STAR WARS: Tapestry, The Tattered Edges

Episode II: WAY DOWN IN THE JUNGLE DEEP

The travel through hyperspace has been a mostly uneventful one, allowing for a few days respite after the frantic escape from the Wheel. The crew of the "No Chance", comrades in strife (for the moment), has had the opportunity to get to know one another as much as time, proximity, and personality has allowed.

For their part, Kurr and Rehn have managed to keep the rusty bucket in the starlanes, with Nestil standing watch over them to make sure that they do it right. Although the old patrol boat is creaky in places, its structure is solid internally and it served admirably in the scrum over the space station. On a more thorough inspection, no other surprises awaited the pirate and his gang, not counting the shipment of extremely well aged Nerf Cheese found in one of the cargo storage compartments.

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With the battle over and their ship zipping through the safety of hyperspace, Wes's hibernation sickness returned to him fully, the ancient Mandalorian near collapsing in his gunnery chair. He has spent a majority of the transit in the empty bunk affectionately referred to as the "Sick Bay", left to empty the contents of his stomach as he sees fit.

Al'verde stands watch over his brother-in-arms-and-armor, using a menacing wave of his massive powerhammer to ward away the historian's attempts to study Wes or Nestil's much more aggressive attempts to recruit him. Over time Wes's retching stops, and he recovers much of his strength, but could still do with a proper bed and a meal hardier than spacer rations.

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Callia has found himself in a tinkerer's paradise, the No Chance's major systems amounting to a tangle of nonsensical functionality and shoddy backwater mechanic work. Many have been the times that the running lights have flickered or the artificial gravity has been deactivated during the scientist's mad workings, only to be unceremoniously turned back on, often times at the most inconvenient of moments.

He has found a like intellectual in Oraltor, but between the Ithorian's incredible bookishness and Callia's random bouts of disinterest, not much of a relationship forms there. The Jedi historian has occupied himself with pouring over the oubliette with a delicate care, an occasional "Oooh!", "Aaah!" and "How fascinating!" rumbling from his throats to interrupt the silence.

Thusly does their time pass, with Solsis VII and further unraveling of the mystery that is the Jebble Box on the horizon...

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With a sudden shudder, the No Chance drops out of hyperspace although fortunately it is at the outer edge of the Solsis system. This isn't the usual, "What the hell is Callia doing now?!" shuddering as it becomes more violent by the moment, the lights flickering until they go completely dim and the emergency lights sputter into illumination. Unbeknown to the rest of the crew, the mad scientist stands staring at the relay that feeds the ship's refresher units, while behind him the primary hyperdrive coupling has caught a flame...

Those at the helm notice that they are running on auxiliary power, and there's no assurance that it will last them the rest of the distance to their destination. Solsis VII is in sight, and growing larger as the boat stutters forward on it trajectory. A large frigate soon comes into view, looming just in orbit around the jungle planet. Several pieces of what appear to be debris, and soon resolves themselves as starfighter drones, break off from the larger ship and embark upon an intercept course of the No Chance, although their weapons are not active as of yet.

"Unidentified transport, this is the Ali'La. Transmit your transponder code and state your business in the Solsis system."

The voice is raspy and decidedly humanoid, but spoken in Basic. Although the communique comes through clearly, the tail-end of the message is interrupted by a bark of haughty laughter.

"Yes... Do state your business spacer, as you are a long way from civilization."

From around the planet, in an orbit opposite that of the Ali'La, an even larger frigate presents itself. From it issues a flight of larger starfighters, Predators from the looks of them, and the Chance's scanners soon identifies the ship as an Ardent-class Fast Frigate. The Dark Lord's Ship "Voracious". The unmanned fighters scatter as the Predators perform a flyby on the patrol boat, and a low grumbling can be heard over the comm channel from the Solsian frigate. The Sith ship remains silent, awaiting a response.

((SPECIAL Consider the No Chance at -4 on the Condition Track, until actions to repair the damage are taken, and no hyperdrive until the appropriate parts are replaced))

Rehn swore under his breath. That frakking Ithorian took them from one hostile port to another. He hit the comm, hailing the Ali'La right back. "This is the -" He rubbed the buttons on his sleeve over the microphone to create the illusion of static. "We're bringing in a shipment of aged Nerf Cheese for -" More static. "We had some trouble with a supergiant a few parsecs back and -" Static again. "As soon as our computer is back running -" Static. "- our transponder code." He shut down the comm.

"Hammerhead, get your nerfherding flank in here!" he shouted back into the corridor. He glanced at Kurr. "Do you think they'll have our original transponder code?"


(Deception+9 + Force point.)

Callia stares at the refresher relay, trying to decide whether it is worth tinkering with. He had noted when using the refresher unit earlier that its pressure is inconsistent, and inconsistencies aggravate his mechanical mind.

Yes, its worth spending some time on after all, he concludes just seconds before the No Chance makes its violent re-entry into realspace and he is shaken from his feet.

As usual his droid companion Jasper bobs around nearby, its repulsor propulsion systems allowing it to ignore the tremors that wrack the ship.

'Master, are you unharmed?' Jasper queries, offering his creator a limb and helping him to his feet.

'I'm fine Jasper, just fine. Shall we get to work on the relay?'

Jasper turns Callia around while his second snake-like appendage points out the flaming hyperdrive coupling.

'I think we have a more pressing task, Master,' he suggests.

'Oooooh dear. You may be right, I suppose I should prioritise my jobs,' Callia says resignedly as he straightens his lab coat and puts on his best impression of a sensible, respectable person. It almost suits him, if you ignore everything about his eccentric appearance.

'Well then,' he continues, walking over to an access panel and popping it from the wall, 'put out that fire then come help me regulate the power.'

'Yes Master!'

((OOC: Callia [Mechanics +17] will be taking the Regulate Power action as many times as it takes to remove the condition penalties. JS-PR will attempt to aid him each time, automatically succeeding since his Mechanics skill beats the DC 10. That bumps Callia's modifier up to +19 which means he also automatically succeeds at regulate power's DC 20.))

Al'verde had just finished adjusting his cannon and hammer so they would fit back into their concealed slots before he adjusted his cape and looked around the ship. His H.U.D. was still switched on, due to habit, and locked onto the first thing that moved. He quickly switched it off before that cannon came back to life. He knew that last then they needed was a hole on the ship. As he walked around he noticed Callia and his droid working on the ship trying to help undo the damage from the fight they managed to escape. He though about offering to help but figured he would just get in they way. His mind still played back the last shot he pulled off. If he had only had those reflexes when he was with his team he might have been able to save them, rather than them having to save him. He made his was to the commons area and sat down. He slowly pulled his helmet off and sat it down on the table in front of him. He reached into one of his bandoliers and pulled out a flack. He quickly undid the top on took a swig of the liquid inside. With a deep breath he tried to not let the past get to him, after all he had a new crew to protect. He knew that one of the other things he needed to do was get his own fighter of some sort. He needed better weapons and he hated not being in control. He made a mental note to talk to the pilot if he was going to be stuck on this ship for a while.

The retching had finally stopped.

lying there in the make shift medical bed sans armor Wes looked up at the transports ceiling. What did I do to end up here. And can I go back to fix it? The Mandalorian warrior thought to himself. His body was still sore though not as bad as when he had awoke. Cramps and stiffness still plagued him but with a few more days and some better food he was sure he'd be up to fighting strength again. He put the thought out of his head. He never whined about life before and he wasn't going to start now. Yes the galaxy was different. Vastly different than the one he left over a hundred years ago. He would make do and once again bring honor and glory to the Del-Fin clan.

----

Looking to his side he noticed that Al had stepped away. Wes was thankful that a Vod had been there to watch him. He needed the rest and with the Imperial Knight and the Jedi historian asking questions it was hard to rest. Yet Al had kept them at bay.

Swinging his legs off the bed he sat up with a noticeable stiffness in his muscles. He looked at his armor that was close by. Sliding off the bed and grabbing what passed for under armor clothing he walked to the refresher to clean off. When finished he donned the garment and put his armor back on and grabbed his carbine. The environmental systems kicked on and the HUD came up stating all systems were functional. Smiling he removed the helmet and walked to the common area where Al was sitting. Placing a armored hand on the large armored shoulder of Al he spoke. "Thank you Al. Its good to know that our ways are still around despite these sounding turbulent times."

As the ship came out of hyperspace quickly Wes shifted his weight to keep balance. his hand on Al's shoulder also kept him from falling.

"That didn't feel right did it?"

Kurr stared out the viewport and gritted his teeth as Rehn sent over the message. "We're space dust," he muttered to himself. Looking to Rehn, he replied, "Whatya mean our original transponder code?! Sonovabospor ... yer th' gristin' computer whiz, can't ya make one up, Pinkie? Maybe we ken get th' kid an' that trash can up here t' help ya ... gotta find sum use fer 'em before I space th' pair ..."

Snatching up the ship's intercom, Kurr announced to the ship, "Oy! We've got sum problems up here Mates ... if sumone'd be kind o'nough t' bring th' karkin' Hammerhead up here ... maybe he could answer a few things. Otherwise, ye may want t' hold on t' yer preciousness an' get ready fer a mighty abrupt landin'!" Looking back at Rehn, then back to the viewport, the Feeorin strapped on his buckle and starting plotting a course for the planet. "I hope that bluff o' yer's worked Pinkie ... cause if not, we're gunna have t' make a run fer it ..."

[OOC: Prepping for a fast getaway if needed ...]

"You don't have a backup transponder code?! I can't just make one up on the spot like that. I can't just type in a series of random numbers and hope it passes as a code! These things take time! This is your frakking ship, and you're telling me you don't have another frakking transponder code." Rehn muttered more curses under his breath, waiting and hoping the Sith didn't need one. "If I have to give them our real code and it's in their databanks, we're all gonna get spaced. You know that right?"


(OOC: Out of curiosity, how long does forging a transponder code take?)

"Wha? What is wrong, what- OW!"

A great deal of scuffing and clanging is heard as the Ithorian hurries his way towards the cockpit like a drunken Bantha over a particularly shifty sand dune. When he arrives in the cockpit and takes in the scanner and the warship looming in Solsis VII's orbit, his eyes blink wide on top of their eyestalks and he begins to dry-wash his hands.

"Oh no... No, no, no... There were never any Sith here, its suppose to be to remote a backwater! I hope the Hobben are all right... And what of Jakira? Or more importantly, my research?!"

Oraltor squeaks to himself in worry and begins pacing behind those assembled around the captain's chair. The Jedi turns back to fret further, when a pair of communiques cuts him off.

"I do not see any scheduled shipme- "

"You're cleared to land Spacer. And please try not to get eaten by anything."

The comm trails off with more grumbling from the Solsis frigate, and a muttered conversation about "the Savages" and "The Governor's obsession with cheese." The element of Predators breaks off on a return flight back to the Voracious, as do the starfighter drones of the native frigate. Kurr is able to guide the No Chance through the Solsis VII atmosphere with no small amount of turbulence, but after the trip through hyperspace to the planet the rocking and jostling seems as gentle as a mother's embrace.

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A torrential sheet of rain greets the patrol boat as it breaks through the atmospheric cloud cover and it is the patrol boat's ever-persistent guide through a tropical treeline that would make even an Ewok dizzy. The No Chance narrowly avoids collision a countless number of times before it belly flops onto an available landing pad, the retractable landing gear deploying at just the last minute. A loading droid cobbled together from the many varied (and often times incongruent) pieces of other loading droids roll-crawls over to help unload the Chance's cargo, but there's really no other port authority in sight.

Few of the indigenous Hobben patrol the space port, and those seldom few carry ancient blasters and armor obviously crafted from materials native to the world. What are more plentiful are the Imperial naval commandos, and the occasional stormtrooper squad, that prowl the corridors of the space port, their blaster rifles and armor of the highest Imperial issue. But as the crew of the No Chance progresses through the halls, the soldiers don't spare them a second glance, their attention focused on making sure that the Hobben stay in line.

While the docks are mostly uninteresting, the center of the spaceport is predominated by a massive atrium that showcases the most exquisite specimens of Solsis VIIs flora, and some of its more benign fauna, as well as a transparisteel dome that gives a heavenly few of the rainy tree canopy. Directly ahead of the crew, and across the atrium, is a spacer Cantina, its half-lit sign aptly naming it the "Power Surge". To their left is a massive, and rather bustling mongers bazaar, while on the right is a walkway that leads out into the capital of Inlu'la, and the rest of the jungle proper.

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"For the last time doctor Jakira, we have shared with you every resource that we can spare! It takes nearly all we have to maintain some measure of civilization here and around the garrison. I don't know how these sav-... lacious, salacious! Hobben have managed it all this time!"

Shifting his eyes from one corner to the other, the governor licks index and middle fingers and uses them to smooth back the four strands of hair left on his sweaty pate. To call Radge Rothke bulbous would be kind to him and cruel to bulbs. A nose that resembles a well-mashed potato dominates the center of his face, and the set of eyes just above it are set so close together as to almost be monocular.

Yet no matter how mental or physically deficient the garrison Governor may appear there are two things he does appear to have in abundance: Greed and Avarice. A pair of black-armored stormtroopers flank him to either side, heavy blaster rifles held at perfect parade rest. Those few citizens strolling through the atrium ignore the exchange, although a few spare the Zeltron doctor sad-eyed smiles of sympathy.

"Although... I suppose more supplies could be appropriated... If certain considerations are made, hmm?"

The Governor's smile is enough to make a Zeltron turn blue, and it doesn't take Jakira's innate empathic abilities to glean Radge's intent.

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"Kurr, is that you? Why you ol' one-eyed Kath Hound, how the sith are ya?"

A gruff, booming voice echoes around the quiet atrium, coming from the direction of the bazaar. Its owner soon comes swagger out of the market: a stumpy Besalisk wearing the overalls and tool bandoleer of a mechanic.

Before the pirate has a chance to belch in surprise, the Besalisk is charging across the atrium and sweeping Kurr up in a bone-crushing Wookie hug.

Perhaps strangely, it seems Callia is quite excited to see the planet on which they have landed. The discovery of a distinct lack of repair components on board, including the necessary coupling to get hyperdrive flight working again, cements his decision to leave the ship.

He walks with the group, apparently more aware of his surroundings than usual: as physically evidenced by the fact his goggles are pushed up his forehead rather than over his eyes, causing his already wild hair to spike up all the more. Those eyes dart about with unbridled curiosity as the ragtag bunch of "comrades" makes their way through the spaceport tunnels.

As ever, JS-PR follows Callia like a loyal puppy. For once he doesn't talk too much, apparently content just to see his master out and about.

Callia beams when he spots the bazaar. He may find the needed parts there, or at least get to see some cool gizmos.

'The ship's broken. I'll find stuff to fix it,' he briefly explains before peeling away from the party and crossing the atrium, ready to plunge himself into the colourful marketplace.

'Oh dear,' Jasper says with apparent resignation as he turns in the air to keep the Fyrthen in view of his sensors, 'not again. Wait for me, Master!'

'Come on Jasper, you're lagging!' Callia shouts over his shoulder, the sound of his voice echoing slightly around the large chamber.

Rehn sank back into his chair as the No Chance approached on their landing vector. They had done it--they'd gotten past the Sith with nothing but a pair of goggles and a particularly convincing lie. After the ship landed, Rehn supervised the removal of the stinky cheese, making sure the loading droids were not programmed to try anything funny.

As soon as that was finished, he followed the others off the ship. When they approached the atrium and Rehn spotted, the cantina, a wide grin split his face. He grabbed Oraltor with his mechanical hand and dragged him toward it. "Let's go Hammerhead, we have business to discuss. Then you can go off and find your research and that Jack person. Got it?" There was no question in his voice--he had risked everything to get that Ithorian off the station. He was getting paid. Now.


(I'm going to assume that Oraltor hasn't yet paid him. If so, well, I'll think of something else.)

Al'verde looked up as Wes and offered him a drink. As the ship docked he took the flask back and donned his helmet. With a quick hiss of air the vacuum seals closed and the H.U.D. flickered to life. With a quick flick of his left wrist the power hammer sprang out before retracting back into it's hidden slot. His cannon also sprang up and rested on his shoulder for a few seconds before retracting as well. After adjusting his cape he took a deep breath and lightly hit Wes on the shoulder "Ok vod'ika, lets get going. I think I'm going to try and find a cheep fighter if I'm going to stick with this bunch." he said, his helmet hiding his smile.

As he walked down the ramp he held his shoulders up and slightly back, presenting a commanding presence as he scanned the area. He noticed a Zeltron who seemed to be bargaining for something. He also noticed the two stormtroopers. He laughed as he noticed their blaster pistols. He double checked the his holdout pistol was still hidden as he took a few steps in their direction. He didn't want to start a fight...well not all of him. He was happy to be off the ship but his mind was still not settled from the fight. He figured if nothing else he could look around for an arena or someplace he could get rid of all his pent up anger and figured that if he helped one of the locals they would be willing to help him. He took a few more steps towards the Zeltron and made sure he kept his wits about him, he never did like dealing with government officials.

Jakira's smile never left her expression as the lecherous man hinted his intentions. If there was anyone salacious on the planet, she thought, it was this man. She forced herself to keep her usual demeanor and not to shudder as he continued with his overture. Instead she tried to approach the other aspects of his personality, greed. The Zeltron wished she had something to use to bribe the man, but her clinic had never been wealthy. It had been almost breaking even by the time the Sith appeared, now it was a struggle to get the simple necessities. The Hobben people were suffering under the Sith's rule and Jakira had resigned herself to doing what she could with what she had for them.

Leaning forward slightly toward him, she takes her voice lower. "The Hobben are fortunate to have such a benevolent governor looking out for their interests. With these supplies I'm sure your superiors would be pleased to know that production would increase as more workers are able to come to your call." She continues on in the same tone, standing up straight once more. "Production I understand has been decreasing as the amount of injuries from accidents increase. Without the supplies, I am unable to attend to their needs and without the Hobben, you lose your cheap source of labor. Which is more worthwhile? Bringing in supplies to take care of the workers you have, or importing workers who don't know the planet which are more likely to be killed by the planet?"

(( Persuasion +10, +5 from Pheromones if I need to help with attitude. ))

The Feeorin pried himself from the Besalisk's grip, muttering out, "Easy there, ya ole tibana hustler, I'll be needin' that spine fer later." Kurr chuckled as he felt the blood begin to circulate through his system again. "Bloody nass, Mate, where've ya been hidin' yarself? Last I heard, ya'd ran across a bad deal with some Iridorians a while back." Looking over the Besalisk, he added, "What ... ya're not workin' here, are ya Mate?" Getting a sly smile across his lips, he continued in a slightly hushed tone. "Don't suppose ya've got time fer a drink ... an' maybe sum dealings with ole friends now ... do ya?"

Wes took the offered drink and took a good hit from it. The burning sensation that it made in his chest was a welcome feeling. Wes felt the ship dock and handed the flask back to Al. Together they put their helmets on. The armors systems kick in and sealed itself as the HUD came back on and showed all systems green. The suits cooling system kicked in and cool air began to move about the inside of the armor.

"Ok vod'ika, lets get going. I think I'm going to try and find a cheep fighter if I'm going to stick with this bunch." Al said as he lightly hit him on the shoulder.

"Vod'ika huh?" Wes said as he looked at the bigger Mando next to him. "Have you forgotten that I'm around a hundred years older than you are?" He said with a chuckle as he checked his carbine making sure it was ready to go.

Disembarking with Al Wes took in the surroundings. Old habits die hard as he spots the storm troopers that are posted and the moving patrol.

It didn't take long for them to reach a cantina. The Power Surge as it was called seemed aptly named was in a good position right between the bazaar and the capital and the jungle.

"Seems like a nice place." Sarcasm evident in his voice. "Reminds me of one of the planets I was on during the Vong war. As I recall the poodoo hit the fan there. Was a real mess."

He looked at the others as Callia announces that he's off to find parts for the ship. And then quickly veers off towards the bazaar. HIs little droid following along quickly expressing words of concern.

Wes snorted. "I'll follow Callia and see if I can keep him out of trouble or from forgetting where he is and getting lost. I'll keep my comm open if you need to get a hold of me. Watch yourselves."

Wes turned to follow Callia and Jasper into the bazaar. To be honest just getting out was nice. Now if he could find something good to eat that would make this stop even better.

"You know it'd take more than a pack of blood-howlin' Iridorians to steal Thunner's thunder, eh boy!" The Besalisk releases Kurr and then smacks the Feeorin along his upper arms with both sets of hands.

"What is it, 9:00am galactic standard? Yeah, I can toss back a few, and then a few more! Then I can tell you about the sweet gig I've got here, and you can tell me about yer new friends!"

Thunner claps an arm around Kurr's shoulders while the other three slide into pockets. They head towards the Power Surge in lock-step.

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Oraltor peaks around the corner of the exit ramp, but doesn't have much time to make sure that the coast is clear as Rehn grabs him and drags him along. The Ithorian tries to put the breaks on, but the Zeltron was being rather insistent.

"We have to -Ow!- secure the Oubliette first -Ow!-, especially with the," The Jedi looks both ways before speaking to Rehn in a not-quite-a-whisper, "Sith around! We have to get it to Jak- Oh, there she is!"

Breaking stride, the Ithorian begins to galumph his way to where the Jakira stands talking to the imperial governor, dragging Rehn along for the ride. It soon becomes a tug of war between Oraltor's absent-minded bulk and the slicer's wiry thirst for credits.

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As Wes and Callia enter the Bazaar, their senses are assailed by a host of sites, sounds, and scents that are both familiar yet wildly alien. Multiple food stalls dot the bazaar grounds, hawking things that are crunchy, slimy, and still wriggling (some doing all three at the same time) as the pair pass by. Others sell jewelry, clothing, and other fine goods made from Solsis VII's bountiful harvests. While the Hobben merchant's smile and speak loudly in often-times broken Basic, their eyes continually dart to the Imperial troopers standing guard at random intervals throughout the market, and there is a general sense of uneasy tension permeating the place.

Directly to their right upon entering, and taking up a majority of that side, is a huge electronics store with some of its more animated wares spilling out into the general market.

"Thunner's Cloud: Mechanics Emporium and Repair!"

The sign above the shop reads clearly and in several trade languages, while a pair of protocol droids stand out front handing out fliers with the day's deals printed on them. They sing a catchy little diddy in their monotone voices, and the bulk of their flier-distributing efforts can be seen jammed into garbage receptacles all over the bazaar.

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Radge caresses a sausage-like finger down Jakira's jaw, tapping her chin as it reaches the point. The doctor catches a whiff of a rather odd cologne from the governor's pudgey digit: extremely well-aged Nerf Cheese, perspiration, and something else wholly unidentifiable and cringe-inducing. He chuckles, the rolls of fat insulating his throat bouncing at mind-boggling angles.

"My dear sweet Jakira, I think you misunderstand their position in this whole affair: the Hobben work for the glory of the new Sith Empire. They toil out of love for Emperor Krayt, even unto their deaths. Now, I have offered you a means to ease their burden, righteous though it may be, but still you rebuke my attempts at... negotiation. Is it not you who is doing more harm then good here?"

The Governor's creepifying is interrupted by the sound of heels clicking together; his two honor guard stormtroopers coming to attention as a tall armored figure approaches. Radge turns in an exasperated huff which then turns into a piggish squeal of fright when he sees that the figure is wearing Mandalorian armor. The pair of stormtroopers have yet to level their weapons, but they hold the heavy blasters in a readied posture and appear very well practiced in their use.