Star Wars: Spheres of the Force (GM Terrigan) (Inactive)

Game Master Syrus Terrigan

Confirmation Roll: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (9) + 4 = 13
Crit Damage: 4d10 ⇒ (9, 5, 8, 5) = 27

Oh well.

Any way I can direct fire to disrupt their flight patterns and slow them down a bit? Or at least throw off their targeting? Like an aid another action for the shields against two targets (cuz two guns). Seems marginally more helpful than trying to hit a target on a roll of 18 or better.

#1) A successful critical hit wouldn't multiply the damage again, but would bypass the shields (and shield DR) altogether. If you *had* confirmed the crit, the damage rolled (multiplied by 2) would be applied against Rancor Leader's Hull Points (and attendant DR). Put simply: starship critical hits bypass shields completely.

#2) RE: Aiding One's Own Ship -- This is an action that does make sense, from a "practical" point of view. "Defensive Fire" option, if you will. I'll take some time to hash through it later tonight, see if I can reach a satisfactory conclusion. For the time being, I'll just rule that you *can* make a "Defensive Fire" "volley". Here's the twist, though: you've concentrated both weapons on one vessel thus far, but in the name of 'good options' -- you can make the attack rolls for both turrets, and you can either put a -2 penalty on the attacks of two separate ships (potentially), or you can continue to concentrate that fire to impose a -3 penalty on *one* fighter's attack rolls. (In essence, keeping to the pattern of "linked fire"/"battery fire" effects -- increase the result by one step for each additional weapon brought to bear.) Make sense?

EDIT: And thank you, Synchro, for raising the question!! It's almost "too bad" we didn't tackle that from the outset of our chase!! lol

EDIT 2: But I'm not gonna tell you what your "target AC" is to achieve those results . . . . 10 seems a tad too easy, to me. But I'll make a call on it once I see what you get!! And we'll go from there.

Le Za-Deen replies soberly to Vadi's question. They will easily determine our flight vector, yes -- but the galaxy is large. There are scores of likely destinations on the jump I've plotted. They won't be able to cover them all, if pursuit is their undertaking. Though we can probably only delay a search -- once we update our nav data, our transponder will be tagged in the beacon's information . . . .

The Zabrak keys in the last few factors of his calculation, and the navicomputer processes the jump.

Astrogation, double-aided and replotted: 1d20 + 7 + 2 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (13) + 7 + 2 + 2 + 2 = 26
Hazard Roll: 1d6 - 1 ⇒ (3) - 1 = 2
Success!: 1d6 ⇒ 4

Kreshell relaxes in his chair for a while after the hyperdrive initiates. He just sits there and thoughtlessly fondles this cane. Well, I'm still alive. Time to solve the next problem.

. . . and all they'd have to do is drop into a system with a beacon we've accessed, and then they'd have a lead to follow, he finishes.

Now that the craft is flying steady, Za-Deen stands up from his seat and leans into the bridge. Perlemian Trade Route by way of Kashyyyk -- we'll be in the Lantillies system in about . . . five days, or close to it. He waits for Zargro's response with a strange sense of calm about him.

Feeling the expectation in the silence, Kreshell adopts his grin once more. "That is why we are heading to the Perlemian Trade route. It's a bit roundabout but!-" he exclaims with a short pause as he holds up his cane for accentuation, "-as it is a giant trade route, we can easily utilize semi-old data to travel on it to the Hydian Way, which itself is also quite large. Worst case scenario we get nav data from someone else. This is all until we change the transponder codes on this beaute." He then adds as he swivels back to facing his console and putting his feet on it, "See..you all worry too much.."

Rhea snorted slightly at Kreshell's comments - in amusement, not derision. "It's true that there are plenty of ways to hide." the Hapan spy noted. "What kind of sensor system is that, anyway?"

Profession (Hapan Intelligence) - Do I know any false transponder readings that serve as signals to Rhea's contacts and could help mask this vessel?: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (5) + 8 = 13

As things fall back to peaceful, Vadi rubs her hands on her face. "Anyway, there wasn't much time for introductions, my name's Vadi Sarnassi. Pleased to meet you all. So, you looked like you had a plan to get out of the Smuggler's Moon and I kinda went along with it, but are you actually headed somewhere?"

A plotted jump doesn't mean we're out of this yet, you maniacs!! Zev shrills out. Incoming!

Still waiting for Hayden's "defensive fire" rolls before we see if Rancor Flight can nix this escapade prematurely . . . .

"Me? Worry? No. Not really," Hayden lines up his firing pattern and lets loose while talking over the laserfire, "But I definitely wait 'til the music begins to start dancing, you twit!"

Port Turret Assist Roll: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23
Starboard Turret Assist Roll: 1d20 ⇒ 8

Rancor Flight musters a volley of ion cannon fire at Spice Rush, doing their utmost to avoid the ire of Caandra.

Rancor Leader, ion cannon: 1d20 + 5 - 2 ⇒ (2) + 5 - 2 = 5
Rancor Two, ion cannon: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 = 5
Rancor Three, ion cannon: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (16) + 2 = 18
Rancor Four, ion cannon: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (13) + 2 = 15

All four shots go awry, however, and though a burst of electric blue energy blazes past the bridge viewport, Zev coolly engages the hyperdrive as soon as the indicator light on his console glows green. A high-pitched hum resonates through the durasteel and ceramoplast components of the ship, and the stars blur into lines as the freighter transitions to hyperspace.

Huzzah!!

Zev, his forehead beaded with sweat, ensures the droid brain is still dedicated to the sensor array before flopping back in his pilot's chair with a relieved sigh. That was lucky. But did you see it?! Skimmed that fuel freighter so close we could have slapped the hull going by!! Whooo! He turns his seat by crabwalking his heels, coming about to face the rest of the bridge crew. It's so weird to have this many people here . . . . Used to just having me and Bharal up here, and whatever prisoner locked up in the dormitory room . . . . He shakes his head, as though to check that his eyes are actually looking at reality. But I am for the 'fresher, and then the galley!! Well, once I check this message Jebber mentioned, anyway . . . . He casts a pointed look at Kresh as he says this, and then heaves himself up to move through the hatch to starboard.

Kreshell gets up as well and follows Zev.

"And you were worried." Rhea said with a small smile as they jumped. "Trust me, panic rarely helps." As the others headed out, she stretched a bit, then let her connection lapse. She could refocus on it if needed, but it was no longer necessary, and she didn't like going on all engines at all times.

For now... she wanted to check out that droid. Explaining shifted objectives was a lot easier when you already had results to show people. Besides, her mission was pretty broad in the first place - she was like a wide net, seeking out reasonably good opportunities and collecting them together. It was other peoples' job to decide what to more forward with.

As Zev turns to close the hatch behind him, he cocks his eyebrow at Zargro and asks, You need something?

Kresh's smile quickly fades, "Message from Jebber?"

Yeah. My message from Jebber. Yours is on one of those datacards he gave you. Zev's face turns stony. And not to be rude, or anything, but this cabin was mine and Bharal's -- got a lot of his stuff in here, still. If you want that second bunk, I reckon it's yours, but there's no room for you yet. He blinks rapidly, and his voice roughens. Excuse me. The hatch door snaps into place, and the locking mechanism emits a hmmmmm-thunk.

The clank of plated feet announces the return of Theta-Zero along the promenade. His predatory frame fills the bridge doorway, and his vocabulator stirs to life. Condescending Suggestion: If we are to increase our chances of survival, I recommend planning an intensive maintenance regimen -- perhaps while you meatbags recharge over "dinner". This vessel is in need of . . . forcible adjustment.

As Theta-Zero spoke, Rhea leaned over to look at him. "How forcible are we talking? Like, pick up some parts at the closest station, or drop it off at a discreet shipyard? I have some contacts in the place we're heading, and they can probably help us get whatever we need."

Kreshell smiles his wicked tinted smile at the hatch door in his face. This is going too well. It can't be this easy.. He then turns and heads back to his starboard cockpit seat and resumes his reclined posture. He listens to the conversation and thinks to himself, How long I wonder?..

Theta-Zero ponders Rhea's inquiry briefly. Clarification: While I am certain a myriad of parts would be of use -- twin turbolasers, baradium minelayers, and other such --, I was referring specifically to the computer systems. Derisive Observation: Considering the rudimentary nature of some of the "upgrades" on the vessel, I would surmise that the computers have not had a full diagnostic . . . since the Jedi Civil War.

"Sonofadirty*****!"
Vadi, who had risen, mistakingly convinced that the worst had passed, rolls tail over teakettle on the Spice Rush floor.

By the time she's risen, though, the ship has entered hyperspace. "Then I assume now we are relatively safe? So, what's in the Lantillies system?"
Any chance at a cushy life, hopefully?

As she speaks, she taps on the computer screens, looking for information on their destination.
Knowledge(local): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (10) + 6 = 16
But my own knowledges were on Nar Shaddaa, so I'm not sure how this will work.

Information concerning the Lantillies system would be best gained by way of a Knowledge (galactic history) check. Since it *isn't* a location with which anyone is familiar, Knowledge (local) isn't *yet* a reliable means of getting information. And the navicomputer isn't going to have anything other than the most cursory data . . . .

Know History? ...Same as Galactic History? XD: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10

"And yet they still work." Rhea observed, patting a panel. "Anything that works for a long time, with practically no maintenance, is worth knowing. I'm leaning towards shipyard, then - it shouldn't be too hard to find somewhere that can do a decent overhaul if we can scrounge up the funds for it."

"Funds or no funds, there are things we can do with a few tools and spare parts here on the ship that can raise efficiency for many of our systems."

Hayden hops up, having given himself a moment of reflection and collection. He eyes the non-stick turret controls with distaste as he pulls out his newly acquired bottle of liquor.

"I have three things... First, Theta-Zero, do you have any idea if some of your more deadly protocols and subroutines can be copied and integrated with the ship's targeting matrix and other weapons systems?"

A loud pop is heard as he uncorks the bottle, "Second, are you any good with a hydrospanner, Rhea?"

Hayden offers the bottle to Vadi without having sipped, "And third, congratulations on your first trip off world. May you never see that moon made of slime and moving parts again."

Smug Statement: As I am a -- ssskrrch -- security droid -- skik -- of unrivalled sophistication, I doubt that the hardware we have on hand could carry out those functions. Nevertheless, we may be able to integrate some basic algorithmic improvements.

"Why, thank you!" says Vadi with a bright, surprised smile, unaccustomed to people being pleasant without a hidden end. And just as surely, her mind starts wondering what this nice man might want of her. But all the same, she takes a sip and hands it back to him. "It was a decent home, for a while. Only one I knew, truth be told. Where were you born?"
What was that feeling she felt for the young man? He was far too unattractive for her to be lusting, and too much of a stranger to feel, or feign, affection. But why did he feel familiar?

"Corellia. Coruscant. The first in spirit, the other in body. As beautiful as it is, I feel much the same about Coruscant," he says, keeping an eye on her facial expressions as he speaks. He turns and nods at HK and takes a long drink, "Let me know what you need from me to get that started after everyone has some time to relax. If you could transfer a diagnostic of the ship's hardware systems to my 'pad, I will go about finding a place to start... pre-emptive repair work. Speaking of, how are you feeling?"

Turning back to Vadi, he continues, "What did you do on Nar Shaddaa? It seems it must have been quite awful to leap aboard a ship with our like just to escape."

He eyes the bottle and takes another long swig before proffering it to the bridge at large, expecting someone to grab it should they desire.

"Is that so." Rhea told the droid, sounding genuinely interested. "What kind of improvements are we talking, here? Anything that can raise the efficiency of a system in a measurable way?" ...What? She had an interest in these things.

Theta-Zero pivots his head in Rhea's direction, one photoreceptor's glow dimming slightly -- evocative of a cocked eyebrow. Abrupt Explanation: What I mean to say is this: if we secure the hyperdrive controls and life support regulators from the ship mainframe, and then perform a complete diagnostic on all other systems, we may find many avenues for improvement. Leading Question: Since we likely have days to pass before reaching a destination, -- this vessel having a mere Class III hyperdrive -- , shouldn't we at least prioritize optimizing some element of its function? Brutal Assessment: It is clear to me that something is interfering with the ship's performance, but speculation is of little help. Interrogative: Have I clarified my meaning?

Looking to Hayden, the droid continues. And that, young Hayden, should answer your question. I believe that each being with computer training should work in concert on this project. Some of the tendencies of the sublight engines' subroutines have baffled me. Again -- it's organic in its haphazard and disjointed processing.

Gambling debt. A runaway dancer. Escaped from the Deathly Coliseum on level Seventy-Three. Child of a prostitute. Slighted a boss. Failed a job.

Several perfectly plausibles cover stories run through Vadi's practiced liar mind. But, precarious as her position is, she'd rather tell the truth than risk, one day, betraying herself and being discovered for the manipulative scoundrel she's been all her life. Knowing when to lie is the most important skill a liar can exercise.
"Not that awful, actually, for a while. I've been living for a while playing the pazaak tables, then found a steadier job as a representative, an envoy of sorts. Then there was a hostile takeover where I worked. Nar Shaddaa level of hostile, meaning lots of blood. The new boss had little love for me... but far greater lust, and I didn't like what expected me there, so I ran as fast and as far as I could, and stumbled onto you guys."
Leaving behind the corpse of the aforementioned boss, but that's one unnecessary detail.
"And what's your story?"

"Ah. Employment troubles. I can relate," he nods, taking the bottle back as the interest seems solely his. He sips before continuing.

"It seems a rampant problem these days, anyway," he pauses, obviously hesitant to continue, "My story is long and sad from a perspective, so I think I'll just paraphrase for simplicity. Only child, single, but famous Mother, lonely, if privileged childhood, crazy cult recruited me, got kinda sent away due to a lamentable misunderstanding of their code of ethics... aaaand now I'm attempting to get back in their good graces by tramping across the galaxy with my..." he looks pointedly at the HK unit, "Rather large and uncouth babysitter. He snores loudly and never lets me be the big spoon, but he's mostly alright company."

He glances around, "Yep. That's basically it. Who's next for show and tell? We got some time. It'd be nice to know where the knives are coming from as well as the flowers."

Le Za-Deen steps into the doorway between the bridge and the nav bay, slouching against its frame. Our pilot had the right idea: food. Surely there's something in the galley . . . . My trip to Nar Shaddaa was in a shuttle with a Class Five hyperdrive -- and nearly two and a half weeks of ration bars and reprocessed water was disappointing. A meal and discussion would be a good match! . . . . And we still have not confirmed the specifics of our cost of passage . . . . Which needs to be established straightaway. Wouldn't you agree, 'Captain'? Without waiting for a reply, the Zabrak turns and exits the nav bay, striding in relaxed fashion down the promenade.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (5) + 7 = 12

"Cult", indeed, the Zabrak muses. Famous mother, Corellian and Coruscanti origins, security droid . . . . It will be interesting to learn what I can from that one. And wrongs must be redressed. The thought brings an ironic, and satisfied, smile to the Zabrak's face. Hypocrisy.

Vadi's face turns horrified and scared, her eyes widening. "C-cost? But I don't actually had anything... Life in the Smuggler's Moon was harsh, and there was betrayal after betrayal, I can't really give you much... Unless you mean..."
The Twi'Lek leaves the alternative hanging, her face looking as dismal, embarassed and afraid as possible. Whatever she could have said could never have matched whatever the men are currently envisioning.

Damsel in distress, old, overrated and sexist, but if it does the job I won't complain.
Bluff: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (15) + 11 = 26

Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (10) + 5 = 15

Rhea looked a little amused at the droid's confusion. "Yet it's organic insanity that leads to developments. Don't underestimate our ability to turn irregularities to our advantage." she said, moving back to see if she could figure out which of the pilot's controls weren't working like they should.

Pilot: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (5) + 7 = 12

At Vadi's words, however... "Maintaining ships usually works for cost of passage. Don't worry too much about it." she advised. "There's plenty of ways to turn a profit from a run."

"Fine idea. Food. Maybe we will all be a little more talkative afterward," he cocks an eyebrow in the direction of Zargro, "We never discussed payment; neither was it hinted at. If you want help along the way, it's forthcoming, so long as I'm possessed of clear understanding."

Hayden hops up from his seated position on the deck and turns to make way toward the dining area, "How did you acquire this vessel? It seemed our pursuit did not want you to keep it overmuch."

Kreshell lets out hearty laugh as he slowly rises from his seat to join the others. As seems customary with him, he places his hat on his head and walks with his unnecessary cane.

"I suspect the others here," Kresh is looking at Vadi and sweeps his hand to signify the rest of the crew, "wouldn't likely be keen on such arrangements. As moralistic as they seem to be." He pauses for a minute or two before continuing, "Though I must admit such pleasures are fleeting and distracting." Looking up toward the others present, "As for payment, Hayden and Rhea are pretty on the money toward my preferred method. I clearly lack a full crew and you all are here. You make yourself useful, you pay for your passage. I can be a very gracious lead. If you stick with me, your life will be one of luxury. You are however free to leave anytime you like. If you need or want something, let me know and I will work to procure it. A happy ship is a safe ship. If you've got trouble following you, I'll help deal with it."

"As for this vessel, I payed for it's use through an intermediary who was a figure head. Apparently the aforementioned figure head did not inform the actual owner. This is not as big of a problem as it may seem. If we prove that we can do the job previously agreed upon, the owner will likely begrudgingly allow us to continue. An audition of sorts."

Hayden smiles, "That's an excellent arrangement that bypasses the awkwardness of the other. You wouldn't like my company anyways. I'd just lay there and sweat on you."

Hayden walks loosely back to the galley, the liquor beginning to sink into his muscles and relax away the tension of the day. He plops the bottle onto the table and his bottom onto a seat, postponing his want of food until the others have served themselves. He takes the opportunity to study the Iridonian as he moves about, looking for cues of origin or of allegiance. He doesn't bother with surreptition or subtlety and prepares himself for questions with frankness.

Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (13) + 4 = 17

If Apliccable:
Knowledge (Force Traditions): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (2) + 7 = 9
Ugh... Too drink to thunk.

Acid Interjection: Do keep such threats of commingled bodily fluids to yourself, Hayden. My circuitry disrupts just processing the suggestion! Theta-Zero lets the young man pass, and turns to follow him toward the galley. Candid Remark: It is well known that the proper mixing of vital lubricants is only achieved on the battlefield -- blood leaking from multiple blaster wounds into a collective pool.

As the droid strides down the corridor, his head pivots to call back to Rhea. Amused Retort: Insanity leading to developments?! Oh, how you organics romanticize your failings. If my conversational subroutines provided a means to chortle, I would.

Rhea's evaluation of the flight controls reassures her that Spice Rush is operating properly, at least in terms of flight and maneuver. Whatever has persuaded the droid of performance issues with the ship must be limited to the computer systems.

Back in the galley, Hayden finds Le busying himself in preparing an aromatic dish -- pungent spices, noodles, and protein. The Zabrak pauses in his efforts upon noticing the frank regard directed his way, but he makes no comment. Something about the way their de facto navigator moves niggles at Hayden's thoughts, but no flash of understanding comes to mind.

The starboard-side refresher door indicates the unit is engaged. The refresher to port is unoccupied. As the galley fills with the members of the slapdash crew, Zev eventually emerges and goes about heating another prepackaged meal. His demeanor is reserved, pensive.

Some Sense Motive checks might not go amiss here. Once we've had a little more interaction/conversation, I'll probably use Zev to push us a bit more toward clarifying our "party goals". There are a great many elements in play right now, so be assured that the galaxy and its members 'march on' during our little interlude . . . .

Meanwhile, back on Nar Shaddaa . . . .

Having ducked beneath a table during the "firefight", and having kept his ears open as Caandra's minions dealt with the cleanup, Ayyep Xatt gazes into the hazy sky out the Red Comet Chaser's transparisteel window in the direction of Spice Rush's last vector. With a glance at the Quarren who shared that shielding table with him, Xatt asks: So. This new game, "sabacc". What do they call it when you get more than you're aiming for again?

The Quarren, glad to have had a fellow gambler with whom to while away the furor, responds: 'Bombing Out'. More than twenty-three, you 'bombed out'. They should have the table installed later today -- I'll show you.

The citrine-skinned Twi'lek muses to himself, Bombed out, indeed. . . . . Pazaak, while we wait? Good luck, Vadi. You'll need it.

----------
End Chapter One

As the ship continued on its way through Hyperspace, Rhea continued to check its systems - beginning with trying to construct an actual layout of the vessel in her mind. That was more important than most people realized - everything from maintenance routes to bypass damage to where you could safely store a few things could be important, and she liked to be prepared.

...

Besides, she was curious about that sealed residency area.

"Life of luxury? I can work with that."

As the initial space nausea and the adrenaline from the escape recede, Vadi takes a moment to consider her situation. Sure, she has nothing save what she's wearing, but there's a job for her on the ship, and the captain looks like he knows what he's doing. Things could be worse.
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21

Chapter Two: The Spaces Between the Stars

Rhea spends several minutes touring Spice Rush more thoroughly, noting the general layout of the ship, and getting a rough idea of its inventory. Since her appetite is still well-sated from her complimentary meal back at the Red Comet Chaser, her absence in the galley is noticed, but no one seeks her out.

Rhea's disciplined approach to the reconnoiter (effectively a Take 20 Perception, "generalized") proves quite rewarding. Though untrained in the particulars of starship construction, she is able to discern that the retrofitted C-III hyperdrive is in the port engine compartment, and the backup is located starboard. In all six of the cargo bays (which can be accessed for loading/unloading via "batwing" hatches that run the full length of each bay on the outer edge of the hull), she finds an assortment of containers, all scattered about with no real order. Plastiform crates, plasteel cylinders, even a handful of repair kits, and a motley array of unidentified components are dispersed through the holds. In the starboard fore hold she finds one item of particular note: a mid-grade rollaway medstation -- a true boon for the crew, should ill befall anyone. The starboard beam hold is even more exciting -- apart from a scattering of the random containers, a four-seater airspeeder and a speeder bike rest in the bay! Though neither is new, nor in pristine condition, both seem completely serviceable. The port beam hold contains a workbench for mechanical work, but it doesn't appear to be powered up, and it looks as though it is designed to be installed somewhere, rather than resting free on the deck. The five regular dormitories along the ship's centerline are . . . minimalist in the comforts offered, but are clean, uniformly appointed, and ready to receive residents. Finally, she takes note of the location of specific access hatches and crawlspaces to the various onboard systems, just in case. While she wouldn't really know what to do in those spaces, she, at least, now knows where they are.

Need any more details, Rednal? Something in particular you're looking for?

As she finished looking around, Rhea put her hands on her hips and nodded firmly. All right - she was getting a much better sense for what kind of assets the ship had on-hand. She was also rather disappointed in whoever had been managing things before - a tidy cargo area was important to maximizing the amount you could transport, and she wandered back towards the main group once she'd finished her rounds. "I think we need to spend a bit of time organizing things and getting a log of what's actually in the cargo areas." she said as she came back. "Most of it looks quite usable." she began looking around the room, clearly trying to figure out who was the strongest physically.

Kreshell rubs his devilishly handsome chin, "Hmmm...Indeed we should." He then rolls up his sleeves and heads into the cargo area.

With a squelching thump, Zev's utensil drops into his bowl as he shoots a shocked expression at Zargro's back. Kreshell, I'm not trying to overstep, but the odds that the job actually is in the Lantillies system is close to zero. That's Republic space! Jebber said we had three weeks to finish the gig, and a Class Three can only do so much . . . . You do know this ship isn't hypercomm-equipped, right? You won't get the foaming-at-the-mouth, "You're all dead!" message till we drop out of hyperspace and update our nav data. He snatches up his fork and stabs another bite of food. . . . and I've got to make sure this job gets done. . . . . So I need to know where we need to go -- unless you've got a quarter-mil worth of credits you're just giving away. Zev begins chewing the mouthful so hard that his teeth can be heard grinding together.

Le Za-Deen fumbles his own fork into his nearly-empty dish at the mention of a quarter-million's worth of credits. He peers wide-eyed at Zev, and then at Kreshell. You could buy two ships fresh from the shipyard for that much! That's . . . that's . . . . Fierfek. The Zabrak's expression takes on a savage cast as he waits for the tension to be broken. The talk of credits in such numbers has seized his interest, in the most mercenary of fashions.

Kreshell's smiling face emerges back into the doorway followed soon by his body, ending with Kreshell leaning cross-armed in said doorway. "Well Zev, it sounds like you have information that would be useful to know. Care sharing?"

Zev stops chewing altogether, and he blinks a few times . . . slowly. With a strained gulp he downs the mouthful, and then exclaims, Share??! I just did!! A sheen of sweat begins to form across his forehead as he continues: This is what I know: one -- I don't know what the job is; two -- Jebber gave you the datacard with that information on it back at the tapcaf; and three -- I need two hundred and fifty thousand credits to get clear of Caandra. Other than that, I have no idea what you're asking about, Kresh. Zev props his elbows on the table, left arm resting atop his right, and his jaw sets in a stubborn line as he waits . . . .