deegee

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'."

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

Fel was already on the move. He picked up the helmet, and looked down to the local urchin as he slid the mask back in place, his voice now issuing from its vocoder. "We got a bus to catch. And you heard my partner. You're comin' with." He considered the cargo crates. Considered how many of the assembled locals had likely made their containers stink of urine and shite. Also momentarily considered taking the time to do exactly what the urchin had suggested. But it would take too long, and ultimately, he knew even the hour-long lock he'd imposed wouldn't hold water. The workers would come back. The workers would let out the kids. And then -- then what? They'd go complain to a local Imperial peace officer that some troopers they couldn't identify assaulted them? They'd retaliate in some way? The thought was laughable. "Your buddies got nothin' on us. I couldn't care less if they popped out and danced a jig right here, right now."

As he spoke, he looked around to make sure the rest of the team was gearing up from their little vacation in the storehouse. Fishing in the two rear pouches of the Trooper's utility belt, Fel fished out what he was after: binders. Clapping them on the urchin's wrists - tight - he spoke once more to the assembled group before moving out. "Transport. On the double. This one's under arrest for *attempting to pickpocket* our lab tech here." Fel shouldered the T-21, and held the kid under threat of the EC-17, held loosely but ready. The kid didn't need to act much or put on a performance. Fel was moving at a fast march, and the kid... well, if he kept up, fine. If he didn't, Fel dragged him. If he stepped out of line, or moved in a way that was anything other than exactly where Fel's hand wanted to be, he was jerked back into line. It looked the part, and they covered ground in a standard cover formation, Jet leading the group, Fel & Aellyn trailing the Chiss and to either side.

The transport arrived at what passed for the town square, a small squad of 'clean whites' -- four of them -- spilled out the loading door on the flank of the K79-S80 ITT, which was about the size of an armored car. Fel spoke up. "RT-774, escorting this tech back to base. This one --" he tossed Zane to the dirt in front of him "was trying to relieve the tech's pockets of his creds. I'm taking him in." The lead trooper, wearing the shoulder epaulet of an officer, and carrying an E-11 with the stock extended -- not something you see too often -- replied. "You're late, 774."

Fel smiled behind the visor, as the eyes of the other troops looked to their squad leader, and then back to their assembled group of misfit toys. He didn't skip a beat. "Take it up with greasy here, LT. We were on schedule till he tried lifting the man's wallet. May we?" He insinuated the ITT, and the Lieutenant nodded. He had superiors to answer to as well, and being behind schedule was as good a reason for an ass-chewing as any. Fel could see the response coming before it had arrived. In a culture of fear-based paranoia (which the Imperial regime certainly was) the fewer waves made, the better. So it followed that in certain circumstances, the fewer questions asked, the better. Fel dragged Zane back to his feet.

They piled into the ITT, and Fel was pleased to find there were no further troops inside, only the driver and his co-chair. Happily, the Chiss didn't seem to need direction, and merely took a seat close to the driver's compartment. Fel locked Zane's binders above his head at one of the rear-most seating positions, locking eyes with the kid for a short second and giving him a barely-perceptible nod. Turning back to face the cabin, he noted that one of the LT's troops had occupied the roof turret, while the rest were ranged amongst Fel's group, their stark white plasteel in sharp contrast to his team's own dirty, worn gear. It imparted the right feel. Fel's squad had seen a lot of action, had been on assignment a long time, whereas these squeaky-clean bucket-heads seemed like they spent their time marching in formation, being good little imps. Fel appreciated the implied superiority that imparted to them. He even caught one of the subordinate troops surreptitiously knocking some of the local dirt out of the tread in his boot.

Stormtroopers were a dime a dozen. And they knew this. Anything a trooper could do to individualize themselves, or stand out in a crowd of identical buckets was quietly encouraged among the legions, so for the 'clean whites' here, Fel knew that he and his squad looked like combat vets. And that was where he wanted to be.

The ITT began to move, the inertia letting them all know that the thing wasn't as dumpy and slow as it might have appeared. The Lieutenant spoke up again, from his position sitting beside Aellyn. "ETA three minutes to the Basilisk... so, how long you three been on LRP here?"

Ghosts of Highlake

Vaguely have the idea of a gambler who owns the town's brothel.
They're a long retired bandit, that had a great eye but no Quickdraw.
Would this be good?

@AwesomeZero5

That sounds great! Let's see him / her!

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

“Sir…” Speaking to Fel. She paused, she didn’t know what story to come up with, so she improvised. “Found the technician that needed transport back. Believe he got lost.
Aellyn just turned this plan inside out, she hoped that Fel and Jet didn’t mind the small hiccup.

@Zoie Hart

Fel was formulating a response, maintaining composure, trying his damndest not to be done with both their 'officer' and the fireblasted Chiss right then and there. And then a local decided it was time to crash their party. Literally. This was too fracking much. If it weren't for the thin atmo, and the ever-present wind whipping what passed for O2 away, they could have seen steam coming from Fel's ears. The smuggler looked slowly around, making sure that nobody had taken too much undue notice of the activity in their immediate vicinity. Some locals were glancing their way, and the young toughs above them on the upper level walkway looked like they had collectively crapped their pants. In what amounted to miracle #1 of the day, somehow no other Stormies had noted this activity. If they had, the gig would most certainly have been up. Fel was livid. He scanned their immediate surroundings, spotted a door into what looked like a small storehouse. A quick glance at Jet, insinuating the local toughs on the upper landing. "Round 'em up." The young urchin who literally fell into their midst, Fel picked up by the scruff of the neck, drawing the hand blaster from the small of his back, letting the T-21 rest on its sling. This he pointed in the direction of the door. "In. All of you."

His forearm threw the door open, into the storehouse, revealing a pair of older locals piling and filing different bits of crap and salvaged useful parts onto shelves, and into crates. There were no windows. The faceless Stormtrooper dumped the wheezing urchin on the floor, bringing the T21 up to point loosely at the two workers. "Take a break." They stood, struck dumb and immobile, not comprehending the order. The vocoder barked once more. "Frack off! Out the back!" They took one look at each other, dropped what they were doing, and fled. Fel held them all under the barrel of the long gun for a few moments, until Jet arrived, several young street toughs in tow. Fel counted six. He looked to Jet, who held up a lone finger. Fel winced.

He regarded the Junktown toughs for a few moments, watching their actions. They were all looking to a Duros to see how to act. Fel regarded this Duros, and the human crumpled on the floor that he had carried in here mere moments before, who seemed to be recovering, slightly. He stooped to face the human kid, all skin and bones, greasy hair and sunken eyes. It was like looking into a fireblasted mirror at himself, fifteen years ago. "My partner says one of the guys chasing you got away. Which one -- and where do I find them?" There was no hesitation in Fel's voice. No room for dodging the question. It was heavily implied, there was only one way this could go. Truth, or there would be consequences.

After Zane spilled, Fel looked once more to Jet, jerking his head. The inference was plain. Go get him. Bring him back. They could have no loose ends if this was to work. Fel checked his chron. Looked to the Chiss. "You. How long till your transport arrives?" Five standard minutes. Kriff. This was going to be close. He cast his gaze around the storehouse once more. Saw his method. He moved over to a series of small interstellar-grade cargo containers, opening them. He turned back to the urchins that had been chasing Zane. "Get in." He could see the hesitation writ large on several faces. He primed the light repeater. "I'm not asking again. Get. In." It was tight, two per container, packed like sardines. He sealed them, setting the lock to release in an hour.

Turning back to Aellyn, the last remaining urchin, still recovering on the floor, and their Chiss guest, Fel removed his helmet, dropping it on the floor. The sweat had matted his hair, ran down his temples. The rage was etched onto his features, his mouth pulled back into a snarl. His eyes bore into Aellyn's. "You may not have liked the plan before, might have thought it was overly simple. But if you add any more twists and complexity to this little caper, I swear I will bury you under the Basilisk." The door opened, and Jet entered, carrying a young, unconscious Snivvian over his shoulder, nodding at Fel. Galdaart looked to the youth on the floor for confirmation. Once received, that was the one... he jerked his head to illustrate the cargo containers. Turning back to Aellyn, there was still a fire in his eyes as he continued. "So, what would you have me do here? You want me to shoot this Chiss bastard and hope we don't spill any of his blood, so you can have your gorram officer's uniform? Or are we taking him with us? You just developed a sixth sense for trusting people you just met? What's it gonna be?"

He figured they had two minutes to make a choice, and meet the transport. Whatever the choice was, it was going to be swift, decisive, and there was no going back. As far as the street urchin at his feet, Fel had made his choice. The ones giving chase would sweat it out for an hour. This one could beat it. He had done the kid a favor. The Chiss? He wanted to hear what Aellyn came up with, right here, right now. "No. More. Surprises."

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

..

@Varshanka

??

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

Oh Glitter Guppy... where are you? And are you really going to join us? ...a guy can hope.