Star Wars: The Dark Times (Inactive)

Game Master The Lobster

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away....

For organic crew members

You have lost track of how long it has been. They don't dim the lights in your cell, and food comes intermittently, depriving you of any rhythm. Occasionally, they pull you aside for interrogation, but no matter how many times they go over your story with you, they remain convinced of your guilt and of your association with the Rebellion.

But today is different. Rather than your interrogator coming to visit as you've grown accustomed to, you are abruptly ushered out of your cell by a stack of six storm troopers, each silent and ill humored. Hands tied behind your back, they bring you before a rare oddity, an alien Imperial officer; a near-human, blue all over save for his shock of black hair and his glowing red left eye. He wears an eye patch over the other, and his right hand and leg have both been replaced with cheap metal prostheses.

Seated at a cold metal desk, he calmly invites you to sit opposite him, perusing over a datapad while drinking a steamy cup of caf.

"Imperial Intelligence, at your service," says the alien with a slight incline of his head. "Would you like something to drink, something to eat?"

After your interviews, you are not led back to your own cell, but a new one, a wide room with five bunks on the walls and a ray shield instead of a blast door.

Feel free to briefly mingle and introduce yourself in character

Later...

This roguish human prisoner seems bored with his surroundings. He rubs the wall idly and seems disappointed that there isn't any dust.

"So, how many on death row? I wonder if this is where they expect us to murder each other," he says.

Surprise quickly washes over Dara Foss as she is brought into the new, larger cell. It is the new people within that especially overwhelm her. Her eyes want to linger upon the bulging-eyed fish man in particular, but they are drawn to one face in particular.

"Dad!" she shouts and runs to Rod. She throws her arms around him and hugs him tight, crying, ""I'm sorry, Dad. I let them get your rifle. I know you said..."

Dara suddenly realizes that something isn't right. She violently pushes Rod away as though he had committed some terrible trespass.

"You're not Dad!" she shouts accusingly at Rod, although the fear underlying her anger is all too apparent. "Why do you have his face! What are you?!"

The pale-skinned girl with the cleft lip and greasy hair stands in a trembling defensive posture, as though she now finds herself in a den full of predators.

This stoic, middle aged human man (who some may or may not recognise as an older clone trooper) casts an appraising eye over both the cell and its occupants, mumbling to himself as he does.

"So, how many on death row? I wonder if this is where they expect us to murder each other,"

"No, this isn't death row. I don't know what's going on but-" Rod is cut off as he finds some strange woman clinging to him and calling him dad. The clone goes totally stiff in the embrace, awkwardly looking around at the other cellmates for help before addressing...whoever this was. "Uh... Listen, I don't know who you ar-" Rod is cut off again as the woman recoils.

"Why do you have his face! What are you?!"

Understanding dawns on Rod's face. "Ah. Your father was a clone?" The understanding turns right back into confusion. "Did he not tell you what he was?"

After

Janara hovers near the door for a moment, familiarizing herself with the new faces and surroundings. ”Hello, I'm Flan,” she tries, giving a little wave and smiling nervously at each of the other prisoners as if she's hosting a spectacularly uncomfortable party.

She walks self-consciously to one of the bunks and takes a seat, smoothing the thin sheet beneath her.

Zel finds himself rather roughly pushed into the new cell. He straightens his clothes before looking around at his fellow inmates. "Death row? Nope, I'll be out of here in no time." He nods with certainty at this declaration. He moves over to one side of the cell as Rod is accosted by a greasy-looking young woman.

"Hey there, I'm Zel. Nice to meet ya," he says to Flan. For a moment he considers turning on the charm, but a more burning question must take precedence. He looks over at Rod. "Hey, how'd you get a clone of yourself made? Might be a good future investment for me. Oh, and how'd your clone end up being her dad?"

"Oh, make no mistake, we're alive because we either have something they want, or the bureaucracy is moving too slowly to execute us yet," says the handsome human wryly. He gives a languid stretch, then continues, "This is pretty standard procedure. They're hoping we'll talk to each other and forget that they're listening in. One of us might even be an Imperial plant, here to elicit sympathy and get us to tell our secrets."

"Sorry, folks. Nothing good about Imperial prisons, except that the ones in spaceships at least tend to have heating and running water."

There is indeed heat coming from slats in the floor, as well as running water in the form of a sink and an open air refresher.

Dara's posture hardly eases as she backs away from her father's duplicate, the man speaking of death sentences, and the other strangers. Her back met the wall and she slides down, sitting upon the floor with her knees pulled in.

"I guess he told me, but...but I didn't know what it really meant," she explains meekly with her eyes buried.

She does not remain mired in angst for long, though, as her head quickly snaps up. She doesn't care who might be listening because she wants answers.

"Where are we? I don't understand any of this. What's the Empire?" she demands.

Zel turns his head again, staring at the young girl. What's the Empire? That was a new one. "That's a pretty good one. I'm gonna have to remember that for next time I get stopped by an Imperial inspection. Against Imperial law? What's the Empire, sir?"

Zel laughs. A beat passes.

"Wait, really? Uhh... " The Mon Calamari rubs the side of his head. It had never occurred to him that he might need to explain this to someone. "The Empire is the Empire. The main galactic government. You know, there was the Republic, now it's the Empire. You been living at the bottom of an ocean somewhere? "

For simplicity's sake - I'd say that OOM-93b was captured while preventing its master's escape on Felucia. That's close, and it has a CIS history, as well as all that other stuff.

OOM's photoreceptors flash as the battle droid unfolds. Standing up, it glances at his interrogator, the one controlling the droid caller. His new master. "I don't know, sir.", it answers, opening its arms to the side to indicate confusion. So my master is still alive, and away from the Empire. That's good. Let's see what other data can be acquired from my interrogators. "I think he'd have left Felucia when you captured me. If I know him, he'll be going toward those Hutt-controlled systems, away from the Empire. If you've captured his ship, he'd be completely without resources." Raising a hand slowly, it tries not to think about the restraining bolt, pinned to its gleaming silvery armour. If I'm lucky, they'll spent time and resources looking amongst the Hutts. And there's no way he's going there.

That's one for unique meaning useful. Take that, Cybot Systems!"Roger, roger.", the droid replies as its new purpose is revealed. "Uhhh... Sir?", it scratches its head in confusion, a quirk all too familiar to anyone who'd served in the Clone Wars. "What does a personal assistant to an interrogator do? I'm not an interrogator droid. Do I just blast things you want me to blast?"

"Where are we? I don't understand any of this. What's the Empire?" she demands.

"The Empire replaced the Galactic Republic at the end of the Clone Wars fourteen standard years ago," Flan chimes in helpfully from her bunk. She sounds bizzarely chipper, though her voice bears a slight tremor of anxiety. "We're on an Imperial prison ship because we're threats to the Empire."

"The Separatists won? The Republic fell?" she asks as a haunted look paints itself upon her face.

"But the troopers! They weren't droids. They looked like soldiers from the Grand Army, just like my father! Oh, this doesn't make any sense," she moans, hands upon the sides of her head. "I wish they'd just let me see my parents so we could go home to the station."

The lackadaisical man leans against the wall and folds his arms. "It's a bit more complex than that, but in simple terms the Old Republic is effectively out of the picture. The Chancellor was given direct authority and is now the Emperor, and has instituted sweeping changes. The Empire has been busy sweeping up dissidents, exerting tighter control over many star systems, and playing games of nepotism."

He glances over at Janara and says, "What are you in for? Not tasty dessert puddings, I presume."

Rod picks an empty bunk and ungracefully flops down into it, chiming in with more info to Dara as he does. "The Seps were beaten and those troopers out there are clones if you were wondering."

Hard to see how she could be any threat to the Empire. How could someone threaten something they weren't even aware of? Well, there was certainly one way Rod could think of. And Rod had his suspicions about the intelligence officer too. Could be nothing, but it couldn't hurt to check. Rod closed his eyes as he lay in his bunk, seemingly trying to relax, but really trying to focus on the Force.

Okay, so I'd like to have Rod use the Sense Force application of the Use the Force skill to try to actively sense other Force-users within 100km.

Spanning the length of the ship, Rod senses the auras of two people in tune with the Force, one of which is in the room: the handsome rogue with the tattoos.

Rod wouldn't know this, but other than specific high ranking officers, clones of Jango Fett have been entirely phased out, and tho some Kaminoan clones of other sources are still in the ranks, at this time most of the Empire's massive military force are enlisted

Flan smooths the rough Imperial prison jumpsuit over her knees, a hint of self-importance evident on her face. "I suppose at one time I was well-connected to high ranking members of the self professed Rebellion, and the Empire now believes me to be some sort of rebel leader on Corellia."

"And you?" She asks, side-eyeing Ral.

"Me? I'm a rich and shiftless playboy. While the Empire is busy seizing assets and nationalizing various industries they decided that my homeworld of Onderon needed to toe the line. Hence my ship is in impound and I've been accused, not very credibly, of having a variety of criminal and seditious activities, of a potentially rebellious nature," says the fellow. "Mostly they want to use me to get to my family so that they can seize our assets. Joke's on them - I'm estranged from my father, so they're not going to get much of anything." He adjusts the collar of his prison jumpsuit and somehow manages to make it look like a casual and easy fashion statement rather than a ridiculous gesture by someone who's wearing the same gray synthetic jumpsuit as everyone else (excepting the droid, of course).

Dara's face brightens at the news that the Separatists were defeated. Her father had told her many stories of fighting the droid armies, never suspecting that he fabricated all of them. She pushes herself up from the floor, trying to burn off her nervous energy.

"My father was the head of security on a space station in the Drongar system," she explains. Dara doesn't mean to lie to her new acquaintances, but she literally does not know any better. While he was part of the security detail, Hindsight had been as green as a trooper could be. "And my mother was a Republic xenobotanist studying the bota plant that grew on Drongar. They got left behind during an evacuation when the Separatists tried to take the system. The station was damaged, and they were stranded. I was born not long after."

She finishes the tale with a smile, like any child sharing a favorite family story.

"My mom and dad would both tell me stories about how they'd show me the galaxy once we were rescued and the war was over. None of their stories were anything like this."

"Your first chance to actually get out and see the galaxy, and you want to go back to the station. Can't say I really get it," Zel comments. He goes to the nearest empty bunk and stretches out on it, hands behind his head, one leg crossed over the other. It doesn't seem like they're going anywhere quickly, and he doesn't feel like standing all day. I really wish they'd do something about the air in here. So itchy.

One eye turns to look at Ral. "I gotta say, I'm not sure I've ever heard someone so plainly describe themselves as shiftless before. It's a pretty bold strategy. How do you find that works out for you?"

The former playboy simply gestures about the cell in a lazy circular motion with one finger and then goes back to leaning against the wall with his arms folded.

On the bridge, far from your contained cell

The Grand Moff Raelin Baldwin stands on the command deck, supervising the bridge crew. Though not his flagship, the Deception holds special meaning for him, the ship from which he launched his career. Many of the bridge crew were personally selected by him, people loyal to him first and the Empire second.

A tall, slight man with dark skin and close cropped black hair, the Grand Moff was vicious and paranoid, both in his governorship of the Outer Rim and in his day-to-day life. A blue skinned cyborg strides toward him.

"Mith!" exclaims the Grand Moff, clapping him on the back. "How are your new prisoners?"

"Frankly, I don’t know why you are so keen on them, sir. Going over their dossiers and the interrogation reports from the time they arrived, I found very little remarkable about any of them. Still, I pursued the subjects you requested of me." Mith hands over a stack of datapads regarding the six individuals he was told to process.

"Good man. This should keep that jango jumper off my back," grumbles the military man, going over the reports.

A lone cruiser bursts in from hyperspace, meandering toward the Deception.

"Identify cruiser and transmit flight codes," dryly instructs a comm officer.

No response.

"Cruiser," repeats the officer, "identify and transmit flight codes."

"Can't we just shoot it and be done with it?" murmurs a radar technician to the comm officer’s left.

"Cruiser. This is your last warning. Identify and transmit flight codes or we will open fire."

The comm crackles. "This is Cruiser Ligma," calls a confident female voice. "Transmitting flight codes now."

Thirty more ships of various size and class thunder into realspace, one after the other, Correllian Corvettes, X-wings, and Y-wings, geared for battle, escorting a modified GR-75 transport, likely delivering supplies to the starving planet.

"All hands, battle stations," calls the Grand Moff.

"Star Destroyer Deception," calls a voice over the comm. This is Senator Garm Bel Iblis. We only wish to deliver our cargo and leave. The people of Mon Cala are starving under this unlawful embargo, an embargo, may I remind you, that the Imperial Senate has voted twice now to dismantle. Allow us safe passage and we will leave peacefully.

Grand Moff Raelin keys the comm switch. "Greetings, Senator," he replies. "I'd love to oblige you, but the Empire does not negotiate with terrorists," The man turns back to the bridge crew, barking orders. "Deploy TIEs. Turbolasers fire on my mark. Comms! Get me the Rapacity. I want to see this fleet crushed."

As the enemy fleet opens its initial volley, an escape pod rockets unnoticed out of the now forgotten cruiser and toward the watery planet far below.

Back in your cells

Alarms sound. Flight Officers in their black armor run past your cell, and the room shakes beneath you as turbolaser blasts rocket across the Star Destroyer’s shield, bumping some of you out of your bunks and onto the floor.

"All personnel, report to battle stations," comes a call over the intercom.

Two minutes into the battle, the lights in your section of the ship blink out with a massive thud. The only light is the dull red glow of the ray shield.

The Battle

The Deception’s full complement of TIEs pour out of the Star Destroyer’s main docking bay, roaring to intercept the enemy, turbolaser batteries on the ISD’s sides pulsing as they fire again and again.

The forgotten cruiser Ligma continues its course, drifting closer and closer toward the hull of the ISD.

A scant five minutes into the engagement, the Rebel threat is largely outgunned, the abandoned ship suddenly makes contact with the Star Destroyer’s main shield generator, crashing through it in a matter of moments.

And suddenly, the Rebels are winning.

Your cells

The rattling and booming of battle is louder and stronger, but less frequent. The air quality is noticeably different. Fresher, wetter.

You hear footsteps in the hallway for the first time since the battle began. Two pairs of heavy metal steps stop on the opposite side of the ray shield. The silhouettes are immediately identifiable even in the near darkness: your interrogator and a B1 Battle droid.

"Apologies for the abrupt intrusion," begins the Intelligence Agent. "I thought we’d have more time to get to know each other before we did this, but I feel this will be our best opportunity." He slides a keycard through a panel at the side of the ray shield, causing it to flicker out into nothingness.

"I wish to defect to your Rebellion."

"We're under attack?" Dara asks breathlessly when the alert comes over the intercom. She actually seems more excited than frightened, feeling like her father's stories are coming to life.

When the lights go out, she scans the bare walls left aglow by the red barrier. Out of habit, she tries to gauge how the systems have been damaged, although she quickly remembers that - unlike on the station - she has no way to rush off to repair them here. As the unseen battle rages, her stomach roils as she guesses at the increasing damage sustained by the massive ship. Back on the station, losing even one of the aging systems could have been disastrous, especially given the chaotic cross-wiring she and her family had orchestrated over the years to keep the place habitable.

The sudden appearance of the interrogator and his clanker attendant do nothing to calm Dara, her head already aching from the onslaught of stimuli, but she manages to keep herself in check.

"What Rebellion?" she asks, looking among her cellmates. "Is this something else I should know about?"

After the blasts to the ISD toss her from the bunk, Flan takes to pacing anxiously in the contained room, catching herself on walls or beds or people, whichever is closest, when movement from the battle throws her off balance. She talks to no one in particular, speculating wildly. "Do they know we're here? Is this a rescue?"

When the agent appears and deactivates the ray shield, she makes a dash for the door, but stops just as suddenly. She stares blankly at the alien and the droid from just inside the arched metal opening, and in her bewilderment, only manages to come up with a single word. "Why?"

Zel is startled as alarms sound and a large boom knocks him from his bunk. "Sure sounds like an attack," he responds as he gets to his feet.

As the lights cut out and the sounds of battle continue, he tries to get a sense of its progress and of the damage being done to the Deception. At the same time, his mind begins racing as he plays out potential escape scenarios in his head. Get out of the cell, get to his ship, and leave; that was the basic plan. Details could be worked out later. Regardless, Zel is sure some opportunity will present itself.

Sure enough, that opportunity soon presents itself in the form of the intelligence officer and a droid. Zel steps forward, briefly placing a hand on Janara's shoulder, as if to placate her. "Now now, let's not get too suspicious," he says. His eyes focus on the alien officer. This was his chance. "Right, uh, the Rebellion. Ahem. I'm sure something can be arranged." He puts on his best affectation of how he thinks a sophisticated Mon Calamari Rebel agent might act and speak. "If you and your droid can get me out of here and to my ship, I might have a contact you could speak to. You know, about defection." He blinks, and one of his eyes swivels to the side. He remembers there are others. "Us. Get us out of here."

The alien's glowing red eye passes over Dara without a thought.

"My reasons are my own," he says in reply to Flan's question. "If we reach safety, perhaps I will have time to share it with you. For now I will say I no longer feel safe in this Empire, nor in the stewardship of the Grand Moff."

He shakes his head when discussing Zel's light frigate. "I thought of that on the way down here, but a quick search told me a 'Captain Sarah Grace Hawkins' claimed it as her own two weeks ago, and had it transferred to her ship, the Rapacity. Apparently, she liked it."

He paces back and forth, nervous. "In any case, it would be more risk than I am willing to take; impound is clear across the ship and I don't know how much longer we can realistically expect the Deception to last. The battle still rages and though the Rebel threat is thinning, the Deception has lost her primary shield generator and one of her radomes, leaving us half-blind and vulnerable. It's do or die time."

OOM-93b glances at the stormtroopers and Imperial commanders on the deck, doing its best to remain immobile. Worst case scenario, I gain information about the Empire before they dismantle me. Best case - I reach the trust of the Interrogator. Its photoreceptors glancing over the Moff, it remains immobile as the battle unfolds. Wrong tactics. Learning what we did during the Clone Wars, immediate fire until destruction is preferred against terrorists and Jedi. It pauses, regaling its new master. But there's no reason to speak if you're not spoken to.

As the battle unfolds, the cheap shot from the Rebellion brings emotions of respect into the droid's circuits, despite its overriding programming. Guerilla Warfare in its excellence. The Republic-Empire still hasn't learned..., it thinks to itself, as the battle turns.

At the loading cells.

"I wish to defect to your rebellion."

The B1 battle droid's seemingly gone over some significant personal modifications. The usual tan plasteel casing is replaced by a shining gray Durasteel carapace, and the twin buns next to its head have been dyed in cyan and purple, colours not affiliated with the battle-droid command structure in any way. It regales the interrogator with a curious gaze, then blurts out in confusion.

"Wait, what?" The B1's monotonous vocabulator mutters out in surprise, before glancing over the captives, then back to its new master. "We're Rebels now?", it asks in a honest tone. A Mon Calamari and three humans, two of which seemingly of good stock, despite the prison jumpsuits. And a clone trooper, a vatjob. "But sir, this is a clone!", it raises a three-fingered hand towards the clone. "They're loyal to the Empire, sir! They got loyalty programmed in their brain processors!"

Despite the lack of armaments, the droid stands in a wary, battle-ready motion, defending its new master. If they're confused, all the better for me., a thought crosses its processor.

OOM, what are you rolling Deception for? Also as per Ral's and Flan's posts, I believe everyone's wearing prison jumpsuits

"Let's not wait and argue about it here," says the noble. In the intervening hours he's taken to sitting with his back to the wall; now he stands quickly. "What's our quickest way off this boat, and how can we do it without getting shot on the way?"

The alien defector hushes his droid. "Please excuse my assistant. They are old and very willful. But I will humor you, droid." Turning to Rod, he continues. "Do you bear any lasting loyalty to the Empire, Seetee Three-twenty-seven-six?"

I will reply to Ral later tonight.

The Mon Calamari groans at this news. Loudly. "Some officer just went and took my ship?! How can someone just go and take something like that?" Zel shakes his head vigorously. This job was getting worse and worse with each passing moment. "Oh man, Praka is not going to be happy about this." He wanders off to the back of the cell, trying to gather his thoughts. He listens quietly as the others speak.

Rod's concerns about Ral and the other Force-user on the ship quickly fell from his mind as the Deception came under attack. Through the shaking, the lights going out and the booming of turbolasers, Rod remains totally calm and stoic. Until the clanker shows up.

The clone's hands go to fists, his stance widens, and his eyes narrow, as if preparing to pounce on the droid. Rod holds his gaze directly on OOM-93b, and he only barely hears the Imperial's words. Then the machine accuses him.

"You don't get to talk about loyalty, clanker. You don't know what the word means." Rod's voice remains level, but every word is dripping with hate. "I am not "programmed". I am not like you." Rod points an accusing finger at the droid. "You're a tin can whose loyalty lies with whoever holds your digital leash."

"Do you bear any lasting loyalty to the Empire, Seetee Three-twenty-seven-six?"

Some of the anger drains from Rods voice. Some. "I do. I am loyal to my duties, sir. I swore oaths to forever serve the Republic and its people and these oaths transferred to the Empire with the declaration of the New Order. These oaths have no expiration date and I have no intention of violating them."

Rod fixes his stare back on OOM. "Unlike the clanker here, however, I am capable of thinking for myself. Section 49-C of the Clone Command Code dictates that should a commander be proven to be unfit for service, he is to be relieved of his duties. Section 98-A dictates that in the case of a compromised command structure, a Clone is empowered to act at his own initiative and discretion. Suffice it to say, I believe the Empire to be compromised by corruption and unfit to command the galaxy."

Rod takes a breath to recover from his emotional outburst. "We don't have time for this. We need to get off this ship ASAP."

Rod takes a breath to recover from his emotional outburst. "We don't have time for this. We need to get off this ship ASAP."

"I agree. We need to get going before we start losing life support," Dara interjects, pushing her way to the front of the tense discussion. She eyes the clanker warily, Rod's objections rekindling her own father's warnings about battle droids. However, having never seen one in person, the abstract fear does not necessarily translate into a concrete one.

"Where are my parents? If we can free them as we escape, I'll help you with...whatever it is you're after," Dara tells the officer, her eyes lingering on his cybernetics to avoid staring at his oddly colored eyes and skin.

The alien tosses Rod his lightsaber as a gesture of trust and good faith.

He opens his mouth to respond to Ral but Dara interjects. "Actually, no," he says, distracted. "Losing life support is, er, unlikely. When the primary power generator fails, the secondary is more than capable of picking up slack, as long as it drops a few noncritical systems." He clicks a glowrod and shines it down the corridor, forward, then back. "Such as the lights in minimum security detention. Now really, let's-"

Dara asks her next question and he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't know and we don't have time, Dara. If we find a working terminal, we can access it and try to find out where they are, but in the meantime, escape has to be our first priority."

The one eyed, one legged, one handed man backs further into the hallway, beckoning the group to follow him. "We'll need weapons. Minimum security has a guard armory just up ahead. From there we can mock up a more in detail plan. Come on, follow me."

In the Armory

"There's a chance," says the defector-to-be, struggling with an ammo belt, "that circumstances will get so dire the Grand Moff will call for an immediate evacuation of all noncombat personnel. Being who he is, he typically keeps the escape pods locked, but such an order would unlock them. I don't fancy waiting around on a hope, however, and he's enough of a lunatic he might just expect everyone to go down with the ship. Is anyone any good with computers?" he asks lamely, speaking before thinking.

Despite his earlier competent calm, the stress of the situation is clearly getting to the man.

Is everyone's inventory updated with what they would have purchased if they had had access to their starting gold? Everyone gets to pick one nonspecific weapon from their inventory to find a Storm Trooper issued version of in the armory (except Rod, cause lightsaber), I'll be perusing your equipment lists for what else you may find...

The droid glances back at the Clone trooper, and if its metallic face could show emotion, it'd undoubtedly be disdain. The lightsaber being tossed to the clone has the droid jump back a step. A clone with a lightsaber? Nodding as the Clone admits, then renounces its loyalty to the Empire, it nods. "I agree with the Clone about the lack of time.", rushing forward alongside the others towards the armory.

"I am not like you."

"You're correct, CT-3276.", it replies to Rod as it marches next to its master. "My unit was mass-produced in secret by a political force aiming to rule the galaxy, given numbers instead of names, then thrown away like garbage when no longer needed." Its voice is as monotone as ever. "Whereas you are a clone."

At the armory
Giving a hand to Mith with his ammo belt with trained efficiency, the battle droid glances over the array of blasters along the wall, picking up a E-11 blaster rifle. Checking its power cell, and snatching two others, it powers the weapon up. "Not me, sir.", it replies. "I could, however, attempt to bypass the computerised lock and release the escape pods."

Inventory is updated, and I've added the blaster carbine, as well as the Crippled Background.

Flan hops through the doorway inelegantly, looking up at the ceiling as if she expects the shield to suddenly come back on. She harries their liberator with questions as they hurry towards the armory, though from the rate of fire it's unclear how she expects an answer to any of them. "Shouldn't we have a map or something? Where are we anyway? Where are we supposed to escape to? Who's attacking the ship? Is it the Rebels? Do they know I'm here? This is minimum security?"

In the armory...

Flan picks up a blaster pistol, holding it somewhat awkwardly, and fiddles with it in a very worrying manner. When asked about computers, she looks around self-consciously, and then puts her hand up.

Dara holds her innumerable questions, but only because as she follows the escaping party, she focuses on scanning every wall for a computer terminal she can use to find her parents.

Once the group reaches the guard armory, she looks to find a rifle as similar to the DC-15 models her father trained her with. Finding none of those older, Republic-issue longarms, Dara instead picks up a SoroSuub clone of the E-11 rifle. She hefts the weapon, getting used to the alien texture and contours of the more modern model.

While grabbing a power pack and awkwardly slapping it into place, she scans the minimum security wing, looking for something resembling a console.

Upon reaching the armory, Zel bypasses the rifles and looks for an appropriate blaster pistol. "I'm pretty good with computers. Done some slicing in my time," he says as he continues to search. He notices Janara has her hand raised. "If she wants to give it a shot, that's fine. Or the droid." He finds a blaster pistol that's slightly heftier than some of the others. Satisfied with his choice, he swipes a couple power packs and turns to the alien defector. "So we get to the escape pods and try to override the lock. Is that something that could be done from there?"

Inventory is complete, including a heavy blaster pistol. I've also added the Criminal background. He hasn't been in prison much, but it's the best fit, so yeah.

The nobleman throws on a spare tunic and wraps a utility belt around his waist, then tucks a knife onto it. He picks up a slim officer's pistol, fits a concealed holster under the tunic, and then pockets the pistol.

"Are we going to need any special security cards or documents that we can grab here?" he asks.

Rod pockets the lightsaber and gives the Imperial a nod and genuine "Thank you."

"My unit was mass-produced in secret by a political force aiming to rule the galaxy, given numbers instead of names, then thrown away like garbage when no longer needed." Its voice is as monotone as ever. "Whereas you are a clone."

"My name is Rod. We all have names. Don't even start with this garbage."

In the armory, Rod hefts the lightsaber for a moment, considering. Should I? he asks mentally. The answer comes in a voice none but Rod can hear. "Not yet...Wouldn't want you to lose a limb. I'll have time to teach you later." Rod unconsciously mutters his answer aloud. "Understood, master."

...

Everyone gets to pick one nonspecific weapon from their inventory to find a Storm Trooper issued version of in the armory (except Rod, cause lightsaber)...

Well, Rod isn't proficient in lightsabers and won't be till he takes that first level of Jedi. Also, while Rod has the saber in story, he doesn't have the "have lightsaber" feature, also from the first level of Jedi. Pretty please could Rod find a blaster?

"Roger, roger.", the OOM unit replies to Rod, feeling the weight of the blaster in its hands. Nodding at the clone with an uncharacteristic for its model tilt of the head. "Tabling semantics discussion until safety's reached."

"Uh... Sir?", the droid glances at the seemingly stressed interrogator, hand scratching its metallic head. "Would a targeted deception at the bridge aid in the Grand Moff announcing that evacuation? If we're to suggest that there's Rebel saboteurs attacking the ship from within, or damage is worse than their systems indicate at the bridge?" It grips the carbine once again. "No reason why we should wait on the miracle when we can ask them for one."

Yes, Rod, you may find the blaster if the lightsaber is just a flavor thing atm

In addition to the weapons cache, the group finds two medpacs, a small stash of credits in a locker (1200 cr), and a single suit of Storm Trooper armor with carbon scoring across the helmet and two holes through the chestpiece.

The alien does not answer Flan's rapidfire questions, mistaking her quizzical mumbling for rhetorical grumbling.

"The Empire recently switched to code cylinders for identification," he says in response to Ral, pulling his out of a specially tailored front pocket and tossing it to the scoundrel for examination. "Mine seems limited in what it can do aboard the ship, but it allows me access to some locked doors. Baldwin's ships run on nonstandard code permissions, it would seem."

The battle droid's suggestion draws a queer look from its master. "And in this lie, we're the Rebel boarding party?" he asks his droid. "It could work but we might also get shot at a lot more than I'd care to. It's worth considering."

Dara finds several terminals, but two seem to have been fried during the generator overload, and the other has been disconnected from power with the rest of the minimum security floor. Can attempt a DC 14 Mechanics check to use a Power Pack to briefly provide enough power for two commands (e.g., find out about one parent, try to bypass computerized locks on escape pods, download area map, try to misinform bridge about attacks from within, whatever else sounds feasible, each has a Use Computer check of unknown DC)

Dara grabs a shin guard from the stormtrooper armor and uses it to pry open a panel from the depowered console. After tossing the bit of armor back to the rest of the suit, she pulls a handful of wires out from the opened compartment.

Mechanics: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (16) + 7 = 23

Sorting through the disemboweled wires, she selects the ones that feed power into the terminal. She bites down upon the currently inert wires and uses her teeth, especially her ugly but useful crooked right incisor, to strip the wire. She next borrows the gauntlets from the stormtrooper armor to insulate herself as she wraps the exposed wires to the nodes on the power pack she ejects from her rifle.

"I need to hold these wires in place to keep the current uninterrupted. Someone else will need to get the console to play nice," she calls, her head still within the recesses of the gutted panel. In truth, she dare not operate the computer herself, lest she squander the group's chance at escape by searching for her parents.

"You mentioned slicing?" says the nobleman to the Mon Calamari with an arched eyebrow. "Sounds like now's the time."

Rod goes to gear up, grabbing, loading and sighting a compact blaster rifle with practiced efficiency. He also picks up one of the Medpacs and asks the group "Anyone else know their way around a Medpac?" before checking out the Stormtrooper armor. While Dara makes use the armor's gauntlets, Rod examines the damage to the chest and helmet. "If it helps, I might be able to pose as a stormtrooper with this, as long as they don't look too hard. Would help if we get into a firefight, too." With that, Rod puts the armor on, sans gauntlets.

Zel shrugs and walks over to the terminal. He taps the controls a few times, ensuring it responds more or less how it should respond. He looks over at the others. "There's probably not enough power in that pack for more than a few commands. I might be able to do a few things from here. Maybe even bypass the locks on the escape pods. Guess I'll try that first. Any other requests?"

Assuming no one wants something else done first, he'll try to unlock the escape pods. Otherwise he'll stop and listen.

The smuggler's hands move quickly as he inputs his first command.

Use Computer: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (2) + 8 = 10

Unfortunately for Zel, he's never tried manipulating an Imperial Star Destroyer's systems, particularly not without any kind of proper slicing gear. It quickly becomes apparent to him he's not getting anywhere.

Lol. Guess I'll use Knack, assuming overriding the lock wasn't a DC 10 thing.

He stops for a moment. He raises a hand, then hesitates, then presses one more button. Maybe that'll do the trick.

Use Computer: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (15) + 8 = 23

The bodysock the armor attaches to is noticeably cheaper than the ones worn by the Grand Army of the Republic, and causes Rod to itch uncomfortably in his joints.

As Zel hits the confirmation button for a sixth time, the ship shakes, struck by another powerful blast. While his finger slips, his success is evident. The escape pod bays are now unlocked.

Everyone roll perception, Zel has time to input one more action if he wants

Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (7) + 6 = 13

Ral double-checks the sporting blaster and then says, "We ready to move? Should we be going for an escape pod or would a shuttle be better?"

Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (17) + 7 = 24

"Is it working?" Dara calls, her upper body still inside the opened panel. The confines focus her hearing, for she then asks, "What's that sound? Is someone running? I think someone's coming this way."