Post by Oz Griffin on May 30, 2013 17:54:13 GMT -8
Modified Lucrehulk-class droid control ship "Independence" - Oz's workshop.
"I'm awake, frakkit! Turn that thing down you gorram frakkin'... uh. Nevermind." Realizing he was alone, Oz sheepishly reached out and tapped off the alarm on his datapad, then checked the main door to his workshop to make sure no one had seen.Good. Still closed. Now where was... Oh! Right. The astro-droid. Poor guy.Reaching for the datapad again, Oz picked it up this time and looked over the results of his work, a neatly compressed and formatted version of all the memories he had been able to pull off the parts of the little droid he'd promised to fix.Well, maybe "fix" isn't quite the right word. But he'll more like he was than he used to be at any rate.Standing, he walked over to the gently humming chassis of the rebuilt droid and squatted in front of it. "Y'know, I've seen the stuff you've been through, and I still have a hard time believing it actually happened. Or that you actually survived, for that matter. I've known battleships that weren't as tough as you." The lights darkened and Oz gaze the ceiling a wry look. "Relax, Indy, I don't mean you. I know you're tougher than any ten warships combined." Thank you, Seymour.Was her only response to the compliment.As if she wasn't fishing for it the entire time...
Reaching into his tool belt, Oz pulled out a short connector cable and plugged one end into the astromech and the other into his datapad.No point in risking file corruption with a wireless download, especially with all the jumpy smuggler types and their ships modified up the wazoo with comm jammers. Better safe than dead.Then he called up the data transfer program and loaded the memory files into it, but paused before initiating the exchange. "Okay little guy, I would tell you this won't hurt, but you don't feel pain like I do so I honestly have no idea. Just... uh, try and hold still. Here goes nuthin..." One finger came down on the big red "DOWNLOAD" button and almost immediately the workshop was filled with the high-pitched squeal of an astro-droid on the brink of information overload.
It had been a long shopping trip, or so Dante thought as he walked through the marketplace of the Independence. Unaccustomed to the mass of species assembled, he was quickly finding himself overwhelmed by the eclectic collection of sentients gathered, all hawking their wares in various timbres and assorted languages. In all though, Dante was impressed with his new look – it wasn’t every day you dropped a small fortune to retrofit an old armor suit. Besides the fact, Dante couldn’t help but feel a little bit of nostalgia creeping into his heart...he had had some adventures in his old armor; his training under Kael Skirata, the assorted mandalorian op. But, in the end, he had just never taken to the Mandalorian life that much - war was great, culture was great too, but...he had his own culture, and he had tasted too much death to learn to develop a taste for it like the Mandalorians.
If anything, he enjoyed most the years that he spent wandering the galaxy in that armor. Before he had come across the Monk Bal’shay – his Matukai Mentor – and then Arcturus after that, he had spent quite a while simply roaming...nothing but him, a ship, and his armor. When he had told Arcturus this, he had laughed, saying that he himself had wandered the stars, conquering systems, building kingdoms, and eventually abandoning them so that he could wander again...he hadn’t believed Arcturus until he had come across some old datafiles, showing Arcturus to be self proclaimed Emperor of the Techno Union. After that, he took Arcturus’ stories a little more seriously. Now, walking down an bustling marketplace with no force at his side and nothing but his armor to protect him, Dante felt a strange and familiar feeling rising up...the rush to keep on his toes, the constant urging to keep his wits about him. It was a familiar feeling; he got it most often when he was fighting with the blade; the need to test himself truly against an opponent. And what better way to test himself than without the force? What better way to see his limits?
With a flick of his eye – thanks to the suits pineal eye sensor – he engaged the suits systems with a glance. Weapons primed as energy was diverted, shield emitters harmonized, targeting sensors were engaged as missiles were activated, and the suit suddenly came alive...pulsing, breathing in time with Dante. Or, that’s how it seemed to him. With another glance and a blink, he completed the weapons test, and then initiated sensors. The AV-1s came with internal med sensors, external environmental sensors, and multiple imaging systems...when paired with a sensor pack like the 9320/B though, the two sensors working in tandem were able to produce a massive amount of information. His HUD made a ping as sensor waves began broadcasting...and slowly the system updated itself: motion sensors, lifeform sensors, energy sensors, comm sensors, environmental analysis...all was overlaid across his HUD. It was actually rather marvelous...the raw data detected by the sensor pack mounted on his shoulder was automatically translated by the environmental comp in his suit; allowing him detailed analysis of his surroundings.
Walking over to a vendor, he casually picked up one of the items...a pot by the looks of it. Focusing on it, the pineal sensor picked up his gaze, scanned the item, then returned pertinent data... 20% Carbon, 20% Silicates, 10% Ceramic, density at 15%, with a hardness of 1% compared to total available strength factor...pretty generic stuff. Setting the pot down, Dante focused on the vendor himself, a ping and a scan later, data yet again streamed down his display. Species Klatoonian, male, height at 1.7 meters, weight at 175 kilos, wearing clothing based primarily on animal wools and plant byproducts, energy signature under left breast pocket of jacket – consistent with a type B powerpak, a common power source for most blaster pistols – metallic mass located in subjects right boot, identified as durasteel, paired with a small yield energy signature...a vibroblade of some kind.
::This makes things SO much easier::
The Klatoonian looked at him quizzically, and Dante just shook his head, leaving the stall. All around him, the world seemed to be opened up...a world of motion and energy bands and comm signals. Ooh...comm signals. Focusing on what appeared to be bands of green light in the air, Dante focused on a particularly thick cluster around a particular sentient. Automatically, the broadband antenna synced with his helmets pineal sensor, and scanned through the spectrum until it found it’s target...there was a pop as speakers engaged, and then...
Clapping his hands to his ears, and then frantically rolling his eyes about in his helmet, he eventually turned the loathsome noise off. And, right then and there, went through the settings to auto adjust all incoming speaker noise at a nice, tolerable, GENTLE drone.
::No more bleeding ears::
Now curious, Dante focused on the comm band once more, trying to figure out what had occurred. His suit possessed no algorithmic processor, and no comm analysis unit...thus so, it took him several moments to work out the issue: the comm band was encrypted. Apparently he wouldn’t be able to decipher encrypted comlink signals...something he would definitely need to invest in should he truly take up this bounty hunting business. And why not - he needed time to heal, to acclimate to his new condition. He wasn’t a complete novice when it came to the art of “normal” warfare. Bounty hunting would allow him to test his martial prowess without his powers...to see just what he was capable of.
But, there were a few more things to take care of – primarily, transportation. The AV-1s was built to have repulsors integrated into its armor, but Dante had long ago had the repulsor emitters switched with shield emitters. While not what it was designed for, the suit was nevertheless capable of powering a combination ray/energy shield over itself...and quite effectively; after all, its original function was to power a repulsor engine for thirty six hours. Now though, Dante had to question the choice. Shaking his head, Dante slowly headed towards a new vendor...looked like a small transportation dealer. Approaching the vendor, Dante keyed his external speakers.
::I need something small, one person, long range, moderately fast::
The vendor looked at Dante with a patented “Really? This same dance?” kind of look.
“With respect...your gonna have ‘t be a LOT more specific. We talking atmospheric? Space capable? I could sell you a glider and fill all those specs.”
Dante’s look can only be surmised in one way: -_-
::Ok then. One person, preferably atmospheric based, NON chemical – don’t want to deal with backwash and chem trails – high maneuverability, sustained flight, and decent altitude.”
Nodding his head, the Rodian vendor gestured for Dante to follow him as he walked from behind the kiosk, and a little deeper into his establishment. Gesturing at a display, the Rodian smiled(?) widely.
“Sky slasher. Fast, repulsor based, great battery life, and the highest maneuverability of anything you put your feet on. Altitude caps at a hundred or so meters.”
Silently, Dante stared at what essentially was a skateboard with repulsors. Picking the board up, he turned it over several times before setting it down.
::Only a hundred meters?::
The rodian shrugged.
“Repulsors are aligned in a double column bank laterally, that gives it an extremely large amount of maneuverability...not so much as far as altitude.”
Dante shook his head slowly after a few seconds.
::Can it hook up to a micro processor?::
The Rodian looked a little doubtful.
“There’s not exactly a lot of room for add ons and mods...it’s literally a board with an engine. But, if you want something that’s compatible with your armor, why don’t you go the tried and true jetpack way? A personal propulsion device might fit your needs, and your armor looks to already have propulsion mounts.”
Now it was Dante’s turn to look doubtful.
::I’m not exactly a fan of jetpacks. They have a tendency to accidentally go off. Besides, the range sucks::
The rodian held up a finger and led the pair over to a new stand.
“Not so sir! What we have here are repulsorpacks...decent battery life, decent range, decent altitude...they can perform at jetpack standards but for much longer durations...they’re practically built for sustained flight.”
Dante crossed his arms, still not convinced.
::I want statistics...not “decent”::
With a huff, the rodian pulled out a datapad, and after a few seconds, began rattling off some numbers.
“Eight hours battery life on self contained battery pack, top speed of one hundred kilometers an hour – slightly slower than a chemical pack – with an altitude of three hundred and fifty meters. Anything higher than that and she stalls. Micro control surfaces along the back of the pack help with maneuvering, while an auto stabilizing gymbal helps you maintain direction, capable of hover mode, and a quick start of five seconds. Micro processor compatible, recognizing most standard HUD interfaces, with the exception of VISTA operating systems...maneuverability is a little laggy at three seconds to fully change your direction at a ninety degree angle.”
Inside the helmet, Dante lifted an eyebrow.
::Your telling me it takes three seconds to make a turn?::
The rodian looked a little disgruntled, but crossing his arms otherwise held his ground.
“Comes with the territory, this is a travel aid, not an acrobats device. That’s also at top speed...you get ANYTHING going a hundred K and it’s not going to turn on a dime. At half to quarter speed, you could throw in a maneuvering thruster or two and get some incredible handling out of it.”
The rodian had a point...and without inertial compensators, he wouldn’t want to turn that fast anyway. With a slow nod, Dante gestured at one of the packs.
::What do you recommend for maneuvering?::
Walking over to a sportswear display, the rodian returned with what looked to be two armored boots.
“Mastergrav-1000’s...typically used in sports, but the things are reliable. I recommend them for maneuvering at higher altitudes, and as a supplement with your pack.”
There was a long silence as Dante looked at the set...before finally nodding his head slowly.
::Charge them to me::
With a gleeful look, the rodian rubbed his hands together as he handed the items – more like heaped! – into Dante’s arms. While the little creature rang up prices, Dante struggled to secure the pack onto his back – the rodian eventually coming back over and helping him. After triple checking that the brackets were firmly locked into place – the repulsorpack conveniently covering the powercell housing in the back of his armor – Dante told the alien his credit number as he pulled on the boots. Later, Dante would see if he couldn’t switch some of the plating and sensors over to these new boots. A few minutes later, and Dante was walking about the marketplace once more, looking for lab equipment. After a while, he found a medical technology kiosk – decent enough, but it wasn’t that impressive. He ended up purchasing a chem synthesizer unit, a molecular microscope, an analysis grid, and a molecular bioscanner. At another kiosk, he bought a holoreflector and macro analyzer, along with a specialized archeological microlab, a geological substrate analyzer, and a standard carbon dater. Just for kicks, he also bought a broad spectrum analysis unit, a few medical compounds for his darts, some sterile workbenches, a chair or two, and a pair of miniature generators.
Several hours after he had left, Dante returned to the crate with several small hoverloaders...laden with small to mid sized machines of various makes, models, and alien origin. Inwardly, he hoped Daniel knew how to read and operate alien technology...the stuff could be finicky. He didn’t see Jace around...he hoped that was a good thing. Quickly, he began setting up the workbenches along the walls of the crate, and then pushed a generator against either side of the crate. Once done, he began evenly distributing the tech inside the crate according to usefulness...arranging one side for visual analysis, and the other for chemical analysis. Once done, he got down on his hands and knees and began plugging in the various cords into the generators...and then...he was done. Sitting in one the chairs...Dante’s shoulders slumped, the hours of picking, shopping, selecting, and dealing with vendors – that while helpful – had utterly exhausted him. That and the fight with the Jekk...reclining in one of the chairs, Dante slowly leaned back...his body cushioned comfortably against the foamplast of the suit.
Finally, Dante went to sleep...hopefully not awakened for some time.
Post by Jace Stealer on Jun 2, 2013 15:37:43 GMT -8
The acrid scent of ship coolant and grease struck him once again as he stepped out of Dante's crate and onto the greasy surface of the Independence's hanger bay. Getting a repulsor-sled should be easy here, based on the amount of materials that were being moved around for the mechanics to install in the ships as well as the goods that the merchants needed moved around. Glancing to one side of the hanger he spotted a human mechanic standing at a terminal next to a few sleds and a small storeroom. He stepped over to the mechanic and paused next to him, letting him finish his work at the terminal. The man was aware of Jace's presence and finished his report before logging off and turning to him. Jace nodded to the man and gestured to the sled next to them. “I was hoping to borrow this sled for moving cargo onto my ship.”
The mechanic gave him a skeptical look and shook his head, pointing the the ID card stuck to his breast pocket. “Sorry sir, authorized Independence personnel only. You'll have to have a merchant or whoever authorized the movement of said cargo to do it for you.” The man crossed his arms and continued to watch Jace, ready to receive any complaints he might have.
Seeing that this mechanic wasn't going to budge, Jace peered left, and then right before settling his eyes back on the man before him. While the man might believe that he was looking for somebody else to talk to, Jace was actually checking to make sure nobody was approaching or watching them. With a wave of his hand, Jace concentrated on the man's mind. He projected his desire into the man's mind, making them his. “You want to let me use the sled.” The man nodded slowly, repeating what Jace had said. “I want to let you use the sled.” Jace nodded slowly, glad he wasn't too rusty with his abilities. It had been awhile since he last practiced them, as using them too much might attract the attention of the crew. He kept his concentration on the mechanic, keeping the connection intact.“You want to get me a tarp.”The man hesitated for a moment, thinking about what he really wanted and what Jace was projecting into his mind.“I want... I... Um...”Jace rolled his eyes as he broke the connection, moving past the dazed man towards the storage unit. “Never mind, I'll get it myself.”
After retrieving a suitable tarp and placing it on the repulsor-sled, he brought them over to the crate and carefully moved them inside. Placing the tarp to the side, he positioned the sled next to the rack for loading. Being mindful of the weapons and how much the racks weighed, he loaded them and the extra equipment (explosives, etc) onto the remaining space of the sled. Covering them with the tarp he had taken from the storage room, he pushed them out into the bay and then up the ramp of the Red Cred.
Upon opening the door to the armory, Jace let out an exasperated sigh at the sight. He had completely forgot that there wasn't much room as it was, never mind the racks of weapons on the sled now. After standing in the doorway and analyzing the room for a few minutes, he set to work reorganizing the room. Crates that could be opened by the front were placed on the bottom of the room as support, as well as anything with drawers. Next came the weapon racks, which he placed on top of the crates around the room. Lastly came various small ammunition boxes that could fit on top of the racks and in the open crannies that were left. After securing everything to the walls and floor he put the sled back where he had 'acquired' it and wiped the small bead of sweat that had collected on his brow.
Looking over to the crate he spotted a hoverloader sitting to one side that hadn't been there before. He walked up to the crate and peered in, spotting Dante passed out in one of the chairs of his new laboratory. Jace nodded in admiration at the sight of all the equipment, impressed that his friend was able to find enough to pull this off. Leaving his comrade to his much needed sleep, Jace turned and headed back up the ramp of the formidable Red Cred.
Something about space thrilled him, the vast emptiness of dark and silence is boring to most but open space was freedom and excitement thew his eyes. From hyperspace a dreadnaught heavy cruiser appeared in fair condition, its crew were in panic. The captain stood up from his chair then looked to his first officer...Is it ready.His officer nodded, it looked like they were all waiting for something. Moments later a Victory star destroyer appeared from hyperspace approaching the dreadnaughts right side. It was Captain Dyre and his crew, bunch of pirates running down the inferior for their goods and other supplies. The captain of the dreadnaught attempted to contact Dyre, it took a few moments but he took their call.
I should of known it was you in that destroyer, Alek Dyre.He said to him, then looked to his officer and received a nod in reference of the cargo they had on board. Alek smirked, his face partially concealed by his cloak. He stood up and lowered the hood.
You forgot Captain. He looked out into space at the Dreadnaught. And you better know its me who's coming, because It'll always be me who shows up, GOT IT?. He smiled, but that vanished and he crossed his arms. Now, we both have something in common right now. And that's your cargo, but only one of us can have that cargo. And it seems to me, I have the bigger ship.
He sometimes bragged about his ship, it was much better then the heap of garbage he had before. A bigger ship called for a bigger crew and since he could haul more cargo, he got more credits and could pay more crew members.Well then Captain. I guess you'll have to chase your precious cargo threw the Asteroid field ! Alek squinted his eyes then walked over to his right to one of his crew members. Scan the Asteroid field now.
He said to one of the crew, he looked out into space at the field until the crew member spoke. He's telling the truth...80 crates full.Alek brushed his fingers just above his mouth then shook his head, something wasn't right because he knew about the special cargo on board that ship and they wouldn't of given it up that easy. He returned to the coms and spoke to the dreadnaughts captain.
You're a fool. He said, just to let him know. I know what special cargo you may or may not currently have on board, the weapons, captain. Come on, I'm not easily fooled. Nice trick though, something an idiot would of believed. Something any other pirate would of killed you because of. Now, I'd like to stay and chat, not really but lets get back to business shall we?. Alek said, taking a bet that this man was bluffing. He waited for a response until he got one.
Captain Dyre, i assure you...we have no 'special' cargo. What your looking for is drifting into the field right now. Alek had patients, but not a lot of it. He chuckled with a slight nod, kept the com link on and looked to his weapon control crew member. Arm the torpedoes and lock on to the ships life support. Make sure they die slowly..
The captain of the dreadnaught responded rather quickly. OKAY! No one has to die here captain. I have the cargo your looking for. We'll send it over immediately, but i need your word that me and my crew will be left unharmed.
Alek wasn't a murderer, he was just good at bluffing and getting serious when he actually wasn't. Sounds fair.. He said then switched the coms off. He smirked then got a few of his crew and headed down to the hanger bay where the cargo would be received. The captain wasn't always successful in getting what he wanted, but usually when he wanted something he went for it and Alek liked to go big, such as blending his ship amongst an Imperial fleet and playing hide and go seek. Those were the times when he liked to play dangerous, now it wasn't so big time pirate type of guy. He merely tracked down small transport ships and stole valuables. Just like the crate of weapons he just received. After when his business was done, he took the ship out, heading back into hyperspace.
Last Edit: Jun 28, 2013 15:04:30 GMT -8 by Alek Dyre
Post by Liya Tawaza on Jul 3, 2013 22:39:01 GMT -8
One does not simply fly into Skip Five.
It's only a task you undertake if you're thoroughly, 100%, crazy and/or desperate. And that is why Fel and I had chosen the floating hunk of debris as a hiding place for the the Bronze Star, all those months ago. With no standard orbit and countless other asteroids wobbling around nearby, no two approaches were ever the same, and a high percentage of them were unsuccessful. Although I didn't comprehend it's significance, we did have an advantage over many of those doomed vessels, however: As a Jedi, Sam Ghomesz had the force as his ally, both to guide his actions and reflexes, and to sense the dangers of the descent even before they became dangerous. Between his pilot skill and my picture-perfect memories of the gaping hangar opening as I acted as an extra pair of eyes, we were an above average team, and we made the entrance in one attempt, albeit not without gouging up a cloud of dust and crushed rock from the floor of the hangar as we momentarily scraped the landing struts against the floor of the rocky chasm.
Sam had no time to pay attention to the complaints from his landing gear, however, as he immediately reserved the engines to prevent us from slamming into the looming posterior wall of the hangar. The place was much smaller and more inaccessible than Skip One, and saw almost no permanent traffic or habitation as a result. It was a place where people fled when they had something to hide, or when even Skip One was too hot for their safety.
As soon as we had come to an uneven rest on the pockmarked surface of the hangar, I made my way out of the cockpit, and checked the air quality outside. My face paled at the numbers, and I hurried to find a vacsuit. The magnetic containment on Skip Five had gotten even shakier than our last visit, and it was now pushing the lower limits of what could support life. Better to be safe than sorry, even if these suits were clunky and unwieldy. Unholstering one of my blasters, I donned the suit, then slung the DL-44 from the belt of the suit, and, Scrapheap in tow, exited the airlock.
Fortunately the low gravity made walking easy, in spite of the thirty-odd extra pounds of pressure suit and oxygen tanks I wore as I crossed the hangar toward the far corner, where I had left my Starlight-class light freighter. Sure enough, there she was, looking for all the galaxy like the worst of the half-dozen derelicts scattered around the hangar. My companions must have been astonished as I approached the ship. They could see it quite clearly, or so they would undoubtedly think.
Every viewport and viewscreen appeared to have been smashed, and the ship was absolutely covered with carbon scoring, asteroid impact marks, and even bullet holes from some large caliber of projectile artillery. In huge patches, the paint seemed to have peeled away, revealing rust that gnawed away at important structural components, and cut deeply into vital flight surfaces. And right above the hatch for the boarding ramp, a gigantic symbol had been painted: the universal radiation danger sign for a reactor leak.
But I never waivered for a moment in my approach, and when I reached the vessel, I circled to the back, reaching below the engine to detach the fine mesh camouflage screen that I had so carefully draped over the ship, and then dragged it forward, with Scrappy's help from the other side, suddenly pulling it loose and watching it fall away, to reveal an intact, unspoiled, and well-painted ship. Grinning to myself as I rolled up the mesh screen, I triggered the boarding ramp from the beckon call on my wrist, and we went aboard.
Inside, a fine layer of dust half an inch deep covered absolutely everything, but my home was otherwise just how I had left it. A wave of nostalgia washed over me, and I raced through the ship, checking the position of every possession and locker against my carefully recorded mental model. Satisfied, I stopped for a moment in the main passenger compartment, a lump welling up in my throat. It was so good to be home, and a huge weight was lifted from me as I realized that everything really was still here. I hadn't had any guarantee that I would ever see the ship again, but I had trusted Fel and his crew with my life, and I had trusted my own deceptive abilities to keep the Bronze Star safe. And it had worked. It really had worked. I felt something hot running down my cheek, inside the pressurized helmet.
A sudden roar of air suction startled me from my sentiments, as Scrappy, my diligent astromech, switched on his vacuum attachment and began to remove all the accumulated dust from the deck. I swallowed, hard, and snapped back into action, closing the hatch once more, then making my way to the cockpit and switching on the life support system. Scrappy's efforts would be in vain without a stable atmosphere, but more importantly, I had to get out of this blasted pressure suit before I started fiddling with the engines. After so many months, it was bound to be a dirty, time-consuming, and hands-on task, requiring a lot of elbow grease, and some begging and pleading for fickle components to remember how to do their jobs. But I missed everything about the Bronze Star, even her flaws, and I couldn't wait to get down to work.
The moment of truth was fast approaching --- would everything come back online, at least enough to allow me to fly out of here, after so many months?
The sleep was deep...silent...fulfilling. Accompanied by dreams, he seemed to be surrounded by a miasma a rose scent, whirling blue and white colors, and gold...so much gold everywhere. As the dream faded away and Dante slowly stirred, it was only then that he realized that it was a dream of Serenna on the day she was taken. With a slow shake of his head, he froze at the confining restriction that seemed to clink to him like bubble wrap; just as quickly though, he calmed himself...the fact that he was wearing armor registering with his mind. Now wide awake, he slowly sat up, his suit coming out of sleep mode as he sent out a passive scan to check his surroundings - trying and failing to stifle a yawn as he did so. He froze though, as the suit chimed back a positive reading for about forty five contacts within sensor range.
"...We're not near the markets, are we."
No, they weren't. And in this section of hangar, he had yet to see more than a few techs and engineers scurrying around to refuel the ship...nothing like the crowd that was coming. Peeking out of the crates doors, Dante's eyes practically bugged out of his head at what he saw. Forty five armed soldiers in black plastoid, all carrying rifles and pistols, were marching in orderly formation towards the crate - and the ship. With a curse, Dante rushed out of the crate and towards the ship - ignoring the shouts behind him. His mind whirled as he tried to figure out how they had located him...he had initially thought that the comm burst from the trap in the crate hadn't given away their position - turns out, it just took them a LONG time to get here. Old Strahl wasn't THAT lazy about letting people suffer apparently...the lizard had become more cautious. Running into the ship, Dante exited with a pair of industrial repulsor clamps - used frequently to move cargo - and rushed out to the crate, clamping them on, before pulling the crate with a screech across the deck plating. Typically you needed four (one at each corner) to move a crate manually like this...but two, plus colossal strength, seemed to cut it. Yanking the crate along, Dante could see on his HUD that the troop formation was now running, abandoning all ranks, and quick approaching at a hundred fifty meters...hundred twenty five...one hundred...
The hostile manner of the approaching group was not missed by Indy as they closed on the Loronar, and it took the space of a microsecond to scan for armaments and calculate troop strength, then summon an appropriate response team from the Independence's droid security force. The first of the droids to arrive were the pair of vulture droid starfighters that dropped from the ceiling above the Loronar and halted their fall two meters off the deck, floating casually in front of the charging force in full combat deployment rather than their less effective "walking mode". Moments later, Indy's feminine voice blared over the ship's loudspeakers.
Attention unauthorized military personnel. Cease all hostile action and surrender your weapons, or you will be fired upon.
One would assume that the party sent was a death squad, sent to finish the job. But then, one would be wrong. Who was to say the crate had reached the right person? Who was to say that it had killed the man it was meant to? Who was to say the trap had even gone off? Who knew indeed...and for that reason, was why a scout party had been sent ahead to investigate. And it was also why their commander had slapped a hand to his breast - activating a large medallion there - at seeing the ships next to the crate. He recognized the ships therein as the same ships from the mission reports...the crew needed to be secured for interrogation...and then execution. The medallion, a hyperspace transponder, broadcasted the simplest of messages...a simple series of clicks that would be sent near instantaneously to a ship nought a lightyear away. A warship, it would be on its way soon enough...intent on destroying what remained.
The soldiers meanwhile, knew their duty - such was the fanatical devotion they had for their leader, that on his command they scattered as to not form groups, and fired rifles, pistols, and even some grenades at the assembled forces. While the main force kept the defenses at bay...a single figure quietly slipped onboard the ships...quietly hiding amongst crates and such to observe, and take pictures with a small collapsable imager. A syndicate intelligence operative, he would try his best to stay hidden until positively identifying his target. Taking several images of the crate, and the inside of the crate and its new contents, the agent noted the large hulking armored man running around the hanger floor. Nervously, the man looked at the wrist watch like device on his arm, a No-show, which hid him from any sensors the man might have onboard the suit. For a while anyway.
Only time would tell how long he would remain hidden.
A hyperspace comm flare, short range. Destination tracked and located, jamming activated.A single click was all that escaped before Indy blocked the remainder of the signal, and a fraction of her attention was then dedicated to raising shields, powering weapons, and locking down the hangars. The signal had been meant for someone, and she had no intention of being caught unawares.
She did so enjoy having a brain the size of a star destroyer and the processing power and speed to match.
Inside the hangar, the vulture droids had opened fire the moment the black-clad soldiers had engaged in hostile action, flooding their ranks with crimson energy bolts that all but ignored the comparatively paltry armor they wore. The return fire did little to no damage, the vulture droid's armor having been designed to take glancing hits from laser cannons, and the crimson hailstorm of energy continued unabated for nearly half a minute before suddenly ceasing altogether.
This was not, however, any sort of good news for the attackers, as mere moments after the vulture droids ceased their firing, the task was taken up by nearly three-score B-2 battle droids that had assembled in positions flanking the attackers while the vultures kept them occupied. The new shots were fired into the sides and backs of the hostiles where they had no cover to defend themselves, targeting weak points in their armor with the pinpoint accuracy that only the guiding hand of a near-sentient supercomputer could achieve.
Soldiers died, pure and simple...one by one they fell, until only their commander was left; that is, until he blew himself up with a grenade. Eerie silence fell across the deck then...and unbeknownst to all a single Syndicate agent cursed silently at the wanton destruction. Dante, unable to find Jace, only stood in disbelief in the cargo bay of the Loronar...mouth open in disbelief within his helmet. The benefits of internal security were quickly becoming very evident...there was something though, that bothered him. A strange high frequency burst had washed over him some seconds ago while the droids had been busy blasting away...and bringing it up on his HUD, his eyes grew wide indeed at the energy signature attached to it. All it was, was a simple click...thats it. But it would be enough. They knew he was here. They had to leave...quickly.
Practically tripping over himself, he started securing down cargo, and running through the ship, he ran into the cockpit...initiating preflight checklists as his hands flew across the console, warming up the engines. Time to initiate engines was...three minutes. Slamming a hand on the console in irritation, Dante started cursing at the ship. Smugglers usually disabled the preflight safeties and protocols to initiate quick starts on the engines; while damaging, it was a useful procedure for situations such as, well, THIS. Flinging himself out of the pilots seat, Dante ran down the halls once more, climbed a ladder or two, and ran right past Jace without stopping...
::WE'RE GONNA HAVE COMPANY!::
Running into the engineering compartment, Dante flopped onto his belly and crawled through a narrow crawlspace to the port engine. Sure, the engineering section located mid decks could access the engines just fine - but the thing about safeties, were that they weren't supposed to be removed. You had to remove them straight from the engine itself. Crawling for several seconds, he come up right to the engine housing, and after scanning it briefly, grasped one of the numerous panels he saw. Using sheer brute strength to rip off the engine computer housing...the pineal eye sensor in his suit focussed on the *literally dozens* of circuit boards arrayed before him, scanning and evaluating. But Dante didn't need the suit for this...he knew exactly what to do. hell, he'd done it to his own ships enough times he could do it blind folded. Yanking the primary security processor out of the engine regulator, he quickly bridged the empty slot by pulling out the power flow regulator and interfacing it - via a few loose cables from his yanking - to the cockpit control circuit. Slowly, he started crawling backwards - time consuming indeed in somewhat bulky armor - intent on modifying the other engine. With a blink, he brought up Jace on his Comm
::(Encrypted) JACE! We're gonna have a warship on our asses inside of five minutes: I'm thinking Star destroyers. Get the crew back onto the ships NOW.::
As I dusted off the contoured pilot's chair and settled in to examine the controls, the comlink built into my borrowed vac suit's helmet chirped twice. It was Sam, no doubt checking in to make sure everything was ok, now that I had disappeared from sight inside the vessel. ::: Everything looks good so far, Sam. She's just how I left her. :::
I continued to flip levers and push buttons and twist knobs as I spoke, and the cockpit consoles blazed with light as each system came online, one by one, and executed self diagnostics. I checked the air composition again. ::: Life support's even got a real atmo in here already ::: I flipped on the Bronze Star's onboard comlink, and switched the call over, then began removing the restrictive pressure suit, keeping one sharp eye on the blinking lights all around me as I did so. So far, everything had come back green.
Undoing some last snaps and stepping out of the suit, I gathered it up and stuffed it into the co-pilot's chair. ::: Time to go play with the engines ::: I informed Sam, cutting the link and exiting the cockpit, heading aft toward the engine compartment. There was one system that wouldn't be coming back online on it's own: The hyperdrive. And while I wouldn't be needing it to reach the Independence, it was better to take care of that problem now. I believed in being prepared, and that meant having a fully operational starship before I left the comparative safety of this rock.
By now, Scrappy, my ever-efficient, germophobic R5 unit, had cleaned up all the dust in the cockpit and the main passenger compartment, and he followed me as I triggered the hatch and entered the engine compartment. Impressively, there was much less dust than there had been in the living spaces --- which indicated a tighter airseal, just as there was supposed to be. Lifting two of the floor grates aside, I lay down on the cold metal, and switched on several of the light panels around the hyperdrive.
Scrappy let out a two-toned whistle, and produced a small cylindrical item from within his chassis, holding it out helpfully. I smiled, taking the part in my right hand as I gazed into the depths of the Bronze Star. Everything was just as I had left it (not that I expected otherwise at this point). The hyperdrive was intact, except for one key regulator on the motivator, which I had removed and taken with me. Without it, or a replacement, the ship would never again leave realspace. I had chosen the part as my last line of theft defense because it was relatively ship-specific, yet small enough to be easily carried away. Now, with a twist, a click, and a little bit of coaxing from a hydrospanner, and it was back in it's place. Sitting up, I tripped the master power to the engines and the hyperdrive, and grinned broadly as they came online.
So far, so good. And in another ten minutes, I was back in the cockpit, making a final preflight check on the sublight systems before signaling to Sam that we were ready to depart. Scrappy plugged himself into the special droid co-pilot harness that had been retrofitted into the back of the cockpit, and I engaged the repulsors, lifting the Bronze Star cautiously off her landing struts for the first time it what seemed like years.
It took Indy nearly four seconds to decrypt the comm signal, an embarrassment which prompted the immediate re-assessment of her current decryption protocols to determine why she had gotten so slow, but when she finally replayed the contents of the message, her first action was to contact Oz in his lab.
Oh great, what does she want now? She's not still mad at me for that warship comment earlier, is she? "Yeah?" The young engineer was bent over a workstation fiddling with a diatium power cell and some sort of ring assembly that had a slot in one end for the power cell to slide into. The power cell itself was blackened and blown apart on one end, apparently not able to withstand whatever heinous test Oz had forced it to undergo.It's gotta be the plasma conduit variation in the power cell. This is the third one I've tried and every single one has reacted differently to the absorption field. Maybe I should start testing the plasma arc outside the containment unit first... get a reading on each cell's specific variances before plugging it into the recycler and blowing it apart again. Meh, it's worth a shot I guess.
Seymour, we are under attack.
Oz lurched in surprise and nearly swallowed the bolt he was holding between his teeth before managing to spit it out and reply. "We're WHAT! When? By who? Ships or soldiers?" If this is another play by the hutt cartels to steal my baby, I swear on my massive intellect that I will wipe them off the map.
The attackers identities are unknown at this time. Their infiltration team has been eliminated, but their target seems to believe they have access to several star destroyers and they managed to send a partial distress call.
"Star destroyers!? Who the..." Wait... the hutts don't use star destroyers. And the way she said target... "Indy, who was their target?"
The man who arrived with the crew of Galdaart Fel and subsequently received a large crate which turned out to be a trap. I believe his name is Dante.
Right. Not the hutts then. "Keep the lockdown activated and prep the hyperdrive. Whether those star destroyers show up or not, this location isn't safe anymore. We'll need to relocate." Those gorram frakkers think they can attack MY ship? "Send the recall to any ships that left and said they were coming back. We leave in an hour, star destroyers or not." Oz began stalking out of the workshop, his posture and expression reminiscent of a thunderhead, but Indy's voice caused him to turn back.
Seymour, I believe there is also a saboteur on board that survived the initial attack. I cannot locate him on scanners, but I have visual recordings of his entry into the Loronar medium transport known as the 'Red Cred'. He has yet to exit the ship.
"Fine, let this Dante guy know. But don't tell him I'm coming."
The comm inside Dante's helmet crackled to life again as Indy established a connection.
A single saboteur has survived the attack and is now hiding somewhere aboard the Red Cred. I would recommend a thorough visual search, as sensors appear to be ineffective.
And then the comm died and Indy was gone. Or as gone as she ever got while one was aboard the Independence.
Oz's temper hadn't cooled a single degree by the time he reached the Cred, and if anything he'd gotten even more amped up as his mind ran through all the possible scenarios the attack could have created (and I do mean ALL). "Where is he?"
Energy readings from his armor suggest that Dante is in the starboard engine compartment.(since there was plenty of time for Dante to get from the port engine to the starboard one while Oz was en-route)I still have no location on the saboteur.
"Fine." Was the only reply Oz gave as he stalked up into the Loronar and headed straight for the starboard engine housing, where he stood and waited until Dante finally backed out of the crawlspace. Uncrossing his arms as the man stood, he jabbed a finger toward his armored chest, somehow managing to ignore the massive height difference between himself at only five and a half feet and the armor-clad titan in front of him. "What the HELL did you get my ship mixed up in?"
The comm signal from someone who most definitely was NOT Jace made Dante jump in the engine crawl space...he listened to the message, making a face along the lines of "yeah, whatever you say". Hell, it could be the syndicate for all he knew. But, as traced the communications source to the ship itself, Dante became more and more worried to the messages validity...it would, afterall, make perfect sense; distract with the main force, send in a spy or two to get the details. And if the force failed...no one would be the wiser.
Repeating his procedure to the remaining engine, Dante slid out just in time to greet a short, crazed little man...who quickly jabbed a finger towards his chest; and Dante moved without thinking. Hell, he had JUST received word that there was a saboteur on the ship, and now this little man appeared out of nowhere and was jabbing a finger at him...it was no wonder that Dante's Intelligence training kicked in as it did - his left hand swept across in front of him and to the left to knock the jabbing finger away, his right hand simultaneously shot out to try and impact the mans solar plexus. A classic block and riposte defense move, the hit would knock the wind out of the man at worst...maybe bruise him a little as well.
It was only after the instinctual response to the perceived threatening motion had passed, that his brain caught up with the mans words. "His ship," no doubt coming to investigate the ruckus...
::Gods DAMN IT. Don't you know better to sneak up on a guy?!::
"Gahgh!" The strangled gasp that escaped Oz's lips was about the farthest thing in the galaxy from dignified, and he bent double to prop himself up with hands on knees as he tried to regain his breath.Gorram frakkin' judo creeps! I should frakkin' ruin his armor for a week! Maybe make the comm system alternate between squealing and playing those terrible Justine Bibiere songs non-stop. Yeah, that'd show him.Once he did regain his breath however, a slightly cooler head prevailed and he managed to avoid downloading the pop artists first thirteen albums into the man's comm system.I guess he's as much a victim here as I am.
"I..." Deep breath. "Was not..." Just breath through it. "Sneaking!" His breaths started to come easier as he straightened up and faced the man. "Now answer my question!"
::Keep your voice down you fool! Do you want to get shot?::
Furtively glancing around, Dante stuck his head out of the compartment to check the hall before closing the bulkhead - sealing Dante and Oz inside the room. Turning bak to the man, Dante patted the air.
::Okay, regardless of if you own this ship...there is a spy on THIS ship...and he will not hesitate to snap your neck. So keep your voice down. As for what's happening...we don't know the full story. Suffice to say people want me dead. They seem to think I'm a dangerous man. I say I'm just a man trying to make his way in the universe. Nevertheless, they are going to extreme measures to make sure I stay dead...savvy?::
Unholstering one of my Model 434's, I set the weapon to stun...and slowly walked over to the bulkhead.
::Now...as soon as I catch the little bastard, we'll be on our way. But, you could expedite things by finding our crew, and informing them to get to the ship as fast as they can...once we're all here, we'll be out of your hair.::
"Indy, contact their crew. Let them know what's going on." His voice had quieted considerably after Dante's urgent warning, but it still couldn't be considered a whisper.Who's this bozo think he is? Trying to sneak onto my ship and screw stuff up. Frak him. "Indy, everything electronic in this ship is about to shut down. Get ready to run a scan." If this guy is using some kind of stealth tech, his day is about to get a lot more screwed up than mine.Closing his eyes and focusing, he reached out with his mind and began locating every piece of technology inside the Loronar. It took him a few seconds, but once he found them all, he sent a single mental command.Deactivate.The ship instantly went dark, all the tech inside it succumbing to the simple command, and Oz dropped unceremoniously to the deck with a thud. Turns out the human mind has to actually practice these sorts of things in order to properly handle the strain. Who knew?
With the mental command gone, all the devices onboard the ship suddenly flared back to life, revealing his prone form on the floor mere seconds after the darkness had begun. That was more than enough time for Indy, however, and her scans from outside the Loronar had easily pinpointed the location of the suddenly visible saboteur before his stealth systems could re-engage.
He is in the lower hold.
Even as she sent the message to Dante, another message was being sent to the Independence's medbay, summoning a medical team to retrieve Oz's unconscious form.
The ship went dark, and Dante’s eyes flickered about as the electronics went dark on the ship...including his suit. For a long moment he stared into perfect blackness; his suit not letting a single iota of light in. Combined with the soundproofing, it was almost peaceful...the silence, the blackness, the non-existence. That is, if an assassin wasn’t onboard. With a whirr, processors came back to life, and his HUD reinitialized; streams of binary in multiple panes started popping up like mal-ware on the display, and with an irritated flick of his eyes he closed them all simultaneously. Servo’s were down, sensors down, medisensors, flight controls, weapon systems...he would have to do this the old fashioned way.
Ben Garaggi silently squatted behind the crate in the lower hold...snapping his imager at what looked to be several ships currently docked in the larger one. Hitting a small stud in the bottom of the imager, he sent the images on a tight beam subspace frequency...then frowned as the device beeped at him in response; active jamming. Worried now, he looked around the hold once more before checking his equipment...a single AkraB vibrodagger sheathed at his belt, and a Quick-6 sporting blaster at his thigh. Quietly, barely breathing, he strained to listen for the sound of the crew...he almost had a heart attack as a small crazed little human ran right past him – faster than Ben could snag him. Rather than try and disable him, Ben decided to wait and see where he was going...quietly, he slowly got up, and was just about to reach the bulkhead leading to the rest of the ship, when the lights went out...no, EVERYTHING went out. Staring in horror at the No-Show on his wrist, he silently started backing up at the thumping noise that was fast approaching. He abandoned silence as a two-meter tall armored sentient came charging down the hall like a bull towards him. With a shout, he drew his quick six and snapped off a pair of shots...
----------------------------------------------------------------- There was precious little time; all the power had gone out, and the agent would know that his position had been compromised. He would act, quickly, by either relocating or attacking. Rushing out of the engineering compartment, Dante turned the corner as fast as he could go; while it was true he wore powered armor, the AV-1s was exceptionally light – allowing a normal human to move around normally with a little effort. When you combine that with a Cardio-muscular package...it was like wearing a heavy coat rather than an armor suit. The lack of sensors though concerned him...rightly so: turning the corner, Dante’s eyes widened at what he saw. A two meter tall human, wearing some kind of tactical combat jumpsuit, a pair of head strap electrogoggles, and holding a blaster in his left hand, and a knife in his right. He looked every bit the syndicate commando.
Unable to stop his momentum, Dante instead opted to continue forward – his feet pounding against the deck plates, he twisted to the side as he agent fired off a pair of shots. Snapshots, the first was avoided by his twist, the second though, slapped into his arm, making him hiss – an armorplast and duranium mix, it stopped the bolt easily...the issue was that it hit him on the edge of a plate – the backwash of the blast burning through his body suit and into his right shoulder muscle; with a bubble and a hiss the bodysuit sealed up the tear automatically, and Dante gritted through the pain to concentrate on the matter at hand. Using his momentum, Dante lashed out with his left in a classic front kick; the element of surprise being on his side, the kick connected with the man, and sent him reeling backwards. Only reeling though, and not flying...the man was well-trained Dante noted, hopping backwards while simultaneously putting up a half block to absorb the damage dealt by the kick. As he regained his footing, the man slid backwards, the blaster firing off another trio of blasts from the hip, the knife pulling back up to chest height defensively. The first pair of bolts slapped into his chest, then glanced off to his left side to pockmark the deck as the armorplast reflected the bolts...the third missed wildly. With a snarl, the man threw the blaster to the side, and it sparked wildly as it hit the ground.
::Sporting blasters. Aren’t they a bitch?::
The agent’s only response was a slight shrug of the shoulders. Suddenly lunging forward, the agents knife hand struck from left to right in a vicious diagonal slash, a clear and high pitched whine – that tell tale sign of a vibroweapon – emanating from the 18cm long clip point knife. With a growl, Dante slid backward, his feet in his classic stava front stance: right foot back, left foot forward, knees bent, arms at chest height defensively. As he slid backward, just the tip of the knife scraped against his armor – and with a very clear SCREEEEEEECH – sliced through it like a hot knife through butter. With a curse, Dante lashed his right arm to the right in a low block, his armored gauntlet clashing against the agent’s armored gauntlet. With a similar growl, the agents tried to push against the block, attempting to overpower it...deflect it...anything to use the advantage of his position...
That’s when the agent realized something: his opponent was MUCH stronger than him. And physical contact was exactly what his opponent wanted.
Dante’s hand twisted out of its block to grasp the man’s gauntlet, and with a hiss, the man tried to slide backward...only to find that he was utterly secured by Dante’s iron grip. Reversing his tactic, the agent quickly jabbed his other hand forward, letting go of the knife with his right hand, and then catching it in his left as it struck forward. He was good, Dante had to admit, and if the odds weren’t horribly stacked in his favor...the fight may have gone differently. As it was though, the man didn’t stand a chance. The man’s free arm shot forward in a vicious stab to Dante’s right side, and Dante twisted clockwise and stepped to his left diagonal; the agent stabbed empty air, and Dante was now too far to the agents right to strike. Continuing the twist, Dante firmly gripped the agents arm, continued the twists momentum, HEAVED, annnnnd...
AHHHH – THUD!!!
Threw the agent some six meters across right into the cargo holds wall. From the agent’s scream, Dante had caught him off guard...and from the way he was picking himself up off the floor, he was more than a little stunned. Already on his hands and knees, he was already prepping himself to fight back. He would have to rectify that. A running start, a heavy kick to the gut, and the agent flew up into the air to slam against the ceiling, before falling back to the ground...his face cushioning the fall nicely. Grabbing the man’s collar, Dante hefted the man upright...blood dripped down the man’s face in a cascade, his eyes rolled about wildly. Slowly, the man tried to raise his knife hand – which somehow miraculously still clutched the knife. One hand grasping the man’s collar, the other slapped down to the man’s buttocks and gripped firmly: a running start, and he slammed the man like a medieval battering ram into the nearest bulkhead. There was a gurgle, a long line of blood, and a twitch...and finally the fight was over.
Bending down and checking the mans vitals, Dante shook his head at the mans pulse...he should be dead...but he wouldn't question their luck. Grasping the mans ankle, he slowly started dragging the man to med bay...
Post by Jace Stealer on Jul 12, 2013 0:27:50 GMT -8
Jace was in the lift between the ground floor that held the stowage and the main compartments which held all of the crew essentials when his commlink rang out. He pulled it from his belt, staring at it as the situation donned on him. Who in the Force would be assaulting them on a ship like this? They must be pretty serious or at least close with the captain to be able to get on this vessel. The possibilities ran through his head while the lift approached the lounge. Was it the Jekk, or whatever they were called? Hopefully not, he did not like those things. He'd take a fierce firefight or a losing battle over those brainless monsters any day. Death Watch? Most likely not. They would have assaulted Saffia first if they wanted to be rid of the Emerald Blades, and he would have heard by now. His old arch-nemesis-now-acquaintance, the Pirate King? Nah, they had left off on a good note. Had the remnants of the Hellborn Military arrived to end their old ally?
As the lift doors opened and Jace ran down the hallway towards his bunk, his hand knotted into a white knuckled fist just at the thought of it.He sincerely hoped it was them. He would run-through and dismember every last one of those nerf-herders if he had the chance. And when he was through with them and standing before Ramiel, he'd be sure to make him pay. Make him pay dearly for what he had done to Linn.
Jace reached his bunk room and rushed to the locker, swiftly yanking it open and delving into the contents within. He placed his A280 Blaster Rifle and several powerpacks on the table next to him and pulled out his tactical vest. While he did have his combat armor, he needed something quick and effective to carry his ammunition and gear in times like these. Slipping on and zipping up his vest, he packed the pockets with his extra magazines and slapped on of them into his rifle. Taking one of his head sets out he placed it on his head and connected it to his commlink which now rested in his left breast pocket. Ready for a fight, Jace left the bunk room with his weapon in hand, ready to smite the scum that decided to attack.
But as he jogged down the hall, the cool demeanor and level head he adopted into his firefighting technique took over. He wouldn't see any of his old foes out on that hanger floor. None of them would be able to find him out here at the least. No, these guys were after somebody else. One of the crew members who had a dirty or secretive past. Just then Dante sprinted past him from the cockpit, heading down to the other levels while yelling another warning to him. Jace refrained from hitting himself now that it was so obvious. Who else would attract trouble like this other than one person. Dante.He slowed to a stop and watched his friend run down the hallway.
"I heard you the first time! Who do we have on our doorsteps this time?"
Jace didn't wait for a response as he realized what Dante must be doing. He'd done it plenty times before, and had practically every one of his ships modified in such a way. That being said he had damaged just as many by taking the safeties off. Turning around, he made his way up into the cockpit so that he could begin the start-up sequence the second Dante had finished. Slinging his gun around the seat, Jace got himself ready to start the ship up once he got the call. Instead he received a little information on the situation (finally) and an order to get the crew back onto the ship. He sighed, pressing the transmitter button on his commlink to Dante while he prepped a message to be sent to the crew members.
Star Destroyers? Who the hell did you invite to this party?
Jace released the button on his personal commlink and pushed the one on the ship's communications board.
This is Jace. We've got a lot of company headed our way and we need to leave now. Get back to the ship ASAP.
As he finished, a little light on the console blinked red. Dante must have finished. Jace quickly went to work starting up the systems. Diagnostics systems were online. Shield systems were coming online. Life support systems... suddenly shut off. As did everything. He was left in the dark for a few seconds before the lights came on. That was very strange. And he knew ships well enough that he knew Dante had nothing to do with it. Something else was amiss. Grabbing his blaster rifle, Jace made his way down to the engine room via the ladder route.
He cautiously dropped down the last hatch, letting the Force cushion his fall to make it nearly silent. It was empty except for a single form on the floor. He stepped over to what looked to be the man who was working on Fel's ship and droid. Jace took a knee beside him and checked for a pulse, noting that it was still fairly strong. That... and there was something else different about him. He could feel some sort of residual energy coming off of him. Whether it was from the Force or something else, he couldn't tell. Nevertheless, he had to continue on. The mechanic would be fine.
The door to the engineering department opened and Jace stepped into the stowage area with his weapon ready. But he saw nobody. He spotted several pock marks on the floor and walls. There was scuff marks on the floor leading to the cargo hold. That is when the sounds of a struggle could be heard, as well as distinct whine of a vibro-blade. Jace rushed over to the hold doors and opened them, weapon ready and adrenaline starting to pump in his system in anticipation of a fight.
Jace stopped and simply looked over at the form on the floor beside him, wondering where he had come from. A second later he was answered when Dante rolled through and put the finishing touches on the man, putting him into the ceiling followed by ramming him into the wall. Jace had witness much more brutal methods that his friend had used in the past, but even Jace had to admit that was up there on the list. He lowered his weapon as Dante checked for a pulse and miraculously found one.
"Friend of yours?"
Seeing that Dante was intent on dragging the poor agent across the floor, Jace took a few steps lead and opened the lift doors. He noted the streak of blood on the walls and the one trailing behind the limp form.
"You know we just got this place cleaned of my blood."
Dragging the man along, Dante paused as the mans chin got hung up on the door frame - a persistent tug, and the *THUNK* of a forehead smacking the deck, and Dante was on his way once more.
"You know we just got this place cleaned of my blood."
WIth a snicker, Dante just shook his head, slowed to a stop at the medbay doors (which Jace had kindly opened for him), pulled the man over his shoulder, and then slapped him down on one of the med beds. Securing the mans arms, legs, and neck (usually reserved for head surgery), Dante tightened the synthmesh bonds to insure their guest wouldn't physically be getting away. Rolling his shoulders, Dante took a few steps back and sat down in one of the chairs: the sight of an armored man on a tiny stool being rather comical.
...Whoo...got my breath back now. To answer your questions in order: Syndicate kill patrol, Syndicate assassin, NOT a friend, and at least it's his blood and not ours.
Gesturing to the man on the table, Dante picked up a bioscanner and started sweeping his head.
Help me check his mouth for suicide teeth, and his nails for toxins...last thing we need is for him to die on us when we could get information out of him. I'll check for a Spy-killer implant.
It would be a familiar routine for the two; it was after all, part of their training to secure information. Though, this would also resonate in a different way for the two...common procedure would be to check for implants and other such suicide devices - in preparation for information extraction. Another friendly term for torture. The question as to who would do it didn't arise between the two, instead, each busied themselves for checking for devices.
Uhuh. Found the little bastard.
The med sensor began beeping, and focussing in, a tiny little square of metal containing an explosive roughly the size of a pee was embedded just under the skull. Shaking his head, Dante chuckled as he picked up a nearby laser scalpel.
Amateurs. They should have implanted it in the brain rather than the skull...if it was stuck in the gray matter we would have had to rip the ships Accu-accelerator out to disable the thing. This way....
Not even bothering to apply anesthesia, Dante held the mans head and cut a tiny hole in the mans skull, before flicking it to one side; with a tiny pop that scarred the deck plating, the explosive blew itself to bits. With a snort, Dante took a tube of bonemer, applied a tiny dot to the skull, let it dry for a second, then let go of the mans head. It was sloppy work...but then, that hinted at Dante's attitude towards the man.
...this way we don't have to waste much resources on him.
There was a moment of silence, as Dante eyed the glowing scalpel in his hand. With a sigh, Dante deactivated the blade, and sat down once more...rotating the long thin tube of the scalpel in his armored fingers.
...Jace...we need information out of him. How many ships are there, how many people are there, what the stuff they shot at me is. We both did...things...that neither one of us is proud of. But...the crew is coming soon, and Jace...we both know the best way of getting information out of him is torturing it out. The old one two. There's info that he might spill that could be dangerous for the crew to know...or worse, deadly for them to know. For now, their just by standers in all of this. After the fact...well, you know how hard it is to forget something.
The old "one-two"...a casual term for something much more chilling; in the old days, Dante would use his medical expertise to torture, and Jace would use his ability in the force to mentally assault the mans mind...mentally persuading him again and again. It was effective; and the information gathered was almost always a hundred percent reliable. Though...it was gruesome. Terribly gruesome.