"You got it boss," Toland silently replied as he took his place at the terminal and began cutting through code and draining every file or document he could find. Every single time he struck some piece of intel, he made sure to keep his tracks clean. He was a phantom in electronic shadows. Even with the ammount of data he was collecting, he might as well of been collecting some asshat's private stash. If they were lucky, it would be the Emperor's incriminating folder of Hutt fetish porn.

Behind him though he could feel the tension of everyone behind him like wamp rats being lowered into a sarlacc pit. There weren't in the shit yet, but they were litterally at the outer rim of the toilet bowl. Tempers were flaring badly. If the imperials wouldn't shoot at them, he was pretty sure they would all blast themselves away.

A silent calm seemed to breath through the spaceport itself though as the whole place felt utterly empty. It was nothing like Berchest. Back home, his father's port was constantly active. Repair droids clanking along the ground and passengers being shuttled from ship to ship.

The silence made Toland's skin crawl. He could hear the ports every creak and moan, for the entire place was in sever disrepair. He swore he saw the rotting bulk of old repair droids in the corner as they entered. A damn shame. If things went well, he could probably snatch one of them and see if they have some photo-sensors for Iggy. One man's rust was another man's gold.

----------

HK-51 stood silently watching the east enterence with utter focus. He knew the job ahead of him and was dead set to follow his orders. His programming. "Master Toland", who hated the prefix, had ordered a temperary pause at his previous orders so that he could fulfil his tasks here without hesitation. HK was ready to kill. It had been far too long. But orders, programming, came first.

Slooga moved slow enough, but the Liberators managed to lag behind. Thanks to Lt. Byron's diplomatic graces, the soldiers were volunteered to do most of the heavy lifting for the exchange, while the crooks (and a few of the lighter Liberators) fanned out in a loose echelon formation. All told they had thirty sets of eyes, all panning the scenery of Ganatoo Spaceport and assessing the crowds. It was easy to forget, while in deep space, that plenty of people in the galaxy weren't smugglers, or stormtroopers, or rebels, or whatever else -- plenty of people were simply living out their lives as normally as could be managed in a time like this. Merchants, small game hunters, chefs, stick jockeys. The spaceport attracted all types. All types seemed eager to give the Hutt a wide berth. The team encountered no resistance as they made their way, slowly, to the illicit rendezvous. The exchange was to take place in an open square, isolated from the main drags by a few blocks and secure enough from any prying eyes. There were alleys and high windows to contend with, but with all the manpower and kit they'd brought, it seemed like nothing they couldn't handle.

A pair of runners -- shady as hell, Keller thought -- had run ahead to check out the site, and they were presently coming back into view. Vannin hummed a tune that could've passed for Gammorean folk music and pushed a heavily-laden sled. The pirates were nervous talking about business around the new LT, but he'd managed to gather that the trade involved weapons and scrap from the last weapon, and they were getting some medical gear of some sort (which Tadia, much to Byron's chagrin, had insisted on inspecting personally). The new faces in the detail were, to their credit, pushing heavy sleds up a hill like real-live Liberators. A noble calling. The HIGHEST calling. True Heroes of the Republic, to the last, astride their mighty loads. He chuckled. Well, that was the job, no helping it.

They brought the goods into the square and caught their breath. On the opposite end stood the requisite amount of scum and villainy, there to watch over the exchange and protect their own crime lord. One had to wonder how many of those could exist in the galaxy -- enough, certainly. Tensions seemed low and the business people set about their business while the grunts thumbed at their blasters and wondered about the slicing progress.

After a while -- the deal still progressing according to the brief -- a few more goons began to trickle in behind Slooga's rival. One at a time, at first, and spaced out enough so as not to arouse suspicions. But there were definitely more of them. A dozen had turned into fifteen, and another walking in with a carbine. Keller kept humming and casually checked the alley by which they'd come in. Someone was turning back passers-by a few blocks down -- and not one of their own people. Motherfucker, he thought out loud. He made his way to the LT, casually as possible.

"I'm getting a real bad vibe," he muttered, omitting the 'sir' on account of their cover. "Might be nothing -- might be trouble." He gave a quick recap of the situation.

"I see them," Byron replied, with a tone that suggested he'd caught the same feeling as well. "Slooga's guys aren't picking up on it, and I don't know how they'll react, so keep it quiet for now. But pass the word to the Liberators. If something goes down, we can't lose the Hutt." Keller nodded and shuffled off to whisper in someone's ear. Meanwhile, Byron keyed his communicator. "How's the weather?" he asked. "Looks like we might have to take the nerf outside pretty quick."

Traffic control was a small room with a large mainframe and a few access terminals, designed to control an entire plannet's ship traffic grid and provide very precise model predictions as well as interact with ships' nav computers and autopilots to provide the necessary data to get them down safely, or at least to provide pilots the guidance. Luckily, the company that provided it also provided the code to Rebel programmers, who swiftly developed very efficient viruses to penetrate the system and bug it.

The PDA being used for the virus insertion by Toland went off with a warning, intended to go off if a security station arose. Handed the pad, Serossa's eyes widened considerably even as she got on the commlink with the LT and Intruder's bridge and announced, "Dove hunt."

That was the code word for Imperial trouble, that the mission was compromised by Imperial Forces. A Pigeon Trap was bounty hunters and a Duck Lure was local law enforcement.

A Dove Hunt was a definite abort; if the Empire caught wind of them, they'd pile on the reinforcements and firepower until the rebels were dead. One could shoot their way past local forces and buy off or gun down bounty hunters, but the Imperials with the element of surprise was a good reason to fade out of the system as quickly as possible.

She turned to the others, after hitting the pad several times to abort the upload, scrub the stuff already in the Ganatoo system and sanitize the logs to show nothing ever happened. The mission was burned; if the upload were to complete itself, it would be able to conceal itself in the system, but a partial upload would be unstable and possibly reveal itself to the Imperials. An abort and erasure meant having to start over from scratch on the upload, but at least the Imperials might not ever be the wiser for the hack attempt.

"Lionesse is en route, looks like, they just cleared all traffic in the Ganatoo pattern for an Imperial Code VTRL. We walk out real casual," she told the rest, "and we go to the port's speeder parking. But anything that we didn't encounter coming in that tries to stop us gets blasted."

Besk nodded; assume ISB and shoot to kill; and as Besk figured-- suicide rather than capture. It might get messy, but any bribed guards would possibly turn on them with imperial trouble-- the Empire cared little for smuggling but a lot about Rebels and they'd paid smuggler rate bribes suitable for local, not Imperial, trouble.

"I'll lead Serossa," he said casually, knowing that the point had to kill fast; Sekula needed to be on Thanner's back and Thanner couldn't be up on point. Toland was a cherry. Besk threw him a wink he didn't feel.

"I've got rear," the sarge said as they moved out, along the slightly shabby blue-painted plastoid hallways of Ganatoo, eventually melding with the crowd of regular people who were not, it seemed, panicking or trying to necessarily leave, though they were held up in the terminal. That, to Besk's eyes, looked good -- the security people didn't look all that surprised, and while all the departures and arrivals showed delays, it didn't look like the trouble was spaceport trouble.

He didn't quite dare breathe a sigh of relief as they got out the doors; the Sarge clearly didn't see anything either, since she was the one best qualified to spot a tail and off the bastard if necessary. But so far, all clear, especially when they took a few turns into less crowded areas, checked the horizon for any signs of surveillance. If they were being tracked, they'd have to be good, and if they were that good, the Liberators were probably burned.

Shockingly, they made it to their speeder truck, "borrowed" with no sign that they were the object of he security problem; a quick scan of hacked local comms, using code lifted from the traffic control system indicated it was...of course. Slooga.

"What's the plan, Sarge?"

"Heads up."

By now all the Liberators on the escort detail were wise to the danger at hand. They all tried to keep a low profile even though they were on high alert -- Vannin even managed to quiet himself, expecting imminent trouble. Trouble came.

Slooga shook hands with the local contact, and the local contact didn't let go. The facade bled away in an instant -- muzzles left their holsters on both ends of the square. The contact raised his voice.

"You all know the game," the man said loudly. "Sooner or later they get us all. Imps pinched me three weeks ago, and I walk if I give them the hutt. Walk away now, we'll do the same."

"Bastard!" Slooga bellowed.

"You can shoot it out if you like," the contact continued, ignoring his new prisoner. "Their frigate is already enroute. You can make it out if you run, but not if you fight. Just walk away. Leave the hutt with me, and one of you can take his place, I don't care. We can do this nice and easy, or we c..."

The contact stopped short. He let go of Slooga's hand, and crumpled to the ground with an audible sizzling sound. Slooga turned to face his men, a disruptor pistol smoking in his left hand. "Kill them all!" he roared.

The battle erupted in a flash. Pirates from both sides opened fire. Vannin sprayed a hail of bolts at the high rise opposite their position, then loaded a fresh cell and advanced, crouching and weaving his way towards Slooga, who was already flanked by troopers. Lt. Byron was there, letting loose with a heavy pistol and trying to speak calmly into his communicator. He was doing a poor job. Vannin snatched it out of his hands and screamed, "Nerf just shit the bed, get over here and clean it up! Now!" A hostile ran towards them, and Keller pitched the communicator at him, then brought up his rifle and took him down hard.

"We need a plan!" Byron shouted.

"We need to bug out!" Keller agreed.

Slooga was barking orders. His pirates might have heard them, but Byron ignored them entirely. "Corporal!" he yelled, grabbing Vannin's shoulder. "Secure a path to the shuttle!"

Vannin nodded. "Give me three minutes. And send the slug now! He'll slow you down!" He tossed a grenade into the hostile end of the square and turned on his heels. "Hayca! Fish! On me!" The three of them moved into the alley. The squad was surrounded -- but not for long.

Meanwhile, Lt. Byron labored in vain to separate Slooga from the front line of the firefight. By now the friendlies had gained a slim edge, but more enemies were pouring in, and stormtroopers wouldn't be far behind. Confounded, Byron spotted Tadia nearby. "Doc!" he called. "We gotta get him moving now. You're in charge. Get. Him. On. That. Shuttle!" Someone called out a flanking move by the enemy, and Byron's attention was absorbed once more in the shooting. He slid into cover a few meters away, and tried his luck giving orders to Slooga's pirates. Slooga, furious but at last realizing the futility of prolonging the issue, growled and cursed, and at last began to cooperate with his Alliance team.

"Get me out," he muttered.

Tadia jumped behind cover, firing her rifle over it. "I'm in charge of the Hutt? I hope you get shot Byron." She jumped over the barrier literally pushing the giant slug towards an alleyway. "Stay in cover idiot." The Hutt cursed something in huttese. "Yeah, if you got something to say that isn't nice keep it in your mouth. Though you should probably do as I say right now as I've never operated on a Hutt before, and do you really want me to start now?" She winced as she realized the supplies were left behind, raising her commlink she spoke into it. "Lt. The Medical supplies, we can't just leave them behind. We need them. Otherwise next time someone gets shot I'm going to have to use a hammer as sedative." She ducked looked around the corner as more people began running towards them.

"I really hate this job sometimes."

Betuu was laying waste to backwater scum left and right, finally back in his element. The rouges were nothing like the highly trained clone of his day. The clones were brave and almost worthy of his respect. Bioengineered machines of war. The perfect foil to glory of The Confederacy. These idiots were cowards, cowering behind cover like rats. Betuu was happy to exterminate them. Betuu planted himself behind a civilian speeder and unleashed the fury of his blasters on any fool who rose from cover.

"Advise," Betuu suggested over the comms, "the opposing forces here are being reactionary and do not seem to have set up any official plan-of-attack for this engagement. Recommend complete elimination of current ground forces before the arrival of reinforcement. No witnesses. Will allow surviving rebels time to escape off world."

-----------

Toland was already at the speeder when alarms began to sound from the spaceport. Looks like someone had woken up from his nap. He grabbed his pistol, which he had snuck into the glove compartment of the stolen ride. This is it, he thought.

"We should probably get out of here and meet with the others," Toland thought aloud, but he had a sneaking suspicion that his opinion wasn't worth a credit to them.

"Have Betuu give us approximate location of forces and other pertinent tac data," he told Toland, instantaneously grasping that Betuu wasn't going to lose his cool in reporting everything concisely and accurately where the Lieutenant might be a little busy having his first firefight. It was an intuitive thing on Besk's part, but he knew it was a good gut call. A droid might be limited in devising a plan, but you could always rely on one to provide a pretty accurate kriffing report in a pinch, which would really help them get it together.

Behind the wheel of the speeder truck, Besk managed to drive recklessly fast, using the navigation assistance console and the HUD display that advised him that he was breaking the speeding laws -- of course, right now, the locals were probably way more concerned about a firefight than traffic control. As they drew closer to the fighting, Besk used the information from Betuu to position the truck with a good line of escape close to a good ambush point that'd give them a clear pop at the enemy's flanks. It was still taking too long, even at the speeds at which he was moving.

In any case, they had limited weapons but could still pull off a hit-and-fade ambush, "This is the plan," he briefed the others quickly, "Infiltrate, hit contacts with grenades, open fire when the frags go off," it had to be fast, and wanted to give the others the gist of the plan there. "Pull back if it's hairy, link with the LT if we can. If not, back to this van and we bug out. Stay alive."

The speeder truck, dilapidated as it was, fit well with the grimy industrial backdrop of Ganatoo, and the vehicle itself was inconspicuous. Using the navigational data, he had a good idea of where to park the thing and disembark the passengers, himself included, with a pistol in hand. He had a det on him, and it would be used. They had to finish this business quickly, and that's why he moved quickly, finding the right sort of urban/industrial cover in the form of crates and trash receptacles as he tried to pick a low-visibility approach on the enemy, guided by the sounds of their fire. It was taking just too kriffing long, with Liberators under fire, and Besk wanted to relieve the pressure, but not get killed doing it. They were taking risks, already, by moving the way they were, which was fast enough to draw notice if the bounty hunters had lookouts.

It was a calculated risk, hoping that the bounty hunters were unaware of any other operation outside of the spaceport.

When they were in place, braced against cover, Besk let the detonator fly, initiating their ambush. He only stopped long enough to note that it wasn't Imperial military, yet, but rather, fringe scum, not infantry. The plan would work even better on them, or worse if they were professional mercs, though he doubted they were due to a lack of sentries -- Bounty hunters tended to focus on the prey and didn't tend to expect actual reinforcement or the targets to fight back like trained military. There was a grouping of them pouring on fire on the Lieutenant and Slooga and the shuttle with a light repeating blaster, and they had a real good field of fire with a weapon that had good range and rate of fire.

The detonator went off and that's when the blaster fire came up, gratifyingly on cue, and that's when the bounty hunters started to get confused about where the fire was coming from.

Ja'vi Harkan - Going Hunting

The Rebels had struck her as a peculiar, but practical bunch. In the early hours of her morning, she had begun it with a similar routine ever since she had escaped to the Outer Rim. There, in the quiet tranquility of the room that the Alliance had bequeathed to her, she sat cross legged in the center upon a rug.

With her eyes closed peacefully, and her slender fingertips woven upon her lap while her elbows rested neatly bent upon her knees; she remained deeply within a tranquil state. She could feel it, flowing around her.

The Force.

It was a will, a consciousness beyond her own that she could not truly grasp. Yet, the teachings that she had been given as a child reminded her all too well that the ability to sense it was only the beginning. Minor hints, whispers, it spoke to her; yet even after she had been meditating daily for months, she lacked the ability to truly decipher it. Frustrating in some instances and encouraging in others, it was a constant reminder to herself that she direly needed to keep a steady mind, a steadfast conscience.

One that would not let her mind slip into anger, no matter how irksome and fickle it seemed to be. Both she and it had changed much from when she was a Youngling, after all.

A knock on the barrier that separated her from the rest of the rebellion, and the abrupt slide of its' opening caused her to open one eye. In front of her stood another Rebel Trooper who looked at her in a befuddled manner. It was a fair gesture, most of these men and women seemed to be souls of direct action; searching not for the subtleties of complex trials, but the simplest means with the least amount of sacrifice.

For that, they had her admiration. But it didn't excuse how they oft looked at her with such peculiarity.

"Harkan, get your fangs. We're going hunting today."

Standing up and plucking up her Helmet, she was careful to insure that it didn't cause discomfort for the tendrils that extended in a smooth curl past beyond her head as she donned it. The former small-time smuggler turned trooper quietly nodded and then holstered her blaster pistol. Belts tightly fastened about her shoulders as a pair of Vibro-blades fastened tightly about her upper waist neatly.

Then equipping the standard issue plate, the former Youngling then bound out after the other fellow Rebel Troopers that soon embarked upon a wild sprint through the city.

As they traveled, Ja'vi's eyes remained closed. Continuing to strive for inner balance while she herself rumbled along in the back of the truck. Orders were given, and she listened carefully; knowing what she was meant to do, the job that Besk wanted her to perform. She was a distraction, she always was. But the way by which the Rebellion's helmet confined her peripheral vision was suffocating.

Digging her fingertips into the side, she slowly removed it. Once the Truck came to a sudden, abrupt halt however, she sprinted hurriedly to the cover with the others. Watching as Besk prepared the detonators, she reached behind her and drew out her pair of Vibro-Blades. With the flick of a switch, they hummed softly as they knew all too well their purpose. With a cacophonous roar, the foundations of the earth shook with the eruption of the blast, and she sprung into action.

Through the clearing and obscuring smoke, she exploded forward into the confused ranks of the Bounty Hunters like a resurgent wave. Chaos was around her, there was anger, rage, consuming fury, and fear. Yet she herself was tranquil, a resolute wave of resilient strength that tore into the first Bounty Hunter she saw. Blaster Fire hissed and cooked the very air over her as she nimbly avoided it by mere hairs. It was a dance she partook in, a dance that made her feel the very flow of the world around her.

One villainous hunter unceremoniously fell, caught by utter surprise and bisected by the waist with a swipe of her blades.

Vibro-Blades hissed through the air, and she barely managed to gravely wound another bounty hunter before his shouted warning warned his comrades of her presence. Blasters turned in her direction and instinctively she fled. Nimbly kicking off and away to dive back into the smoke behind some cover where she sheathed one blade and drew her Blaster Pistol instead.

She was there to fulfill her purpose, and that was to buy time for others to evacuate before Imperials got involved.

That, and naturally escape herself so that she might live and fight another day.

Among the stoic and grim expressions in the back of the truck as Beck raced through the city was a particularly bright face. It was Saleen, buckled up in her seat among the row of rebel soldiers which consisted of a mix between thugs, freedom fighters and mercenaries; the line between which was often shallow and blurred.

Saleen's blond hair was freshly washed, and tied in a ponytail behind her back. Her suit and armor, unlike the ragged looking uniforms of the rebels around her, had recently been cleaned, and the duraplast plates making up her armor had been freshly polished. Her level of cleanliness made it seem like she expected to go on a parade rather than an actual mission! On her lap sat a large, light repeater connected through a cord to the power pack on her back. The weapon was adorned with illustrious and intricate silver patterns, with a dream catcher hanging on its side.

Saleen threw excited looks to the other rebel fighters in the back of the truck, making few attempts to hide the anticipation in her ocean blue eyes.

"Let's make a game; whoever kills more imps gets a month of free drinks on the force, what do you say?" Sounded the cheerful voice of Saleen, but she received nothing but odd stares and silence from the other rebels. Most of them seemed to currently be in their own world, the mind set on the battle ahead. Not to mention, although the rebels were a lot more heterogeneous than the empire, Saleen was still considered an outsider.

Frowning, looking almost offended by the silence, Saleen turned and looked the other way with a pout.

"Fine then, have it your way... "

She muttered with an ever so annoyed tone. But as the truck finally ground to a sudden halt, and the doors were opened, Saleen was quick to unbuckle herself from her seat.

"Finally!"

The stoic twi'lek Ja'vi had already jumped out of the truck. Saleen stood up from her seat before she put on her eagle helmet as she walked in a line towards the exit in the back of the truck with the rest of the rebels. Most of the rebels were lightly armored, but as Saleen jumped off the back of the truck, the metal bottoms of her heavy boots landed with a small crash on the ground!

"Which way to shoot?!"

Saleen called out to the rebel fighters as she stepped forward after leaving the truck. But a sudden, stray blaster shot just whistled less than a meter past her face, leaving a smoking hot trail behind it! Saleen instinctively pulled her head back, almost slamming the back of her helmet into the face of the rebel fighter behind her. Looking across the open square in the direction the shot had come from, she quickly nodded to herself.

"Oh right, that way!"

With both hands around her repeater weapon, she rushed towards the semi-line formed by the rebel fighters as they had already begun to open fire on the bounty hunters in the distance. Finding cover behind some plasteel containers, she mounted her repeater on top of the crate in front of her as she crouched down behind her weapon. It was difficult to see through the smoke that filled the square, but through the clouds, she was able to spot humanoid forms on the other end.

Assuming what she was looking at to be bounty hunters, Saleen pulled the trigger of her repeater as the targeter in her visor guided her aim. The muzzle of the repeater immediately began to spew forth a hellfire of dangerous blaster fire that now roiled across the square and into smoke on the other side!

On the other side, Harkan would soon experience blaster fire coming out through the smoke and whizzing past her! The fire seemed sporadic, but no less dangerous, as sparks flew and molten metal flew everywhere as the blaster shots hit the terrain and architecture all around her. One blaster shot flew straight past Harkan's face, passing mere inches from her eyes and breathing a wave of heat into her face. The blaster shot continued past her, until it hit a trandoshian bounty hunter just as the lizard emerged out from behind his cover to attempt to take a shot at her. The lizard was torn aside as the blaster bolt hit him in the lower left of his throat. The fire immediately burned away a large chunk of flesh around the impact area within a split second, before the kinetic energy passed further through the lizard's throat to explode out on the other side. Charred flesh and burning blood was splattered all over the wall behind the trandoshian bounty hunter as it immediately collapsed to the ground, clutching its throat in a brief expression of pure horror and utter confusion before life left his body!

In the alleys, along the escape route

Before the firefight broke out, Vannin had spotted a handful of crooks moving around the rear to surround Slooga's escort party. He'd only seen three at the time, but there were in fact closer to eight or nine -- the exact number depended on just how many Ortro Dob's grenade had neutralized. Vannin was on the point, with Hayca and Dob following a few meters back. Hayca was giving the Mon Cal a crash-course in CQC, and the fish, for his part, was more or less keeping up with things. Meanwhile, ahead, Vannin spent most of his time trading insults and blaster bolts with scum behind improvised cover. The Liberators had advantages in discipline and equipment, which, thanks to the tight terrain, seemed to count for more than the criminals' numbers. With Vannin drawing fire, his partners were free to pick off enemies with punishing salvos that sizzled right over the pointman's head.

He'd asked the LT for three minutes headstart to clear a path. All told, it took them about five. The last pair of enemies saw the odds against them and, with curses and lewd gestures, tossed their weapons and scampered off. Hayca checked all the angles to confirm they were clear while Vannin caught his breath.

"Two for me," he lied.

"One," Hayca corrected. "We're clear."

Vannin thumbed his communicator. "LT, we're done up here. Time to make tracks." He thought for a minute, and vaguely remembered grabbing Byron's communicator and throwing it at someone. Shit. "Robot?"

"Nerf squad acknowledges," squawked B2.

"I'll be a son of a bitch," Vannin said loudly, looking up. Slooga was coming in hot on their heels, running from someone. Suddenly Vannin burst out laughing. Tadia was positively chasing the hutt away from the battle. Slooga's face was comically annoyed. "Never thought I'd see a hutt so whipped," Vannin chuckled, realizing too late that he said that out loud. He waited for the two of them to catch up and give the latest on the situation, and gave a succinct report of his own: "Fish kicked some ass. We're clear to the ship."

"Hang on."

Hayca drew his attention to the landing pad where their shuttle was docked. A COMPFORCE speeder was parked nearby, and a trio of uniformed men kept watch. In the alley, the rebels were still hidden from their sight, but they'd be spotted for sure when they made a break for the shuttle. If the lookouts called in the cavalry, the whole spaceport could be locked down in minutes, and that would trap the rest of the unit on station. They might get Slooga out, and the four Liberators in the alley, but everyone else would be boned.

"How do we do this?" Dob asked.

"Kill them all," Slooga grumbled.

"Well obviously," Vannin agreed. "But not yet. Gotta check something first." He got on the comms and got Sergeant Sekula, who laid out the current situation in the square, as well as the ambush. Vannin warned her about the COMPFORCE detail. "We can take them," he said, "But once we engage we're gonna have a very fraggin' small window to get everybody out. Byron's comm is dark -- my fault. Just call it when you're ready and we'll move out."

The gunners picked their targets and waited for their next order. The party was coming their way, and soon.

-------

in the square

The battle was winding down fast, but still dangerous as hell. The scum's target had always been Slooga, and with him removed, the only people sticking around were the ones out for blood -- and of them, all that were left were the ones with talent. The slice team's ambush had scared off or killed everyone else. A number of troopers were hit, and some of their friendly pirates were down as well, but overall the fight was a win for the Liberators. For now. Lt. Byron's mind was racing through the end-game possibilities -- it was the imps that wanted Slooga, and they had a detachment stationed here, so they couldn't be far. Once they figured out that Slooga was on the run, they'd be coming in hot to clean up the mess. Maybe the Liberators could take them, maybe not -- but with the Lionesse inbound, there wasn't enough time to find out.

Betuu bounded to his side, shrugging off a small shot, and delivered messages from Corporals Vannin and Besk. The stakes were becoming clear. Hell of a first day on the job. Byron had the droid open a channel to everybody. "We need to be wheels-up in five minutes or less. Vannin, storm the ship in four. Besk, Sekula, load up the speeder with whatever supplies you can manage and get there. Wounded first. None of ours stay behind, dead or alive." It might not make a difference, with the slicing op 86ed, but there was still a chance to get off this rock without tipping off the imps that the Rebellion was involved, and in the heat of the moment that possibility seemed more important to him than a few extra supplies. "Everyone else, move out on foot and get to the shuttle. And shake a damn leg. We are out of time."

He kept Betuu nearby as his walking commlink, and started gathering wounded and supplies for the speeder. It was less than a kilometer to the shuttle -- but five minutes was cutting it close. They'd have to be fast.

"You heard the man, stage the wounded for loading first, then grab what isn't bolted down." hollered Besk, even as one of the troopers got the damned speeder truck and got it there in pretty short order. You learned to load fast when you worked on a ship like the Intruder, because loot was a thing, but so was the element of time.

"Help each other, it goes faster when it's all a unit effort!" he called out again, as the troopers started to line up the stuff and get it aboard the truck. Meanwhile, Besk picked over the enemy dead for weapons, power packs and any electronic equipment that looked like it was worth something. Mixed bag of the common and the less common, because bounty hunters were individual, as opposed to looting some sort of Compforce unit of their supplies. If it wasn't worth keeping, it was worth selling or scrapping for parts, because it was going to be a long war after all.

They had to get the wounded on board first, and the couple that bought it because the simple truth was that if the Empire cross referenced anyone in a database and they came up as 'rebels' they were done for. The hack team wore hats with brims to make identification harder, and that's why the new guys were forced to do it too. It was a rule of thumb when operating on a planet with a surveillance net -- hats, goggles...hell, he'd grown a beard for a reason in the Uslam days. The new recruits, the ones that just did the Alliance's various (and varying in quality) basic training programs didn't ever quite get it until it was explained and then they did an 'oh-ah' moment of realization.

Some of them were worried about going through the dead, but Besk wasn't too fazed by it; whoever this guy was, he had creds on him. He grabbed the case and threw it into the passenger side of the truck's cab, even as he grabbed on with one hand and pounded the door with the other, three times, indicating 'Go!' to the driver. When they got the truck up the ramp and into the shuttle, he called out to the lieutenant, even as he hopped down and started securing the truck to the deck with cables and hooks.

"Someone ought to tell that space slug to stop crying, we still have his merchandise and it's loaded. But don't tell him we just found his contact's funds. He doesn't need to know that," he told the LT, with a wink, "Full report later."

A maniacal laughter warped through a helmet could be heard across the square as Saleen continued firing her repeater at the bounty hunter's last known position. It took some seconds for her to realize that the rest of the rebel fighters were no longer firing, something which made her look up and around her.

At this point, the barrel of her repeater gun was glowing red-hot. Any drop of water that touched the foremost portion of her weapon was immediately vaporized, as a small cloud of steam emanated from the searing barrel.

On the other end of the square, there remained nothing but destroyed architecture and corpses, half-molten crates, charred remains and a single lone twi'lek that represented the sole survivor on the bounty hunter side, huddled beneath cover.

"What? Why aren't we shooting?" Saleen asked out to the rest of the fighters with a genuinely disappointed tone.
"Don't tell me the fight's already over!"

"It probably is... "

However, as Saleen turned her head to look around her, she soon realized that every other single rebel fighter had disappeared; the only signs of where their firing line had once been was a series of spent power cells and the occasional splatter of blood on the surface.

As the realization dawned on her that they had just left without her, she clenched her fists before violently kicking a random grenade that lay on the ground next to her!

"Dammit!!!"

She cursed out loud and threw her arms to the sky, all the while the grenade detonated and blew up a random space sausage kiosk in the background!

Ja'vi - Free Running

Theme

The battle swiftly came to a close as the Rebels swiftly packed up to depart away from the conflict while it was in its final throes of desperation and destruction. Popping up over her barricade of cover, her blaster pistol came to bear and poured a trio of shots into the spine of one of the last remaining bounty hunters before she herself bolted from the conflict. She couldn't get across the distance towards the speeder without risking far too dangerous exposure, so there was only one option.

She had to run.

Leaving behind the oddly-armored heavy gunner of course. She was swift, not strong. Carrying such a heavy person would have proven beyond cumbersome.

Darting quickly behind a barrier as one of the last remaining Bounty Hunters fired in her direction, the former Youngling quickly vaulted over a cart of merchant's goods as another shot of blaster fire punched into it. Sending dust and molten metal flying about while she disappeared behind it. Breaking into a full out sprint as she glanced behind her to see a pair of Hunters still in stubborn pursuit, the Twi'lek nimbly kicked off the wall to launch herself upward just as the space where she had once been erupted into a cloud of shattered stone while blaster fire crashed into it.

Sailing through the air for a moment, a hint of a smile betrayed her emotion of the moment. She found serenity in the rush, the exhilaration that crossed her subconscious. Yet even still while one had given up the chase, another still stubbornly remained.

What she couldn't do was lead them right back to the Rebel Ship.

Nor could she engage him in direct combat. There was not a moment to spare, after all. Getting left behind didn't sound adventurous in the least, in all truth, it sounded absolutely dangerous and reckless. So while she ran, darting from one rooftop to the next across the skyline of the city as she made a beeline for the Rebel Ship, she gathered the extent of her focus into a singular point.

It came with a humorous question to boot.

What's red, and very bad for a Bounty Hunter's skull?

A brick.

As he chased her, the Bounty Hunter's sight slowly gained on the Twi'lek as his focus remained rather zealously upon her. What he didn't expect however, was the sudden mysterious lift of a piece of red mortar off of a Cart; of which zipped through the air and collided violently with the side of his unaware temple. He too then dropped like a sack of potatoes as she leapt across the final distance and made the final sprint for the Rebel Shuttle.

Swinging into the ship and landing in a rather feline nature upon her feet just a minute or two after the Shuttle, the rapid rise and fall of her chest signified the exertion of her effort on many measures.

Glancing over to Besk as they rummaged through the spoils of war, the Twi'lek had but only one question. Of which was reflected in her melodic, but somber voice.

"Well, that was fun. Did everyone get the evacuation they needed, sir? Or do I need be heading out to buy more time?"

"I need a transport!"

That was Saleen's immediate thought as she scoured the battlefield for any means of transport. Spotting a small garage at the side of the complex, she rushed over and entered the building.

There were only a few speeders and hover vehicles. Two of them were crushed under the rubble as parts of the roof in the garage had collapsed down upon them during the heavy fighter. The only vehicle that remained functional was a speeder painted in an obnoxious yellow and black taxi checker theme.

"Just what I needed!"

Jumping into the speeder, Saleen leaned forward to reach under the main console, when the sudden realization struck her!

"Wait, how do I hotwire this thing in the first place?"

She had seen it done in countless movies and holovids, and even witnessed a twi'lek scum do it to her friends car. What she had never really seen was the minute details of the procedure however!

"I don't got time for this!"

"Halt! Wait for me!" Suddenly sounded as one of the bounty hunters from the battle, a Gran, came running over to the cab.
"I need a ride!"

Inside her helmet, Saleen's jaw had just dropped. This was of course invisible to the bounty hunter, who looked down at the quiet woman and raised an eyebrow.

"The rebels are getting away!"

"Oh, right. That's right!" Saleen finally said, as she switched character from rebel to fellow bounty hunter. It was fortunate for her that she did not wear any rebel armor. The Gran must have mistaken her for a fellow mercenary, the fool!

" ... I can't get this thing to work!"

"You can't even hotwire a car?!" The Gran exclaimed, before motioning for Saleen to move to the passenger seat.
"You're one of the new guys, aren't you? Stand back, I'll show you how it's done!"

Moving aside as the bounty hunter entered the car, the Gran reached his hands under the steering wheel. As a visible spark flew out from under the console, the engine on the speeder began to hum to life, as it levitated half a meter further up into the air.

"Look, it's easy." The bounty hunter explained as he sat back up, before looking over at Saleen.
"Say, I don't recall you... you came in another shuttle?"

" ... I guess so?" Saleen reasoned, shrugging her shoulders.

"That doesn't make sense. There was only one shuttle ride."

Saleen became quiet, as an awkward silence ensued between the two mercenaries. A sign of revelation suddenly passed over the Gran's many eyes, as Saleen began to feel the ignorance that had been her cloak earlier was no longer worker.

In the next moment, the two mercenaries both reached for their sidearms. The Gran was quicker than Saleen however, and managed to raise his blaster and fire off a shot right at Saleen's chest. The blaster shot hit her chestplate where it dissipated into a blastmark, and knocked Saleen backwards in the Car. But by this time, Saleen had managed to pull her own heavy calibre slugthrower, and with a loud bang; fired off a heavy slug that tore completely through the heavy leather armor of the bounty hunter. He roiled back as alien blood was splattered all over the interior of the car, including on Saleen!

"I'll be taking over from here." Saleen explained, before she grabbed the Gran and pushed him into the back seats of the speeder, painting even more of the car in alien blood in the process. Shuffling her butt over to the main driver seat and putting on her seatbelt, she downed the gas and flew out from the garage, swooping past the square where the battle had taken place and out into the city as she headed for the shuttle's location.

*

Driving like a drunk through the city, she inadvertently knocked over a lamppost and one communication booth in the short run to the shuttle. When she saw the rebels as they prepared to take off, she pushed the gas down even more as she drove right up onto the landing platform. As she approached the ramp of the shuttle, she hit the brakes, but it was not enough to stop the speeder. The speeder continued up the loading ramp of the shuttle at a dangerous speed, narrowly missing some rebels that had to jump out of the way, before it crashed into the back of the truck!

As she collided with the back of the truck, her helmet was slammed into the steering wheel! The Gran bounty hunter who had been lying in the back of the cab was tossed out, before promptly being splattered to the back of the truck she had just crashed into.

Looking around at the rest of the rebels in the back of the shuttle, Saleen unbuckled her seat belt before she opened the door to the cab and stepped out. Looking around at the rebels, she glared at them from behind her helmet.

"Who's bright idea was it to leave me behind?!" She suddenly yelled. But as she moved to lean on the side of the cab, the front of the cab that was currently wedged into the back of the truck suddenly burst into flames, causing Saleen to immediately jump to the side!

Vannin and his three filled in as rear-guard as the rest of the rebels trickled into the shuttle. He took a position at the foot of the ramp, and squeezed off covering fire for the others as they ran in. Besk's speeder came up the ramp and that looked like it. "We're good!" he shouted.

"Headcount!" Sekula shouted. The detail leaders checked over their men and reported back. They were short one light gunner. Someone went to check the head -- Vannin figured you never know with the new guys -- and Byron shouted something along the lines of 'Push off, we can't wait.' How typical. Just then a speeder came flying around a corner and Vannin raised his gun.

"That's him!" he shouted. "Hold up!" In hindsight, it might just as easily have been a suicide bomber on one last desperate attempt to kill Slooga, but that thought never occurred to Vannin, who waved the speeder up the ramp frantically. Sure enough, it was one of their new troopers, with a big gun, dead body, and an attitude problem. Vannin was in love. "You got balls, lady," he said. "Fish over there thought you were attacking us. He almost killed you." Ortro Dob raised his fins in protest. He'd done no such thing. Nearby, Hayca rolled her eyes and muttered 'Pathetic.'

---------------

"Someone ought to tell that space slug to stop crying, we still have his merchandise and it's loaded. But don't tell him we just found his contact's funds. He doesn't need to know that," Besk told the LT, with a wink, "Full report later."

Byron sighed. "We just failed our mission because of him," he said. He made no mention of the unit's losses. "Controlling Slooga in the field is barely even possible, and his men are worse. We can't keep working together like this." He knew from training that he wasn't supposed to vent frustrations like this to enlisted, but the adrenaline was draining away quicker than his anger. Everything should have worked -- the rebels did their job, and they still failed against trash, all because of Slooga's miscalculation. Cost of doing business, probably -- but that wasn't a business that Lt. Byron wanted any part of anymore. "We're going to get back to basics," he decided aloud. "Get me a tally on the supplies and the wounded, see what we can do about those speeders..... We'll debrief on the Intruder." He didn't say it, but he knew already how the conversation with the captain would go. From now on, they were done playing dress-up for Hutts. It was time to point this firepower back where it belonged -- at the imps.

Saleen's attention turned over to Corporal Vannin in at the ramp.

"After being almost stranded, I would only need a dose of friendly fire to complete my day." Saleen said with a sarcastic voice, turning her helmet to face Ortro. She had never been a fan of aliens, and the Mon Calamari were only too alien for her liking. The notion that he had almost fired at her did not help her opinion of his people any further.

Perhaps fortunately for the sake of diplomacy, the actual expression she was currently giving Ortro was hidden under her helmet.

"Sorry about the mess... I didn't have time to strap him in." She said as she turned to Vannin, motioning towards the Gran bounty hunter just as the alien slid off the back of the truck and slumped down onto the front of the burning cab which was currently being extinguished by three rebels with extinguishers.

The rear of the truck, Saleen, and some of the walls in the shuttle had been covered with alien blood following the bounty hunter's splattering.

"I forgot to strap him in."

Moving her hands to the sides of her helmet to open the pressure and remove it, she shook her head and let her ponytail fall behind her neck. But as she moved her head, she suddenly noticed a familiar figure from the earlier battle. A twi'lek!

" ... ! Wait a moment," Saleen said with a sidetracked voice to Vannin, as she turned to face Ja'vi in the shuttle.

Marching up to the twi'lek with her helmet under her left arm, she stopped right behind Ja'vi. Waiting for twi'lek to turn around, Saleen raised a hand and slapped Ja'vi right in the cheek just as the twi'lek turned around, almost knocking her to the ground.

"WHAT were you thinking leaving me behind?!" Saleen suddenly shouted out, whatever peaceful charade her face had ever hosted having long since been abated as she pointed accusingly down at the shorter twi'lek.
"Your stupid tentacle head could have gotten me killed or captured!"

Ja'vi - A Minor Altercation

She stood silently to the side as the Rebel leaders began to take accountability, only to stand even further back once there was the sound of uproarious chaos behind them. Recklessly charging up the ramp in a hijacked Speeder was none other than the heavy gunner that had almost shot her! She remained nonplussed as the craft crashed into the hangar where they all stood, and stood even further back as the Rebels hurried in to douse the flames.

Her further assistance wasn't needed, it seemed.

All were accounted for, all were prepared to continue onward and care for the wounded and lost. Though the gruesome display of the dead and bloodied bounty hunter was at least slightly amusing.

With the mission complete and gone as far as it could, she lightly plucked up her own helmet from the vehicle she had disembarked from and turned instead to head back towards her quarters to restart the meditation that had been interrupted. Her intention had been one that was peaceful and easygoing as usual.

Yet the marching of heavily laden footsteps drawing closer forced her to turn about to see none other than the very same angry gunner that had crashed into the ship. Not only that, but her hand was drawn back in anger, fury and rage that she could sense and understand, but why? What purpose did it hold? It was a movement that she could easily avoid, but to what end would that meet? More likely than not, her avoidance would only cause such enraged fervor to increase in the face of dissatisfaction.

More destruction would likely be wrought, and she refused to be the fault of it.

So the Twi'lek accepted the strike. Closing her eyes as it drew nearer and sent her spinning into a nearby wall. Her world whirled about her as she regained her equilibrium, and slowly stood back up normally. Insults were slung, but she didn't respond to them. Bearing a sense of defiance, she looked eye to eye with the flamboyantly armored gunner for along moment as venomous words were slung towards her ears.

In response, Ja'vi said nothing. Instead she only turned about on her heels while she wiped away a thin trickle of blood that crept from the corner of her lip. There was certainly pain, she accepted it, knowing all too well that her body's way of telling her that there was an injury. Yet in her mind it was not worth going to the medical ward over, as there were wounded pouring in there. A minor issue like hers was not one worth busying over.

Instead, she silently into another room and resumed her meditation.

This focus would bring her mind off the pain and agony, and instead upon the extent that she could grasp the force. It was very little, and she needed to truly be able to understand its depths before she ran into greater dangers.

Darkness was out there, and she knew it all too well. Imperial or Rebellion, it mattered not.

Besk shrugged, "Yeah, well, after this cockup by Intel, I think we're done trying to establish contact with Slooga's old buddies. They're too likely to turn." He also knew, by dint of sleeping with an Intruder officer, not that it was precisely regs compliant, but also that the Lieutenant didn't necessarily know about that -- yet -- that the Intruder crew were actually in the Rebellion, much as they were former pirates and used to work for Slooga, the Empire had killed a couple of their crew, who were part of a family clan of sorts from their planet, Invikon, a shady Outer Rim shithole with strange clan practices that translated to a lot of the Intruder crew being relatives, though they still had a couple outsiders in their ranks much like the Liberators.

Point was, they were only sort of Slooga's employees anymore, and the fiction was maintained only because Slooga didn't try to push it and because they figured taking Slooga in would piss off the Empire.

There was a rumble under foot as the shuttle kicked in the thrusters and lifted off, and it was second nature for Besk to grab a handhold on the bulkhead and steady himself on his feet as the shuttle lifted. Thirty seconds of combat, then heavy lifting and running around, and they were drenched in sweat. But, they had a truck full of loot.

The return to the Intruder was without much fanfare, because 1st Platoon hauled in its own, zipped up in the bags that were, perhaps morbidly so, stored on the transport for just an event. No one wanted to look at their dead friends, so they got them zipped in quickly after stripping useful equipment off them. They'd be properly handled at Vanguard, where there was a memorial of sorts for the dead followed by a general agreement to get good and plastered off whatever there was available for the purpose.

In the meantime, the living, once they stacked the dead into their own small compartment, out of everyone's sightline, there was work to be done of another sort; between Sola, who seemed to be at times broodingly distant and then aggressively affectionate, and the duty that everyone either assigned to themselves or got assigned by an NCO, which in his case involved checking the weapons they acquired as well as repairing anything that could be repaired, and whatever else struck his fancy as the armory officer. When he slept, which was to say in the Gunnery Officer's bunkroom, HK-51 was set to guard the weapons locker, which he did, according to reports, disturbingly.

"Report: Meatbags approached the weapons locker thirty seven times while I was on alert, and I warned each one to keep their distance."

"You don't have to warn them unless they try to access it."

"Query: How would you define 'access' master? I simply wish to warn all meatbags that attempts to access the weapons locker I am assigned to guard like a mere sentry droid will be disintegrated with great pleasure."

The droid had picked a disintegrator rifle as its weapon of choice; it wasn't reassuring.

"Simply stop them if they try to actually get into the locker by physically opening the door. Otherwise, you do not need to challenge everyone that passes by the Weapons Locker -- there's a head near it, that's why so many troopers pass, HK-51."

"Statement: Of course, Master. While you are assigning more parameters to a task that mocks my advanced positronic brain, would there be any other indignities you would like to inflict upon me?"

"Not at this time."

"Statement: Very well master, I am forced by programming to obey your wishes, however much I feel that your kind ways are a tremendous mistake and would prefer to make an example of at least one meatbag that comes too close to the weapons locker. Perhaps I could activate my assassination protocols on the hutt? My calculations predict that elimination of that particularly loathsome, squishy meatbag would extend the ship's consumables store by an extra three months..."

Out of the pile of bounty hunter weaponry, Besk picked a SoroSuub firelance blaster rifle, a bullpup weapon favored by bounty hunters that was well-represented among their opponents at Ganatoo, and started modifying it with accessories. When he modified one, then he started working on the others, adding mounts for optics and other useful items that the typical Rebel infantry, who favored accuracy in most things, favored on their blasters.

It helped pass the time, along with the speeder truck -- that was being broken down by several people, the engine souped up and the thing stripped down to a bare chassis and then rebuilt with armor plating and two mounted repeating blasters -- one in the truck bed, the other in an open turret on the passenger side. Open-topped now, it allowed troopers to quickly mount and dismount, but could also function as a cargo vehicle or a way to get wounded to a shuttle fast. It also gave people something to do.

Meanwhile, Vanguard liberty loomed, and Besk was half-waiting and half-dreading it; they'd get to blow off steam, but they had to say a final goodbye to friends and then take on a new batch of recruits. It got easier, but the unease in the soul never quite went away,

As the twi'lek stared defiantly back up at her after recovering from the strike, Saleen glared back down at her with a merciless expression, inching her own face closer to that of the twi'lek. Saleen clenched her fists, as in her head, she expected Ja'vi to strike back at any moment using some kind of fancy martial arts move or something.

When Ja'vi suddenly turned away, her tentacles waving behind her head, Saleen was at first surprised, then disappointed, and finally; angry!

"Hey! H-heyhey! Don't you walk away from me, squidhead! I'm not done talking to you yet!" Saleen immediately protested against the silent treatment she was receiving at the hands of the twi'lek, before following after her while stabbing her fingers at her back.
"There's this thing called sociability, human-to-human interaction! ... or human-to-squid interaction. Heard about that? No? It's the stuff that makes society! Thought you'd have!"

Saleen ranted, yet the twi'lek continued to ignore her. This seemed to only make Saleen more furious, to the point she threw her hand up into air as she gave up!

"Suns! I'm on a mission with a mute!" Saleen exclaimed in frustration, before letting out a deep sigh. Shaking her head, she turned away from the stoic twi'lek to walk back towards the cab which by now had been extinguished.

"I'll deal with that bitch later."

Looking down at her runaway vehicle, most of the front had been charred by the blast. The smell of fried Gran also filled the shuttle by now, as the alien's corpse had fallen onto the fire before the rebels could extinguish it.

"This is my trophy, I get first dibs." She told the nearby rebels, before she began to rummage through the various dashboards, glove compartment and sockets for any valuables.

But all she managed to find was the keys to the speeder; which she had missed during the hijacking; an alien playboy magazine which's pages were too sticky to open, some burnt certificates and insurance documents, a more than two years old expired license, a blaster pistol and a collection of crappy music discs.

"Eh, on second note, it's yours." Saleen suddenly said to the rebels around her as she stepped away from the destroyed cab.
"Consider it my donation to the... the cause or whatever. Amazing Space-Legend Saleen Re'Revoure is a gracious soul!"

Leaving the husk of the speeder to the rebels, Saleen walked away. She was a treasure hunter, not a scavenger. In her mind, there was a difference between hunting for grand treasures and being a dirty scavenger who picked through garbage. She was not THAT desperate!

Looking at her armor, which had been pristine and tidy less than an hour, it was now covered in alien blood and dust!

"I need a shower... "

*

The moment the shuttle had docked with the Intruder, Saleen had immediately headed off ahead of everyone, leaving the rest to do the heavy lifting. She was paid to fight and get shot at, not administration duty.

She first took a short detour to her room to load off all her equipment and armor. This was no small feat, given the numerous pieces that made up her armor, and all her gadgets and tidbits that she was carrying. She would then continue on towards the shower area wearing only her skin tight jumpsuit while carrying a pair of towels and a bag of bathroom paraphernalia.

"This ship better not get attacked while I'm in the shower!"

Ja'vi - Squid-Head?

Be the unending calm before the storm.

Stubbornly at first, a rage filled heavy gunner pursued the Twi'lek; slinging a barrage of insults and harsh words her way that fell upon seemingly deaf ears. Certainly without a doubt she could hear the woman that marched angrily after her, undeniably she could feel the frustration fueled fingertip prodding the midst of her back. What would a response warrant however? Further pointless violence more likely than not, and she was not one to incite it.

Steadying her own feet as the shuttle launched upward towards the heavens, the Twi'lek trooper found salvation in isolation in the little side-room she had found refuge in. The occasional trooper strode on by, occasionally offering her a confused glance towards the tranquility of her state, but little else.

Vibro-blades, while reliable and utilitarian, were simply not effective enough for her liking. Desperately, she needed a blade that was able to slice through armor without difficulty. She needed to obtain a crystal. Having dissected and dismantled what had once been her old training Lightsaber from her youngling days long ago, the crystal from that was too small for a standard weapon.

However such dissection still granted her the knowledge about how to build her own, and more importantly the knowledge as to what pieces she needed to complete the project.

The true tribunal would be finding a way to get a crystal. Smuggled or otherwise, perhaps the Hutt would be of assistance.

Upon arrival at the Intruder, Ja'vi quietly made her way past the bodies that had been laid out in memoriam for those lost. Solemnly, her eyes remained closed while she strode past, bowing her head in respect for the dead. Though she had never been one to make friends, and in fact remained rather distant; she could understand the sorrow of loss.

Eventually, the former Youngling made her way to her own quarters after a quick shower where she quietly ignored the presence of others once again.

Sharply with mechanical efficiency, the door slid open only to swiftly shut behind her. There, the straps binding the two Vibro-Blades to her back came unfastened and settled neatly down beneath the edges of her bed. The Blaster Pistol and its holster upon the plain dresser that sat parallel to the bed.

There, she settled upon the center of a simple, plain rug that she had since her childhood. Reaching into the dresser as she had to only lean slightly in the confined space to do so, she lifted the bottom board to extract a long, slender, and slightly curved object made of metal.

It was her old former training saber.

Settling it down upon the floor in front of her, the young Twi'lek focused her will in its entirety towards it. And not long after, invisible hands carefully and slowly took it apart. The crystal that had once been its core having long been cracked and broken in the traumatic days of Order 66, it was useless for now, dysfunctional and unsafe.

Carefully, she lifted components with her will one by one, each of them varying in size and precision of make. Rotating them slowly to carefully inspect them. She hadn't touched it for years since the chaos of her youngling days; but now with the difficulty she was having concerning vibro-blades and armor...she had a greater need to see this weapon returned to service with greater effectiveness than she had as a child.

The true pity was that she had no one to teach her how to truly fight with it. Such arts would have to be self-taught...and those would be poorly done from her memory at best.