Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
...not hiding anymore
Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Jan 5, 2020 18:11:34 GMT -8
Sentinel-Class boarding vessel 'Nowhere Fast,' currently docked nose-to-nose with CR-70 'Blasphemy.'
This next step was less clear in Fel's mind. In fact, most of this left a bad taste in his mouth. His hands were dirty, and at what point was it acceptable to get home, to get away, to out from under the boot-heel of indentured servitude? And at what point was he just as low as some of the scum he'd traded shots with over the years? He shook that off. No time for it at the moment. He thought for just a moment about his next course of action. It could go one of several ways, but he was intrigued more than anything about the hand fate had in store for him. He reached across to the dead pilot's tightly-clenched left hand, and retrieved a comm-link that was blinking steadily, and then turned the pilot's chair 90 degrees to Port, and slid the corpse onto the floor, taking his place. He popped the comm into his ear as he sat, and began readying his next action.
Hey. Hey -- who's out there, on the other end of this?
He let the air crackle with the open comlink -- decidedly un-Imperial, and against any strict regulations set forth by any self-respecting military faction. The response was short, terse, and edgy.
Jorgensen. Sergeant. Who's this?
You wouldn't like the answer, if'n I told you true. Let me ask you something, Sergeant. Are you a good soldier? Fel's fingers continued clicking, whirring through subcommands and menus and activating different bits of the Sentinel's subconscious. Fel was honest, unrushed, and (mostly) at ease speaking to this man. The range of the comlink was far too short to be picked up by the parent vessel, and there was, for the moment, time. Depending on the soldier's reaction.
There was a change in the soldier's response this time, as if previously he had been moving, concentrating, doing the task at-hand... the unenviable task of navigating and stalking amongst the Blasphemy's twisted, chopped-up corridors. Now, though... it seemed as though the man had stopped. His breathing was altered, as if he knew his quarry was elsewhere. I... I am. What of it?
Well, soldier... I've got a difficult problem for you to solve. One that requires the use of more than your trigger finger. You ready? You're aboard one helluva hacked-up scow, wouldn't you say? I imagine you're nearly to the flight deck... watch your head on the duralumin extrusions aft of the nav centre. What does the good soldier do when he discovers his mark is aboard the ride home, holding the detonator that turns the ship his men are on into a cinder from the inside-out? ...how well do you know the eleven men you're with? Would you say you'd die for them? I had pilots like that once. So there's your problem, Jorgensen. Sergeant. Soldier. You want those troops to live? You got a reason stronger than the FO to get home alive? ...then what's your play? You've read my jacket, right? ...you think I'm bluffing?
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
...not hiding anymore
Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Oct 17, 2019 16:40:24 GMT -8
Sentinel-Class boarding vessel 'Nowhere Fast,' currently docked nose-to-nose with CR-70 'Blasphemy.'
Fel moved quickly, first into the airlock. There's no way he would have let anyone but himself move into a hostile ship ahead of him. He swept -- clumsily, in all honesty (S&D and CQB wasn't his usual angle, so he wasn't as icy as some hardened soldiers might have been, but then -- he was pretty sure there was nobody left breathing aboard the Sentinel. He moved as if deep-water swimming, pulling himself along by grab-handles and extruded piping, much faster than the use of any grav boots. He passed one other cadaver, sitting with flight suit bundled around the waist and in a tank top, a small ruck at the base of her spine, veins standing out on neck and arms. A medic. Fel pushed off the wall, sailing past her to confirm what he already knew, and steadied himself on the seat she occupied, which was bolted to the floor. He withdrew her sidearm, stuffed it in his belt, and unceremoniously tugged off the medkit from around her waist. Looking back over his shoulder, he spotted Ami-Lee and pushed the bag in her direction. It sailed without spinning, unnaturally carving a path through the zero-grav toward her chest.
Fel pressed on, and within a minute of entry, he had reached the flight deck. There were two corpses at the controls, and Fel pulled the pilot back, noting the name on his ident-card. He quickly scanned the controls, remotely activated the airlock hatch, sealing it, and began re-establishing atmo aboard-ship. His fingers flew across the controls, performing a long-range scan, and checking the status of their weapons systems. Finally, he keyed the comm on the last opened channel.
'Portland,' this is 'Nowhere Fast.' Boarding team is Tee-plus 3 mikes. Belay my last chron check. No contact since boarding. Over.
He turned back to the others, nodding as he removed his helmet. There was still a rush of air as the pressure had not yet quite equalized, but there was air to breathe. Step one, complete. We have a Sentinel. Step two. We deal with the boarding team. Log says three squads. Twelve troopers. He sat at the controls and moved the dead Sykes to better access the nose attitude thrusters, correcting the movements to better match the Blasphemy. Ready?
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
...not hiding anymore
Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Jun 22, 2019 17:35:53 GMT -8
Fel was quiet, the cold ate at him, just as he was sure it did for everyone else clinging to the exterior of the Sentinel. But in this moment, and those that followed, he knew what needed to be done, and knew that from now on, at least for these few who would remain when this was over, he could not afford the luxury of feeling, or compassion. Floating into the inner airlock, Fel motioned to Damron to run a bypass on the inner 'lock as well. The young man waited for the others to enter the inner airlock to close the outer ring, and Fel grabbed the younger man's arm. No. Now.
He could not see the younger man's reaction through his visor, and there was no need. He knew what this would mean, and his split-second's hesitation told Fel everything he needed to know about the kind of person buried deep within the body armor. Damron wasn't completely at ease with venting the crew, First Order / Imperial, or not. But the fact that a split second later, he moved, and began to work at the access panel, also told Fel that he believed -- at least a little -- that what they were doing was if not the right course of action, at least enough to keep them alive. For now.
Fel let him work, but when it came to actually activating the slice, the old spacer held the young man's arm, shaking his head. I'll do it, kid. Everyone, hold on to something.
And he did. No hesitation. He looked over Damron's work quickly, verified their current state of readiness, and spoke softly into his helmet. Be good little soldiers... and he ran the slice. The effect was sudden, ferocious and explosive as all air was unexpectedly vented from the Sentinel craft. It all lasted about fifteen seconds, and finally, the rush of atmo was over, and pressure equalized, inside and out. Litter and several larger items floated free, and only a moment later, a body, frozen in rictus and with black veins standing out on forehead and neck, floated by locked in its final, pained pose. Fel winced, ever-so-slightly. He had done that. Not the rest of them. It was brutal, a move that was usually reserved for, well... pirates.
He shook it off. In for a penny, in for a pound. He turned on his comms. To the cockpit. Imperial protocol 187: Upon soft seal with an enemy vessel, boarding vessel's airlock shall be sealed if possible after boarding team has breached. It was a calculated risk, but if the Imps were following protocol -- and when didn't they? Then they hadn't vented the Blasphemy. Just the Sentinel craft. The Stormies wouldn't have seen them coming. Not like that.
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
...not hiding anymore
Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Jun 6, 2019 16:43:29 GMT -8
The boarding craft approached, silent and arrow-true, toward the nose of the Blasphemy, ready to disgorge its contents like vomit over the porcelain. inside his helmet, all Fel could hear was his own pulse, and his own breathing. It wasn't much of a comfort, and certainly not much of a backing track to what was sure to follow. He checked several things, almost subconsciously, and repeatedly: chron, blaster, approach of the vessel, location of the parent vessel, sign of TIE escort, readiness of the others beside him, O2 contents in his suit, temperature, and a spot he had picked out in the neighbouring asteroid field as the 'horizon' to serve as an anchor for his sense of direction vs. the slowly spinning Blasphemy. He repeated this over and over, not actually expecting the outcome of the data to change, as the boarding craft grew larger, and larger, and larger. As it did so, though he knew there was little to no way the flight crew of the craft would be scanning for them outside the ship, he pressed himself flat against the docking ring of the jettisoned escape pod, willing them to ignore the presence of several humaniod mynocks, and be good little stormtroopers.
What felt like hours later (but was really only four minutes...) there was a shift in the craft, a shudder beneath them as the boarding craft made soft seal with the nose airlock. Now. It was now. Holy Kriff, what were the odds that this cockamamie scheme would even have gotten this far... now. It was on.
Showtime.
In one, fluid motion he pressed off from his position, hands cold, extremities numbing, and kicked off decisively toward the starboard side of the Sentinel-Class. All was silent as he crossed the distance. If his aim were bad, this would all be over for him, and the Imperial's Prize, Galdaart Fel, would be drifting off into the Nothing. But his aim was good, and he clunked against the Sentinel amidships, followed by other soft clunks to his left and right, and one above. Not far off was the amidships dorsal hatch, and Fel scaled the superstructure of the vessel quickly, blaster out, just in case. He checked his chron once more -- if all was going by the numbers, the squad would be inside the Blasphemy by now, and only a skeleton crew (pilot, copilot, maybe a single troop?) would remain in the Sentinel. They got to the hatch, and Fel signalled to Damron. "You're up, Ace. Get it done, before we're icicles."
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
...not hiding anymore
Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
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Post by Galdaart Fel on May 24, 2019 18:36:03 GMT -8
Cheers Nidana. I never really went away... I just took a 14-month nap. I've been here a long time... don't think I'll ever really be gone. **tips hat**
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
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Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
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Post by Galdaart Fel on May 24, 2019 18:19:12 GMT -8
hmm.
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
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Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
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Post by Galdaart Fel on May 22, 2019 11:27:23 GMT -8
Hi! It’s been, well, a long time. Over a year. Anybody still here, who may once have been entwined in a plot with me? You know who you are... and if so, I apologize. But here I am, for better or for worse. Just checking to see if anyone still feels like moving forward. ‘course, i’d understand if you don’t. All the best, Dan
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
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Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Dec 28, 2018 15:38:59 GMT -8
I haven't so much as logged in here, in... I don't know. A long time. Months. There is likely much that has passed in terms of writing, and plots, and people I've missed who said their goodbyes, or characters that have been 'retired.'
Life is chaotic. It always is. Every time a new bit of chaos entered my life, JvS was the one thing I clung to, to ride out the storm. Most recently, due to a lot of factors, JvS was not the thing I clung to. And it's more than a little weird to log in (I almost had to look up my password.)
Do I miss it? Sure. The stories, crafted with some wonderful writers -- yes indeed, I do. The long nights, the drama (some of it created by myself) and the waiting? Not so much. Will I have time for it in the future? I don't know. There is a Facebook group I'm a part of, along with several writers from JvS, and it is very active, in a chatty, .gif-laden, friendly sort of way. I don't have much to say there, either. Mostly I just feel bad that my writing was left dangling, unfinished. And that those who were filling the gap were left dangling, too.
I might check in sometime soon-ish, and see if this has garnered any hits, any replies. If you're someone I left in the void, I apologize. Been there. Some of my characters are still there, three years later, still waiting on a post that will never come.
To all the JvS'ers -- Merry Christmas, and a Happy Holiday / New Year to you all.
See you soon.
Dan
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
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Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Jun 17, 2018 12:10:16 GMT -8
So, between the Fel crew thread, and this one, once closed, I stand to lose 3-400 posts from my count? Or will the threads just be archived?
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
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Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Jun 16, 2018 14:58:56 GMT -8
Chill — can’t we just have this thread moved?
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
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Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Jun 14, 2018 8:51:44 GMT -8
Probably me...
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
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Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Jun 9, 2018 6:06:57 GMT -8
Banned for being HC.
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
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Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Jun 8, 2018 16:44:19 GMT -8
Sorry dudes. Was sick as the dick(ens) this week. Still stopping up my nose like a faucet, but what the hell. Let's post. I'll have one or two up tonight.
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
...not hiding anymore
Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Jun 3, 2018 16:07:56 GMT -8
Sorry guys, as usual, life is taking me away for a few days, and I’ve been thinking about posting a lot. I have the next couple of posts in my head, just got I have a moment to sit down and do it.
By the way, saw solo yesterday—loved it!
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
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Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Galdaart Fel on May 25, 2018 19:17:25 GMT -8
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
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Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Galdaart Fel on May 24, 2018 16:45:09 GMT -8
Who's postin' tonight?
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
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Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
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Post by Galdaart Fel on May 23, 2018 19:44:04 GMT -8
**tips hat**
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
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Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
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Post by Galdaart Fel on May 23, 2018 18:58:11 GMT -8
Post up. Chime in, now's the time...
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
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Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
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Post by Galdaart Fel on May 23, 2018 18:52:51 GMT -8
The ship moved -- oddly, according to some, but more naturally, to Fel. He was at home in the black, equally happy adrift or underway, with grav or without (a more-than-somewhat unsettling feeling for most.) He moved headfirst down the ladder-well, and moved swiftly toward, and into, the fore airlock, which was pressurized and sealed as requested. After the inner hatch cycled, and he was once more standing in full grav, he looked around the smallish chamber at the gathered faces, checking his gunbelt for the DL-22 and extra charge pack. Unhooking the belt from his emaciated waist and thigh, he let the gun and oiled leather slide to the floor. It went silent, as if he'd hushed them, or his presence had killed any conversation that had been happening. Looking from one face to the next, the steely, fixed expressions of a crew feasting on adrenaline, and not much else, stared back at him. For a few moments he busied himself with the task of slipping on the zero-gee pressure suit, until legs and waist disappeared into the dark blue garment, identical to everyone else's (save those who had their own armour, better-suited to the task. The suit was a complete garment, head-to-toe, and allowed for mag-boots, which Fel tossed aside in favour of his own calf-high black leathers. Pulling his shirt over his head, he tossed it into a corner, along with his leather jacket, leaving his badly scarred torso uncovered for a moment. He shrugged his narrow shoulders into the suit (a woman's 'medium' size -- though a men's small would have worked, too) but left the suit unzipped to the waist for now. Looking back to the group, all eyes were on him, good or bad. He stooped, and clipped the gun-belt back to his waist, affixing the tie around his thigh.
In a few minutes, I'm going to have Ami-Lee suck all the atmo out of the 'Blasphemy.' It'll be a meat locker in here, inside of an hour. When I give that signal, Erik, you kick off our "engine trouble." A few notes and final words before we kick off this shindig: The ship is slowly spinning, end over end. Don't make no difference inside, and once the boarding craft syncs up with her for docking, won't make any difference to them, neither. But for us, outside, one wrong move, and you could go drifting off into the sweet bye and bye. So use your carabiners, clip off when we get stationary. And if you're not used to EV, use the mag boots. We're gonna hole up in one of the jettisoned escape pod tubes, port side #1. Ami-Lee has sync'd a short-range scan of the surrounding system -- if you can call it that -- to our devices, so we can all be aware of what's inbound. Keep comm traffic to the bare minimum. Not that I'm expecting they'll be able to pick up personal comm chatter, or that they'll even be listening for it. If you have to talk, press your helmets together and yell -- the other person'll hear you. We're gonna get cold out there. Way I see it, we've got an hour, two max. And there's a very real chance they might not find us. I covered our tracks enough that it looked like we weren't supposed to be followed... their Captain might not be that good. If that time comes -- two hours, not a tic more -- we head back to the fore airlock and regroup.
Now -- they do find us, don't get sloppy. That'll get us all dead fast. Let that cold getcha while we're sitting on our hands, but the moment they arrive, get frosty, stay frosty. When that ship docks and makes soft seal, we move. Mynock-style, under their superstructure to an exterior hatch. If it's an airlock -- Damron, you bypass it. Before we set a foot inside their craft, I want you to jam their outgoing transmissions. Make it look like a glitch. If there's no airlock... If it's only a hatch... we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. And remember... speed is of the essence. Chances are, we'll all be approaching frostbite by the time this goes down, so I'm counting on you, Damron. All goes well, we encounter maybe a half dozen inside, maybe more. But hopefully not the stormies, who'll be inside the Blasphemy. We secure the boarding craft. That's step one. Questions?
He zipped the suit, and rechecked his sidearm before picking up the air-tank, testing its O2 reserves, and hefting it onto his shoulders, strapping it in place.
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
...not hiding anymore
Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Galdaart Fel on May 22, 2018 17:33:29 GMT -8
When Amy arrived, she found Fel and Ty Loms ahead of her, and her eyes widened slightly when the captain asked them who she thought was coming after him. She wasn't used to commanders and leaders asking her for her thoughts or opinions; certainly not from any Alliance leaders; especially concerning matters outside her "field of expertise". If she was willing to offer an expression past surprise, it would have been a little delight. She sort of liked being asked for her thoughts, for a change, and it made her feel a little more useful besides being the team's medic or just another fighter on the battlefield.The golden-haired woman shrugged slightly and said, “My best guess, from th' look at where ya deposited us,” she walked over to the sensor station and issued a few simple commands into the computer, “more likely one'a th' latter two,” she said without looking up, “with an impatient disposition if we're unlucky. I can set th' ship's scanners t' ping a passive short distance reading of our surroundings with th' false distress call, so that it'll look like a background radiowave, but once there's other ships in th' same sector with us, we'd at least have an idea of what we might be dealin' with. I estimate at least a light cruiser with a complement of shuttles and fighter escorts. Though it does depend on how badly the First Order wants ya.” The Corellian eyed Fel pointedly.She held up a Datapad and showed it to Fel, “I've keyed in th' ships scanners t' feed into all our devices, so we'd have th' info with us wherever we are. I'm gonna falsify th' ship's readings with whatever Erik's doin' in the engine room.” She felt a slight sense of unease in her gut, but she ignored it as she moved about, working on the computers to give out the desired readings that would mask the ship as a vessel in distress, short of a internal visual inspection. “Got a funny feelin' we won't need ta wait too long for company. We'd best get ready for our final positions 'fore the FO comes a-knockin'.” That's damn good thinkin'... Fel noted, walking over to Ami-Lee to look at her scanner station and datapad, and see what the deal was with her short-distance scan, and see how fool-proof it was. It looked the business, and he nodded, happy. I wouldn't have thought of that. Good on ya. he turned to the woman's BB-unit Now, let's see how much nonsense I can stuff into your noggin, Ya Boozer. Fel showed the droid the connection cables from the navacomp and the ship's core comp, so that the little Astro droid wouldn't bust a fuse, and after he was pretty sure the wavering droid wasn't going to electrocute him, he connected the cables to download the systems' contents. It wouldn't take long. They hadn't made this 'home' for more than a couple weeks. Ellie entered the bridge, looking far more put-together than when he last saw her, which was good news, since he had been (on Kessel) sure he could count on her in a fight. The past several hours had raised doubts, but his gut feeling was she had pulled it together... whatever 'it' was. He nodded in greeting to the Mandalorian, tossing her a quick smile as he replied to her query. Melia's at the airlock. I imagine most of the rest are, too, if not here. Let's make sure of it. keying the comm once more Alright party-goers, get yer asses to the airlock on the double. Full sit-rep on arrival. After this transmission ends I'm cutting main power, quick-quiet. I'm also going to be firing our ventral nose attitude thrusters, which will set the ship in a slow spin. Just for dramatics & visuals. Form up in the airlock in three minutes. Out. Erik entered a moment later, spilling his intel, short and sweet, to the point, just how Fel liked it. Good. Important safety tip -- everyone take note. You don't wanna glow, stay clear of engineering. Is it reversible, Erik? Just in case? pause ...and is it possible to have it go critical, in case we need things to go the other way? Fel waited for the other man's response, and then fired the ship's nose retro-rockets for a three second burst, wiped the ship's core comp and nav-comp, and then yanked the power in the bridge, plunging the ship into 95% darkness, only broken by the occasional emergency light and luminescent signage. It wasn't the typical 'emergency power' or 'aux power' situation. Those systems had been rendered inoperative. This was a complete lack of power. Grav disappeared quickly, reduced to 20% (and that amount remained only because of the new axis spin of the ship) The bridge, usually alive with sound and light, was eerily dark and silent.Alright. That's it. We're dead in the water. Let's go -- get to the airlock, and we'll dump O2 once we're suited up.
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