Zane Corvus

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

The blood that had been rushing up into his eardrums, making his head pound each time he felt his heart thrumming inside his chest like a piledriver, had finally receded back through his veins following the “altercation” that had taken place outside. He barely remembered Aellyn’s hand on his shoulder as she passed him by on her way into the ship, but it was enough of a jolt to remind him to breathe and finally release the tension in his arms that held the E-11. The walk back inside the ship hardly even registered in his mind. He found himself sitting back at the dejarik table, sliding the rifle across its scratched surface, before nearly collapsing in a slump in the middle of the bench seat.

He replayed the firefight outside in his head a dozen times over in a few short seconds. The young scrapper had no real tactical understanding of anything, just a good memory. Several of Abilene’s “citizens”, all spread out across the dusty, cracked surface of her little world, all of them just waiting to put Fel and the rest of the crew into an early grave. The kid didn’t even take a single shot the entire time, just held his position at the top of the ramp and made sure no one else made it inside until the ceasefire occurred. Zane reasoned that he would want to get more comfortable with the rifle if he was expected to be of any use in a firefight again.

Now that the adrenaline in his system was leaving him, he began to feel the weight of everything in his body. He was tired. Too tired. He needed to find a place to hole up and try to get some rest. Turning in the bench seat toward the galley floor, he slid off to make himself stand, and suddenly felt his legs turn into lead. He shuffled across the deck, looking about the ship to try and locate a place where he could bed down. Turning to the right toward the cockpit, he started to head towards the one starboard cabin when he began to hear the shouting match going on in the other room. Ducking back behind the galley wall, he tried to wait out the awkward and heated conversation, unable to keep himself from eavesdropping.

Their banter was anything but friendly. Apparently, Aellyn had gone off and used the holonet to contact that ship that had shown up in the nick of time; and Fel wasn’t too keen on it. True, if the Imperials were fishing the holonet looking for any leads about their stolen cargo, it would be all too easy for them to skim info about the U.A. when those keywords popped up. But the lady was supposed to be some kind of tech guru, wasn’t she? One of the ones working for the Imps at some point, too, from what Zane could glean. So what was it that Fel was worried about? That the Imps would be smarter than her, and root them out? It would likely be for the best that they laid low for the time being, but the kid was actually going to ask her if she had the means to get a message back to Lotho – to Marcus. It was a long shot, sure, but he wasn’t about to give up on the idea of getting his brother to safety and a better life. Not now, not ever.

Zane was lost in the moment when he realized that the two of them had finished their discourse. He heard the expletives that Aellyn yelled at him before hitting the switch to slide her door shut as angrily as possible. When Fel crossed his vision, he stood there at the end of the galley, frozen with his eyes open wide like an idiot, and began stammering as he tried to find somewhere to put his hands.

”U-u-u-uhhhh, h-hey…you…” He said, trying to sound emphatic and as if he was just able to find the man, ”So, uhm…I was wonderin’...whe-where can a guy bed down at in this joint–I mean, this fantastic, uh, ship o’ yours? Whaaat? No! I didn’t hear anything, what the kriff are you talkin’ about? No way…” He let his voice trail off as he looked away from Fel, finally settling on folding his arms in front of him uneasily; his right foot rolling back and forth on its heel, the toe of his boot pointed upward.

Fel considered just continuing on, toward the bridge, toward his safe place. Where he could let all of that go. Where he felt most at home, and where nothing, or nobody, could touch him. But there was Zane. Poor kid’s head was about to split open from everything he’d experienced in the past couple days. Fel stopped, mid-stride, and exhaled, turning toward the young man. His mouth opened, as if contemplating a course of action, and changing mid-breath. He swallowed whatever it might have been, and spoke softly, as if he’d actually given it some thought. (he had.) ”Ship’s got an empty bunk, starboard side… but it ain’t made up, not even sure it’s got a proper mattress… mostly been used as a medbay last several months. I’ll get it squared away for you soon enough.” He thought a moment, brightening a little. “Best sleep I ever got, early in my time out in the Black, was in a hammock in the cargo hold on my first tramp freighter flight. Might be a good idea for you, too. Get you over your first voyage. Might decide you like it alright, too.” He frowned, mouth curling into a sour distasteful line. “But I ain’t got that rigged up, neither… How ‘bout you bed down in my bunk, kid? ‘Least for the night, till we can get you fixed up. I’m not going to be doing much sleepin’ tonight anyhow…” he pointed toward the open cabin door, the centre of the door scraped of most of its once vibrant orange paint, as if some mechanical part of the mechanism had failed and rubbed the door raw. Fact was, the whole ship was a little threadbare. Maybe Aellyn was right. Maybe it was a bit of a scow. “Make yerself at home, kid. What’s mine is yours.” Fel clapped Zane on the shoulder, and hobbled into the flight deck…

Zane’s eyes followed Fel’s gesturing hand as he indicated the cabin, and nodded succinctly, ”Uhh, yeah! Okay.” He turned back toward Fel with a sheepish grin, ”I’ll just, uh…head that way now.” With the spacer already moving toward the cockpit area, Zane realized he was talking to the man’s back, and thus decided to press onward. Approaching the door, he looked at the small panel next to it, noting the worn letters in Aurebesh that said “OPEN” and “CLOSE”. Depressing the switch, the door hesitated for a moment before slowly pressurizing the hydraulic mechanisms and hissing their way open. He then made his way inside, looking around at the captain’s chosen quarters with a bit of bewilderment. It wasn’t especially tidy, but the kid was used to that level of mess and far worse.

Removing his tool belt and pulling it off of him, he rebuckled it and hung it from the corner of the bunk along with the E-11 on its sling. Noticing that the lower bunk was a little disheveled and lived-in, he decided that the top bunk was likely the best option for him. After climbing into it, he rolled his tired body onto its padded surface. It was the first real bed he’d laid in for years. Back on Lotho Minor, all he had was a pallet in the corner of their ramshackle compartment, which he shared with Marcus so he could keep an eye on him. Thinking of his kid brother saddened him quite a bit, so he did his best to remind himself of why he was doing this before allowing his body to finally relax. The bunk may not have been the most comfortable thing in the ‘verse, but it was a far cry from the rough metal floor of his old home. And it smelled exceptionally better, too.

After several minutes of staring at the close ceiling of the captain’s cabin, he found that his body felt very heavy, all the way up to his eyelids. Within moments, he was out, dreaming of the possibilities that could present themselves now that he was on this whole new adventure.

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

Moving back within the Unfair Advantage and past Aellyn and the doc, Zane eyed the crate of kolto going out with indifference. After all, Fel had agreed that this crate was supposed to be hers; so by all rights, she was just taking her due. Shrugging to himself, he continued to move further into the ship toward the refresher that Fel had told him about. Easing through the door, he searched around for a few to find the kit that the pilot had referred him to, opening it up to find bacta patches. These looked a lot fresher than anything he'd ever laid eyes on, and the kid didn't really know if he should be wasting them on his scrawny hide. Still, to look a gift bantha in the mouth wasn't just rude, it was also stupid. Those things smelled.

Removing his shirt, Zane looked over his body to the many different sores. He tried to figure out which ones were the worst, and which ones could likely just use some disinfectant and then be allowed to carry on and heal. After giving himself a sort of "triage", he opened the bacta patches one by one, the sickly-sweet scent of it beginning to fill the room as he started dressing his wounds. He only used a few of them, choosing to use the small can of disinfectant spray on several of the smaller ones before slapping a simple bandage over them and moving on. Taking a deep breath, he slid his shirt back over him and tucked it back into his jumpers before heading back out of the refresher.

The sounds coming from outside were a mixture of high winds, shifting sands and dirt, and something else he could barely make out. Sounded like machines of some sort. Zane made a quick effort to get back to his bags where he'd left the former soldier's E-11 rifle, also seeking to arm himself with one of the stun sticks he'd found in the shuttle they raided. Once everything was on his person, he said a little prayer to whatever floating noodle monsters might be listening, and then made his way back toward the ramp, choosing to hunker down just beyond the top of it. Whatever was coming, he needed to make sure he was ready for it.

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

For all the twinkling lights and the hum of the machines, Zane barely understood what it was that Jet was really up to there in the so-called “power plant”. He’d heard it explained that it was - quite literally - the beating heart of the ship. Everything from the engines to the hyperdrive and shields were controlled from there, along with life-support for anyone who traveled within the vessel itself. So when Jet had explained that it was best that Zane didn’t touch anything, his survivalistic instincts kicked in and he did well to remain as far away from anything that looked like a button or a switch; at least until he could better understand what was going on in there.

Once Jet had finished up his checklists and made the proper adjustments he needed, the youth watched the seasoned spacer make his way to the fore of the vessel, following him for a bit before pausing at one of the cargo holds where he’d stashed the loot he’d scrounged up from the shuttle. Not bothering to say anything to Jet about breaking off from him, he slid into the compartment and began going through the bags and cases to better organize their contents. He began opening the containers and retrieving their contents, laying them out on the bay floor in a few well-organized rows. For all the ways that he could be a screw-up as a Junker, the one thing he knew to do and do well was organize the loot.

There were four medkits with a standard complement of bacta patches, antidote cocktail injectors, revitalizer diodes, bactafoam woundkits, and handheld medical scanners. They looked far newer than anything the kid had ever come across before, and in much better condition. The two cases he’d managed to stow in the medical duffels were your typical technicians kits. Those came with several tools that he couldn’t really identify, and more than a few that he could. The hydrospanners alone were likely worth a few hundred creds. There were a ton of spare parts as well, likely to be used in case of an emergency. Top all of that off with the technician’s datapads and several stun batons and gas grenades he managed to snag off of the shuttle’s riot rack on the way out, and it wasn’t a bad haul.

With everything laid out in front of him, Zane rested back on his haunches, staring down at the array before him. Obviously, the stun batons would come in handy. He’d probably keep one of those, if it could be spared. Anything else would likely need to be assessed by the crew to determine their best uses. Zane could respect that. He barely knew what half of it really was, anyway. And anything that had an Imperial insignia on it likely had some means of being traced, or at the very least, recognized by someone out there. They’d have to be careful not to give anyone the chance to come looking for them. Luckily, Zane and most of the people on Lotho Minor had never been on the Empire’s radar before. Concepts like “ident codes” didn’t apply to them. Zane had never even seen the inside of an Imperial anything until Fel and his bunch had “conscripted” him into their grand scheme.

At least, for now, he didn’t have to worry about anyone finding out about Marcus and Parlo. Even if the people there cared little for his existence, Junkers didn’t sell out their own. They handled their problems from within. But Zane needed to figure out a way to help his family. If this whole thing with Fel was able to assist him with that, then he’d do whatever it took to make that happen. He only hoped that Marcus would be able to understand why he had to do it all, someday.

Once he had finished going through all of the parts and equipment he had “procured”, Zane began to put everything away as neatly as he knew how to. Best not to leave everything strewn out all over the cargo area, for sure. When he was finished, he placed the duffels and technician’s cases over near the wall and began to make his way back toward the common area. He was pretty sure it wouldn’t be long before he heard from the captain about what was to come.

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

Hearing the crew talk about the heist and the possible breakdown of the score was a little bit over the young man’s head. Although, considering everything he’d had to go through in order for them to come through on that haul, he sort of hoped that they’d be trying to consider his part in the whole ordeal. When it seemed like the air was clear for a moment, Zane stopped staring down into his bowl of chili and dared to speak up.

”Uh, not that I’m trying to pull at straws or anythin’, but…we all sorta put our necks on the line out there, right? I understand it was the Doc’s info that got us the score, and I’m not sayin’ it weren’t good enough to make sure he’s gettin’ his share, but me and Fel hauled choobs outta the cargo bay hangin’ by a thread - don’t that count for nothin’?”

His Basic was horrible, but his point still stood. Intel was one thing - and probably one of the more important things amongst all the others - but if it weren’t for the Captain and himself, none of that cargo would have made its way onto the boat. Sure, Jet probably could have made a better hand at nabbing the stuff, but that wasn’t the only contribution that Zane had made today.

”Not to mention, after literally fallin’ into this whole sitch, I ended up puttin’ somebody in the ground today - or whatever it is that Imps do with their dead, I dunno. Somebody that coulda done the same to our lovely cap’n here. It was–” He paused for a moment, unsure if he could even finish the sentence, “-It was the first time I’ve ever had to do that. Sure, I’ve put a few hundred volts of electricity through a guy or throttled ‘em a time or two, but…I’ve never done…that before…”

“Like I told you on the shuttle and the cargo hold. You will be alright but it won’t get easier from here…” Aellyn stood from the table, took a peek into the pot of chili. “Nah, not eating that. Doc, if you are done eating, we have some plans to take care of.” She turned toward the table, her attention on the med tech. The Doc finished and they both headed toward her cabin, the door sliding closed.

Fel chewed and swallowed the bite of food he was working on, tearing off a bit more bread, watching Aellyn go. Maybe next time, she would teach him a thing or two in the galley. (Not bloody likely.) There weren’t no gourmet meals out here in the Black. Least, not on this ‘luxury yacht.’ The kid weren’t wrong, but he lacked a basic understanding of how it was going to work.

”Everybody gets a share, Zane. Any coin that comes our way, gets split ‘tween us all. That’s after a chunk goes to the ship for fuel, food and repairs.” He continued, chewing a bit more bread, his tone conversational, friendly. “Thing is, sometimes that chunk for the ship is bigger, if we need to make big repairs. And sometimes if someone played a major role in making sure we got paid, that person owns a bigger share. Putting asses on the line isn’t necessarily criteria to get a bigger share. I expect that from everybody. Otherwise, we all get the same. Making sure we get paid, can take on a lot of shapes. Like — if I gave you a crate of kolto, who’d you be talking to, to fence it? Who’d be giving you the coin for it that it deserves? Can’t just roll up on that gang of Lotho toughs that were on you for blood, and squeeze C100,000 out of their Buster Browns… sometimes you gotta have the contacts out here, and that deserves a share, too.” There ends the lesson. Hopefully that shone a light on some of the intricate dealings out here. 2+2 didn’t always =4.

Zane’s eyes lowered back to his bowl of chili, unsure if anything he’d even said could be taken seriously by the rest of them. Still, ‘a strill with its mouth closed never got fed’ – or so that saying goes. Speaking of ‘getting fed’, the boy decided that he’d held himself back long enough. Taking one of the eating utensils on the table in his hand awkwardly, he began to shovel it into the bowl and pull a bite of the chili up to his mouth. The meat and sauce dripped from the sides of the spoon back into the bowl below, and steam rose from the food itself. This would likely be the first time he’d been able to eat warm food in months. Sliding the bite into his mouth, he felt his eyes roll back in his head as his tongue savored the flavors there – all of them a hundred times more exquisite than anything he’d tasted in quite a while. It might have been simple fare to the others who sat at the table, but to him it was more of a feast. He knew that he hadn’t had anything to eat in a few days, so he would need to pace himself if he was going to make it through the meal without it coming back to visit him. But he couldn’t help but eat a few extra bites in quick fashion right then, even if it was going to cost him later.

What Fel had told him was also weighing on his mind. It was true, he didn’t really have any idea of how this whole heist thing worked. He’d gone with Parlo a few times in the past and gotten to see how deals worked between Junkers and the few crews who actually bought their salvage off of them before, but other than that, he knew very little about how the rest of the galaxy actually worked, from an adult perspective. Fel was likely right - there were several factors that likely went into determining the worth of someone in a crew like this. Your merits alone may not be enough to get you a sizable cut. Some things required connections. You had to know people - the right people. Zane figured that Fel was one of those people he might want to know - at least for now. As he thoughtfully chewed on the protein in the chili he was savoring, he let that idea float around in his mind for a while, glancing furtively at the grizzled, mature spacer. He’d be watching him closely, making sure to soak up everything like a sponge, until he became knowledgeable and indispensable to the whole crew.

That way, when the time came for a decent share, he’d have the kind of leverage he needed to make that happen.

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

The weight of everything had kept Zane pretty much adhered to this singular spot; curled up in a ball with his arms wrapped around his knees next to a bulkhead beam in the cargo bay. The entire day was replaying over and over in his head. He'd killed a man for someone he never even knew, assisted in a heist against an Imperial ship, left his brother behind on that gods-forsaken planet - all in the span of a few hours. And now, he was on a ship barreling through hyperspace to some other system that was likely lightyears away from the only family he still had. The youth held onto the sleeves of his stolen Imperial engineer's uniform with a white-knuckled grip, unable to do anything but sit there and think. To anyone else, it must have looked like he was frozen in shock or fear; but in reality, he was trying desperately to come to terms with everything that had taken place and doing his best to formulate some sort of strategy to press forward.

When Aellyn had walked in, her boots thudding against the grates of the cargo bay floor, he was broken from his thoughts as he listened to her words. Her words of praise nearly rang hollow - Zane didn't feel like he had done anything worth the accolade. Still, there was something in her affirmation that rang true. He had to move forward. It was likely the only thing left to do at this point. Picking his head up, he looked to her and managed to mutter out a single word, "Thanks..."

It was the first word he'd spoken since yelling at the walls of the cargo bay before. His voice was dry, and his lungs felt as though they were aching and burning from breathing the recycled air; as though they were being disinfected from the decade of breathing the harsh air of Lotho Minor. As a matter of fact, his entire body suddenly began feeling the effects of having done so much over the span of the day - running from Dorbek's "gang", pulling the heist...after all of that, the adrenaline of it all was finally wearing off. Pulling himself up, he stood to his feet and knocked the dust off his jumpers. He realized then that - despite every part of his body aching from head to toe - he was feeling particularly-light. It didn't really dawn on him until now, but it must have been because the artificial gravity of the ship was set lower than that of the full weight of Lotho's gravitational pull. Taking a deep breath, and exhaling all of the worries from his body, he took a look around at the cargo hold with a new sense of wonder. He was really here now. Back in outer space. "I guess it's high-time I stop mopin' and get on with things..."

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

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.”

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

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…”

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

Zane barely understood what was going on at this point. Fel had handed him a scanner, something he had rarely laid eyes on for the majority of his time here on Lotho Minor, and told him to “look the part”. So, that’s what he did. From the time that the Stormtrooper at the checkpoint had very nearly made him evacuate his bowels once his ID tag didn’t work until Fel had quite skillfully laid the bantha-scat on so thick it made his nose wrinkle, Zane had attempted to act like he was there in that vault with a purpose.

Scanner on? Check. Lights blinking? Check. Making funny noises when he passed it over the nearest crate? Also check.

He was just about to turn to Fel and state that ‘this one was clear’ when Fel seemed to act with a sense of urgency and ushered him down the aisle, turning a corner around this particular stack of crates so that they were no longer in view or earshot of the troopers there at the checkpoint. Fel mentioned something about them only needing to be in there for five minutes, and Zane nodded, trying his best to be compliant. Still, he was a bit confused as to where they were actually supposed to be heading, so he turned and looked back over his shoulder as he walked in front of them, his steps unsure while he whispered just low enough for them to hear him.

“Uhm, yeah…that’s all well and good, chief, but…where the kriff am I actually going? You got anything in that little doodad of yours that’s gonna point us in the right direction?”

Fel spoke under his breath, as much as the Imp vocoder would allow. “Fireblast, kid… hell if I know. I’ve seen as much as you. But Imps being Imps, this sithspit is all numbered, and the numbers I gave at the Sec point were on the level, for what it’s worth. So, me? I was gonna go in Alpha-numeric order, quick-like.” He pointed at Aurebesh, stenciled on the crates at the ends of aisles. YC… YN… ZA… ZF… “here. ZY. Down this way.”

The boy nodded and did his best to act like he knew what he was doing, even though he most certainly did not. Moving down the “ZY” aisle, he tried to follow along with the numbering of the crates - numbers were never really his thing - until he came across the two that Fel had mentioned to the checkpoint guard. Amongst all of the other treasures, these two crates were all they were here for? Gold from over a dozen worlds, gems, priceless art, and this was what cut muster as their “invaluable cargo”...

Zane waved his two “Stormie” escorts over casually, trying not to draw too much attention to himself. When they drew close, he stood there with the scanner held out in front of him toward the crates, acting like he knew exactly how to use the well-aged device in any way whatsoever.

”Okay, so…these are your boxes…and I’ve got little blinky lights going on with the scanner, I’m looking important…feel free to jump in anytime here. Really, I don’t mind.”

Zane truly had no clue if he could even fake a “contaminant warning” in the scanner. He only hoped that the two seasoned grifters would have some sort of input or would start making their moves soon, otherwise, they really risked tipping their hand. And from everything Zane knew of Sabacc, that wasn’t a wise thing to do.

Jet spotted a repulsor sled as they made their way down the aisle. He paused to grab it while the others continued ahead. Just as he turned it around, Zane called out. Jet quickened his pace and caught up with them.

“Nice work, kid,” he said, dropping the sled nearby. He moved to the two crates, checking their numbers against the ones they needed. Smiling at Zane, he patted him on the shoulder before hefting the first crate and placing it on the sled. The crates weren’t particularly heavy, but carrying them by hand was awkward, especially in the restrictive trooper armor. Jet knew the sled was essential, but he also knew they needed a plan to get the crates off the ship.

Fel echoed Jet’s sentiment. Zane had done well finding Abilene’s property. Meanwhile, the spacer had filled a third, smaller container with Aurodium. Surely, Kara wouldn’t miss such a tiny amount – still worth a fortune. “Ok. We’ve got what we came for.” He searched carefully for what he was looking for, took a deep breath when he found it. Fel dropped an igniter under the particulate sensor cluster, and gestured to Jet and Zane that NOW was the time to make for the exit. They got about a dozen paces before all hell broke loose.

The igniter set off the heat and particulate sensors (which emitted the same piercing, warning klaxon as a biological agent would have) and the Sec units at the checkpoint had communicators and internal comm systems flashing, trying to answer and quiet the many inquiries about the alarm as Fel, Zane and Jet approached. The sec units only took partial notice of them as they approached in a hurry, much the same as every other tech was likewise hurrying – running back and forth across the compartment, carrying various bits and trinkets. Weapons were drawn, and shouts and chaos came from every aisle and doorway, it seemed.

”These are the two cases, Sir. ZY5-232 and ZY5-233. Seems we’ve got a hot one.” He waved at Zane, who held the scanner aloft. ”Set off the bio-threat alarm as soon as I opened it. We’re taking it to containment on level 85!” The sec agent held up a hand to stop them, but Fel was already moving through the checkpoint…

Zane was already hot on the heels of Fel, noting his choice of additional “cargo” and grinning at the idea of hauling out the priceless metals right under Vinoor Kara’s nose. When he saw the trooper trying to halt them at the checkpoint, he called out to Fel. “N-No, containment won’t work.” He thought about earlier, when the Chiss had told them about the temporary shut-down for most of the systems on the ship while they were performing critical repairs. “The shut-down, remember? We’re going to need to get these off-site as soon as possible.”

“Now, hold on right there!” The officer had seemingly had enough of being ignored, “We have to clear all of this!”

Zane figured now was the time to step up and show what he was actually capable of bringing to this little “operation”. He stopped at the checkpoint for a brief moment, standing toe-to-toe with the soldier, and started to speak as authoritatively as possible. “Look, I understand - you’ve got a job to do. But so do we. You do realize that this contaminant is probably from this planet, right? Have you seen what this place can do? Because I have!” He unzipped his jumper a bit, pulling the collar of his shirt aside to show one of the exposed sores on his skin for the briefest of moments. “Caustic rains, biological contaminants from a hundred different worlds, karked, damn-near poison air quality - you get the picture?! And these crates must have been exposed to something out there that’s been sitting on those shelves for over a month, and it’s still setting off the bio-scanners! We have to do this - just let us go!”

The officer started to step toward Zane, and his expressionless helmet didn’t really give Zane a lot of context with which to assume what his reaction would be. Zane placed his hands on his hips, just above his belt where he knew he had the blaster secured in case this became an “Oh, kark! Someone needs a new hole to breathe out of!” situation. After a few tense moments, the security leader stepped to one side, and spoke through the vocoder in an even tone, “What do you need?”

Zane breathed a sigh of relief for a moment, starting to step past him to catch up with Fel as he turned around to call over his shoulder, “Get on the comms and contact the flight deck on floor 85! Tell them we need to have a shuttle prepped ASAP for emergency transport off-site. We already have a med-tech and the last member of our detail waiting for us there.” He started to jog off, and turned back one last time, “And thank you, sir! We’ll make sure this is taken care of, pronto!”

He caught up with Fel and Jet, promptly falling into step with them as he spoke just so they could hear, “There. Now we won’t have them breathing down our necks, hopefully…”

The group of them moved through the ship, and Fel took a quick moment to relay the meeting point for the group to Aellyn on the comm frequency that they’d set up beforehand. The trip up to the docking bay on Floor 85 took them several minutes, and there were more than a few looks from some of the other crew of the Basilisk as they hastily made their way down the corridor. Still, once the three of them arrived, they found a shuttle waiting and a few troopers waving them over. Aellyn and Viszt hadn't quite shown up yet, but Zane was sure they would be there soon.

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

From the time the binders had been slapped on his wrists until this moment, Zane felt like he was walking around in a fever dream. How did he get himself into an even worse situation than dealing with the kriffing Duros?! So much of his life was a mess already. Adding onto it with this whole debacle wasn't likely to create an upward trend anytime soon. He'd had a little time to process his thoughts, although most of it ended up revolving around saying several expletives and inwardly cursing the shorter Stormie for not giving him ten seconds to process his thoughts or offer up a protest. But once the binders were clapped and the barrel of a blaster was pointed back in his face, he tended to grow a little tight-lipped. But now that the cuffs had come off, Zane found the zipper that had kept it all shut in.

"'Sorry', he says..." he mutters to himself as he rubs his wrists, walking down the aisle of lockers to look for the stuff Fel had mentioned, "Sticks a gun in my face from the word 'go' and just now gots the stones to say 'sorry'?"

He finds a rack with several maintenance jumpsuits of various sizes hanging on it, and starts going through them, checking the tags to see if he can find one that would fit him.

"What the kriff am I even doing here, anyway?" He continues to whisper to himself as he pulls one of the suits down that he thinks will work, pressing it against his body to see if the length is similar enough to cover him. "I'm pretty sure I laid it all out there when I said 'I ain't gonna be much use on a kriffin' spaceship', but by some mysterious sort of frack-my-life magic, here I am!"

Frustrated, Zane slung the jumpsuit he chose over his arm as he quickly strode down a few lockers and opened up a random one to see if he could find some boots that would fit him. No dice, those looked like they would fit on a toddler. After a few more tries, he seemed to locate some that looked around his size, if not a little bigger. He sat down, placing the boot sole-to-sole to confirm as he finally addressed the two men, keeping his voice low, as he noticed the sound tended to carry through this flying metal triangle.

"So...any chance I can maybe get the 'skinny' on what the kark is actually going on here? Also...a little help? What's a 'ID tag'?"

There were likely a billion other questions that he wouldn't have minded the answer to at that moment, but, the situation called for discretion, whether Zane knew what that really was or not. He was already in the thick of things, and there really was nothing else he could do now except try to make the best of a bad situation. Which required him to be immensely less-ignorant than he was right now. He started untying his boots as he sat on the bench in front of the lockers, looking up at the two armored men questioningly.

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

From the time that he hit the ground, the world around him was a spinning, blurry top. His lungs could barely fill with air once it had been knocked out of him. He couldn't maintain his focus for more than a second. Even when the Stormtrooper had nabbed him up and tossed him inside the storage building, he felt like he was outside of his own body for most of what was going on. The small bits that he was able to piece together were barely registering, right up until he saw the blaster pistol being shoved squarely in his face. It brought him back to the present in spectacular fashion. His adrenaline surged through his system, and he clearly heard the trooper ask him which one of the group chasing him wasn't presently in the room after his little romp through Junktown.

"U-Uh...S-Snivvian! There was a Snivvian. Not sure where he'd be heading, prolly in one of the alleys nearby-"

There was some sort of exchange between two of them after that. His eyes lost their focus again. Just how hard did he hit the ground?

And that was when he saw the trooper remove his helmet. He blinked his eyes a few times to make sure he was seeing what he thought he saw. This wasn't a Stormtrooper. The words he was harping at his fellow "soldiers" was evidence of that much. Zane tried hard to focus on what was being said after that, although only a few of the words were registering. Something about a plan, and then he mentioned the Basilisk...wait. Were they planning on making some sort of move against the Empire? What did he just manage to land himself in the middle of, literally?

Just then, the larger trooper walked back in carrying the Snivvian under one arm. It was then that Zane realized just how tall the white-clad warrior was. Far bigger than many of the troops he had seen around in the past few months. Wait...why was Zane still thinking of them as Stormtroopers? It was quickly becoming obvious that the lot of them weren't Imperials, at least not now. It was then that the blue-skinned one spoke up, and Zane was able to pick up a few things from his short speech. He was smart enough to know how to make the best of a bad situation. The mention of whatever this "kolto" stuff was might be enough of a bargaining chip for him to make it out of this debacle, if he was keen on not ending up in a ditch here in Junktown. Oh, kriff... Zane thought, I'd better figure out how I'm gonna be useful, if I expect to walk out of this shack alive.

That was when Zane heard the female voice speak up. His eyes got a little wide as she removed her helmet, realizing that she looked incredibly Imperial. While she was speaking her thoughts aloud, Zane's eyes narrowed. Why were they going on about this "plan" they had with such little regard for who was in the room? That didn't bode well in Zane's mind. Still, Zane had to focus on what was being said if he hoped to get a glimpse of some way to get out of all this with his eyes still in their sockets. The woman mentioned a "smuggle job" - stang. That wasn't good. Now he knew of some kind of thieving plot along with seeing their faces.

Then the large "trooper" was suddenly back among them, and the feeling in the pit of Zane's stomach was suddenly cold and gripping his insides. Kriff me runnin'...I did not see this coming. This has been a truly kark-tastic day. When the big guy removed his helmet, Zane got a good enough look at him to realize that he was the military type, for certain. And when the man's eyes fell on him, Zane recognized the look that he regarded him with. It was one that he had become increasingly familiar with, ever since his parents died. He'd seen it in Parlo's eyes, too. Pity. It was almost enough to make him retch.

Then the man spoke some more, and Zane realized his words were regarding him...

“And the kid’s coming with us,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “He’s a local; he knows things this guy doesn’t.” He nodded towards the Chiss, who sat silently, observing the exchange. “He’ll either prove his worth or I’ll personally toss him from a height much higher than that damn balcony.”

@Archazen

And there it was. The threat was hardly veiled. Zane believed that the hulking male would definitely carry out his statement. He felt the adrenaline rush through his system again as his mind struggled to figure out something, some way that he might be able to wriggle his way out of this. His "fight or flight" response was in overdrive, wrestling against the sheer amount of fear that froze his legs in place as he sat curled up on the filthy warehouse floor. Those thoughts were intermingled with something that Zane couldn't quite get a grasp on. He almost felt envious of the group. Here they were, seemingly just the three of them, talking about attempting something that Zane had only scarcely imagined in all of his years; the sheer excitement of it all grabbed his attention like nothing else.

As all of these different notions swept through his mind, he started to formulate a few thoughts that prevailed against the others. He spoke in a low mutter, barely registering against the rattle of the warehouse walls being shaken by the wind outside.

"...This just ain't my kriffin' day..."

When he looked up to see that a couple of them had looked in his direction, he finally piped up.

"Look, I barely understand half of what you guys are wrapped up in, but, it seems like it's gonna get a lot more complicated here in the next few minutes. Tossing me in the mix prolly won't do you any favors, honestly. And thank you, y'know, for dealing with those guys. Sorry for, uh, 'dropping in' on you like that." Zane swallowed hard, the dryness in his throat becoming more and more apparent following his chase through the valley. "I dunno what I'm gonna be able to do to be 'useful' to you - I might be able to get you through town without much incident, but beyond that, the Imp over there is probably gonna be your best bet on the Basilisk."

Zane couldn't really understand why he wasn't trying to upsell his worth to the group, but, he figured that trying to do so might just end up putting him in a worse spot than he was already in with the Dorbeks. Which reminded him...

"Oh, by the way...those crates in the back have an internal release lever. It's one of the first things we learned about as kids. You may wanna just stun the whole lot of 'em before you walk outta here." He realized he was likely saying way too much at the moment. "--Sorry. I'll shut up."