There was little left to say (and Fel hated hearing his voice through Imperial vocoders... felt like the past catching up with him, and he didn't need the reminder) so he simply took a heading, sighted in his T-21 and digitally connected it to the helmet's tac readout, checked the area at the bottom of the ramp for any signs of movement or life, and went back to button up the ship. Jet looked like he had been poured into the uniform, it fit like a glove. Whether he'd ever admit it or not, his physique made being a Stormtrooper look good. And Aellyn? ...Fel stifled the urge to make a joke about needing to run the plastoid plating through the cleaners' a couple more times, gave the thumbs-up, and moved out.

There was an ever-present wind that sand blasted the armour with anything that Lotho could whip up. Fel kept them on their main heading, deviating only to avoid mounds of refuse that looked more like trouble than actual traversable geography. All things being equal, they made good time. More than once, either Fel or Jet spotted something that the UA could possibly use in the future (or six weeks ago...) but they did their level best to not look like kids in a candy-shop, instead marking locations with transponders for retrieval later, keeping on task. Still, it wasn't every day you were faced with a you-pull parts lot that covers a whole planet, and actually has parts for an 150+ year old vessel. Fel was occasionally lazy, often cash-strapped... but mostly, the main reason the UA was always in need of something was that the parts were hard to find, or that more efficient, newer components needed heavy modification (thank you, Jet.)

As they fell into routine (checking heat signatures, moving in formation, double-checking headings, checking the tight spots and possible threats...) Fel thought of the task at hand, Abelene and her people, the promise of credits filling their fuel tanks and bellies. It gave him focus, determination. Time counted on, and keeps countin'. They had covered better than four of the five kilometers in a little over an hour. The terrain was deceptively troublesome, and they were taking every precaution to not be seen, especially as they neared the settlement, and the greater concentration of Imps.

There was as many variations of Stormie helmet as there were hot meals in a month. Most looked indistinguishable from the outside, aside from the obvious snow trooper, and scout troopers, and the paint and unit insignia of individual squads, mostly added in the field. Luckily, most variants did not include a target reticule. (heh.) The helmets Fel had acquired were pretty stripped-down, no datapad uplinks, no vacuum capability... just the standard issue polarized lenses and toxin scrubbers. It wasn't unlike Fel's pilot's helmet. Images of Dantooine flashed through Fel's mind. The fire... always the fire...

Galdaart shook his head to clear the images, steadying his breathing. Calling a halt to the group, he took another bearing and called the others forward. "Settlement's just over that rise, I make it a little over 500 meters. ImpStar is on the far side of the settlement, drydocked in a valley to the East. Fastest route, and best chance of getting our hands on an Imp uniform is to move straight through town. Game faces, folks. Don't feel like you need to quote Imperial regs here... just act like you own the place." Fel checked the load in the T-21, its near-3" bore more than a little intimidating for anyone unlucky enough to be on the receiving end, and moved off toward Derrivan's Point.

Viszt froze as the locals stared him down. He'd have trouble taking one of them down, never mind three. At best, they'd beat him to a pulp and take every possession he carried. At worst, they'd shoot him then and there, taking no risks. Thoughts raced through his head of how he could talk his way out of the alley. He went to speak, but the words caught in his dry throat.

“Do we have a problem here, sir?” a feminine voice spoke, snapping Viszt out of his spiralling inner-monologue.

He glanced up at her, with softened eyes that said: 'thank you'. Again, the words caught in his throat before he could reply.

“This guy cheated in a game of Sabacc," the twi'lek said. The malevolent arrogance he had previously exhibited had been neutered by an armed imperial's presence. "We want our credits.”

“I doubt that is true. I suggest you three leave or I will arrest you. For disorderly conduct against an Imperial officer.. ”

Viszt watched the twi'lek's reaction - his large face contorting as he mulled over whether a fight was worth it or not. Eventually, he seemed to decide upon the latter, glaring towards Viszt and gritting his hideous teeth. “If we see you again, let’s hope this trooper isn’t around.” With that, they scuttled away into the shadows.

It seemed this brush with death was over, thanks to the woman. Immediately, Viszt's mind flicked to the consequences he might face having been spotted by another Imperial gambling with locals. Well, better that than a dirt-nap, he thought.

“Do you need an escort back, sir?” she asked.

Hmm. He was unaccustomed to such deference from troopers. He supposed that his sleek lab-technician uniform could be mistaken for that of an officer's. Her uniform looked a little beaten and tired: she must've been busy across Lotho.

"Yes. Thank you -- really." He exhaled in relief, allowing a smile to happen upon his face. "You must've been sent by Dr. Benaire for me. We'll have to get back quickly, there's been an incident in my department that has to be seen to."

He walked with a hurry to meet beside the woman, who had emerged from the same side of the alleyway he'd come from that led down one of the main streets in town. He poked his head out, glancing around for where abouts the junkers had slunk off to, but saw no sign. He did, however, see more troopers, presumably from this woman's squadron.

"I don't recognise your voice. We musn't have met. Viszt." He extended his hand politely.

The gravelly voice of Wibb brought Zane out of his mind's fog. His head raised up from his hands, and his eyes locked onto the approaching form of the burly Duros. The human male's jaw dropped open, and he started to croak out something, but Wibb promptly interrupted him.

"Y'see...I was pretty sure you were gonna bail - but then I remembered you had that gimpy brother of yours," He gave a lopsided grin, looking around at the others as they all chuckled at his "joke"...Zane wasn't laughing, though, "and I figured even a skid-stain like you wasn't heartless enough to leave him behind."

Zane's mouth was clenched now. Few things irked him more than someone mentioning his brother's deformity, especially in this derogatory manner. They could say what they wanted about him, curse him lower than a strill and it still wouldn't bother him. But the moment they mentioned Marcus, they had lost what little grace that Zane was willing to afford them due to his part in what happened to Loz. Zane's dark brown eyes were very intently locked onto Wibb's as his peripheral vision caught sight of the small entourage that followed him up the hill. They were spreading out to the sides, and Zane realized that they were attempting to surround him. There were six - no, wait, seven - of them, all toting some sort of improvised weapon. Zane's tired voice echoed along the walls of the junk-filled ridge behind him.

"...Wibb, I realize that we have some things that need to be discussed between us, but, I'm gonna need you to keep my baby brother's name outta your flat kriffin' mouth, we clear?"

The response got more than a few taunting noises from the small gathering, and Wibb's own smirk dissipated as his voice dripped with venom.

"You've got some stones on you, Skid, I'll give ya that."

There was that name again. They called him "Skid" because they figured it wouldn't be too long before he ended up a bloody skid-mark on the side of some junk heap. Zane knew that he wasn't well-liked around the settlement. His parents barely garnered a small amount of respect among the other Junkers. That notoriety did not pass to Zane, though.

"...I mean, even in the face of getting the beat-down of your life, you still have the gumption to fly off at the gob like that. Stellar, really."

Zane's eyebrows raised slightly at the pointed threat. He slowly rose to his feet, his hands out to his sides in a non-threatening manner, noting the others at his flanks all gesturing toward him with their planks and pulling their chains taut, the rattling links ringing out around him.

"Wibb, you and I both know that what happened to Loz could have just as easily happened to anybody. I'm sorry it went down that way-"

"-'Sorry' ain't gonna cut it, sleemo. Your little 'stunt' cost Loz his shoulder. That's gonna put him out of work for months!"

Zane tried his best to keep his voice calm, but he did raise it a little higher to cut through the echo of Wibb's voice along the hillside.

"Look, they've already canned me and put me on sanctions again - I prolly won't even be able to get work with any salvaging crews for a while..."

"Oh, we're gonna make sure of that, Skid...right here and now..."

Wibb looked to the others and gestured towards Zane with a jerk of his domed head. A couple of them acted on this cue, taking a few steps in Zane's direction. Zane started to back up, nearly stumbling over some of the junk gathered behind him as he frantically placed his hands out in front of him, pleading for them to halt their advances.

"Wibb - guys - this is entirely unnecessary!"

A few of them cackled, and Wibb grumbled a bit before replying. "Oh, no, Skid...this is very necessary. This whole place would likely be better off without you wasting what little precious air we've got left to breathe. Stang, even your brother would, and that's saying something..."

He really was keen on pushing that button, Zane mused, sighing as he looked around at the mob that Wibb had gathered. There was hardly anyone among them that wasn't more capable-looking than he was. The two of them that were any shorter than Zane were still more muscular by far. And with them encroaching closer to him by the second, his window to escape this unscathed was dwindling rapidly. Of the lot of them, Zane figured the Noghri toting a chain was likely to be the "weak link".

"C'mon, Wibb! I know I kriffed up, okay?" His eyes darted back and forth looking through the gaps between them that were closing with every step. Just over the shoulder of the Devaronian of the group, near the forward ridge that preceded the sloping drop-off toward the valley floor, Zane spied a possible means of escaping this situation. "The last thing I wanted was for anyone to get hurt! But, I mean, let's face it..." He gave Wibb a mischievous grin as he spoke the words that he knew would push him over the edge. "Loz had it coming."

The sneer that formed over Wibb's face preceded the deafening howl that issued forth from him as he rushed at Zane with arms outstretched, attempting to grapple him. Zane was expecting as much from the enraged Duros, and ducked beneath his swinging limbs, using the cover of Wibb's much-larger frame to disguise him reaching inside his coat to grip the handle of his modified electro-stunner. It was a sort of short, dark fiberglass club affixed with wiring that had been jury-rigged to a small-but-mighty power source with a diode on the business end of it. Zane had only managed to test it twice, and the one time that he was dumb enough to try it on himself, it worked much like it was about to on Wibb's Noghri goon. Darting out from the side of the Duros, he bolted toward the grey-skinned alien, whose eyes widened as it tried to lift the chain it wielded above its head.

That...was a mistake.

Zane jabbed the stun-stick into the side of the Noghri, and used his forward motion to activate the pressure-switch. An arc of electrical energy surged through its body, causing it to flail about with the chain in its hand. Zane had to duck the sweeping links, and felt the hairs on his neck stand on end as the chain flung past him carrying the powerful electric current. As luck would have it, the chain slapped into the chest of the Klatooinian next to him, and both of them were suddenly at the mercy of the electro-stunner's payload. After a few moments of flailing about, Zane watched their bodies collapse into a heap on the ground in front of him. He didn't waste the opportunity to dart through the break in their "formation", scrambling toward the ridge and his small saving grace - a long, open cask that must have been an old durasteel cooling unit at some point that had the lid torn off it. Zane didn't have the time to check if it had anything inside it as he ran up, and no sooner had he cleared the edge of the cooler than he realized someone must have been trying to use the cooler as a makeshift tub or sled to house parts that they would have likely pushed down the side of the hill; much like Zane was doing now. He planted his weight on the far end of the tub as he used his forward momentum to send the unit careening over the edge, causing it to act much like the sled its erstwhile owner intended it to be. The durasteel cask slid down the side of the hill; a much bumpier ride than Zane might have wanted, but still better than remaining up there where his pursuers intended to do him harm.

Wibb and the others approached the ridge, looking down and following Zane's impromptu escape vessel with their gaze as it sped down the hillside. The enraged Duros grabbed one of his goons by the shirt collar, shouting something that Zane couldn't hear before tossing them down the trail that had been semi smoothed out by the passing sled. Their body rag-dolled and tumbled down the hill some distance before crashing unceremoniously atop a heap of trash. The remainder of the group took off down the ridge trail to their right, intent on following the safer path to the base of the hill. Zane, however, was quickly speeding to the bottom. Which would have been considered a boon, but, there was one thing the gangly youth didn't seem to account for - the apparent lack of anything to slow his descent.

The base of the hill was approaching rapidly, and Zane braced himself into a crouch. When it came time for the "sled" to meet the ground before him, he bailed off to one side, jumping up and back as hard as he could to counteract the rate of speed that he was traveling. The chaos that ensued once the crate plowed into the base of the hill was astounding. A cloud of dust kicked up into the air as the tub flipped through the air end over end, sending its contents in each and every direction. Zane was pelted by more than one of the pieces of junk within as he hit the ground rolling, coming to a stop several feet away from the crashed container. The air in his lungs was searing-hot, and he struggled to catch his breath. Pain racked his body as he tried to stand up, and he soon caught the movement of Wibb's group out of the corner of his eye traveling quickly down the trail. He was still out ahead of them by a sizable distance, but, that advantage was dwindling fast.

"Oh, come on!" he yelled as he started plodding down the trail, the muscles in his legs already burning with lactic acid. He wasn't used to this much running, especially on an empty stomach. How long had it even been since he had eaten? He recalled giving his ration this morning to his brother so he didn't have to go hungry. That may have been a mistake, especially after having worked all day in the treacherous conditions of this squalid little planet. The settlement wasn't very far away, but, it might as well have been a parsec. Zane looked over his shoulder to see the group gaining on him by the second. He had just darted through what passed for the "gates" when he heard Wibb's infuriated voice quite clearly from behind him.

"I'm gonna enjoy thrashing you, Corvus! Just you wait!"

Every muscle in Zane's body screamed in protest as he continued running for his life down the streets of Junktown. Darting from alley to alley, ducking beneath fallen beams and jumping over some others, pushing over anything he could get his hands on to try and block the path of his assailants as much as possible. He soon rounded another corner, and saw a ramp that led upward on one of the residential buildings. He ascended the ramp, looking back to see Wibb clearing the corner of the nearby alley as he reached the top. It was a quick moment before the Duros caught sight of Zane again, and began to give chase to him once more. Zane was quickly running out of road.

Once he reached the end of the walkway, all that was left was a guard-rail made of scrap metal that opened over an alleyway. The human was forced to stagger to a stop at the rail, and turned back just in time to see Wibb's screaming, hulking form shoving into him hard, crashing him into the railing behind him and sending him flying through it. The contact with the scrap metal plating knocked the wind out of him, and he felt gravity taking hold of him as his body fell toward the ground, plummeting into the ground from that second story, right in front of and amongst a group of Stormtroopers in the company of a Chiss lab worker. Pieces of metal crashed all around them in a tumultuous fashion from the balcony above. Zane laid there in the midst of them in a daze, his vision blurring from the fall as he groaned loudly, trying hard to catch his breath as his body's pain receptors were on fire. Wibb looked down at the whole scene from the second story, his grimace soon replaced with a look of pure terror once he saw the group of Imperials standing down below.

“Sir…” Speaking to Fel. She paused, she didn’t know what story to come up with, so she improvised. “Found the technician that needed transport back. Believe he got lost.
Aellyn just turned this plan inside out, she hoped that Fel and Jet didn’t mind the small hiccup.

Fel was formulating a response, maintaining composure, trying his damndest not to be done with both their 'officer' and the fireblasted Chiss right then and there. And then a local decided it was time to crash their party. Literally. This was too fracking much. If it weren't for the thin atmo, and the ever-present wind whipping what passed for O2 away, they could have seen steam coming from Fel's ears. The smuggler looked slowly around, making sure that nobody had taken too much undue notice of the activity in their immediate vicinity. Some locals were glancing their way, and the young toughs above them on the upper level walkway looked like they had collectively crapped their pants. In what amounted to miracle #1 of the day, somehow no other Stormies had noted this activity. If they had, the gig would most certainly have been up. Fel was livid. He scanned their immediate surroundings, spotted a door into what looked like a small storehouse. A quick glance at Jet, insinuating the local toughs on the upper landing. "Round 'em up." The young urchin who literally fell into their midst, Fel picked up by the scruff of the neck, drawing the hand blaster from the small of his back, letting the T-21 rest on its sling. This he pointed in the direction of the door. "In. All of you."

His forearm threw the door open, into the storehouse, revealing a pair of older locals piling and filing different bits of crap and salvaged useful parts onto shelves, and into crates. There were no windows. The faceless Stormtrooper dumped the wheezing urchin on the floor, bringing the T21 up to point loosely at the two workers. "Take a break." They stood, struck dumb and immobile, not comprehending the order. The vocoder barked once more. "Frack off! Out the back!" They took one look at each other, dropped what they were doing, and fled. Fel held them all under the barrel of the long gun for a few moments, until Jet arrived, several young street toughs in tow. Fel counted six. He looked to Jet, who held up a lone finger. Fel winced.

He regarded the Junktown toughs for a few moments, watching their actions. They were all looking to a Duros to see how to act. Fel regarded this Duros, and the human crumpled on the floor that he had carried in here mere moments before, who seemed to be recovering, slightly. He stooped to face the human kid, all skin and bones, greasy hair and sunken eyes. It was like looking into a fireblasted mirror at himself, fifteen years ago. "My partner says one of the guys chasing you got away. Which one -- and where do I find them?" There was no hesitation in Fel's voice. No room for dodging the question. It was heavily implied, there was only one way this could go. Truth, or there would be consequences.

After Zane spilled, Fel looked once more to Jet, jerking his head. The inference was plain. Go get him. Bring him back. They could have no loose ends if this was to work. Fel checked his chron. Looked to the Chiss. "You. How long till your transport arrives?" Five standard minutes. Kriff. This was going to be close. He cast his gaze around the storehouse once more. Saw his method. He moved over to a series of small interstellar-grade cargo containers, opening them. He turned back to the urchins that had been chasing Zane. "Get in." He could see the hesitation writ large on several faces. He primed the light repeater. "I'm not asking again. Get. In." It was tight, two per container, packed like sardines. He sealed them, setting the lock to release in an hour.

Turning back to Aellyn, the last remaining urchin, still recovering on the floor, and their Chiss guest, Fel removed his helmet, dropping it on the floor. The sweat had matted his hair, ran down his temples. The rage was etched onto his features, his mouth pulled back into a snarl. His eyes bore into Aellyn's. "You may not have liked the plan before, might have thought it was overly simple. But if you add any more twists and complexity to this little caper, I swear I will bury you under the Basilisk." The door opened, and Jet entered, carrying a young, unconscious Snivvian over his shoulder, nodding at Fel. Galdaart looked to the youth on the floor for confirmation. Once received, that was the one... he jerked his head to illustrate the cargo containers. Turning back to Aellyn, there was still a fire in his eyes as he continued. "So, what would you have me do here? You want me to shoot this Chiss bastard and hope we don't spill any of his blood, so you can have your gorram officer's uniform? Or are we taking him with us? You just developed a sixth sense for trusting people you just met? What's it gonna be?"

He figured they had two minutes to make a choice, and meet the transport. Whatever the choice was, it was going to be swift, decisive, and there was no going back. As far as the street urchin at his feet, Fel had made his choice. The ones giving chase would sweat it out for an hour. This one could beat it. He had done the kid a favor. The Chiss? He wanted to hear what Aellyn came up with, right here, right now. "No. More. Surprises."

Viszt stood by the side of the female trooper, soothed by a renewed sense of safety. He watched her regard what seemed to be her commanding officer, only he lacked the regalia of anything more than a common grunt. Odd, but unlikely anything to worry about. The Basilisk wasn't exactly running at peak efficiency, Viszt reasoned, and thus it was to be expected that cutbacks across the board would leave some squadrons understaffed, perhaps forcing some lower ranked troopers to step up in roles of leadership. The explanation that Viszt conjured in his mind was enough to banish his concerns. However, the prolonged silence from the 'officer' was a little concerning, though it was soon interrupted by --

CRASH.

With a great scattering of scrap, an urchin tumbled from a balcony and thudded down onto the dirt not a meter from Viszt. His heart skipped a beat, not immediately registering what exactly was happening. Still shaken from the twi'lek's intimidation, he visibly recoiled in shock. Were they back to finish the job? No. Just some street-fight it seemed. Either way, it was further evidence that this town was no good at all. Within moments of escaping one cloister of dangerous junkers, they were now raining down onto Viszt from the sky.

The 'officer' grabbed the flying urchin and dragged him into a nearby building, blaster at the ready, gruffly commanding one of his colleagues to pursue the rest of the street-fighting junkers, and the other to follow him into the building. Viszt supposed he was safer with the troopers, and followed without dispute. The 'officer' barked at the room's occupants, forcefully evicting them, with a pointed blaster as incentive. A feeling of unease returned to Viszt, with the hairs on the back of his neck prickling up.

Something was not right...

As the 'officer' interrogated the junkers in a perculiarly highly-strung manner, Viszt found a stool to sit down on. He wasn't concerned with petty crime, so paid little notice to the rabble, but peered up at the female trooper. "Some town... Even if I had gotten out of that alley, I'm not sure I'd have got back to the Basilisk with all my internal organs intact." He exhaled. "Thanks again."

"You," the 'officer' barked abruptly in Viszt's direction, cutting short any immediate response. "How long till your transport arrives?"

Not right at all...

He glanced up at the trooper with narrowed eyes. What a strange question to ask if they'd been sent to retrieve him. After all, they would be the ones transporting him back. If they hadn't been sent to retrieve him, why had they gone along with it? The alarm bells were well and truly ringing now. "Five minutes." he replied, estimating based on how long the transports usually took to be prepared and dispatched. The 'officer' quickly turned away. It was unclear if he was aware of Viszt's suspicions, but when the troopers began to shepherd the junkers into storage containers, it no longer mattered. This was very blatantly not Imperial procedure, and whoever these people were, they were letting their masks slip.

The 'officer' tore off his helmet, revealing a flustered, sweating human. He glared at the female trooper. "You may not have liked the plan before, might have thought it was overly simple. But if you add any more twists and complexity to this little caper, I swear I will bury you under the Basilisk. So, what would you have me do here? You want me to shoot this Chiss bastard and hope we don't spill any of his blood, so you can have your gorram officer's uniform? Or are we taking him with us? You just developed a sixth sense for trusting people you just met? What's it gonna be?"

Out of the frying pan, into the fire.

"No. More. Surprises." The man stared forward, waiting for the female officer to decide Viszt's fate. But if this was a life or death moment, he wasn't going to leave it to a stranger to decide. He wasn't sure who these people were, but clearly they were headed to the Basilisk, and not for a friendly visit. They must be rebels -- and if they had no use for him, he'd be heading for a dirt nap.

"Kolto," he said calmly. He was scared, but he didn't have time to indulge in self-pity at this moment. He needed to figure a way out.

The room stared blankly at him, clueless.

"It's a medicine. It's mostly been supplanted by bacta nowadays, but has its uses, especially for when noxious substances have been inhaled." He gulped dryly, composing himself. "It's rather allergenic, hence why it has been widely superseded. -- The cooling system is down in the Basilisk's medical bay, so we've had to move any refrigerated medical goods into a container in a storage facility just a street over from here." He looked directly into the leader's face, holding his eye contact, keen to prove his worth. "I maintain the personnel's medical records. The Admiral has a rather severe allergy to kolto; deathly, even."

The room was silent for a moment. He'd played his hand. He just had to hope it was enough. As the silence prolonged for a beat too long, he realised he may have misjudged. A horror dawned on him that they mightn't even be rebels.

"I'm not willing to die for the Empire," he said, this time, his voice shaking slightly. "Let me live and I'll forget I ever saw you."

Jet had just finished loading the Snivvian into the cargo containers when the situation began to escalate. The air was thick with tension, and the atmosphere crackled with unease. Fel was visibly furious, his face a mask of barely contained rage. The plan had gone awry, and now they were surrounded by a multitude of witnesses—or hostages, depending on one’s perspective. The room was filled with a chaotic mix of fear and uncertainty, each person a potential threat or ally.

As the Chiss spoke up, Jet’s eyes darted around, assessing everyone in the room. He observed Fel’s intense contemplation, noting the way his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed in thought. Fel was seasoned in these things, but even he seemed momentarily at a loss. Jet then turned his attention to Aellyn, whose calm demeanour was a stark contrast to the turmoil around them.

Simultaneously, Jet attempted to piece together his own understanding of the situation. The stakes were high, and the margin for error was non-existent. He knew they needed to act quickly and decisively, but the path forward was fraught with peril. The Chiss was an unknown variable, and Jet couldn’t shake the feeling that any misstep could lead to disaster. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever came next.

“Let me live and I’ll forget I ever saw you.” the Chiss pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation.

Jet was about to interject, but Aellyn spoke first. He held his breath, weighing the potential consequences. Taking the Chiss as a hostage could jeopardize the entire operation, but what other options did they have? The room was filled with tension, and Jet could feel the weight of the decision pressing down on him. He knew that any wrong move could lead to disaster. The Chiss was a wildcard, unpredictable and potentially dangerous. Yet, leaving him behind wasn’t an option either. The stakes were too high, and the margin for error was razor-thin. Jet’s mind raced through possible scenarios, each more perilous than the last. He glanced at Fel, whose anger was barely contained, and then at Aellyn. They needed a plan, and they needed it fast.

“If he thinks about double-crossing me, I’ll shoot him myself. What about the kid?” Aellyn asked, her voice steady and cold.

“Alright!” Jet barked, his voice gruff and commanding, cutting through the tension like a knife. He jabbed a thumb back at the containers holding the thugs, his eyes narrowing with disdain. “These lowlifes can rot here. They’re useless, know nothing, and are worth even less.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in before continuing. “As for the Chiss, we’re stuck with Aellyn’s plan for now. We’ll use his transport and get onto the Basilisk.”

Jet pulled off his helmet, revealing a face etched with weariness and a hint of determination. His eyes, though hardened, softened slightly as they fell on the kid. The kid was a local, a product of this harsh environment, and Jet couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity and a sense of responsibility.

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

Jet’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, but his resolve was clear. The mission had taken an unexpected turn, but he was determined to see it through. He glanced around at the rest, his expression one of steely determination. With a bit of luck and a lot of grit, they might just make it work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fel was already on the move. He picked up the helmet, and looked down to the local urchin as he slid the mask back in place, his voice now issuing from its vocoder. "We got a bus to catch. And you heard my partner. You're comin' with." He considered the cargo crates. Considered how many of the assembled locals had likely made their containers stink of urine and shite. Also momentarily considered taking the time to do exactly what the urchin had suggested. But it would take too long, and ultimately, he knew even the hour-long lock he'd imposed wouldn't hold water. The workers would come back. The workers would let out the kids. And then -- then what? They'd go complain to a local Imperial peace officer that some troopers they couldn't identify assaulted them? They'd retaliate in some way? The thought was laughable. "Your buddies got nothin' on us. I couldn't care less if they popped out and danced a jig right here, right now."

As he spoke, he looked around to make sure the rest of the team was gearing up from their little vacation in the storehouse. Fishing in the two rear pouches of the Trooper's utility belt, Fel fished out what he was after: binders. Clapping them on the urchin's wrists - tight - he spoke once more to the assembled group before moving out. "Transport. On the double. This one's under arrest for *attempting to pickpocket* our lab tech here." Fel shouldered the T-21, and held the kid under threat of the EC-17, held loosely but ready. The kid didn't need to act much or put on a performance. Fel was moving at a fast march, and the kid... well, if he kept up, fine. If he didn't, Fel dragged him. If he stepped out of line, or moved in a way that was anything other than exactly where Fel's hand wanted to be, he was jerked back into line. It looked the part, and they covered ground in a standard cover formation, Jet leading the group, Fel & Aellyn trailing the Chiss and to either side.

The transport arrived at what passed for the town square, a small squad of 'clean whites' -- four of them -- spilled out the loading door on the flank of the K79-S80 ITT, which was about the size of an armored car. Fel spoke up. "RT-774, escorting this tech back to base. This one --" he tossed Zane to the dirt in front of him "was trying to relieve the tech's pockets of his creds. I'm taking him in." The lead trooper, wearing the shoulder epaulet of an officer, and carrying an E-11 with the stock extended -- not something you see too often -- replied. "You're late, 774."

Fel smiled behind the visor, as the eyes of the other troops looked to their squad leader, and then back to their assembled group of misfit toys. He didn't skip a beat. "Take it up with greasy here, LT. We were on schedule till he tried lifting the man's wallet. May we?" He insinuated the ITT, and the Lieutenant nodded. He had superiors to answer to as well, and being behind schedule was as good a reason for an ass-chewing as any. Fel could see the response coming before it had arrived. In a culture of fear-based paranoia (which the Imperial regime certainly was) the fewer waves made, the better. So it followed that in certain circumstances, the fewer questions asked, the better. Fel dragged Zane back to his feet.

They piled into the ITT, and Fel was pleased to find there were no further troops inside, only the driver and his co-chair. Happily, the Chiss didn't seem to need direction, and merely took a seat close to the driver's compartment. Fel locked Zane's binders above his head at one of the rear-most seating positions, locking eyes with the kid for a short second and giving him a barely-perceptible nod. Turning back to face the cabin, he noted that one of the LT's troops had occupied the roof turret, while the rest were ranged amongst Fel's group, their stark white plasteel in sharp contrast to his team's own dirty, worn gear. It imparted the right feel. Fel's squad had seen a lot of action, had been on assignment a long time, whereas these squeaky-clean bucket-heads seemed like they spent their time marching in formation, being good little imps. Fel appreciated the implied superiority that imparted to them. He even caught one of the subordinate troops surreptitiously knocking some of the local dirt out of the tread in his boot.

Stormtroopers were a dime a dozen. And they knew this. Anything a trooper could do to individualize themselves, or stand out in a crowd of identical buckets was quietly encouraged among the legions, so for the 'clean whites' here, Fel knew that he and his squad looked like combat vets. And that was where he wanted to be.

The ITT began to move, the inertia letting them all know that the thing wasn't as dumpy and slow as it might have appeared. The Lieutenant spoke up again, from his position sitting beside Aellyn. "ETA three minutes to the Basilisk... so, how long you three been on LRP here?"

As they clambered into the cramped confines of the transport, and the doors slammed shut, any prospect of ridding himself of these charlatans escaped Viszt. He was a part of their game now, whether he liked it or not. Perhaps he could spin things somehow, get the jump on them. Outsmarting them would be easy enough, by the looks of things, but the practicality of an escape attempt was questionable, especially when dealing with the swashbuckling type. Yes, he could wait until they arrived at the Basilisk, bide his time, and yell out for help the moment they became complacent — but if their cover was blown, they'd have nothing to lose, and shooting him dead would be a formality and nothing more. Perhaps, he considered oncemore, perhaps it was the excuse he'd been looking for. He'd grown to despise his work in recent months. Maybe, just maybe, these scoundrels would thank him for his obedience, pat him on the head, and drop him off in the next spaceport. No, he reconciled; truthfully, it was far more likely they'd simply shoot him in the back as soon as their business here was done. He'd have to make a bold move sooner or later. For now, he sat politely.

"ETA three minutes to the Basilisk... so, how long you three been on LRP here?," the Lieutenant asked, interrupting Viszt from his thoughts.

Having seen their methods once before, he imagined that if his captors' cover was blown now, they'd probably do something stupid, like shooting everyone else on the ITT and then attempting to commandeer it. He'd be shot by a blaster, or die in a fiery wreckage. Either way, not ideal.

“I asked them the same thing when they caught this womp rat sniffing around my chit card," Viszt said promptly. For now, he'd swallowed his fears, and he was able to speak without a shudder in his voice. “Can you believe the lengths these people will go to for a few credits?," he scoffed, hoping to appeal to typical Imperial sensibilites of aporophobia.

His deriding tone was met with silence by the uninterested Lieutenant, who didn't indluge the smalltalk; seemingly still waiting for his question to be properly answered.

“They told me it was need-to-know," Viszt said with faux-confidence. "Admiral's business. You know how Kara is. He could have us scooping bantha filth, and he'd have you thinking it was a matter of Galactic importance."

"You can say that again," the officer replied with a dry chuckle, seemingly buying Viszt's explanation. Thankfully, like just about everyone else on the Basilisk, he too detested Kara. "Don't get me started," he said — and he meant it. If he got caught talking ill of the Admiral, he wouldn't be an officer much the longer.

With that hazard neutralised, the conversation petered out. Silence fell over the ITT, save for the humming of its engine, and before three minutes had passed, they had arrived at the Basilisk.

The transport slowed to a stop, and the door slid open with a hiss. Fel was the first to disembark, pulling Zane along with him. Viszt glanced around, assessing the concentration of the others; but found that they were very adequately focussed. Everyone filtered out, the fake troopers' boots clanking against the metal floor as they stepped into the bay. Despite being a little flustered, they seemed competent enough — every time one of them averted their gaze from him, another seemed to have sights trained. He found it extremely doubtful that he would have an opportunity to run unless they were caught unawares by something else. For now, at least, he had some insurance. They couldn't just shoot him dead for the sake of it, so he had at least a modicum of power to exercise. And exercise it he would. Might as well try something. If he could get them split up, he might have a shot at survival.

“I truly appreciate your assistance," he said with a vacant smile. "Am I right in saying that you'll be accompanying me to the med bay?," he peered at Aellyn. "And I suppose you'll be headed to the brig?," he said, turning to Fel.

While he considered that this gambit might enrage the trio, these were issues they were going to be faced with regardless. He was throwing this problem at them hot — and seeing if they could grab ahold without dropping.

Fel nodded at both Viszt and Aellyn. There was nothing left to be said. An hour was plenty. Any longer, they'd be putting down roots. Or they'd be dead. An hour it was. An hour was about the outside edge of how long Fel gave them before something went sideways. Too many questions, a pass-code that flagged them, a fatal mistake. He watched them depart, moving into the belly of the beast, before turning back to face his 'captive' and Jet. Moving closer to Zane, he disengaged the binders on his arms which had been hanging above him, affixed to the seating compartment itself, forcing the kid to essentially hang from his wrists for the ten minute ride. The spacer felt pretty bad about that. It would have been excruciating as the blood left his extremities. He thought back about Imp protocol, which dictated the prisoner should have been stunned, but that did nothing for them but create dead weight to carry. Instead Fel looked to Jet, nodding slightly, and prodded the kid ahead of them, toward the sec checkpoint. At the same time, he input the sec link from Aellyn's datapad.

At the security checkpoint, two black-clad officers held up hands. "State your duty and destination." Fel responded as blandly and matter-of-factly as he could, as pain etched itself onto the kid's face as his arms throbbed with the return of sensation. "RT-774 and RT-717, escorting this local prisoner to cellblock 3-13 for immediate interrogation." The addition of that last bit of information should have been enough to answer the Imps next, as yet unasked question, about why the prisoner was conscious. If he was scheduled for interrogation, they'd need him alert. "what are his charges?" one of the sec troops asked. He was Coruscanti, the thin, wiry, angular features denoting the lineage of a core worlder. You didn't get to be a sec officer in the Imperial Navy without being a 'true believer.' Fel's face scrunched into a disgusted sneer behind the mask. Fel shrugged. "From us? Petty theft. But the local elected magistrate suspected he and his cohorts of being a possible Rebel cell. We're just the escort, sir." The security officer looked to his counterpart, who seemed bored and disconnected, likely thinking of his next shore-leave. He sighed. "Fine. Let me see your ident-tags."

Fel and Jet held out their wrists, and the sec officer scanned their ID chips, which came back with the clearances Aellyn had uploaded. "Alright. Get him outta here -- he stinks." The officer saluted. "For the glory of the Empire!" Fel had never wanted to smack the shit out of anyone so badly, but he returned the salute. "Long live the Emperor."

They moved through strange, but familiar halls. Fel had never served aboard an ImpStar, but the similarities to the Venator were obvious. Even so, they paused at a holo kiosk a deck below their entry point to download tracking and navigation data. Fel spoke in a low tone to Jet. Other troops and officers were moving about their assigned tasks, but nobody took undue notice of them -- yet. They couldn't walk aimlessly with a prisoner for too long without attracting the kind of attention they didn't need. "There. Cell blocks are on decks 67 and 68. Our target is just aft of the main shuttlecraft hangar on deck 77. But this..." he tapped the display. "This is what we're after." It was only 700 yards off. On the same deck they were on. (deck 55.)

They moved off, and kept their 'prisoner' in front of them. As they neared the compartment in question, Fel took the lead, and scanned his access ID chip at the compartment access door, which opened immediately. His hand tightened on the grip of the T-21. But the lights were off. The room was empty. About 100 feet long, with consoles at one end, and what looked like tool and repair bays aft of the consoles. and along one wall, lockers, as far as the eye could see.

Fel spoke to Zane, as he removed the binders. He knew the Stormie vocoder wouldn't impart much sympathy, but he did his best. "Sorry, kid. Had to make it look good." He inclined his jaw at the lockers. "Maintenance. Get yourself a uniform and an ID tag." Zane looked confused, but game for the big show. "C'mon, kid. Time's tickin'."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Viszt watched the others as they shuffled away, swift and decisive — they hadn’t seemed inconvenienced or otherwise irked by the Chiss’ audacity. The pressure was, for at least a moment, reduced, and all Viszt had to concern himself with was the woman accompanying him to the med bay. He hadn’t quite decided what he’d do next, but having one brigand breathing down his neck was much better than three. He started walking hurriedly in the direction of the med bay, the woman a pace behind him, watching his every move. He glanced back at her every few moments, trying to make some kind of judgement.

“If he thinks about double crossing me. I’ll shoot him myself.” — that’s what she’d said to her accomplices. A bluff or a promise, he wasn’t sure. Was she the type to kill indiscriminately to get the job done? Her actions in the alleyway made him uncertain. Indeed, there was a chance that Viszt’s captors were smarter than they let on. Maybe they’d seen him in a precarious situation in the alley, and sent the woman to his aid to use as a bargaining chip, only to feign disorganisation later on. However, unless they were fantastic actors, it was much more likely that their existing plan was complicated by Viszt’s involvement. If that were the case, it struck Viszt that this woman might not be a cold-blooded killer, lest she’d have simply left him to a grisly fate at the hands of the junkers.

”What’s your name?,” he asked, sure he wouldn’t receive an answer. He’d given her his name back in the alleyway.

Silence.

He sighed.

As they approached the med bay, the ambience of hazard set in; low persistent alarms, flashing yellow lights, several droids cordoning off the area, and chemical smell hanging in the air. Viszt noticed his abetter’s eyes dancing around the corridor.

“Is there a locker room nearby? Wouldn’t mind changing out of this bulky armor.”

Viszt nodded his head across the hall, where the medical cloakroom was situated. ”Just over there.”

This was a chance to run, he thought. But, as the woman disappeared into the room for a minute or so, he felt unable to. He wasn’t sure why, but it felt, in this moment, like a door had been flung open; the idea of slamming it shut didn’t appeal. He made his way into the lab, but he didn’t say a word about his new associate. In here, the ruckus was even more apparent; two imperial engineers stood facing a busted machine and squabbled over the logistics of how best to fix it.

“Where have you been!?,” Benaire cried as he saw Viszt enter. Before receiving an answer he rushed over, handing over a datapad with various readings about the cold storage and its chemical levels.

”Sorry, I came as quickly as I could.”

"I need you to help sort this out. It's worse than I thought. The leak is affecting other systems. We’ve got to transfer the remaining chemicals to emergency storage, and the droids are struggling to keep up."

Quickly, Viszt hurried into action, assisting the doctor. He set to work, moving vials and containers onto droids, which went back and forth, and assisting the engineers with assessing the leak. Though he had moved the excess chemicals off the ship, now everything that remained had to be cleared out, or a dangerous chemical reaction could occur. Removing the apparatus would prove a big issue for the ship’s crew, as, from this point on, they were no longer equipped to deal with medical emergencies. On account of the armed trespassers on board: this was bad. Additionally, these chemicals were valuable, and could make a black-market seller a good few hundred credits. Viszt hoped that his captor, who had re-emerged at the doorway, was not aware of this.

Time ticked by. Every few minutes, as the arduous process dragged on, Viszt would glance up at the doorway; where Aellyn lingered, waiting, checking the time. As the hour dragged on, she seemed to grow more restless.

He wasn’t sure how long had passed, but it must’ve been close to an hour when his captor entered the room, weapon in hand. No longer would she wait. The process was incomplete, and the chemicals were volatile. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, apprehensive.

Aellyn raised the rifle toward the engineers and Benaire. “The three of you…don’t move….” She gripped the rifle and turned toward the lab technician. “Are you almost done with fixing the leak? Hour is almost up and I’m leaving on that ship.”

”I… No. I’m not done yet,” he said. Just give me fifteen minutes,” he pleaded, but he knew that wasn’t enough time.

“What?” Benaire looked at her, then at him. It took a few seconds for him to realise he was being threatened. “Viszt — what is happening? What does she mean, three of us?”

”I don’t know, ” Viszt lied, still tussling with the damaged apparatus, glancing over his shoulder in panic as he continued to work. ”Can we just… calm down, for a —”

It was only a mere second as they saw movement, an engineer lunged toward Aellyn as she shot a stun at him. His body hit the floor.

Kriff! She quickly moved to stun the other two.

Viszt stopped still, paralyzed without need for a shot. The others slumped down, unconscious, and he was next in the line of sight. But she didn’t shoot; not yet.

“Look, I am a floater. The two others just happened to stop here on their way to my destination. I do not like this situation but they will leave me here to rot if I don’t leave now. I am, was like you. Stuck in a corporate job on Coruscant working with the ISB. There are things I uncovered, things I never thought the Empire would do. The Empire is not what they say. Freedom? There is no such thing. We are slaves to do their bidding. These chemicals can go to people that need it. Don’t make me keep that promise from the warehouse… I don’t want to shoot you. But I will…”

He gulped dryly. Fight or flight. Or… was there a third option. In the subtext of her words, there was an offer, an olive branch. She could’ve just shot him, but she wanted his help. He could go with her, get the chemicals off the ship, and get out of this life.

Everything he’d learned told him to say no.

”What’s your name?,” he repeated, calming himself. If he was going to put his head on the line, he needed an answer.

“Aellyn.”

”Alright,” he inhaled. ”We need to move fast.”

From the moment they stepped onto the Basilisk, Jet felt a profound sense of unease. Perhaps it had started the moment they disembarked from the ship. Wearing stormtrooper armor was something he had never envisioned for himself, yet here he was, aboard an Imperial Star Destroyer, dressed as if he belonged. If it weren’t for the fact that their mission was to rob the place, Jet would have been thoroughly disgusted with himself—if he had the luxury of time to dwell on it.

Jet decided to leave the talking to Fel. Fel was far more adept in this environment, whereas Jet knew he would likely trip over some simple Imperial protocol or code, drawing unwanted attention.

As he trailed behind Fel and Zane through the labyrinthine corridors, Jet’s mind began to wander. Would he have been an Imperial if he had been born in a different time? The thought gnawed at him. He had joined the Republic almost on a whim, driven by a desire to delve deeper into mechanics and escape his disapproving middle-class family. The Republic had offered him a chance to work with advanced technology and find a sense of purpose away from the stifling expectations at home.

But what if he had been born a few years later, into a galaxy where the Empire’s iron grip was already firmly established? Would he have been indoctrinated into their ranks, believing in their propaganda? The idea was unsettling. He imagined himself in the stark white armor of a stormtrooper, blindly following orders, enforcing the Emperor’s will without question. It was a chilling vision.

Jet shook his head, trying to dispel the troubling thoughts. No, he certainly hoped not. He liked to believe that his core values would have steered him away from the Empire, that he would have found a way to resist, to fight back. But the truth was, he couldn’t be sure. The galaxy was a complex place, and people were often shaped by their circumstances as much as by their choices.

They soon arrived at the room they were after. As the door slid open, Jet readied for whatever would come. When nothing did, he relaxed. Zane began searching for what Fel had instructed him to find. Jet stood in the doorway, doing his best to appear inconspicuous, mimicking the mannerisms he had observed so far.

“So… any chance I can get the ‘skinny’ on what the kark is actually going on here? Also… a little help? What’s an ‘ID tag’?” Zane asked, his voice tinged with frustration and curiosity.

Zane had been mostly silent, aside from a few muttered words. Jet couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for the young man, who reminded him of his old apprentice, Nova—lost and just trying to survive. He wasn’t sure what he had been thinking when he decided to bring Zane along.

Jet marched into the room with a sense of urgency rather than irritation. He quickly rifled through a few lockers, examining several IDs before finding one that seemed suitable.

…Fel had experienced this before. It had been a minute, but this was standard operating procedure aboard an Imperial Naval Vessel. Everyone had their assigned tasks. Oddly (for the few of them here with nefarious intent) there were comparatively few individuals aboard a Star Destroyer assigned to internal security. They walked unmolested, uninterrupted, because they looked like they belonged, and because everyone else was fearful of the consequences if the boat was rocked. Even so – Fel was uneasy.

“Slap this on your chest, like this,” he instructed, pressing the ID against Zane’s chest. “It’ll help you blend in and, with any luck, keep us from getting blasted.” He tossed the ID back into the locker nearest to Zane so he could grab it once he was suited up. “Sorry you got pulled into this mess.” Jet began, giving Zane space to dress. “We’re here for a job, grab some stuff, and get out. In and out, no fuss. Should’ve been as easy as a Tatooine sunset, but… let’s just say things got a bit more tangled than we planned.” Jet leaned against the lockers, folding his arms over his chest. “I know this isn’t exactly a stroll through the Naboo gardens, but we’ve got this. Stick close, follow our lead, and we’ll be outta here before you know it.”

He spoke with a calm, reassuring voice, and gave Zane clear and concise instructions on what to do with it once he was ready for it. That was good. That was something that the boy could work with. Zane took a few deep, measured breaths as he tried to filter through all the information he had soaked in on his way through the halls of the Basilisk; taking care to do so while he began removing his jacket and getting undressed. His mind was flooded with images that he was able to recall in his near-frantic state, the few uniformed individuals he was able to recall were all dressed in neatly-pressed, very clean uniforms. Even the technicians - which one would suspect to be the most-filthy amongst a crew aboard a vessel - were unfathomably cleaner than Zane had been in years.

“Right, right…so…you guys are, what…? Thieves? Bandits, or something? You gotta know that the Imps won’t like that sort of thing…they showed us that right quick when they first showed up a while back. Cripes, I can’t even r’member when that really was…days don’t really pass here like they oughtta.”

Fel bristled at the thought of being called a simple thief, or bandit. He knew the kid meant nothing by it, but it was a whole lot more complicated than that, depending on your political views, and where you stood morally on the whole ‘do the right thing’ notion that your mama taught you as a child. He knew that what he was doing was something, regardless of his cut, or which side of the fence he was on, that the people on Rozao IV would talk about for years to come. Maybe that was enough. But in this moment, he still didn’t know exactly what to call them after that little mental sidebar.

Jet took a deep breath, sucking in air before expelling it with greater force. “I wouldn’t even know what to call us.” He looked over to Fel for a second before looking back to Zane. “We’re a crew.” He thought back to Aellyn and how she wasn’t technically with them. “If you need to call us something, anyway.”

As Zane waited and listened to the big man, he was slowly peeling his well-worn, heavily-soiled clothes from his body. His lack of hygiene began to show in a rather malodorous fashion, and even Zane was able to tell that he wasn’t winning any awards for cleanliness. It was a bit embarrassing, to be honest. Zane hadn’t felt vulnerable up until now, but it was quickly starting to become that way. He kept casting furtive glances over toward “Gigantor”, deciding then and there that he needed to try and relate to them a bit more if he wanted to help move things along. It might also help him to not focus on his vulnerabilities, and that was something he earnestly desired at this point.

“Also - what d’you guys want me to call you while you’re on this ‘job’? I heard them spoutin’ off letters ‘n numbers ‘n such from before when they were talking to ya. Are we using those while you guys are here?”

“Name’s Jet,” he patted his chest with his hand before jamming a thumb over towards the man standing near the door. “That’s Fel.” His hand returned to being firmly tucked away over his arm. “No point trying to remember them numbers, it won’t do you any good. And I sure won’t remember to respond to them.”

Zane nodded with the conclusion of Jet’s introductions, “Ah, okay then…I’m Zane, by the way. I’d say ‘nice to meet ya’, but I'm not so sure it is just yet.” He said with a sheepish grin.

Removing his shirt was going to be the toughest part. Zane already knew that. It had been several days since he had even changed clothes. There was never a need here on Lothos; water was beyond scarce, and any filth you were bound to collect on yourself was just as likely to be there the next day once you got rid of it. So, you ended up wearing the same clothes for days, sometimes weeks on end. Led to many uncomfortable moments in the transition, sort of like what was happening now.

Zane grabbed the hem of his shirt. He began slowly raising it up over his body, his features contorting into a wince once he began to feel the fabric peeling away from his skin. As the shirt is removed, it reveals much of what Lotho Minor was capable of doing to people with humanoid constitution - his skin was weathered, covered in dingy, oily residue and multiple sores. Zane’s breathing was a bit ragged as he felt his body starting to shake from a mixture of pain and embarrassment due to his squalid state.

Jet couldn’t help but feel for the kid. This was a rough state to be in, and not just with the crew. The kid needed nourishment, that much was clear, but how his living conditions had let his body get this raw was just plain disgusting. He took off his helmet in a show of sympathy, but he realized his mistake as soon as the stench hit him. The filth embedded in the kid was sure to get them caught. A stinky prisoner was one thing, but a filthy imperial was a whole other issue. Jet glanced around and noticed a washroom just off from the lockers.

“Hey, kid… maybe you should clean yourself up,” he said, nodding towards the sign behind him, trying to mask his sad disgust.

The pang in his chest as “Jet” referenced the washroom was like getting hit with a gut punch, regardless of how much Zane tried to mentally prepare himself for the blow.

“Y-Yeah…I get that.” He slowly stood from the bench, removing what was left of the dingy shirt he was wearing and pulling it off his body. What was left of the boy, one could barely consider to be human; little more than skin and bone. “I’ll just…get this stuff. I’ll try to be quick.”

Fel set the rifle down, and leaned against a locker. Kark. He was ready for a gaggle of Bucket-Heads to cause havoc for them. He wasn’t prepared for the personal toll to be brought into such sharp relief. The kid – Zane. Zane’s condition brought him to a halt. Caused him to engage parts of his brain that dulled his focus on the gig. He couldn’t shake it – the sadness fed his guilt, the guilt fed his empathy, his empathy fed his rage, and then in a few moments, he found himself wanting to take down the entire Empire from within. To live a life like this… only life Zane had ever known, he was sure of it… wasn’t the Empire supposed to protect and nurture its citizens? Fat chance. Not when every sonovabitch who could make a difference, like Vinoor Kara, is lining their pockets with the lives of the poor and the working class on the Rim. He rallied, ready once more to kick Kara in the cred-disc, right where it would hurt the worst.

Zane pulled together the items he’d gathered - jumpsuit, underclothes, socks and boots - and made his way into the refresher area of the locker room, trying like hell to hide the shame he felt in his appearance. Stepping inside, he walked toward the stalls that - he assumed - were showers. From what little he could remember as a kid on board freighters, they looked like fancier wash stations. Setting down his new “disguise” on the bench outside of the stall, he slid the door shut behind him and went to work on removing what remained of his clothes before walking into the shower area.

Fel tugged off the helmet once more, dropping it to the deck, letting the sweat drip down his nose and cheeks. “You feel at all bad we didn’t give Aellyn a better picture of what Abilene’s got us searching for?” It was a question he’d been keeping tucked close to his chest for several days, even before the notion of Aellyn joining them had come up. Abilene was a means to an end. A job when there hadn’t been a job on the books. She certainly had the coin to afford more than she had let on, and if luck was on their side, that Kolto would add more to their coffers than the initial job, and Rozao IV would have more than they needed, for the first time ever. That in and of itself was wrong. Too many in need. Not enough folks like them. Whatever they were.

Jet scratched his chin, his expression a mix of frustration and regret as he considered Fel’s question. He took a long, deep breath. “Seeing the mess we’re in now… maybe we should’ve brought her in on the whole plan from the start. All the details, upfront, you know?” He turned to face Fel, his eyes locking onto Fel's “I guess we’ve all got things we need to set right, after all.”

The spacer chuckled mirthlessly, checking his chron. “Well, we live beyond the next forty-five minutes, we can turn an eye toward making all our varied sins right again… but for the time being, let’s stay frosty, hmm? There’s still fifty different ways this can go sideways, and I’m going to need my partner to anticipate at least half of that… ‘cause we both know I’m not smart enough to see the whole picture, hey?”

Jet couldn’t help but mimic Fel’s sentiment with his own laugh. “A promise of fifty percent each, kid? Yeah.. I could live with that.” Jet gave Fel a beaming smile and thumbs up, letting out a dry chuckle at his own ironic jest.

There were enough dials and levers inside to utterly confuse the boy. He cursed his ineptitude under his breath, and started reaching up and - with no level of certainty - pressing buttons to see what did what. When foam started shooting out of the wall onto him, he was startled. The stark scent of the antibacterial foam wafted into his nostrils, making him break out into a fit of coughing. There were ropes of the foam all along his chest and arms now, and the bits that landed on his open sores stung almost like acid burns from the rain. At least, at first it did. The sensation quickly gave way to a much cooler feeling. That was when Zane remembered what it was like to have something as simple as soap again.

He spent the next little while scrubbing himself down, and fiddling with the controls for the shower until it finally did what he wanted. When the rush of warm water finally came down onto him, it initially scared him senseless. His past traumas of being affected by the caustic rains of the planet taught him to be wary of water that fell upon him like this. After a few moments of flailing and shocked shouting, he realized that the liquid was harmless, and proceeded to let it cascade over him, almost surrendering himself to its warm and cleansing nature.

Within a few minutes, all the grime and dirt that had once covered him had been washed away. The sores remained, of course, but those would be covered by the fresh clothing. It took a few seconds for him to figure out how to turn the shower back off, but he managed well enough. The room was silent again, and now Zane could focus on getting ready. He quickly donned the replacement clothes and boots, sliding into the technician’s jumpsuit with relative ease. Despite it being the right height, it still settled onto his emaciated frame like baggy clothing. Nothing to be done about that, Zane supposed. Once he was fully-dressed, he walked back out to where Jet and Fel were, making sure to don a technician’s cap and the ID badge that the big man had found for him.

“So, uh…does this work?” Zane smoothed out the jumpsuit with his hands as he reached down to grab one of the tool belts he’d seen the other techs with, wrapping it around his waist awkwardly as he attempted to figure out how the fastener worked. “I figure…these guys won’t miss a few tools, right?”

Fel breathed in the cool, canned, recycled air of the ImpStar, his own scars and sweat mingling with the dreads and matted hair to paint a picture far more akin to Zane than he wanted to admit. When he spoke, his voice was calm, even, sympathetic, even a bit sad. “Yeah, Zane… that’ll work.” He had thought about this, not exactly long and hard… but he’d thought enough, and it made sense. At least till the kid did something stupid. “Here.” Fel said, handing Zane the EC-17. He needed something to protect himself. They were in the belly of the beast, and it would do no good the kid getting into a shootout with nothing but his dick in his hands. “You ready? One lift ride, five minutes of walking, and hopefully… around ten minutes of searching through five years of plunder, and then we can get the hell off this fireblasted wreck.”

He really hoped the kid didn’t make him regret giving him a firearm.

The lanky youth accepted the blaster from Fel, turning it over and over in his hand and remembering to keep his finger away from the trigger guard. He’d seen enough of them being used that he knew what not to do. “Uh, yeah, okay. We’re gonna, what? ‘Hit the bank’? Yeah…” he said, trying to convince himself more than anyone else, “I can do that. Yup, sure can.”

Jet could tell this was likely one of the first times the kid had ever held a proper blaster. Sure, he might have seen them before, but holding and using one was a different story. Hopefully, he wouldn’t need to use it, but it was smart of Fel to arm the boy, regardless of his experience.

“Just stick with us. I know we dragged you into this, and it ain’t fair,” Jet began, patting Zane gently on the shoulder, careful not to hurt him. “We’ll get you out of here, don’t you worry!” Jet smiled, trying to reassure him amidst the chaos.

Zane breathed in through his nose, and then slowly exhaled through his mouth. It surprised him how effortlessly he did so here. The air was so…clean. He tucked the blaster into one of the tool-belt’s pouches, making sure it was concealed before going over everything in his head one more time. Zane tried to remain focused on the situation at hand, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Parlo and his little brother. If things continued the way they were going, and this “crew” of theirs had to make a quick break for it, what would he do about the two most important people in his life? He figured he’d need to address this with the two men in the room with him at some point, but, was now really the time?

…Fel found himself counting first – the beings they passed in the halls and intersections. Then the doors they passed. Then the signs. Then the footsteps. Finally, he counted every breath. Just waiting. Waiting for something to change, someone to shout ‘hey, you!’ Waiting for a team in sec uniforms to pour out of a turbolift and surround them, blasters ready. His heart pounded in his chest. If it went that way, he gave them one chance in ten to make it out alive. The fact that his pulse was hammering in his ears, was not a good sign. He tried to focus, concentrate on what was important, get them where they needed to be, and when worse came to worse, rely on his memory of his time aboard these ships (or ones similar) and let muscle memory take the reins for a moment while he inwardly panicked (like every other Trooper he had ever spoken to.)

It almost happened. And damn the blood rushing in his ears, he almost missed it. “Hey! You. Troop!” By the time Fel had stopped, the officer had actually called out to them twice, had run after them, and was almost on them. They were a dozen paces from the turbolift. Could they make a run for it? No way. They’d get as far as deck 77, but they’d die in sight of their target. No, better to talk through this. Fel swallowed his fear, and turned crisply to meet the officer.

It was a junior officer. And Fel was relieved (after a momentary panic attack) that he was by himself, not leading a platoon. And this officer wasn’t Sec. He looked like a gunnery officer. And what’s more, if he had to guess, he’d have said this officer didn’t look overly frustrated or angry, which was the norm. He paused, catching his breath for a moment. “You should have stopped, troop. Chased after you fifty feet or more. What’s your Ident?” Fel knew enough to know there was no point in explaining himself. That time was past. “RT-774, sir.” The officer drew himself up to his full height, which was a few inches shorter than Jet, but taller than Fel. Straightening his jacket and cap, he curled a gloved finger at Galdaart. “Give me that weapon, soldier.” Kriff. It was an order. There was no turning it around. No denying it, or denying the officer, if Fel wanted to keep this civil. He looked quickly at Jet. It was tough to get a read on his partner in his armor, but he looked tense. Fel nodded slightly, before handing over his T-21. Full military safeties. He first checked the bolt, safetied the weapon, and surrendered it at full attention, as if he was on the parade grounds.

The officer checked the well-worn weapon, sighting along the barrel, checking the optics. “You Recon boys spend a lot of time planetside. This weapon is a disgrace.” The officer ran a gloved finger over the pectoral crease of Fel’s armor, wiping away some of Lotho’s grime and smudging it between thumb and forefinger. “The optics have seen better days. There’s better than a years’ carbon scoring on the barrel and action, and there’s corrosion on the charge port.” Fel thought quickly, thinking he had to salvage this interaction in some way. “Lotho has been tough on the gear, Lieutenant. We’ve been on a two week sweep, two sectors to the South. I apologize for my appea–” The officer waved off his reasons, silencing him with a raised hand. “You boys…” he insinuated Fel and Jet “...are on the front lines, or working without a chain of command for days on end. This old “A” model is at the end of its service life. Here…” he produced a pad of paper, and scrawled some vaguely intelligible words on it, tearing off the top sheet and handing it to Fel. “Take this to procurement. Get yourself one of the new “D” models. And get that armor squared away. Carry on, troopers.”

He snapped a salute, and Fel did his very best to return it, even thanking the Lieutenant. They moved off, and a moment later were safely in the turbolift. Fel cursed bitterly. He slammed a fist into the wall, hands shaking. “I nearly… I very nearly wasted that sonovabitch. And he gave me a damned requisition form for a new rifle. Kark.”

Jet clapped a firm hand on Fel's armored shoulder, steadying him. "Don't let them get under your skin, Fel. Maybe we snag that 'D model’ as a big middle finger to them." He smirked beneath his helmet. "Lucky it was you they asked... I might've clocked the guy for acting all superior." Jet hissed in disbelief. "Typical Imperial arrogance..."

From the time that the officer had called them down to the moment that the lift doors had closed securely behind them, Zane was - quite literally - holding his breath. To the point that his face was beginning to be tinged with a bit of a bluish-green color. Once he had found his way to the back of the turbolift, the boy let out such an exasperated exhalation that he thought he was going to expel the meager contents of his stomach in the process. In the few tense moments that followed, he was nearly hyperventilating while catching his breath, hands shaking like he had been jonesing for a glitterstim fix, with eyes as wide as a Rodian’s. He tried to steady himself, noting that he wasn’t the only one who was shaken by the encounter. He barely heard what the two of them were saying to each other over the sound of his own heart beating all the way into his eardrums, but he seemed to get the idea that neither Fel nor Jet held any love for the Empire.

The adrenaline started to thin in his system as Zane pointed out toward the door, still trembling, ”He was gonna, and then you were…how the kriff do you guys do this on a weekly basis?! I’m gonna need new jumpers if this keeps up!” He took a few more breaths as he slowly stood himself up from the wall, collecting what little remained of his wits. ”Whew! Okay, I guess we should be glad he didn’t question me, right? But if he did--if they do, at any point…what do you want me to tell them about why I’m with you? We should prolly-I dunno-try to have some kinda foolproof thing in place, dontchathink?”

Fel produced a small device from the satchel that hung from his utility belt. Jet would recognize it as a handheld scanner – typically used for assessing hull integrity for weak points. It was clean and made a low whine when activated. The whine changed pitch when brought close to a solid object. “Show ‘em this. Nobody will know what the hell it is… that scanner’s gottabe a hundred years old. You got this, Zane. Just act like you know what the hell’s going on. Our lives kind of depend on it.”

The lift whined to a halt, and the door opened onto deck 77 of the Basilisk. For the most part, this resembled most other service and support levels for a fighter-wing carrier vessel. However, the Basilisk functioned with one fewer fighter wing complement than a standard ImpStar, and as a result of this the associated service bays, flight storage racks, parts and equipment storage, and support personnel for the wing of 72 combat-ready TIE fighters and their accompanying shuttles and transport / support craft were simply removed from the Basilisk, creating an entire hanger bay, now devoted to Vinoor Kara’s plunder.

It was vast. It was almost incalculable. Crates, cargo containers, pallets of goods, artworks in large, upright wooden protective surrounds, life-size sculptures, rare or antiquated tech, precious metals and gemstones from a dozen different systems, ores rich with worthy deposits, aurodium & gold — lots of gold, harvested and in the process of harvesting from all sources; from old wiring and electronics, to teeth. Buckets of all kinds of aurodium-rich components covered long tables. Techs poured over these source materials, retrieving the gold. Huge bricks of the stuff, 3X3X3, stood in neatly smelted stacks, all emblazoned with the Imperial crest. These crates and pallets and cargo containers filled row after row, some the size of the cargo crates that littered the UA’s cargo bay, others could have held a disassembled X-wing. The rows stretched out for as far as the eye could see, it seemed.

There was a sec checkpoint, unlike at other decks. And there were cameras. Fel scanned his ID, and Jet followed suit. They moved to enter, but the gate scanner went red when Zane followed them. The sec leader halted them, looked Zane up and down. “You two are cleared. But what have you got this tech here for? He’s not supposed to be on this level.” Fel had thought ahead about this, and tried his response on, for size. “We delivered…” he checked his manifest, looking for the numbered crates Abilene was after. "ZY5-232 and ZY5-233, about a month ago. My unit chief says they were never scanned for biological agents. Told us to come down with a tech right away. Just following orders… You know how it is.” As if in response, Zane produced the hull scanner and activated it, passing the device through the air, taking "readings." Fel regarded the sec leader who looked to his subordinate, who shrugged. The leader was visibly puzzled, this was something new, which he didn’t have a prescribed, rehearsed and approved response to. “I’ll have to clear it.” Fel was likewise ready for this. “That’s fine. You go on and clear it. Here’s the **forged and embellished** order from Admiral Kara. We’re going to go about our business, ensuring there’s no toxin aboard the ship, while you confirm the order.” He walked in, escorting Zane, and followed by Jet, leaving the sec lead scratching his head and calling for a supervisor on his comm, his subordinate was looking through a book of regulations, surely looking to find an answer to a question nobody had ever asked. A dozen steps in, they turned down an aisle, and Fel quickened his pace, checking his chron. Twenty two minutes remaining in Aellyn’s hour. When he spoke, his voice was low, but the strain was evident. “We need to be in and out of here with those crates in less than five minutes. Let’s move like we got a purpose.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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