A quick view of the schematics reveals the private hangar bay to be just ahead, through a set of opened blast doors. Rod "takes a peek" through the corridor and reveals it to be undefended but bare of any cover. Mith reasons the hangar itself to be similarly devoid of places to hide, but much better defended.
Though the schematics don't detail the bay's contents, Zel notes that is large enough to accommodate up to five Lambda-class shuttles and stores two retractable racks in the ceiling for TIE fighter launch. The alien also notes that in addition to the straight path before them, the closed vent shaft above them has access to the TIE fighter racks.
He finds himself unable to work the com controls from his datapad, even when plugged into the wall.
"Corridor is clear. Too clear. No cover, nowhere to hide. Risky place for a firefight." Rod frowns. "Zel, can you get this open?" He asks, tapping on the security doors in the vent. "We should be able to get the drop on them from the TIE racks and there'll be cover up there. Can't underestimate the high ground advantage either."
Zel blinks and begins tapping at the datapad. "Sure thing, lemme see what I can do."
Dara's eyes follow Zel's broad arm as he points up the ventilation shaft and describes the "TIE Fighter racks" above. She has little idea what those are, but the invaluable advantage of cover and high ground is not lost on the dead trooper's daughter.
Without waiting for instruction or even suggesting the idea, Dara braces herself against the sides of the ventilation shaft and begins to shimmy upward. Once she reaches the top, she uses what odds and ends she has picked up during the escape to remove the vent cover above, even resorting to using her bare fingers to twist off the bolts if need be.
The combined efforts of Dara and Zel force the security door open, as with the next, and the next.
You pull yourselves up onto the lip of the next level, shut the doors below for some standing room, and repeat with the floor above you. This goes well initially, but on the third level, Flarb trips and falls as the security doors slam shut. He howls in pain, and the weight and pressure of the doors quickly bisects him. His legs hit the level below with a wet thud.
Zel's eyes bulge in shock even wider than they normally do. Cursing up a storm in his native Mon Calamari, he scrambles over to Flarb. "Blast it! Hey, hey!" He grabs Flarb by one arm, shaking him gently. He doesn't believe his own words as he says them. "Hey, look at me. You'll be all right, all right? Just hold on, you'll be fine." He looks back at the others, his look an unusual mixture of hope that someone can actually help fix this and resignation that nothing can be done.
Rod recoils in shock as Flarb is cleaved in two, a dozen of half-buried memories from the wars resurfacing in the face of the criminal's gruesome end. "No! Damn it!" The clone begins to scramble back to help but stops himself midway, knowing there was nothing that he could do. "We need to keep moving." He states through grit teeth, focusing on the objective in an attempt to distract himself. "And stay focused." Rod looks up the shaft at the rest of the levels and their security doors. "This could happen again if we aren't careful."
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Flan muffles a shriek as a man is cut in half before her, unable to look away from the grisly scene before her, and unconsciously reaches down to grip one of her own legs in sympathetic horror.
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"Oh. Wow.", the droid quickly blurts out as the former prisoner is cut practically in twain in front of it. "That. Is a lot of blood.", it quizzes, blaster at the ready, as it takes another step forwards. Cautious of the door, it lifts the corpse's pouches off his belt. "He doesn't need it. We'll read them both a eulogy or something later, but first, make sure there is a later!", it barks. Ouch. Poor organic., it sheds another glance towards Flarb's body. At least he got to try and escape? Maybe?
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Flarb clutches at Zel's shoulder, eyes wide. "M-mama," he splutters before falling limp in the amphibian's arms. Blood oozes across the floor and over Zelarean's leg.
As OOM-93b grabs Stephen and Flarb's synthweave bag, Mith catches Rod's glance upward and following involuntary shudder. "Don't worry, Three-twentyseven-six," he claps the clone's shoulder with his three fingered metal claw, "Just two more to go."
The crew continues their upwards climb, and the next level up, Flan slips as the door closes. But even in her blood-soaked shoes, she regains her footing and avoids a repeat of Flarb's grisly fate.
Wisely, you vote to not close the next security door. Pulling yourselves onto the lip, you notice a vent shaft leading off this level in the correct direction. You crawl down it, single file, and find the cover at the end of the shaft much less securely fastened than the one you pried off the wall back on the Bridge. The Grand Moff clearly never expected these vents to be a security threat, or at the very least, the order to secure them went ignored and uninspected.
Mith pulls himself out first, helping each of you down onto a black catwalk overlooking the hangar bay. Dead ahead, past the end of the catwalk, Mon Cala. Its waters glisten in the rising sun, and with only a ray shield separating you, it is hard not to feel like you are about to get sucked out into the upper atmosphere or even into the blackness of space.
There are stairs at your side, leading down, as well as computer terminals to control the stow/deploy function of the TIE racks. The racks themselves are presently lowered, two on either side, although they are empty. On the ground level, an AT-AT rests on its knees against the wall, and two Lambda class shuttles wait, wings up. A squad of uniformed crewmen diligently pack and prep a shuttle as the Grand Moff Raelin Baldwin impatiently paces by the entrance ramp, flanked by two strange Storm Troopers clad in black armor.
He is slight and dark skinned, sweaty and ragged from his flight through the ship; hardly the archetypal soldier. "The system sabotage came from Engineering?" he asks, biting the tip of his glove.
A nearby Storm Trooper nods and shows him the access report. "Why would Eight risk Engineering?" he murmurs. With a clap of his hands, he straightens his back and continues. "No matter! Soon, I shall be free of the man forever. It is a sacrifice, but one I am willing to take."
Rod carefully watches the Grand Moff and his attendants as they go about their business, paying extra attention to the black-clad stormtroopers. Even though there were two shuttles, Rod had no intention of leaving without engaging the Grand Moff. That meant a fight and a fight meant that he wanted to know what he was up against. "Mith. Do you recognise those troopers in black? I'm not familiar with any units with armor like that."
Thankfully, from her higher vantage point, Dara had been spared most of the gory sight of Flarb's fate. The sound of his death and his final words, though, managed to reach her. This is not even her first brush with death this day, but the visceral nature and the fact that it befell an unmasked acquaintance still causes it to woefully stand out.
The view of Mon Cala wipes the blood and suffering from her mind, even if only for a moment. On this second sighting, she still feels as though even a thousand glimpses could not dull its beauty, the likes of which she previously could not even dream of. The voices of the trooper and this Baldwin, echoing off the sterile walls of the hanger, breaks the serene spell upon Dara's mind.
She crouches down, her rifle at the ready. Her eyes dart between the men below, the shuttles, and the terminals. However, her attention is soon seized by the strange gray beast of a machine against the wall.
"What is that?" she whispers in curious awe, pointing at the walker.
OOM's steady gait is suddenly broken as it glances at Mon Cala. "Wow. That's a pretty planet.", it exclaims, raising its snout. Imagine what things are in the deeps. All sorts of creatures made by the chaos of organic evolution. Plus, it looks a loot better than Geonosis. And probably a lot less sandy. Realising it had stopped, it quickly carries on alongside its thoughts, rapid, clanking steps carrying it towards the others.
The sight of the Grand Moff doesn't seem to spark any reaction in the droid, though it spits out. "Wow. You'd think someone in that sort of a rush would help their troops pack. For efficiency, at least.", its monotone voice whispers.
"Something big, unfriendly and with bigger guns than we like pointed at us.", the droid replies, "Same with the black-armoured troops. I say we skulk and wait until the first shuttle leaves, then storm the second one."
Try as he might, Zel can't help but take a moment to look out past the end of the catwalk at Mon Cala below. "Yeah, it is," he replies softly to OOM's comment. It occurs to him that although this was his homeworld, he'd spent the better part of two decades away from it. More than half his life, in fact. One part of him always insisted he'd go back sooner or later; another insisted he should just stay away forever.
Regardless, this wasn't exactly the sort of homecoming he would have chosen.
The Mon Calamari shakes his head, pushing away those thoughts. There are more pressing concerns at the moment. "Think that's a plan worth trying?" Zel shifts a bit, hand tightening on his blaster. He looks over at Mith. "Mith seemed pretty adamant that we'd have to take out the Moff."
"Mith. Do you recognise those troopers in black? I'm not familiar with any units with armor like that."
Mith peers over the railing. "Damn. Death Troopers. Commandos trained by Imperial Intelligence to serve and protect key military officials. In a fair fight between them and us? I'd put money on them every time."
"What is that?" she whispers in curious awe, pointing at the walker.
"An All Terrain Assault Transport, AT-AT for short and 'walker' colloquially. I'll fill you in on the more technical aspects when we have time." He pauses and chuckles to himself.
"Sentimental bastard," the blue man scoffs. "The Moff used to be part of the Armored Division. Seeing as there's no ready way for this specific walker to deploy planetside, I bet he rides it around this hangar when he is bored or nostalgiac."
"Mith seemed pretty adamant that we'd have to take out the Moff."
Mith winces and shifts his weight over to his metal leg. "I have no issue with the droid's plan. But we agreed we'd try to stop Baldwin from sending the kill order. If we've changed our minds, then sure, we let the first shuttle go and leave before the hangar falls down over our heads. But if we engage him and don't take him out of the picture, he will hunt us across the galaxy. No credit for partial answers."
"He had a walker transferred up here for what, entertainment?" Rod asks, apoplectic. "How did this paranoid, self-absorbed, cowardly little di'kut ever make Grand Moff. Damn disgrace is what it is." With a sigh and a shake of his head, the old soldier's mind returns to the problem at hand as his eyes drift over the shuttles and walker. "If we can't win a fair fight, then we give them an unfair one." He motions towards the unattended AT-AT. "I doubt those Death Troopers are equipped with anything that could even dent a walker's armor. Waiting for them to leave and taking the second shuttle doesn't necessarily mean leaving the Moff alone either. Those Lambda-class shuttles are plenty armed." Rod jerks his head toward Zel. "I'd wager Zel here could outfly whoever the Moff puts at the helm."
"His order was to destroy the ship as soon as his launch is confirmed," Flan hisses, obviously eager to get out of here before that happens. She points down from the catwalk at the second shuttle. "We have his codes, right? If we get out of here first, his own people will start to fire on him. At least we'll have time to get away while they sort it out."
"A walker?" Dara whispers in wonder. The look in her eye and awe in her voice are akin to a child discovering the most unreal creature in a menagerie. Her father had told her about war machines called "walkers," but his descriptions had been...confusing. Having one standing before her now, its size and power brought clarity to the stories.
"Could we commandeer the walker?" she asks, growing antsier with each passing moment. "They have cannons, right?"
Dara pauses as she overhears Rod suggesting the same thing. An impish smile crosses her uneven lips.
"We could take out those Death Troopers and Baldwin so easily," she speaks, seeking validation for her idea, motivated by revenge though it may be.
"Hypothetically, but I gotta say, I don't know that I've ever tried commandeering an Imperial walker before," Zel replies, eyes scanning the hangar bay below. "I'm also not sure how we sneak onto one of the shuttles and leave with him standing right there."
He looks to Rod, then Mith. "You're the ones with the most relevant experience. Could something like that walker even be taken over? Would firing its cannons just blow up both shuttles?"
Mith spares a glance back at the walker. "Precision firing has been done in an AT-AT. And I have faith that one of you could kickstart it, get it up, get it moving. Personally, I'd be more worried about the length of that walk. Plenty of time for those bridge crewmen to notice whichever of you go, alert Baldwin or start a firefight."
"They can't spot what they can't see." Rod begins, remembering his first lessons in the ways of the Force. One's eyes could deceive them. We still have control over the ship's systems, correct? If we kill the lights, we could use the darkness to sneak over to the walker."
Zel frowns and again grabs for his datapad. "I can see if that's doable, but are we sure that's how we wanna play this?"
Mith gestures to the terminal at the end of the catwalk. "It could be done, but it wouldn't necessarily be any safer. The bridge crewmen would be blind to our approach, true, but the Death Troopers would see our heat signatures in the darkness. It would be a race against time." He shifts his weight again and hisses, grabbing his leg. "And you'd have to go without me. My leg is broken, I'd just slow you down."
He lowers his gaze and avoids meeting anyone in the eye, guilty. "I could try to distract them," the alien proffers. "I doubt the Grand Moff would make the order to kill me immediately, and if I have his attention, I have their attention. The Death Troopers' I mean."
OOM's head tilts to the side, seemingly in shock as Mith suggests his idea. "Uh. I'm firmly against that, just so you know, boss." It points to the restraining bolt on its chest, then shrugs in an overly dramatic manner. "Fourth-degree droid and all that. So, no self-sacrifice before you give me direct orders to leave you to die, please. Then, I'm off." The droid looks around, before raising its hands. "What? Can't fight my programming!", it hisses.
Scratching its durasteel headplate, the droid continues. "I could see the selfless sacrifice of my current master working out. But...", the droid points towards the cargo, and the walker. "We've got a lot of Jedi pada-wannabees in here. If we start a fire there,", it points towards the cargo, "and we kill the lights, heat-vision isn't going to catch us and it'll serve as a distraction." OOM turns its head towards Mith. "Although, I'd still like that order to leave you, since you'll still be a lot slower than the rest of us. Master." The last word is somehow almost sarcastic.
Mith gapes, shocked and horrified. "I am not suggesting you leave me here to die, droid," he clarifies, indignant. "I'm merely saying that while some of you scamper off to the AT-AT, I stay here and speak with Baldwin. I have faith that I'd be able to buy enough time to distract the Death Troopers. Then, once Ral and Flan or whoever is safely aboard the walker, they blow them and the Moff to smithereens with the walker's cannons. I have no intention of dying here, and I'd thank you to remember that."
Mith shifts and looks at the loading area. "Those canisters," he points out the large red-capped cylinders by the head of the AT-AT, "are fuel cells. They'd be easy to ignite. And the walker's armor should protect it. Not a bad idea. Especially if we were to time the detonation and the lights with the next bad cannon impact. Wouldn't inherently be seen as sabotage."
Growing up on the station with nothing but time in abundance, Dara knows much about patience. However, that knowledge abandons her now.
Satisfied with what has been discussed, she darts off like a womp rat - not that she's ever seen one.
She skulks along the catwalk towards the walker. Then, she vaults over the railing and lands atop the fuel cells beside the metal beast's head.
"Then we have a plan. Now we just need to get in position to-oh." Dara's movement is so stealthy that it takes a moment for Rod to even realize she's gone. By the time he's noticed, she's already almost to her destination. "Quiet, isn't she?" Shaking his head in disbelief, Rod keeps his eyes on the crew, just in case.
With the plan set, Dara scampers down the catwalk and launches herself onto a fuel cell, rigging it to blow.
Her landing rocks the canister, and as it settles back, a dull thump resonates from the tank. The Bridge Crewmen are too engrossed in the loading process to notice much, but restlessly waiting at the foot of the Lambda-class shuttle's entrance ramp, the Grand Moff and his Death Troopers notice plenty.
Rifles at the ready, the Death Troopers pivot towards the sound! But before they can catch sight of Dara, Rod reaches out with the Force and slams a wall panel open, briefly catching their attention. By the time they look back, Dara is out of their sight.
But it's not enough. The Grand Moff sees her. Or, rather, he sees something. Eagle-eyed and astute, Mith takes notice of his squinting and quickly clambers into the rigging, causing the empty TIE racks to shake and shift. In combination with Rod's trick, this entirely distracts the Moff from Dara's form. He orders his Death Troopers to track whatever is above them.
The injured man groans loudly as he stretches his body to bridge the gap between the two racks, but before long, he stares his old friend and mentor eye to eye.
"Barely made it," he jokes, grinning.
Baldwin raises his hand, ordering the Death Troopers to hold their fire. "Mith! Oh, what a day it has been! However did you wind up up there?" Mith opens his mouth to reply, but the Moff just keeps talking. "I figured you for dead, you know. Glad to be wrong." With a gloved hand, the Moff scratches his chin and smiles, almost preoccupied. He continues. "There's still room for you on the ship, if you'll join me."
The blue man sniffs and runs a metal finger across his nose. "Yes, of course," he lies, entirely unconvincing.
The Moff's eyes narrow. "You haven't turned against me, Mith? You're not in league with, with him, are you?" Hands clasped firmly behind his back, he begins to pace back and forth, keeping the alien always in his periphery.
"Ah, well, no matter," shrugs the man. "His treachery is about to end, after all, sooo, I forgive you. No use losing perfectly good talent just for a momentary lapse in judgment, I say. Come. Join me."
"He's not real, Raelin," Mith snaps, not moving from his perch. "You've spent so long with no threat to your position you had to invent one. I've been an alien inside the Empire, I'm afforded a unique perspective on this. 8B cannot be who you say he is. No alien would, would think to command a Grand Moff, it-it's preposterous!"
Baldwin growls and points up at his former subordinate. "He lives, damn you! He lives and I have seen him. If you could see as I see, you'd understand!" Ceasing his shouting, the Grand Moff fumes in silence for one long moment. "But it doesn't matter now," he continues at last, "because as soon as we launch, he and everyone else left on this ship will be torn to shreds."
Zel nods sagely as Mith and OOM hash out the rest of the plan. So sagely, in fact, that he doesn't notice Dara moving off toward the walker until she's practically already there. "Yeah, that ain't natural," he responds in a low voice to Rod. Realizing he's out of position, he makes his way over to the console while Mith and Baldwin speak to one another, hoping their conversation distracts any onlookers from noticing his movement.
Once there, he crouches in front of the display and brings up the lighting commands. The Mon Calamari then readies himself, watching and listening for the perfect moment to kill the lights and make a dash for the AT-AT. One hand hovers over the interface, the other clutches his blaster. If this goes bad, it's gonna go real bad.
Sabotage is a foreign concept to Dara, but she displays a natural talent for it. Possessing so much experience keeping the station systems running, keeping her family alive, she reasons that it is simply a matter of doing the reverse. Her fingers move quickly, guided by frustration that threatens to erupt into outright rage. Her family had been her only world, and she had spent so long helping them survive, but this Baldwin had destroyed half her world on a whim.
She finishes her work, and assuming that the fuel cells are primed, she sneaks up the boarding ramp and vanishes into the walker. Although the spartan military transport is undeniably different from a science station, the confines nevertheless remind her of "home," and she feels a strange comfort and safety within the armored vehicle.
Flan is too tightly wound at the moment to notice Dara sneak up the ramp and into the AT-AT. She does, however, note that it's probably the safest place to be in the hangar bay, and crouches near the edge of the catwalk, ready to make a mad dash for it as soon as Zel turns the lights out.
As Mith opens his mouth to reply, the Deception shakes from enemy fire. Immediately thereafter, Zel cuts the lights and Dara- safe in the belly of the armored beast -clicks her comlink on and off, causing the fuel tank to explode! In a great display of fire and noise, the ruptured fuel cell causes a chain reaction, bursting the one beside it, and shaking the catwalks above. The TIE fighter rack above the fireball collapses onto the ground, its twin also falling on one end. The catwalk sways violently, nearly bucking the hiding fugitives off it.
Flan, quick on her toes, hops down to the leaning rack, and then onto the one by the floor. With only the light from the still burning fuel cells to go by, she makes her way between the kneeling legs of the walker and up its entrance ramp.
The bridge crewmen drop their boxes and make to put out the fire, thoroughly distracted.
"Forget the fire!" orders the Grand Moff, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Finish packing! We must leave now!" He pulls at the bottom of his top and wipes a hand across his forehead, wicking sweat away. "Are you alright, Mith?"
"Peachy," says the blue man.
"Can you get down safely from there, or will you need one of my men to escort you? I don't want you getting hurt."
Mith gazes back at the catwalk, hoping that his companions have already begun putting their plan into action. "Just give me a moment," he says. "I'll be right down."
"Oh!" Flan starts when she finds the walker already occupied by Dara. "Hello."
She falls upon the computer controls, hurriedly trying to find her way around the Imperial restrictions and gain control.
Dara focuses keenly on the military hardware, and she only dimly registers Flan's arrival. The station urchin works hastily to familiarize herself with the walker's controls and mechanisms. When the rapidly approaching moment comes, she will not fail her part in this plan.
Taking advantage of the dimmed lights and explosions, Zel gestures to others on the catwalk before dashing to the walker. Once inside, the smuggler goes to the controls immediately. He stands still for a moment, staring at them. Not only does this give the others time to get aboard, or otherwise prepare the AT-AT for operation, but it also gives Zel time to make some sense of how to drive something he'd never actually been inside before.
The Mon Calamari rolls his head around and shrugs his shoulders a few times. "All right," he finally says when the time comes. "Here goes nothing."
Seeing that the others have the act of starting the AT-AT well in hand, Rod takes the time to get to the gunner's seat, settle in and get refamiliarized with the targeting controls. "Ready on the gun!" he calls to the rest of the group, keeping his eyes locked forward and preparing for the moment the lights came back on.
With a rushing hiss, the walker starts. As it closes its entrance ramp and slowly rises to its feet, its forward viewport flashes red, lighting up the shuttle bay.
Face awash in the red lighting, the Moff snarls at Mith. "And so you've betrayed me for him. I've been too kind, Mith. I should have left you to burn in that wreck."
"Too late," Mith smiles, holding on tight as the AT-AT begins lumbering forward, crushing the fallen TIE fighter racks with perfect ease.
"Abandon ship!" Baldwin orders, boarding the Lambda-class shuttle alongside his Death Troopers.
The bridge crewmen take one look up at the AT-AT and begin sprinting full tilt to the safety of the shuttle.
Rod fires the AT-AT's chin cannons harmlessly into the ray-shield, a warning shot. A dozen Storm Troopers pour into the shuttle bay, alerted by either the Moff or the crashing thunder of the AT-AT's guns; they fire their blasters uselessly at the machine's great bulk, unable to penetrate its armor.
Dara ensconces herself upon one of the terminals, eager to emulate the stories of wartime heroism that her father had fabricated to entertain her during her youth. Serious military hardware, however, is quite alien to the girl. She struggles to understand how it works, but Dara eventually makes it work.
Flan's face is pale and her forehead clammy as she digs deeper into the computers, looking as if she might keel over at any moment. Her many days spent organizing the senator's computer files into increasingly esoteric categories is her saving grace, as she continues to decipher the Imperial system and nervously relay all information on Walker piloting to Zel.
When the first shot hurtles away from the Walker and into the ray shield, she shrieks in surprise. "Aim for the shuttle! Hit them!" she calls desperately, unaware that it was a purposeful warning shot and unlikely to see the merit of such tactics while under the pressure of battle.
Rod curses to himself upon watching Baldwin and his troopers board the shuttle. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Should have known he wouldn't surrender that easy! Hands steady on the controls, Rod calmly shifts in his seat and brings the AT-AT's guns to bear on the Grand Moff's shuttle, doing his best to ignore the woman shrieking at him. "Ms. Flan. I see them. Calm down." He states without once taking his eyes off the targeting screen.
"Haha!" Zel exclaims with glee as the walker responds to his commands and begins moving. "I really am the best!" A broad grin covers his face as the giant war machine lurches forward. In stark contrast to Rod's stoic, focused demeanor and Flan's visibly nervous behavior, the Mon Calamari appears to be having the time of his life. Apparently sensing the urgency of the situation, though, he flips a few switches and kicks the walker into high gear, forcing it lumber forward somewhat less ponderously.
The walker lumbers forward, unimpeded by the swarm of Storm Troopers at its feet. With a few easy steps, it demolishes the fallen docking racks and makes its way under the catwalk. Your cannons blast against the shuttle, plasma fire arcing around its shield before penetrating, leaving large circles of carbon scoring against the shuttle's wings body. A couple more hits like that should cut it down.
But the Moff doesn't plan on giving you that chance.
With everyone aboard, the shuttle's boarding ramp closes and it begins to ascend, rotating to face the AT-AT. Twin cannons flash from below the cockpit, slamming into the walker's thick armor! The first blast is entire absorbed by the machine's great bulk, but the second heats and bends its armor. The buckling sound reverberates from inside the mighty metal monster.
Dara yelps as the cannon shots strike the walker and its own armor begins to whine. This is far more nerve wracking than the fusillade the star destroyer itself has been enduring, being much more up close and personal. She grits her teeth and braces herself, trying to fight back the welling fear, and draws upon her father's stories. Even if he made up more of them than she'll ever know, Dara may yet find kernels of wisdom.
Thus, she tries to direct Rod's next shot towards vulnerable parts of the shuttle.
"Aw, no.", the droid blurts out over the blaster fire of the Storm Troopers rushing into the room. "It's the War all over again. And like always, I'm not inside something big and armoured, like everyone else.", it shakes its head, before glancing at Ral. Damn restraining bolt!, the droid thinks as it glances towards Mith's body, as he nods towards Ral. "Hey, Noble! Help me drag the big Rebellion hero into cover until the walker kills everything!", it blurts out, leaping out of its own flimsy cover to run and grab Mith's hand, its own metal uselessly scraping against the Chiss' prosthetic. "Why are organics so heavy!", it screeches out, as it pulls out its blaster, facing towards the console.
Since he isn't sure what else to do, Ral switches his blaster to his off hand and, ducking as he moves, advances to join OOM and grab hold of Mith.