question me, right? But if he did--if they do, at any point…what do you want me to tell them about why I’m with you? We should prolly-I dunno-try to have some kinda foolproof thing in place, dontchathink?”

Fel produced a small device from the satchel that hung from his utility belt. Jet would recognize it as a handheld scanner – typically used for assessing hull integrity for weak points. It was clean and made a low whine when activated. The whine changed pitch when brought close to a solid object. “Show ‘em this. Nobody will know what the hell it is… that scanner’s gottabe a hundred years old. You got this, Zane. Just act like you know what the hell’s going on. Our lives kind of depend on it.”

The lift whined to a halt, and the door opened onto deck 77 of the Basilisk. For the most part, this resembled most other service and support levels for a fighter-wing carrier vessel. However, the Basilisk functioned with one fewer fighter wing complement than a standard ImpStar, and as a result of this the associated service bays, flight storage racks, parts and equipment storage, and support personnel for the wing of 72 combat-ready TIE fighters and their accompanying shuttles and transport / support craft were simply removed from the Basilisk, creating an entire hanger bay, now devoted to Vinoor Kara’s plunder.

It was vast. It was almost incalculable. Crates, cargo containers, pallets of goods, artworks in large, upright wooden protective surrounds, life-size sculptures, rare or antiquated tech, precious metals and gemstones from a dozen different systems, ores rich with worthy deposits, aurodium & gold — lots of gold, harvested and in the process of harvesting from all sources; from old wiring and electronics, to teeth. Buckets of all kinds of aurodium-rich components covered long tables. Techs poured over these source materials, retrieving the gold. Huge bricks of the stuff, 3X3X3, stood in neatly smelted stacks, all emblazoned with the Imperial crest. These crates and pallets and cargo containers filled row after row, some the size of the cargo crates that littered the UA’s cargo bay, others could have held a disassembled X-wing. The rows stretched out for as far as the eye could see, it seemed.

There was a sec checkpoint, unlike at other decks. And there were cameras. Fel scanned his ID, and Jet followed suit. They moved to enter, but the gate scanner went red when Zane followed them. The sec leader halted them, looked Zane up and down. “You two are cleared. But what have you got this tech here for? He’s not supposed to be on this level.” Fel had thought ahead about this, and tried his response on, for size. “We delivered…” he checked his manifest, looking for the numbered crates Abilene was after. "ZY5-232 and ZY5-233, about a month ago. My unit chief says they were never scanned for biological agents. Told us to come down with a tech right away. Just following orders… You know how it is.” As if in response, Zane produced the hull scanner and activated it, passing the device through the air, taking "readings." Fel regarded the sec leader who looked to his subordinate, who shrugged. The leader was visibly puzzled, this was something new, which he didn’t have a prescribed, rehearsed and approved response to. “I’ll have to clear it.” Fel was likewise ready for this. “That’s fine. You go on and clear it. Here’s the **forged and embellished** order from Admiral Kara. We’re going to go about our business, ensuring there’s no toxin aboard the ship, while you confirm the order.” He walked in, escorting Zane, and followed by Jet, leaving the sec lead scratching his head and calling for a supervisor on his comm, his subordinate was looking through a book of regulations, surely looking to find an answer to a question nobody had ever asked. A dozen steps in, they turned down an aisle, and Fel quickened his pace, checking his chron. Twenty two minutes remaining in Aellyn’s hour. When he spoke, his voice was low, but the strain was evident. “We need to be in and out of here with those crates in less than five minutes. Let’s move like we got a purpose.”

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

Long shot, but you guys wouldn’t have a slot open, would you?

@Sanity43217

The ‘regular crew’ is full for the time being… but we might be in need of some guest spots…

-Dee

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

Fel nodded at both Viszt and Aellyn. There was nothing left to be said. An hour was plenty. Any longer, they'd be putting down roots. Or they'd be dead. An hour it was. An hour was about the outside edge of how long Fel gave them before something went sideways. Too many questions, a pass-code that flagged them, a fatal mistake. He watched them depart, moving into the belly of the beast, before turning back to face his 'captive' and Jet. Moving closer to Zane, he disengaged the binders on his arms which had been hanging above him, affixed to the seating compartment itself, forcing the kid to essentially hang from his wrists for the ten minute ride. The spacer felt pretty bad about that. It would have been excruciating as the blood left his extremities. He thought back about Imp protocol, which dictated the prisoner should have been stunned, but that did nothing for them but create dead weight to carry. Instead Fel looked to Jet, nodding slightly, and prodded the kid ahead of them, toward the sec checkpoint. At the same time, he input the sec link from Aellyn's datapad.

At the security checkpoint, two black-clad officers held up hands. "State your duty and destination." Fel responded as blandly and matter-of-factly as he could, as pain etched itself onto the kid's face as his arms throbbed with the return of sensation. "RT-774 and RT-717, escorting this local prisoner to cellblock 3-13 for immediate interrogation." The addition of that last bit of information should have been enough to answer the Imps next, as yet unasked question, about why the prisoner was conscious. If he was scheduled for interrogation, they'd need him alert. "what are his charges?" one of the sec troops asked. He was Coruscanti, the thin, wiry, angular features denoting the lineage of a core worlder. You didn't get to be a sec officer in the Imperial Navy without being a 'true believer.' Fel's face scrunched into a disgusted sneer behind the mask. Fel shrugged. "From us? Petty theft. But the local elected magistrate suspected he and his cohorts of being a possible Rebel cell. We're just the escort, sir." The security officer looked to his counterpart, who seemed bored and disconnected, likely thinking of his next shore-leave. He sighed. "Fine. Let me see your ident-tags."

Fel and Jet held out their wrists, and the sec officer scanned their ID chips, which came back with the clearances Aellyn had uploaded. "Alright. Get him outta here -- he stinks." The officer saluted. "For the glory of the Empire!" Fel had never wanted to smack the shit out of anyone so badly, but he returned the salute. "Long live the Emperor."

They moved through strange, but familiar halls. Fel had never served aboard an ImpStar, but the similarities to the Venator were obvious. Even so, they paused at a holo kiosk a deck below their entry point to download tracking and navigation data. Fel spoke in a low tone to Jet. Other troops and officers were moving about their assigned tasks, but nobody took undue notice of them -- yet. They couldn't walk aimlessly with a prisoner for too long without attracting the kind of attention they didn't need. "There. Cell blocks are on decks 67 and 68. Our target is just aft of the main shuttlecraft hangar on deck 77. But this..." he tapped the display. "This is what we're after." It was only 700 yards off. On the same deck they were on. (deck 55.)

They moved off, and kept their 'prisoner' in front of them. As they neared the compartment in question, Fel took the lead, and scanned his access ID chip at the compartment access door, which opened immediately. His hand tightened on the grip of the T-21. But the lights were off. The room was empty. About 100 feet long, with consoles at one end, and what looked like tool and repair bays aft of the consoles. and along one wall, lockers, as far as the eye could see.

Fel spoke to Zane, as he removed the binders. He knew the Stormie vocoder wouldn't impart much sympathy, but he did his best. "Sorry, kid. Had to make it look good." He inclined his jaw at the lockers. "Maintenance. Get yourself a uniform and an ID tag." Zane looked confused, but game for the big show. "C'mon, kid. Time's tickin'."