Dak sways in the co-pilot's seat in rhythm with the ship, surprising himself with his own ability to adapt to the ship's movements. I know I'm a pilot of some sort...not of a ship like this, I don't think. But still, a pilot. This feels too natural. But beyond that and maybe my name...Nothing?
Kandru was snapped back into focus as the ship came out of it's roll, and he got a clear view of the incoming Corvette. Again manipulating the forward-facing weaponry controls in front of him, Dak tries to sight in on the enemy craft and fires the moment it's in range!
Going down the list one last time, the only thing left that seemed relatively period was communications. There was only so much she could do without gling on a space walk, and without magnetic clamps like Rex she'd just end up flying off. However, therr might be enough internally that she could reroute, maybe enough to st least beam off a distress signal. At this point, she might even welcome an imperial cruiser if it'd get these raiders off their backs.
"If either of you can handle those shields, get to it! I'll do what I can in here to see if we can get a word out." She spouted, rushing over and tearing open one of the consoles.
Greff keeps up the fire.
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Warren glances side eyed at H0N33P0T but doesn't comment. He stops pulling on the rats nest of wires and runs double time to cockpit. As he ran he yelled out "HOW'BOUT WE FIX THE HYPERDRIVE AND GET OUT'TA'ERE?"
He slides himself to a halt beside the captain and after taking in several gasps of air says "Where's the problem with the shields?"
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"Stop nagging me! I'm working with what I've got here, and if the hyperdrive is blown then where the am I going to find the parts to fix that of all things?" Honey puncuates her words by tugging sharply on some sparking wires, pulling them from the console like weeds.
"Well. I could ask the crew of tha other ship over there, but I don't think they'll be very helpful..." Dak calls back even as he does his best to maintain the 'Pale's course alongside Captain Perry.
Also keeps pouring fire at the ultra tough ship
Tavin looks down at his android companion. "Ok, another system fixed. Where to next? Eventually we'll need to land and being able to communicate might be useful? Why don't we work on the landing gear and the other group can take on the communications system. Where to?," he says as he follows the droid.
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Dak notices Captain Perry giving the old girl a bit of a push, and the Elysium Pale grudgingly throttles ahead, pace quickening. In the bowels of the ship, Warren, Tavin, Mal, and Honey hear the whine of the engine and pulse of the main power core. One can only hope that the patchwork repair holds.
But if the Captain had thoughts of playing chicken with the corvette, he did not act on them, instead jolting the modified freighter into a spinning corkscrew. Red Barren tumbled around the viewports and stars spun like arclights. Everything was topsy-turvy, enough to make you want to puke, if you hadn't already done that when you woke up.
The Pale begins to complain most vociferously. The cockpit shudders, creaks, and cracks, and Dak smells smoke from the console. Perry's white-knuckled grip on the control stick is not enough to keep it from wrenching away momentarily, and the ship bobbles free from his desperate maneuver, tumbling and angling away from the enemy vessel.
"Grab hold of somethin'! the captain shouts through the comm as the corvette opens fire, twin fire-linked dual laser canons blazing death toward you.
The Elysium Pale is struck but the shields hold. The enemy corvette flies past and immediately begins to come around for another shot.
The captain recovers from his error on the controls and the Elysium Pale quickly recalibrates along the flight trajectory. He bails out of the failed corkscrew spin and dives the ship toward the planet and pushes the throttle past the point where the patched up ship can possibly sustain for long. Before reaching the atmosphere he continues to push the ship around in a loop, and a few seconds later the Pale is once again pointed out toward space, closing fast with the enemy ship.
Warren and Mal rush into the cockpit and drop into the second row chairs. After a moment to orient themselves, they find the shield controls and attempt to fortify the ship. Dak, Greff, and Rel open fire on the enemy ship, pouring every ounce of fiery death into space at the target. But the ship veers away and the shots are wasted.
Tavin drops through a floor hatch to address the landing gear, and is supported by R3X3. Honey manages to hotswap the intraship intercom with the external relay and send out a one-way distress burst to all points of space.
Meanwhile, the enemy ship flies overhead, facing profile to keep both cannons in arc strafing the light freighter from above.
The Elysium Pale lurches as the hyperdrive explodes. It doesn't take a mechanic to realize it is beyond a simple repair now.
"We can't win this fight," Captain Perry sneers through gritted teeth. He swings the ship around again, this time flying toward Red Barren with all possible speed.
"Well," She comments as perhaps the most vital component of a starship explodes. "Good thing nobody was standing next to that. I don't suppose there's a possibility we're going to slow down long enough for a proper landing, are we?"
Holding out hope that they can avoid risking a devastating crash landing, the cyborg moves instead to try and get their landing systems operational for the brief period before they're snapped off from going several hundred kilometers per hour.
Getting slammed back and forth against the bulkheads, Tavin tries to steady himself to assist with fixing the landing gear. Maybe if the could get planet side, they could get away from whomever is attacking them.
Greff keeps firing the weapons, hoping to land a hit.
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The Elysium Pale begins to shake as it hits Red Barren's atmosphere. The signature yellow glow of frictional heat envelops the ship, but with so much damage, it's anyone's guess whether the re-entry shielding will hold. As if on queue, outer hull panels start sheering off. You can hear the ship tearing apart and light peeks through cracks in the superstructure. There's a caustic smell of burning metal and conduit.
Captain Perry pushes the ship beyond any reasonable speed in atmosphere, but his hands hold fast to the controls. Sweat drips down his reddened face but his eyes stay fixed on some unseen destination far below.
Between Mal and Warren the shields are engaged and help to deflect and disperse much of the atmospheric turbulence, without which the Pale would almost certainly be disintegrating.
Greff rides the rickety laser cannons through one more shot at the enemy ship. It's a clean shot but your adversary proves too nimble and easily veers away. Luckily, the corvette continues on its altered trajectory, apparently choosing not to follow the Elysium Pale.
R3X3, Tavin, and Honey combine their effort on the landing gear, and as the freighter plummets into the lower atmosphere you are all rewarded for your efforts as the hatch doors creak open and the feet of the ship grudgingly deploy.
With the dangers mostly behind you, the final descent to the surface is almost serene. The Pale glides on the wind, piercing rust clouds. Chunks of rocky debris clang against the ship like hail, affecting an almost soothing drone of white noise.
At last a small city comes into view. Perry's fingers release from his iron grip on the flight controls and stab at the console a set of arrival parameters. He grinds his teeth but says nothing. AT first pass all the docking bays are closed, but by the time he brings the ship around one set of bay doors is opened, revealing an empty landing platform. The captain sets down inside, the landing gear settling stiff and uneven. A general feeling of relief washes over all of you, but the great mystery of your identity and reason for being here remains.
Captain Perry shuts off power and sits back heavily in his chair. After a long pause he turns to the three of you in the cockpit: "Let's get you boys going so I can get paid."
Honey shaking sits down on the floor, silently taking note of how much structural damage the ship now has. It's going to take some real effort getting this ship vacuum-capable again. She wasn't looking forward to that. Actually, was she even part of this ship's crew in the first place? There was something seriously amiss about her memories.
Greff climbs down from the turret, a shaken but satisfied look on his face. He wipes his sleeve across his forehead, and nods at his crewmates, then takes a seat and thinks to himself, "Now that there's nothing to shoot at, how in Chaos's name did we get here?"
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Captain Perry looks indignant at the three of you still sitting idle in his cockpit. "What are you waiting for?" he asks tersely.
He stomps to the back of the ship, give R3X3 a soft pat and then opens one small crate latched to the floor of the cargo bay. From within, he hands each of you your regular gear in turn.
"One last thing before you go," he says to all of you. "I was instructed to tell you to go to the Red Diamond Metrotel here in Rushtown. Look for a human called Taro Afar." He finishes with the gear and reseals the crate, then takes back the blaster pistols he gave you.
"Bo bo beep beep, bo beep." chirps R3X3.
The captain strokes his coarse red beard and sighs. "We've patched up worse," he replies.
"Bo booo," R3X3 retorts.
Perry looks first at Honey, then at the rest of you. "Alright. The sooner we get off this rock, the better. Listen, Rex says you're handy to have around. I don't know what your story is, and don't consider this a long-term invitation, but you can stay on the Pale for a couple days while you get on your feet. But in exchange, whenever you're on board, I'll expect you to be working. There's a lot to fix around here. I may send you out for parts runs too."
He leads you to the starboard gangway and hammers a fist against the hatch control. At first nothing happens, but when he hits it again the door opens and the ramp grudgingly extends. A rusted protocol droid is waiting at the bottom.
"Registrant 616009.1, a docking fee of one hundred credits per day is required, payable in advance. A dockmaster fee of an additional one hundred credits is due now. How many days will you be using this facility?"
Perry steps down the plank and walks past the droid, looking up. Killian 1, a red giant, already looms in the mid-morning sky. It's satellite, the white dwarf Killian 2, trails to the northeast. It's hot by any standard for a habitable planet, and a thick, choking red dust swirls in the air.
He points a thick finger down and to the right from the binary stars. "Center of town is that way," he says to you, and then coughs and spits on the red dirt ground. "Might want to cover up if you're out here long."
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Warren let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding in. He just sat stunned as the ship touched down. His hands shook uncontrollably as he entered into a state of adrenaline dump. A low murmur sounded behind him, like a word spoken underwater. He ignored the sound staring blankly at the shield controls.
Slowly his wits came back to him. Another sound, Captain Perry, was speaking. "What?" the sound began to register in his fogged brain. "Oh we're leaving? ok right."
Warren stood on shaky legs taking another few seconds to steady himself. As he started feeling better he followed Captain Perry to the back of the ship. "Where are we? Did I miss it?" He wanders to the rest of the group and eyeballs the ship. "Geez, tough little bird."
He stares at Perry and listens to the instruction. When the man was done Warren said "Oh that's great. I am sure we are all grateful to you captain. Just ah... you know.. a couple of ah...things. his demeanor changes from friendly to agitated. "Who is Rex? Where are we? and what in the name of whatever underworld you believe in, is happening? he raised his voice a little more with each word until ending in a full on shout.
He took another steadying breath to calm himself and continued in a more reasonable tone. "I...WE...wake up from some sort of hybersleep straight into a blaster bolt filled space hoedown, nearly DIE..A..whole..bunch..of...times...and now you are just telling us to go to some place called red diamond and meet a guy. How about not until I get some answers."
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Perry nods, tight lipped, then says, "I wish I had all those answers to give you all. Just getting you here was more than I bargained for, and when it came to it, you fought for your lives and you fought like hell for my ship."
The sturdy-looking man addresses the droid for the first time. "Three days. Gimme a minute." Then he coughs and rejoins you up the gangway and leads you to the lounge.
For a moment it's very quiet until someone brushes against some piece of hanging machinery. The Elysium Pale feels lifeless, but there's something about the patchworkness of everything that tells you she has quite a story. R3X3 sidles up and looks about anxiously, for a droid.
"That's Rex." He nods to the astromech droid. "Been with me a long time.
"I can't tell you much because I don't know much. I had just delivered a load of water ice to the asteroid mining colony around Kraxis B, about a parsec out from this dump. We expected trouble, and on the way in to the colony base we were ambushed by ice pirates. You can't swing a Golarion sabre cat in this quadrant without hitting a pirate. But we knew about the trouble and that's why this old girl has all these cannons.
"Anyway, we fought them off, but my..." he pauses and rubs dust from his eyes. "...partner... didn't make it. A couple days later I was approached by a human that wanted some special cargo delivered to Red Barren. Probably figured he'd found somebody that wouldn't ask too many questions, and I guess I didn't. When you see actual people being loaded onto the ship, you normally get suspicious, especially when the contract is short on details, but my head wasn't right, and I didn't really care. And it pays well - well, not well enough. He did tell me you might come-to confused like you can't remember things, but that I just needed to tell you about Taro Afar and that would be enough." He sighs and combs a hand through his beard. "Yeah, I shoulda asked about that.
"Look, I don't know who you are, and if we had met under different circumstances, maybe we'd get along. Maybe I'd even hire you on. But you were a job, and I suspect you also have a job. What I do know is that this cozy little hole in the ground is called Rushtown and it's run by Davika Corporation - they pretty much run all the mining in the sector. Maybe you have something to do with that. I don't know. I guess if I were in your boots I'd be mad as hell, demanding answers. Hopefully your contact has them for you."
"Good question, what are we waiting for?"
Greff falls silent for the rest of the conversation, nodding at the appropriate times. As the captain points out the door towards the town center, Greff nods again and starts for the door. He then does a double take and comes back.
"My condolences about your friend, and your not the only one hoping for answers. One more thing; when they handed me over to you, did they give you any of my equipment?"
"My condolences about your friend, and your not the only one hoping for answers. One more thing; when they handed me over to you, did they give you any of my equipment?"
"Well we best go about finding this Taro; he'd better have some answers." he mutters as he collects his gear.
"and since we don't know who the attackers are, getting further away from the ship may give us more room to operate"
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Mal dove in to his gear like thirsty man into a pool of cold water. He gratefully shrugged on a protective vest that fit him like it was custom made, but that he remembered not at all. He checked his heavy blaster out of something that must be habit, and sheathed it where his hip told him he should have felt naked without it.
He listens to the answers, every part of him wretching that he had been traded like fishlings at a wet market. His throat felt very dry and he licked his lips.
"Rushtown got a tavern in'it, ya think?" he asks.
The clothes provided seemed bulkier then she expected, but they still fit like a glove and she noticed no real difference in weight. There were a few other odds and ends mixed in like some extra cables, which she suspected would be useful later. Her breathing apparatus rasped in the gritty atmosphere, enough that she worried for it's filters. Would be a pain to replace those in a backwater like this.
"What self-respecting colony sets itself up without even one cantina?" Honey responded, taking a glance around further. To be honest, she wasn't exactly sure Rushtown actually respected itself.
Greff smiles as he hefts his Republic-era T-21 from the case and with the push of a button both sets of focusing coils buzz to life. His smile widens as he shoulders it and aims down the custom sights. (in a safe direction of course). Then he gently slings it over his shoulder and grabs the rest of his gear, fastening his comlink around his wrist, and slinging his bandolier across his chest, and checks to make sure everything is accounted for. He wraps some of his old clothes into a makeshift mask over his mouth and nose and then heads down the gangplank.
Holster's his blaster, shakes his head at the ship they found themselves on and then heads out towards the tavern, "besides, maybe they have a Sabbac game or two."
Honey nodded, "I could do with having some low-stakes gambling, rather then whatever that nonsense up there was."
When the ship finally lands, Tavin takes a moment to collect himself, glad they were still alive. When the captain gives everyone their equipment, he looks through it hoping something will spark his memory as to who he was. Nothing jumps out at him as a clue, although he is glad to see an all-temperature cloak to help the heat.
He listens to the captain as he looks through his gear. While it was disappointing that he didn't have more information, he wasn't surprised.
"Do you think the bandits were specifically after us or were they just pirates trying to rob a freighter?" Tavin asks the captain as the group gets ready to leave.
Captain Perry reaches under the holovid table in front of him in the lounge and reveals a hidden refrigeration unit, from which he produces a bottle of something that smells fermented. He drains half the contents in one drink, wipes his beard and settles tiredly into the threadbare cushions.
"If they know who you are, and they know you're on my ship, and they tried to board us and then blow us up, then I made a big mistake taking this job," Perry replies to Tavin. "I don't see how they'd know unless they got tipped off by somebody back at the mining colony where I took you on. I suppose that's a possibility."
With consensus reached that a watering hole is the first order of business, you each take your gear and venture forth. The hexagonal freighter bay is private insofar as no one else is currently inside the sixty-meter wide hexagonal structure. The wind churns around the Elysium Pale like a cyclone, blasting the offworlders with red dust. One can breathe only by raising the hem of his shirt to cover his nose and mouth. Breathing masks is at the top of the list of items to acquire.
The Bay doors roll to the side, exposing a bustling port where hundreds of people and droids push, pull, and drive all manner of machinery in every direction. Though Killiam 2 looms large in the morning sky, powerful chemical lamps blaze the massive yard with orange light. Directly ahead is the Port Authority building, a hemispherical dome as tall at the apex as it is wide - more than ten storeys. Around its perimeter are dozens of large doors through which more people, droids, and transports move in and out. On either side, huge containers with ore and salvage are placed with minimal attention to efficiency and maximum indifference to safety. Piles of rock and ships parts litter the ground around the freighter bays, such that anyone not paying attention to the immediate space in front of them would surely get hurt.
Rushtown proper rusts about a kilometer from the port. Through rare openings in the interminable rust fog, you see the towering Davika Corporation building is stacked like a ziggurat, tapered at the top and crowned with a spire. A short distance to the north is the Medical Center, a two-storey complex remarkable only for its obvious neglect.
Honey takes a critical look first at the pasers-by before shifting her masked gaze to her closest fell amnesiac. "I've built myself up to deal with enviro ends like this, but you people need to watch yourself. If any of you have a stick, maybe some thrifty merchant's willing to compensate you."
The mechanized woman tilts her head back and forth slightly while making a contemplative buzzing noise. "For considerable markup, I imagine."
Nods to the mechanized woman and head's over to some thrift merchants and starts to try and fast talk them into a bargain for some masks.
Rel takes Honey's advice and approaches a working stiff operating some machine at a stand of pallets.
The humanoid is covered in wrappings from head to toe and looks like a load of red sand was just dumped onto it. Over the din of the gritty wind it looks in Rel's direction, rubs a hand over dirty goggles, then looks about itself, as if in disbelief to be addressed by someone so... clean.
A rough voice chortles, "Nah mate, nothing to trade or sell ya. Try the bazaar in town." The figure turns back to its work, then stops and takes a step closer to Rel.
"If you help me spread these pallets around I can give you all a ride into the bazaar myself on that skid steer. Say, 25 creds for my troubles, and worth it. People get lost in the bazaar if they don't know it. Gypsums will rob you blind, too."
She gave the equipment a quick once over, but ultimately shakes her head with dismissive thoughts.
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Mal is a man who knows his limits. His limited performance in the ship has educated him in the pecking order of who knows machines and, more importantly, who doesn't. When the expert-system lady-mech shakes her head dismissively at the crane being used, that, on top of the apparent lack of offer of use of the crane, makes him uneasy about the whole deal.
'Wait, is he saying that if we labor for him, by hand, AND pay him 25 creds, he'll generously let us ride in his stupid skid? This deal keeps getting worse all the time.'
Still, there was a kernel of knowledge in the thing's babbling, so he decided to harvest at least that.
"That's a great deal, friend," Mal says amicably, coming up to Rel's side to talk more with the stranger, "but we wouldn't want to put you out too much. I mean, is the bazaar very far from here? Where is it, exactly?"
The man deflates a little, sensing his offer will not be accepted. "Town's that way, beyond those tall buildings. The bazaar is north from there. About a thirty minute walk from here."
Walks over to the crane and looks over it and asks, "anyone help us getting this working better? so we can get to town?"
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Warren stood back and quietly observed the assembled gathering haggle over getting a ride to town. He checked over his belongings looking for anything that may help. An enters his head and he says.
"Anyone got a blanket or a large piece of cloth?" He looks at the miner. "I'll give you five credits for an old shirt or blanket, anything fabric. I am going to need some water to.
With an assist from Honey, Rel diagnoses the problem with the crane, and before the worker can object, he has the panel open. Dust pours forth, as if it were being stored there. Honey retrieves a grease gun from a nearby machine shed and between the two of them they have the crane running good as new inside ten minutes.
You imagine the worker would be very impressed by this, but he seems a bit put off, like you just gave him the ability to do more work for the same money. The rest of the iron pallets are soon arrayed across the machine yard.
At Warren's request, he produces from the machine shed a few old rags that smell like oil but are relatively free of dust. "Anyone asks you about the crane, say nothing," he says. He then straddles the driving arm of the skid steer and waits for you to board.
Having boarded the skid steer, the group is whisked toward town. Your sense of the street is that you are relatively unnoticed once you leave the area of the Port. Guards do not even turn their heads as you hover past the Davika building, and none move to interfere; these hired goons see spacers every day. The fact that your armor and clothing is relatively clean is the only thing that sets you apart from the standard rabble traversing the area. Even the blasters at your sides provoke no obvious response. Potassium lights flood the thoroughfares in an eerie orange glow. The Red Diamond Metrotel looms ahead.
At last the skid steer slows to a halt in front of the Metrotel. Your guide eagerly accepts payment of 25 credits (somebody deduct 25 from inventory) and then unwraps his face covering for the first time. You see a leathery old face smiling back at you. "Order the Rancor Spit. You won't be disappointed." He winks, then covers himself and drives back into the dust in the direction you came.
The lobby at the Red Diamond Metrotel is relatively busy. Most of the clientele look like they are either spacers or bureaucrats. Stiff middle-aged humans in their clean suits pass from the lifts into the Lounge. You follow a pair of particularly closely-shaven men and survey the scene.
About half the tables are full. You gather this is the popular mid-day meal time, and a full service of wait staff operate between the tables and booths. The booths are all taken, half by groups and the other half by single men, any of whom could be Taro Afar. A pair of attractive Twi-lek girls work the bar.
Heads towards the bar with the attractive Twi-lek girls, and introduces himself casually ordering a drink, that isn't the Rancor's Spit.
Behind her facemask the woman rolls her eyes as Rel points himself straight for the nearest scantily clad females around. Typical, she'd think to herself. Not that she could fully blame the man for seeking comfort after that harrowing ordeal up in orbit.
For her part, she let her gaze travel the various solitary men. Perhaps if one of them seemed a more alerted by their presence then usual that might be their contact here.
Seeing nobody that chatchesnher eye in any way what so ever, Honey sighs and decides to join Rel at the bar. While walking her hands carefully pad her pockets, before quickly coming to a terrible conclusion. Apparently she was flat broke. That would make things interesting.
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Mal walks into the Red Diamond Metrotel like an antiquated protocol droid entering an oil bath. 'Ahhh. Now THIS is more like it!' It seems to make a kind of sense. For as much as he seems to be useless in space, he's got to useful on the ground. Right?
He takes a moment to take in the scene, letting his gaze wander, and hoping to jog a memory.
After a sufficient pause to let his eyes adjust, he follows Rel and Honey to the bar. But he doesn't have any interest in the Twileks. 'Used meat. No tread on the tire,' floats through his head like a well-worn philosophy. 'Apparently I like a little fuzz on the peach,' he thinks, getting used to who he is turning out to be.
"Rancor spit," he orders, deadpan.
'Even if I didn't want it, do I know of anything else to get?' he mentally wonders, but his brain is silent on the issue.