Kami sat alone within the shadowed confines of the throne room of the Command Centre in the Locker, her arms wrapped protectively about her chest. Her icy green eyes were locked onto the empty throne before her where Snipe’s crown still resided in all its glory on a plump jeweled cushion. It hadn’t been touched since Snipes had disappeared...in fact it still rested exactly as the mad Pirate King of Osk had left it, haphazardly perched atop an empty rum bottle. Its battered edges sparkled bleakly in the fading light streaming through one of the small view ports to the rear of room, pulling her gaze back to its form every time she sought to look away.

Months had passed since Snipes had vanished, and yet his presence still lingered so strongly that Kami could almost forget that he was gone. Perhaps it was still the shock of it all settling in, but she almost expected him to swagger in through the door behind her and perch the ridiculous trophy back on his head. It had all happened far too quickly. At one moment they had been celebrating their terrible and bloody victory over the Paladins and in the next Osk Company had erupted into pandemonium with the removal of their leader. If Osk91 hadn’t already been firmly back in their grasp Kami suspected that simple structural shift within the ranks of leadership would have been a death knell.  Anarchy was always only a hair breadth away with such dangerous collection of individuals, and if the smaller factions within the ranks had had the strength to fight to gain control of Osk’s assets chances were that they would have done so, and done so successfully. For all their determination in wiping Osk and its vision from the face of the galaxy, the Paladins had ultimately managed to encourage the Company to pull together in a time of crisis that may have otherwise done their job for them.

As things stood now, her position, and that of the other Senior Captains enforcing order was slightly less precarious than it had been throughout the first few weeks. Whilst there had been no set enforced rank structure in place, nor no backup plan laid out on the off-chance of the King going AWOL, she and the others had quickly built upon the loose concept of association that had been generally accepted throughout the Company to give themselves the power necessary to ensure that Osk Company continued to function as a unit. The fact that she, Tanus and Jegora all knew Snipes on a very personal level, combined with their VE backgrounds and connections with Fury, had immediately thrown the three forward as potential candidates for temporary leadership. The support of the majority of the Captains had bolstered their claim, and with the bulk of the fleet behind them they had garnered the necessary firepower needed to intimidate the unruly masses into complying with their decisions.

Since then the trio had worked together to ensure that the Osk Company continued to slowly recover from the devastation inflicted by the Paladins during their brief rule.

Tanus preferred to supervise from onboard the Iron Victory, and often spent days away scouting out potential raid opportunities in nearby systems. He and several other Captains had struck a series of small targets to pilfer enough medical goods and food to ensure that the members of Osk Company did not starve, and had subsequently kick-started the heart of the small yet dying economy on Osk91.

Jegora had spent most of his time overseeing repairs to his frigate, the Charlotte, and the rest of the Osk ships that had been damaged during the battle for supremacy in the air. On top of this he had his hands full directing wave after wave of refugees that continued to flock to Osk as news of the Paladin defeat spread. It had become apparent that these fellow outcasts now saw the Company as a potential weapon with which to enact their revenge on the fanatical cult that had sown destruction wherever they had roamed.

Kami had assumed the unofficial role at the helm of the Company, and had worked tirelessly from the surface to bring Osk back to some semblance of its normal self. The Locker was slowly being rebuilt; its shipyards and hangers undergoing extensive changes so as to better process and house the ragtag fleet whenever it was needed. The interior of the Locker had been swept completely clean of corpses and Paladin structures, and was painstakingly rising from the ground up as those carpenters and tradesmen that had survived the campaign restored shopfronts, brothels, eateries and cantinas. Progress was slow with limited manpower and resources, but the streets no longer resembled a grisly scene straight out of a nightmare. On top of overseeing construction she had also been working with a hand selected group to settle violent local disputes and squabbles, and had managed to foil several plots intended to create a monopoly on the newly budding trade.

But despite all hers, and the others success, Snipes was still profoundly missed. It seemed as though the heart and soul of the organization had been ripped free, and trying to fill that void was a challenge that Kami wasn’t even sure she’d be able to undertake.

“Kami, you there?”

The crackle of her comm stirred Kami from her reverie. She blinked several times, gave her head a brief shake and then brought the sleek device up to her lips,

“Yeah I’m here Dez. Sorry. Popped off for a break.”

“Completely understandable,” Deznim replied, the Ryn’s formal tone not entirely covering his concern for her, “Even you need to rest.”

“I’ll rest easy when I can sleep without a blaster under my pillow,” Kami countered, resisting the urge to momentarily embrace her fatigue and sigh, “What’s the matter?”

Deznim hesitated notably before responding, “I think you better just come and see Kams. It’s a little difficult to explain.”

“See?” Kami rose swiftly to her feet and turned away from the empty throne, “The merchants aren’t at each other’s throats again are they? Because I swear I will hunt down and skin Tribeki if he’s ...”

“No, no, there’s no trouble” Deznim interrupted, “We’ve just received a very unusual transmission.  I’m not entirely sure how to respond.”

Kami’s interest piqued as she swept out of the throne room in a blur of dark hair and long legs,

“Alright. Hold on. I’ll be there soon.”

*        *        *        *        *        *

Minutes later Kami sat slightly stunned before the main communications console, the smooth skin of her forehead furrowing slightly as she considered the complications of what she had just heard. Generally she’d given propositions from outside sources little thought as the odds of being manipulated were extremely high, but what had just been offered to her and Osk was too good of an opportunity to simply ignore. This single...titbit... of information could provide Osk Company with the means to completely refund, rebuild and expand all in a single swoop. And as a result the decision of whether or not to take it on board rested not only with her but with those who would ultimately be asked to put themselves and their ships on the line.

She looked up and over at Deznim, who was standing patiently at her side and awaiting her decision

“Get Tanus and Jeg down here ASAP. Tell them it’s urgent. Get any of the Senior Captains in the system in as well. I want their opinion on this.” She paused and almost as an afterthought added, “And make sure the Zephyr is fuelled and ready. If this goes the way I think it will we could be out of here in the next few hours.”

"Turn her about."

As he pulled back the hammer, a sharp click issued forth from the slug-thrower revolver that Ron had pointed at the back of Nova's head.  The pilot remained frozen in the cockpit, her icy eyes glaring beyond the window before her.  She slowly tightened her grip on the ship helm- and pulled downwards, sending them into a temporary half loop which turned the ship completely about.  Once recovered, she let go of the helm completely and turned her head enough so that she could see her opponent out of the corner of her eyes. 

"You're crazy." she hissed.  She offered a few threats more to him, all the while trying not to show how really afraid she was- and how her left hand was reaching for her own pistol which she knew to be secured at her waist.  Whatever Nova thought of him before, she now was completely convinced that he was a bloody pirate, as well as completely untrustworthy.  Her disappointment upon discovering her pistol missing, therefore, was too great to hide from showing through as an expression.  She quickly tried to resume her former steely countenance, but could not do so without Ron noticing.

He chuckled at her in her discomfort and removed the missing pistol from his own holster, flourished it in the air as if it was a trophy, and placed it back in his holster.  He then slowly sat down next to her in the co-pilot's seat, all the while never acquitting the revolver from it's mark, until at last he came completely to rest.  At that point, he leaned back; uplifted his feet unto the dashboard, and with his free hand removed and bit the end of a cigar from an inner coat pocket.

"Crazy, by far, is an overstatement.  You don't know a crazed man until you're with Osk." he laughed.

"As a pirate?" she mocked.  "A stinking, pilfering, lazy, ugly..." she hesitated as he dug the pistol into her neck.  Afraid for only a moment, she bravely continued to antagonize her much advantaged foe.  "...pirate?  Never."

A light flickered and extinguished, exposing an orange corrosive glow at the end of Ron's cigar.  He pulled out the stolen pistol from his holster and placed it on his armrest.

"If your so upset about the gun you can have it back, I only needed it for a few minutes.  But this ship you can not have back; I paid for it for one, and it was never yours for another."

Nova gave her response through clenched teeth, "I didn't volunteer to serve as a pirate."

"Neither did I." Ron said.  "I was forced into it just like you."  He reached behind him and pulled out a canister from a black haversack on the floor.

"Besides," he continued. "You may not have volunteered to be a pirate but you certainly had nothing against piloting a smuggler vessel."  He tossed her the canister he found only an hour before, only eleven inches long, and yet filled with two thousand credits worth of illegal spices.  She threw the can away from her in disgust.

"So I made a mistake.  At least I can admit it."

Ron pressed the revolver even harder against her ear, "And your about to make another one if you think that you can retake this ship.  I need this ship for more than piracy, I need it to get my revenge and to recover the decade of my life that I wasted serving cowards and corruptible idiots.  Now that's all a long way from here, and you don't have to be a part of it if you don't want to, but until we get to Osk91 you really don't have much of a choice other than to get me and my ship from here to there without any fuss."

Nova doubted the last part of that desperate threat, but she noticed a sincerity in Ron's expression throughout its entirety that made her uneasy yet willing to, at the most, serve as the means by which they could part company forever.  She was careful this time however to not reveal her conclusion through her expression and to keep what little advantage she could over the situation.  With a sigh of fabricated anger, she gruffly told him to enter the hyperspace coordinates into the computation system.  Ron did so, and only had to nod to her before the Fortunato disappeared into a vortex of blue and white.

"You're friends should be here any minute now."  Ron said observantly.  He smiled as he heard the sudden noise of footsteps upon the carbon floor matting.  Ron had the comfort of being right when the rest of the crew stumbled into the cockpit.  The bothan and two humans that he had met before had been sleeping at the time that Ron retook the ship, and were at the moment quite sleepy.  Jev Behan however was least affected by drowsiness and instantly reached for his own blaster so as to even the odds.  Stadi and Dmitri, however, did not come prepared for a skirmish and so were unarmed.

Ron smiled and commanded Nova, "Tell the bothan to drop the gun."  Nova kept her eyes forward and coldly gave the command to Jev and the others to disarm themselves.

Jev remained solid.  "Command is not yours to give when the Captain is indisposed." he said.  "And if it's all the same to Stadi and Dmitri I'll blow a hole in this pirate before he can release with that ancient contraption."

Ron laughed and tapped his cigar into a side ashtray.  "You know," he began, "the great thing about these slug-throwers is, there's no wires to cut."

Jev realized it before Ron finished, and lowered his own weapon.  He snarled in disgust, "So you've hijacked our ship, damaged or stolen our weapons, and now have threatened our own crew mates.  You're about the worst human I've ever met."

"Trust me," Ron replied, "where we're about to go they get a lot worse."

A small pause proceeded this declaration, followed by a seating of the general assembly.  Amid the general despair only Dmitri was pleased with the turn of affairs.  The human dwarf was a scoundrel at heart, though he suffered from a noisy conscience that kept him from completely giving in to piracy.  He considered smuggling to be a compromise.

"Pirate at last." he cackled.  He laughed nervously as the others looked at him with cold stares.  "What?" he continued.  "The way I see it is, we were already running risks and smuggling..."

"Quiet!" Jev warned.

"It's fine." Nova sighed from the pilot's seat.  "He already knows about the spice."

"And now he's going to that from us too!" Jev cried.

"Relax." Ron said.  "I wasn't part of the job so I won't take any of the profit.  Besides," he smirked, "your profit would only whet my appetite."

Dmitri chortled greedily, "I'm telling you," he rasped to the bothan, "this is the opportunity of a lifetime."

Jev pushed the dwarf away and approached Ron, who immediately grabbed Nova's pistol on the armchair and pointed it at the ship's Navigator.  Jev was not persuaded away.

"Enough." he said.  "I won't be held captive under you."  he gathered his wits about him before making this next statement, "I acknowledge that you are now the owner of this ship and may do with it as you wish.  As for myself, and my companions- I believe I speak for everyone when I say that none of us would care to serve aboard the Fortunato any longer."

Dmitri coughed, clearly indicating that he would have no problem with the arrangement.

"Change the course to Lok," Ron said, "if that's what you really want."  Jev grimaced at the mention of the dusty, impoverished planet, but submitted so as to not press his luck.  The last thing he wanted was to be press ganged into The Osk Company.

"Yes, that's what we want." Behan said.  "Now can you please lower the weapon?"

"If you mean, keep it off her head- then yes.  But I've served under enough lunatics to know that anyone is capable of treachery.  So if you don't mind, I'll keep it out and I'll keep it loaded."

"Fine." said Nova. "Just get it off me."

The revolver was instantly displaced.  A sudden air of peacefulness settled about the cockpit area, a peacefulness that was distasteful to Ron.  Within a few minutes he nodded to the present company and left for the crew lounge.  As he left he called behind him  "Let me know when we get there."

This left the rest of the crew strangely at ease to discuss among each other the outrageous manner in which they had been commandeered for the second time in as many days.

"How on earth did he break out of that locker?" Jev started as soon as Ron was out of ear shot.

"Dunno." Nova shrugged. "Just felt a pistol in my back and heard him say to turn about."  He mentioned the first time that he wasn't someone to mess around with.  There's probably a lot he can do that we don't know about."

"I thought he was crazy the first time." Dmitri said.  "And I'm pretty sure the rest of you did too.  What kind of person, especially a pirate, would pay two hundred grand for a ship he doesn't know anything about?"

"He's cute." sighed Stadi from the back.  Her statement was ignored by the rest of the group.  Stadi had remained silent for the entirety of the incident between Ron and the rest of the crew for no other reason than she was summing up her chances of developing the same kind of relationship with this captain as she had with the rest.  Her statement revealed just as much to the rest of the crew, which is why they opted to ignore her.

Continued conversation was stifled however when Ron suddenly burst into the space and declared that while using the ship's communications system to intercept any messages from The Company he discovered that he was being called back home; that namely there was a change of plans.

"You're taking us to Osk?" the crew cried.

"It's only temporary." Ron said.  "Lok is too far out of the way for me to justify the detour."

"Some other planet then!" Nova exclaimed.  "Anything will do."

"I'm afraid," came Ron's reply, "that it's out of the question."  He finished typing the coordinates to Osk91 and pulled back the lever to go into hyperspace; sending himself, the crew, and the ship billions of miles away to his home.  Ron laughed as his new companions retired to their bunks, taking with them their arguments and derision.  He knew it was unlikely, but something inside him thought that there was still as of yet a way to win back the crew of the ship Fortunato.

A few tense moments passed as wafts of cigarette smoke curled from the corner of his lips. The fiery embers blazed to life as he took another long tug, flickering red light across his face and briefly lighting his features from the dark shadows of the room. As the smoke poured into his lungs he let the burning sensation chase away the last vestiges of fatigue the long flight to the Locker. It wasn't as if he slept a wink the entire way anyway.A single lock of blonde hair fell free of his bandana to dangle in front of his face. His absent swipe missed the strands as he kept his eyes focused on the woman no more than ten meters away.

He had given up a lot in the past year, sacrificed the one thing he came to depend on most in his life. While he had indeed gotten something in return, something he could never hope to deserve, the cost had almost driven him to madness. It was thus that he found himself here: lurking in the shadows of a wretched hive of scum and villainy, run by a psychotic ex-subordinate of his who tried to kill him before disappearing in the middle of a mission...All to get back just a little of what he lost.

He had tried previously to reunite with her. But destiny it seemed, kept pulling them apart. She had left Osk 91 before he had arrived, despite his message. Then when he found her again aboard Tanus' ship, she was too strung out to recognize him. He knew he couldn't help her, he had never been able to before. So he left the metal case behind as a silent promise to return to her when she returned to herself.

Little did he know he wouldn't return as the same man either.

"...we could be out of here in a few hours." The sound of that voice, one he had heard millions of times...angry...passionate...comforting...nearly made him bolt from the shadows. Yet his feet remained planted as if glued to the durasteel plating. He watched as her Ryn companion hustled away towards the hangar bay, leaving the green-eyed beauty alone at last. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Angel opened his Tattoine-dry mouth to speak.

"Does 'all senior captains' include one of the first?"

A small gasp of surprise left her lips as the datapad in her hand dropped to the floor. His eyes traced the contours of her body as she froze in place. Angel's heartbeat quickened as the seconds ticked by one after another.

"That depends..." Kami replied softly as the air rushed from her lungs. The pounding in her chest made it impossible to catch her breath. She knew this day would come, but she hadn't expected it now.

Taking a cautious step forward, Angel crushed the cigarette between his fingers, extinguishing the flame. "On?" His eyes flicked apprehensively between the two blades hanging loosely from Kami's hips, just inches away from her fingers. Whirling around so quickly it appeared to be slow-motion, Kami's loose hair fluttered across her face like a tempest, giving only teasing glimpses of emerald eyes. A half-smirk half-sneer covered her lips, and for not the first, nor last time, Angel wished he could see with more than just his eyes.

"If you plan on sticking around this time." She finally said, curling a corner of her mouth in a wry smile.

That was all the impetus Angel needed. In two strides he left the shadows and crossed the distance between them. His black cloak flew off as pulled her close into his arms. A year's worth of emotion flooded out of him, blurring his vision and choking off his voice. She drew him in tighter, burying her face in his chest before remembering her surroundings. Drawing back slightly, she composed herself before speaking again.

"And if you plan on being useful." She managed to choke out bravely. Smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt, Kami looked him over. His hair had grown back out to almost his shoulders, and a scruffy beard covered his face. It wasn't until she got to his eyes that she noticed the change in him. The tinges of black were gone, replaced by the steady, flawless amber she remembered from their first meeting all those years ago on Sulon. The change both excited and frightened her, as she more than anyone knew the demons lurking in his soul.

"What happened...Where have you been?" She asked cautiously.

Leaning in close to brush his dry, cracked lips against hers and whispered, "Many things and many places. I'll tell you about all of them." Taking her by the hand with a wink he added, "But for now, The Divinity is in Orbit, the Eviscerator is fueled and in the hangar. We're looking for orders." Taking a few steps down the hallway, Angel threw his best half-grin at her.

"And from what I can gather, you're the person I need to talk to about that."

"Shit shit shit shit...!" Noose yelled repeatedly as he lost control of his ship for the umpteenth time. The Cutlass-9 spun randomly in every direction, swerving and diving as Noose tried to regain control of it. He fought with the controls manically, finally managing to steady it. Just as the engines conked out. If it wasn't for the fact that he was in space, he'd be plummeting to the ground right now.

"Piece of shit" Noose muttered angrily, slamming his fist into the controls. The engines started up again suddenly at the noise, sending him through another spiral before he managed to stop it, making more than a little disgruntled.

"You should get lessons before you start trying to fly it, Noosey."

"Screw lessons. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly loaded with credits, Nat." Noose snapped into the comm.

"You could have crashed." Nathron's voice said scolding through the comm.

"I'm in space, you idiot. What am I going to crash into?"

"How 'bout the massive fucking assault frigate?!"

Noose glanced at the Charelotte. The assault frigate certainly wouldn't be the greatest thing to have a collision with. It definitely was quite big. But, it looked as if he was too far away to crash into it. Although, you could never tell in the great emptiness that is space.

"Language, Nat. Why are you scolding me anyway? You said you fixed the engines?"

"I thought I did!"

"Well, you obviously didn't. That's the last time I bring anything to you."

"I'm not really bothered, Noose. It's not as if you're paying me anything."

Noose grunted. It was true. He had just showed up on Nat's doorstep with a Cutlass-9, asking him to see if he could modify it. And, in fairness to him, Nat didn't do a bad job. The ship was faster than Noose thought it would be able to. Everything had been upgraded. The shields, the hyperdrive, the weapons. The only problem Noose had with it was the engines. They had been heavy modified for speed, but they occasionally overheated and shut down. That would need to be changed.

"Look, can you just work on the engines when I get back?" Noose asked hesitantly. He was greeted with silence for a few moments before:

"Fine. But you're paying me this time."

Noose chuckled, "Fine. But fix 'em, alright?" He turned off the comm. and changed course, aiming for the hanger of the enormous frigate. He had to admit, he was growing to like the Proeliator, even though this was only his third time flying it. He seemed to be getting the hang of this piloting business, as well. He knew the basics, it was only when something unexpected happened was when things started to get messed up. He had grazed the ship more times than he could count, but, to him, that made it look better. As long as he doesn't hit anything important.

He pulled into the hanger, touching the ship down gently, providing him a little sense of satisfaction. He jumped out of the cockpit happily and strolled off for a drink. I think I deserve it

"So what? You're letting me go?" Hunter asked, nearly speechless.

"No letting go per se . . . more like sending you on an long leave. We'll still be here and we will call on you if you are needed, but for right now . . . you aren't." Shazam said, looking a bit uncomfortable.

Ouch. That hurt the most. The feeling of not being needed. Nearly his whole life had been dedicated to the Empire, in each of its various incarnations. He had recieved many wounds over the course of his service, but this one cut the deepest.

"But why?" Hunter said.

Shazam sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Because we simply do not have anywhere for you to go. With your decision to leave the Starfighter Corps, you have unintentionally thrown yourself into limbo. Your skills are primarily combat oriented so you wouldn't feel very comfortable behind a desk, would you?"

Hunter had to admit that point and nodded slowly, beginning to understand where this was going.

"So I can't go up and farther and I can't go back. Limbo, indeed . . ." Hunter let the sentence trail off as he thought over his predicament.



With a gasp, Hunter awoke from his fitful sleep. For the past few days, every time he had attempted to sleep, he had been plagued by the dream -or nightmare-, forcing what little sleep he had gotten to be brief and restless. As he scanned the display screens around him, bleary eyed, he realized where he was.

Frak. Fell asleep in the cockpit again.

Standing up, he grimaced as pain shot through his back. Rubbing the offending area, he added reupholstering the chair to his mental checklist of things to do and started off towards the refresher just outside of the cockpit. Not even bothering to close the door, he immediately started water running and dipped his hands in it, letting water pool into his cupped hands. Abruptly, his hands shot up and splashed the water on his face. Blinking rapidly, he groped for some kind of towel to dry himself off with. Once finished, he walked back to the cockpit and sat back down in the pilot's chair.

Finally awake, he ran his hands over the displays and called up various info, checking to make sure the ship was in running order. A Firefly-class Midbulk Transport, the ShadowHawk was a reliable ship, one that exceeded even Hunter's expectations. It rarely required maintenance, even though he still tinkered with it anyway, and rarely broke down. Satisfied, he commed each of the droids aboard and asked for a report. Idly, he listened to the reports as they streamed in. While most beings preferred their crew to be actually alive, Hunter had no means of finding a crew and so therefore relied on droids. Overall, they worked like a dream and their only failing was in combat situations, which was why Hunter had upgraded the shielding, armor plating, and engines tremendously, even though the few remaining turrets were stock model. Besides, even he wanted heavy weaponry, the shields and engines had eaten their way through his funds and so he wouldn't have been able to purchase any.

Looking up at the viewport, Hunter stared into the blurred lines of hyperspace. If the calculations were right, he should be exiting hyperspace shortly, hopefully for the last time on this trip. He had already been traveling about two days, with many stops along the way to change course ever so slightly and that had already started to take a toll on him. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his chin and felt the scratch of stubble. Sighing, he turned his thoughts towards his destination.


From what he had heard, it had been a few months since the invaders had been repelled, leaving Osk even worse off than before. What if he got there and there was nothing left?

Where could I go then?

That thought lingered for a few seconds before he angrily pushed away. No way would he come this far just to have a hope of a home snatched away from him right before he reached it. No, more than just a home. A purpose, a motivation to keep going. He needed something to drive him. For his whole life, that something had been the Empire. Everything he had done had been for the good of the Empire. And now he no longer had that.

With a growl, Hunter lashed out and punched the viewport, gasping when an audible pop sounded out. A wave of naseua washed over him, closely followed by a jolt of pain. The pain was good though. It enveloped him and tore his mind away from his anger and resentment and kept him from keeping the wound fresh. Experimentally, he clenched his hands a few times, nearly biting his lip each time he did so. Good, the pain could be kept close to the surface. He would need it to drive away those dangerous thoughts. Looking down, he noticed the skin over the knuckle was busted and bleeding.

Just because I need the pain, doesn't mean I need to let my hand get infected.

Making his way to the medbay, Hunter applied a small amount of bacta and a bandage.

Staring down at his now bandaged hand, he added a wistful thought, "If only all wounds were this easy to heal."

There’s simply so much work to be done, Jegora Fal thought to himself. And we are decidedly lacking in skilled labor.

He was sitting at a desk looking overlooking repair reports for his new charge, the Bothan Assault Frigate Charlotte, enjoying the privacy of the room he had only recently commandeered to serve as his personal office. Previously the room had functioned as a sanctuary for a short skinny individual Jegora had known only as Fitz. When Jegora had first broached the idea about taking the room as his own, the man had decided that relinquishing the room wasn't in his best interest; Jegora had managed to convince him otherwise.

The room wasn't large, but it was clean, and it was his own. One end of the make-shift office was taken up by the stainless steel desk at which he now sat. Two metal chairs sat facing the desk, plain and hard and cold. The rest of the room was bare, but Jegora had plans to install slim databanks along the walls, allowing him to store the hundreds of holobooks, films, and other data. Until then, however, the room remained as spartan as Jegora himself. He didn't mind.

The reports themselves didn't paint a pretty picture, but that was nothing new. The Osk Company was in shambles, reeling from the destruction that the Paladin's forces had wrecked on the planet and from the loss of their leader, their King. Never before had Snipes' absence been so apparent, so obvious. The Company was leaderless, listing, broken. Much of it's former power and influence was gone, consumed in the fires of the Paladin's crusade. For the first time in months, Jegora had a chance to escape, to leave the sheer brutality and insanity of the Company behind. Now that he had the chance, however, he found that he no longer had the desire. It was a strange thing, to realize that the planet and people he had once despised had become more of a home than anything he had known before. Strange, and frightening, but unexpectedly comforting.

So it was that Jegora found himself staying on Osk 91 far longer than he had ever anticipated. He knew he was absent without leave from the Stormtrooper Corps, and that he would be hunted down as a deserter, but he found, much to his surprise, that it did not matter. And then, when Kami Sharpe had asked him to stay on and take charge of the Charlotte, he had surprised himself again by accepting the offer. Since then he had pursued the task with vigor, imposing order on the ship's rowdy crew through sheer force of will. A seasoned officer use to leading battle hardened and rather unorthodox soldiers, it had been a relatively simple leap for Jegora to transition to pirate captain.

Still, he realized that sometimes his expectations of his new crew were rather lofty, if not downright absurd. The men and women that worked aboard the Charlotte lived by their own set of rules, and discipline was minimum, if not entirely lacking. Jegora was slowly learning, though, and adapting, and for their part the crew was doing the same. While they lacked the efficiency and order of a military warship, the Charlotte's crew made up for it in sheer skill and grit. As he and his new charges adjusted to each other, Jegora had a deep rooted instinct that one day the Charlotte and her crew would be the pride of the Osk fleet.

No matter his instincts, though, that day was still a long ways away. And just as the crew was slowly changing and adapting to suit their new captain, so too was the Charlotte itself undergoing modifications. The frigate had been in terrible condition when Jegora had inherited it, ravaged during the initial battle with the Paladin's forces. Since then, however, she had been completely overhauled. There was still much work to do, but most of the major upgrades were complete. All that remained was to put her all back together again like she belonged, which was proving something of a challenge. Skilled labor was always a challenge to find, as were the resources necessary to complete the modifications. None the less, by Jegora's estimation they could be ready for combat in two weeks, three at the max.

Jegora was still studying various reports and flimsiplast documents when a sharp knock shook him from his reverie. Somewhat surprised at how engrossed he had become in his reading, he set the reports down on his desk and leaned back in his chair.

"Enter," he said.

The door slid open, and in strode a particularly beautiful woman. Jegora grimaced to himself. He didn't have the energy to deal with his new executive officer at the moment. Tall, with long, dark hair that hung down past her shoulder blades, Emilyne York was gorgeous, fit, smart, funny, quick witted...and an absolute pain in the ass. As her brilliant blue eyes swept across the room, taking in everything, Jegora prepared himself for a mental and verbal sparring match.

"I didn't know you could read," she quipped as she settled gracefully into one of the plain chairs located in front of the desk.

Rolling his eyes, Jegora rubbed his temples and then looked across at his second-in-command. "Witty. What brings you here, Emilyne?"

At the sound of her full name, the young woman grimaced. "Don't call me that," she scowled. Jegora grinned at the girl's displeasure. It appeared that he had struck a nerve.

Still, as much as he loved giving the Charlotte's new executive officer a hard time, he really did want to know why she was here. "Sorry, Em," he said, making sure to use her preferred nickname. "What's up?"

Em took a moment to shift her legs, a motion that Jegora found most distracting, before responding. Her face was still warped into a vicious scowl, but even so she was stunningly beautiful. If only...

No way, don't even go there, Jegora thought, mentally kicking himself. Em was extremely attractive, sure, but she had a temper to match, and she was entirely too smart for her own good. Instinctively Jegora knew that any relationship with the woman beyond a working one could, and probably would, end in disaster.

"Charlotte's just about ready to go. I found a comm. operator yesterday, and the foreman in charge of installing the new tracking computers said he should be done by midday tomorrow," the young woman said, destroying Jegora's line of thought once again. Even her voice was alluring, and his reaction surprised him. It had been a long time since a woman had affected Jegora so strongly. Not since Aeos...

Aeos.

Memories came flooding back, along with feelings and hurt that he did not want to experience again. He pushed those thoughts away, exerting his considerable self-discipline in order to regain control. When he was certain he had command of his emotions once again, Jegora met Em's vivid blue gaze with his own coldly dispassionate, grey eyes. The young woman recoiled as if struck, and Jegora felt an illogical pang even through the ice he had layered over his heart. He pushed that feeling away too.

"Is there anything else Em? I knew most of this already," Jegora stated, his voice sharper and colder than he had intended.

Em just shook her head, trying to find words. "I...no, there's something else. Sharpe wants all the captains." She paused, as if considering. "If you bothered to turn on your comlink, you would know all this already," she said, traces of her usual sassy wit returning to her speech.

Jegora was not amused. "If I bothered to turn on my comlink, I would never get any work done," he retorted harshly. Inwardly he flinched, expecting her to recoil again. He was wrong, of course. If she responded to his tone at all, it was only to deepen the confident, almost arrogant grin that had suddenly reappeared on her face. He had underestimated her, and not for the first time either. Either she was an excellent actor, or she was far more dangerous that Jegora had first assumed. Either way, her reaction only deepened his resolve to stay as far away from her as possible. If only she wasn't such a good executive officer, he would have been rid of her long ago. And if only she wasn't so damn beautiful.

Letting out a short sigh, Jegora rose to his feet. His executive officer followed him up, rising to her own not-inconsiderable height. Em was an especially tall woman, standing at nearly six feet, but Jegora still towered over her. Standing at six and a half feet, and weighing in at nearly two hundred and fifty pounds, he tended to physically dominate any room he was in. In such a small office, he appeared to be even larger, almost impossibly so. None-the-less, Em stood her ground, not seemingly disturbed by his size at all. Jegora could only shake his head. He had to admire the woman.

"Come on," he said, letting his voice soften slightly, "let's go see what the boss wants."


***


The meeting room was crowded as Jegora entered, more crowded than he had ever seen it. Most of the men and women present were considered 'loyalist' captains, individuals who commanded their own ships and remained loyal to Snipes and the ideals of the Company, and therefore his second, Kami Sharpe. Some were personal assistants and aides, and a few were executive officers and second-in-commands like Em, but for the most part the beings gathered in the chamber provided the force necessary to keep order on Osk, and within the Company itself. Their continued support and unity was all that was keeping the Company afloat, all that was preventing the combined greed and ambition of thousands of pirates and smugglers from tearing everything apart.

And from the looks of things, they were now fighting amongst themselves.

The shouts and yells echoed about the room until Jegora couldn't comprehend anything beyond the fact that several people were very, very angry.

Peering over the heads of the crowd, he spied Kami near the center of the room. Pushing his way easily through the crowd, he motioned for Em to follow. It took the pair only a few seconds to reach the new leader of the Osk Company, but in that time the situation in the room escalated to a dangerous level.

There were several people standing with Kami, and they were all facing the opposite direction as he approached. Ignoring the other men and women, Jegora made a beeline straight for Kami and laid a hand gently on her shoulder when he had neared.

She turned suddenly, alarmed, and Jegora instantly withdrew his hand. For her part, Kami's face softened slightly when she saw it was Jegora and not some drunk pirate captain.

"Finally," she said, obviously exasperated. "We've been waiting on you for a while now."

Jegora shot a glare over his shoulder at Em, daring her to say anything about his comlink, and then turned his attention back to Kami.

"Sorry. I just now got the message. What's this all about?"

Kami opened her mouth to answer, but an all-too-familiar voice cut her off before she could even begin to speak. "Jegora Fal. I never expected to find you here."

Not believing his ears, Jegora turned slightly to face the speaker. And there, looking considerably worse for wear, stood Jikkyo 'Angel' Nimiichi.

"So you are alive," Jegora said, stating the obvious in a tight, controlled voice.

"Only just," Angel responded dryly.

Jegora snorted. "Pity."

Flashing a feral grin, Angel met Jegora's gaze. "I always knew you cared."

Kami rolled her eyes and stepped in-between the two. "Enough boys. He have work to do."

Jegora tore his gaze away from Angel and looked to Kami. "Right. So what is the purpose behind this rapidly deteriorating clusterfuck of a meeting?" he asked sharply, the stress and anger he had been feeling all day suddenly boiling to the surface.

Angel growled, and Kami's eyes hardened, and everyone else was suddenly and pointedly looking elsewhere. Jegora was instantly ashamed that he had spoke so poorly. Running a huge hand through his thick black hair, he let out a sigh.

"Sorry," he said shortly. Kami only nodded, but the hostility was gone from her gaze. She understood. Even though it wasn't an excuse, they had all been under a great deal of stress lately. Studying Kami more closely, he could see that it was beginning to take a toll on her as well. Bags were beginning to form underneath her eyes from lack of sleep, and lines that hadn't existed before were appearing on her face.

Worry lines, Jegora thought to himself. Stress marks. Damnit, how DID Snipes manage to hold everything together for so long? We've only been doing it for a few weeks and we're already burnt out.

"So what's the deal?" he asked, breaking what was fast becoming a rather awkward silence.

Kami held out a small datapad. Raising an eyebrow, Jegora took the datapad and scanned it quickly. Then he took a moment and read it more carefully.

"How concrete is this?" he demanded.

This time it was one of the other captains present who spoke up. "How concrete does it need to be?" Tanus Solvona asked. "We can't afford not to act."

Kami nodded. "We're running low. On everything. We need to find some way to re-supply, and this could very well fund the entire restoration effort."

"It could also solidify our power base within the Company," Angel interjected. Jegora shot him a look, but the ex-Major wasn't paying attention. Snorting, he turned his attention back to the conversation at hand.

"It could also wipe out what little assets we have remaining here, and destroy everything we've worked for these last few weeks," he pointed out.

"Shit man, are you EVER optimistic?" Tanus asked. Jegora heard Em snicker from off somewhere behind him, but he didn't care. He ignored both of them.

"I didn't say it wasn't a gamble," Kami snapped pointedly. "That's why I gathered you here. We were waiting on you and a couple others before we started." She paused, and glanced around. "We could probably start now though. Screw the rest of them."

Jegora nodded, although he didn't see how they were going to gain control of the situation in the meet room enough to ever discuss anything meaningful. From the blank looks on the faces of the people around him, they had realized much the same dilemma.

Glancing around, Jegora contemplated whether or not he could shout loud enough to shut everyone up, or whether it would only add to the chaos. Straightening, he was about to try it when Angel's voice cut through the room like a knife.

"Enough."

The former executive officer of the Stormtrooper Corps didn't shout. He spoke quietly and smoothly, but his voice carried an edge that simply could not be ignored. The word echoed through the room as the gathered captains suddenly quieted. As he watched, Jegora's mouth compressed into a tight line. He had seen Angel in action, had served under him even. It was not the first time he had seen the man exert such dominating authority, but it was unsettling none-the-less.

Angel bowed his head towards Kami, who in turn stepped up onto a raised center platform. "We should probably get to business before we all murder each other," she began. A few terse laughs greeted the comment, but Kami refused to be deterred. She bulled ahead.

"Things have been rough. We're hurting, crippled even. We don't have the resources to restore our home to it's former glory. Only a handful of us remain loyal to Snipes, to what he believed in. Only a handful of us remember."

Suddenly a holoprojector roared to life, displaying a small moon, barren except for a medium-sized complex located on it's north pole.

"This is Sketan II. It has no minerals, no atmosphere, no life, no value...except for the lightly guarded vault located on its pole."

One of the captains in the back of the room refused to remain quiet for any longer. "How do we know all this?" he yelled. Jegora cringed.

"A third party provided the information," Kami answered stiffly. She didn't elaborate further. "Now, as I was saying, the vault is lightly guarded. We're talking minimal space forces and a few security guards. What's more, our contact informs us that in exactly ten days the vault will play host to an extremely valuable cargo."

She paused, and for once the room was absolutely quiet. "I propose we raid this facility, and take this cargo as our own."

Roars suddenly erupted throughout the room. The complaints were many and varied. What if it was a trap? What if Osk was attacked while the fleet was away? What if the information was faulty and it was going to be heavily guarded? What if they wasted valuable resources on some wild goose chase?

One captain in the front row had a different question. "What exactly is this valuable cargo?"

Kami took a deep breath before answering. Jegora could see that she was strongly considering lying, but in the end the need to be honest with the captains won out.

"We don't know."

There was a long moment of silence, and then only chaos.


***


Jegora, Kami, and Tanus were the last three out of the room. "So it's agreed then." Jegora said. "In ten days, we're taking the vault."

"Aye," Tanus intoned. "If I were in any way religious, I might just have to start praying."

Kami shook her head. "What kind of fleet do we have ready?" she asked the two senior captains.

Jegora ran a hand through his hair again, thinking. The gears in his coldly calculating mind were whirring, digging up facts he had read in passing days before, processing, computing.

"I think we can do it," he said after a moment. "We have maybe twenty transports with military grade weaponry that we can use as skirmishers. The Charlotte can be done with her overhaul in six days. We still have two old Marauder-class cruisers we can press into service too for some extra firepower."

Kami nodded, and Tanus looked thoughtful. "We're really gonna do this then?" Solvona asked.

Silence ensued. Tanus spoke again. "How are we gonna handle the boarding?"

There was another moment of silence. Kami blinked. "I hadn't thought of that. You think you can put together a strike crew to lead the attack?"

Tanus nodded thoughtfully. "Love to," he said, a wicked grin flashing across his face.

"You're going to have to organize our strategy and battle tactics, you know," Kami said, turning back towards Jegora.

"I'm not exactly qualified to orchestrate a space battle," he pointed out wryly.

Kami snorted "You were a pilot, and you were an officer. Twice. That makes you more qualified than the rest of us."

Jegora could only shrug. He couldn't disagree, now that he considered it.

Once again, the three senior captains found themselves looking silently at each other. "Ten days then," Jegora said. "For better or worse, it'll all be decided then."

There wasn't much more to say after that.

OOC:

Alright, so this is extremely long, and rather wordy. Still, I hop you made it through it. If not, congrats, because you were smart enough to skip to the end.

The Plan:

We're going to raid a secure, remote vault located on the pole of a secluded moon. Fun. The first part of this story will involve dicking around the Locker and getting a massive fleet set up to initiate the attack. Boring, I know, but necessary. Explore the Locker in your posts, and the new characters. Get to your assigned ships, pick a few fights, get a little hosed, etc. etc. Go crazy.

When we finally get to the facility, we find out were not alone. More on that later, though. I don't want to spoil the surprise.

Also, I apologize if this story seems awful controlled for an Osk feature. However, we have a storyline that I think is rather good, and for now I'd rather not give it all away at once. You'll just have to trust me and Kami. Or bribe. Bribery works too.

Enjoy. Have fun. Blah blah blah.

Few things in life could be as depressing as spending the night with a young and quite flexible twi'lek, recalling only bits and pieces of everything and finally being greeted by a most desolate scenery in the morning. If the Locker looked like a depressing dump under normal circumstances well it somehow managed to look even worse now that it was all banged up. Before the whole Paladin insurgency most folks would've likely found the thought of such a thing being possible downright ludicrous and yet it was obvious the place somehow managed to further go downhill as a result of the heavy fighting between the pirates and the zealots.

Funny thing about it was that this didn't really seem to be as horrible or crippling as it would otherwise likely be for regular individuals living on almost any other civilized planet. Sure things were bad, but then again they were never really good to begin with. Besides, the lack of a proper government and especially law enforcement agencies as well as laws themselves for that matter was actually a good thing for those choosing - or being forced - to live on Eyesore. Indeed there was but one law respected throughout the Locker and that law was the law of nature... the law of the jungle. Simply put the strong would use such opportunities to gain more power for themselves just as the weak would just try to amass enough scraps to ensure their own survivability. Simple. Efficient. Ruthless.

[[Hey mistah... Mistah, got any credits? My mom's real...]]

"No."

The blunt reply was made as coldly and void of emotion as possible. There was a reason why the Onderonian chose to act that way however. For one thing he was almost certain that whatever sad story the human urchin would come up with would likely be fake. He was also fairly certain that even if it wasn't, a few credits would hardly make a difference. Besides, if you happened to take pity on any of those little buggers, more would soon appear as if spawning from the ground itself only to ask for a similar treatment. Potentially annoying but in the end harmless. The ones that wouldn't likely be as harmless were the common muggers that always kept an eye out for these things. That was part of the reason why giving alms to the less fortunate was a rather dangerous task in itself here on Osk 91.

Not giving the matter a second thought Seth slowly turned around and began making his way towards the nearest cantina. He knew where it was for that was the place where he picked up his companion for the other night. The booze was crappy, the prices were higher than they should've been and the patrons were anything but pleasant company. Still, that was pretty much the norm here on Eyesore even when things were going well so it was rather pointless to bitch about those matters since they were unlikely to change anytime soon... if ever.

Still got some time on my hands by the looks of things. Might as well have a breakfast while i'm at it. Breakfast or is it lunch time already by chance?

The pain was there, hovering at the back of his mind. It was a dull ache that would serve as a constant reminder of how far he had fallen. While it felt like the pain radiated throughout his body, it was actually centered in his right hand.

Looking down at it, Hunter grimaced. Bandages were wrapped tightly around it, tinted red around the knuckles because of the blood seepage. The tightness of the bandages were actually what was causing the dull ache. Without them, his hand would be fine as long as he didn't move it, but with the bandages in place, the bones were bound together and grinding up against one another. He looked up abruptly as a series of beeps sounded.

Realspace reversion. About time.

He waited a few seconds and threw the lever. Immediately the ship shuddered and the stars snapped back into place. And so did a planet with a medium sized fleet in orbit. Impassively, Hunter quickly appraised the situation.

From what the sensors are catching, they're mostly doing repairs and resupplying the ships. But there's a sense of urgency to it. While I may not have came too late, I cut it mighty close.

Unconsciously, he ran his hand through his hair and winced slightly as a fresh wave of pain ran through his body. He took a breath and put his hands on the yoke. With his left hand, he nudged the throttle up. Immediately, the ship started to jerk. Alarmed, he quickly stopped and went through various checks. Nothing turned up wrong. Frowning, he noticed the yoke moving slightly.

What the . . .

Lifting his hands off the yoke, the stared at it. Nothing. It was still. Then he noticed his hands. They were trembling in sporadic spurts. It would start and go for a few moments then stop, then continue for a second and stop, then again.

"Oh no. Don't do this." Hunter said.

Instantly, doubt crept into his mind.

What if I can't do this? I didn't even know my hands were doing that . . . Am I so far gone that I can't even notice something like that?

Forcing his hands to still, he placed them back on the yoke and slowly throttled up. With increasing speed, the ShadowHawk sped towards the ragtag fleet clustered around Osk91. Fortunately, his hands had stopped and he had little difficulty in controlling the ship. As he grew closer, the readouts started displaying data on the fleet. Unsure of himself, Hunter didn't bother looking at them, knowing that it would be stored for him to look at later. Instead, he focused on the space ahead of him. The space around the planet was filled with ships of all kinds, all in various states of disprepair. He would have to be careful. Who knew when a ship would suddenly hurtle in front of him, and with him being in the state he was, he wasn't too sure of his piloting skills at the moment.

Then he was hit with a realization. A month ago, no, a week ago, he could have easily navigated a path through the shipyards without any problem and would have had complete faith in himself. But now . . . things had changed. He had changed, for better or worse. Forcing those thoughts away, he concentrated. He was nearing the fleet now. Then he remembered that he didn't know where to go.

Uh . . . well, when in doubt, head for the surface. I can find out more info once I get to the ground.

He noticed a large ship that looked to be a Bothan Assault Frigate changing course. Pushing it from his mind, he focused on discerning a safe path, but was jarred out of his focus when a buzz sounded out. A nearby droid twittered something quickly.

"We're being hailed? By whom?" Hunter replied, confused.

The droid replied with a short chirp.

"That BAF? Patch them through then."

One of the displays that had previous been dark fluttered to life and the image of a middle-aged human male appeared. With a stone-cold face that gave nothing away, the man focused a steely gaze on Hunter.

"Firefly-class MidBulk Transport ShadowHawk. This the Bothan Assault Frigate Charlotte. What is your business here?" the man said.

"I, uh, have come to join Osk Company." Hunter said.

The man silently stared at Hunter for a moment before offering up one word, "Why?"

"Because I have no home. I have no friends, family, etc left to me. All I own is this ship and its contents. I have come to Osk because I knew that they alone would give me a purpose and motivation to keep on living. You cannot deny me this. Don't turn me away." Hunter said slowly.

The man kept the stare up for a moments, before sighing and looking down.

"Go ahead. Head down to the surface." the man said wearily.

Hunter nodded, "Thank you."

He started to cut the feed before a thought hit him.

"I noticed this fleet was under repair and resupplying. Heading out to combat soon?" Hunter asked.

And another sigh to match the previous one. The man pinched the bridge of his nose and answered, "Not battle, per se. But I'm assuming you want in. We don't currently have room for you on this ship, so you can take your ship down the surface and take a shuttle back up here. We have more than enough room for one more being."

"Thanks  you."

Nodding, the man reached forward and cut the feed before Hunter could do so.

At least I have a plan now.

I don’t like this. This reeks of a trap. Tanus was slowly replaying the day’s events in his mind: the return home, the meeting with Kami, the call to arms… and over what? A vault? Tanus scoffed as he made his way down the halls of the Locker back towards the docking bay where the Iron Victory lay in wait. If he was to form a strike team to breach the vault on the surface below, he knew just the men and women to take care of it. The question, of course, was whether or not they were up to the task. Tanus knew each of the men and women under him very well. Even if they were primarily business associates of Hotah’s, they had all come to regard their Captain in the same way Hotah had: with undying loyalty and respect. However, respect could only get Tanus so far, especially with an apparent trap and suicide mission. Maybe a drink to calm my thoughts. The Locker had been set up into arms at the thought of a new conquest, a new adventure to be had. It had certainly done its work to dull the pain of the Crusaders. Productivity was on the rise, but only insofar as what the Pirates had to begin with. I hope Kami knows what she’s doing. If this goes wrong at all, we’re all dead, and not just in the metaphorical sense either.

It didn’t take long to find a bar; they were all over The Locker and were more frequent than any other establishment on the planet, save maybe bordellos and brothels. Ah, the joys of living in a den of sex, crime and villainy. Nothing may be free, but it sure as hell is cheap. The bar itself was like any other to be found in The Locker: Dark, dank, relatively quiet. This one, surprisingly, had very little amounts of visible destruction, which implied it was either unfrequented, which to Tanus seemed blasphemy, or the owners were quick on the clean up. Either way, Tanus was satisfied with his choice of dive. He walked past various men and women, men and women he had seen before, fought with and almost died for. Some were passed out at their tables, their hands partially clasped around the comfort poured in the glass in front of them. Others were chatting up the harlots of The Locker, doing what they could for both a good time and possibly even a discount; Tanus had never actually ventured to use the “I fought to save your livelihood” card on a prostitute, but to be fair, there was a first time for everything. It seemed to work for one young man as he made his way out of the bar, giggling with a good looking brunette at his arm.

Tanus found an empty stool at the bar. The barkeep was an old man, grizzled and by the look of him and seen a good amount of war and hardship over the years. Haven’t we all? The old man wiped the bar clean as Tanus sat down, pulling out an empty glass and offering him an old, weathered smile; Tanus returned the sentiment, even if he didn’t feel all too wholesome at the moment.

“What can I get ye, boss?” The old man asked in a deep voice augmented by years of smoking.

Tanus sat quietly for a moment, absorbing the feel of the bar, the people, the atmosphere. It almost made him feel… whole again. He looked up from his hands and took off his gloves, putting them off to the side next to his right arm.

“I’ll take a rum boiler.”

The old man stopped short and then smiled at Tanus; Tanus didn’t look up from the bar, only down at hands that had held too many dead comrades. He heard the faint clink of glasses and the sound of a cork being taken out of a bottle. The scent of sugar and vanilla filled the air as two glasses were set in front of Tanus. One was a shot full of black rum. The other glass, a tumbler, was filled about halfway with a deep amber spiced rum. Tanus looked at the glasses and smiled; they brought back fond memories. Tanus picked up the shot glass and dropped it into the tumbler. It sank to the bottom as the dark rum mixed together with the spiced. Tanus picked up the glass and looked at the liquor inside for what felt like eons. Finally he looked at the bartender and smiled.

“To the Pirate King. May his madness grace us all.”

Tanus threw back the drink in one gulp, feeling the shot glass hit his lips as the mixed alcohol sloshed in his mouth. It tasted sweet and rich. He swallowed the rum, feeling it burn down the back of his throat all the way down to his belly. He felt the warmth swim through his entire body as he set the glass down on the bar.

“I’ll take another. Keep ‘em coming till it looks like I’m dead.”

The barkeep smiled as he set two bottles of rum on the bar and another two glasses, taking the first two away and setting them in a sink filled with other spent glasses. Tanus poured himself another rum boiler, carefully eyeing each level of alcohol as it fell into the glasses. As he set the spiced rum back down on the bar, he heard someone come up behind him. He turned his head to his left and saw a face he had not expected to see – especially not here.

“Mind if I join you?” Jeg asked, his large frame casting a massive shadow over Tanus and for the matter, the rest of the bar.

“Not at all. What, may I ask, brings you to this particular pit of sorrow?”

Jeg shrugged as he placed a few credit chips on the counter and looked up at the bartender.

“I’ll take whatever he’s having.”

Tanus almost spat out his drink as the bartender went to grab two more glasses. As he set them down in front of Jeg, Tanus almost laughed.

“I never took you for a drinking man, Jeg. I always thought you to be more prim and proper than imbibing alcohol.”

Jeg gave a sideways glance at his comrade, saying nothing at all but speaking volumes – these volumes, of course, translated to “shut up and pour me a drink.”

“I normally don’t, but since apparently we’ll also be going on what seems to be a suicide mission, I figure what the hell, you only live once.”

Tanus smirked as he poured out a generous amount of rum for his friend. Jeg merely stared at the two full glasses of alcohol. He didn’t move.

“So… what exactly have you just poured for me?”

Tanus threw back his drink and looked over at Jeg as he made himself another.

“That, my friend, is a rum boiler. It is a shot of rum dropped into a larger glass of rum. You throw it back all at the same time.”

“Charming. What’s the mortality rate on this drink?”

“Well, considering I started making this for Snipes back in the day, I’d say relatively low. Or relatively high, depending on who you talk to. Suffice it to say, the drink does its job. Now drink and stop asking questions.”

Time went by quickly after that as Jeg and Tanus threw back drink after drink. Seconds turned to minutes turned to hours. People came and went, some familiar, some not; all, however, were looking for a distraction from the day to day. Tanus was sufficiently drunk, as was Jeg for that matter. They had plowed through two additional bottles of rum, essentially hording the remaining stock for themselves. This had, of course, angered several of the bar patrons, and it was more than likely only a matter of time before a brawl started. Jeg and Tanus, didn’t care; they were too busy discussing things.

“Sssho,” Jeg said as he drank another rum boiler. “You’ve be abnormally sshilent tonight. What’sh up?”

Tanus drank back his rum slowly, savoring the taste – and his thoughts. He knew that if anyone knew his issues, it would be Jeg.

“It’sh this mission. I don’t trust it. It seems almost too good to be true.”

Jeg scoffed as he poured himself another drink.

“That would be because it is.”

“But that’s exactly my point, Jeg,” Tanus said at just above a whisper; the alcohol was starting to fade with the burst of adrenaline and emotion. “It’s just because of that that I don’t trust it. Things like this just don’t fall into our laps. No one’s luck is that good.”

“Ours apparently must be, seeing as Kami’s info seems relatively solid.”

“Right, I get that, but you can’t just expect me to believe that one of her contacts would just give this up pro bono. There’s something else here, and I really don’t like it. This reeks of a trap, and you know that as well as I do.”

Jeg sighed as he drank his drink. He was silent for a little while; they both were. Finally Jeg spoke.

“You’re absolutely right, Tanus. It does reek of a trap. But at this point what other options do we have? We don’t have enough supplies to keep this up. People are going to die if we don’t pull this off. We need to take risks here or else nothing is going to be gained.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you; you know that. You know I’m excited for this. But is it really worth putting everything we fought the Paladins for at risk? I can’t just accept that. We came to far to watch it all fade away into nothingness.”

At that precise moment, several things happened: A beer bottle was broken on the bar and three large men appeared as if from nowhere. The one with the beer bottle aimed it straight at Tanus’ throat.

“Give us the rum and maybe I won’t gut you.”

As Tanus was about to respond, another similar crash followed by a shout drew his attention to what was going on behind him: Jeg was no standing up, his hand bleeding slightly from where he had smashed the tumbler glass on the bottle wielder’s friend’s head. Tanus sighed as he jumped up from his chair and looked around: Everybody looked readily pissed off.

So much for peace and quiet with my drinking.

“Son of a bitch,” Jegora muttered softly, shifting in his seat slightly. He was sitting in the room that was temporarily serving as the command center’s med bay, nursing some bruised ribs and a battered face. Sitting next to him was fellow pirate captain Tanus Solvona, who was also looking worse for wear. Taking inventory of their various cuts and bruises, Jegora had to admit that he hadn’t come out so poorly in a fight in a long, long time.

Then again, he thought to himself, I haven’t drank that much in a long time either.

The only thing that brought him any solace was the fact that there were several pirates who were in even worse shape than Jegora or Tanus, and many more who were in similar condition. The pair may have taken a beating, but they handed one out as well, and try as he might Jegora couldn’t help but be proud of that. In fact, he was starting to feel pretty good about himself again…until Em walked in.

The young woman took one look at Jegora and had to repress a huge grin that threatened to appear on her face. Mastering her expression, she wore a mask of the utmost concern as she approached. Jegora wasn’t fooled, and he mentally braced himself for a ribbing unlike anything he had ever taken before.

“Jeez boss what’d you do, piss off a whore?” she asked when she had finally neared. Jegora just grimaced, while next to him Tanus let out a laugh that quickly turned into a snort of pain.

“Very funny, Em. How’d you know I was here?” Jegora grunted.

Her melodic laugh echoed through the room. It made Jegora cringe. “Sharpe told me. Seems she was quite worried about you two.”

Shaking his head, Jegora pushed to his feet and stood unsteadily. “Does the whole damn place know? No matter. I assume you brought some kind of transportation?”

Em just nodded, now eying Tanus as Jegora started to make his way out of the room. “I thought you were supposed to be some big shot fighter-warrior thing?” she asked Solvona as he stumbled along behind Jeg.

The grin Tanus had been wearing at Jegora’s expense quickly turned into a scowl. He muttered something that sounded vaguely like ‘bugger off’, and then pushed past Jegora, limping his way out the door. 

Jegora caught Em’s eye as she winked at him, and he couldn’t help but grin as well. He followed Tanus out into the all-too-bright Osk day, shielding his eyes as he did so. The light was all too bright for Jegora’s hangover and head injuries, even through the smog-ridden Osk 91 atmosphere. Taking his place in the small landspeeder, he turned to Em, who was settling in behind the controls.

“So where are we off to in such a hurry?” he asked as his XO floored the accelerator and sped off, navigating the twisting streets with relative ease.

“Sharpe wants to talk with both of you,” she said shortly. Jegora could only sigh.

“Awesome,” he said. “I love getting yelled at when I have a hangover.”

Ten minutes later Em slowed to a stop in front of some non-descript building Jegora didn’t recognize. “This is it. Off you boys go,” the young woman chimed in unnecessarily.

Shooting her a glare Jegora hopped out of the speeder, followed by Tanus. Together the pair made their way inside, where they found Kami waiting for them in the building’s main room.

“Kriffing hell, look at the pair of you,” the senior Osk captain fairly shouted. Jegora cringed, and Tanus raised a hand to massage his temples.

“Easy there, Sharpe,” Tanus ground out. Jegora could only nod his assent.

Kami looked ready to kill someone. “Easy? Easy? Do you have any idea what we’re trying to accomplish here? We have to set an example, but then you two go off and get yourselves into a bloody bar fight!”

Jegora frowned. When she said it like that, their actions did seem quite irresponsible. It was rather unfair.

A moment of silence stretched throughout the room, growing quite uncomfortable. Finally Kami shook her head, and some of her anger seemed to dissipate. “It doesn’t matter. Just tell me we’re going to be ready to go?”

Tanus nodded. “I have an initial strike team. We’ll make a hole for you guys to follow us in.”

“And the fleet preparations are under way,” Jegora added, trying to sound useful. “We’ll be ready, Kami—at least, as ready as we can be.”

Nodding to herself, Kami seemed lost in thought. “Good, I guess,” she said softly. “Nothing else we could do, then?”

Jegora shook his head. “Nothing but wait.”


* * * * * *


Standing on the bridge of the Charlotte, looking out over the fleet assembled before him, Jegora couldn’t help but ponder what they were about to do. Before him were arrayed tens of vessels, ranging from light transports to heavy freighters to military warships like the Charlotte herself. Here, now, in this small corner of space, the entire worth of the Osk Company was assembled. It was an impressive display, this strange and eclectic menagerie of spacecraft. Nearly every ship present was upgraded in some way, with either advanced weaponry or military-grade engines, or even enhanced sensor arrays or shielding. They were more than mechanical vessels, these ships. They were homes for hundreds, if not thousands of individuals. They were the physical manifestations of the soul of the Company, and Jegora was about to risk them all on what very well could turn out to be a wild goose chase at best, and one giant clusterfuck at worst.

Shaking his head, he tried to clear his thoughts. There wasn’t much point in dwelling on the flaws in the plan; he had done that enough over the last few days. The only thing he, and the rest of the senior captains, could do now was stick to the plan they had developed and hope everything went as calculated.

Pacing back and forth across the bridge, Jegora ran through a mental checklist. The ships were assembled, briefed, and readied. The Charlotte herself had never been in better condition, thanks to her recent time in dry-dock and due in no small part to Em’s expert management. Jegora may have had his doubts about his XO at first, but he had to admit that she was damn effective as a second in command. She took care of most of the crew issues before Jegora himself even knew about them, but at the same time she didn’t hesitate to bring a problem to his attention if she felt it was warranted. Usually, it was; above all else, Jegora had learned to trust the younger woman’s instincts and judgment almost as much as he did his own.

The only thing that worried him was coordination. While the Osk men and women might have been excellent spacers, they were used to operating independently, used to doing things their own way. An operation of this scale, Jegora knew, required discipline and purpose beyond what the Oskers might possess, and he just hoped that when the time came to follow orders they would not hesitate. No novice to space combat, Jegora knew that any hesitation in a battle the size of the one they were about to initiate could, and probably would, be disastrous.

He was still pacing, still thinking, when Em’s voice pierced the relative silence of the bridge. “Time, boss.”

Nodding, Jegora turned and moved over next to where his XO was standing near the center of the bridge. “Alright. Open a line to the captains.”

One of the comm. techs hit a button on their console. “Ready,” the man stated.

Jegora nodded again. “Are we ready, ladies and gentleman?” he inquired of the other senior captains.

A chorus of voices responded. Solvona answered first. “Aye Jeg, we’re good to go. Waiting for the order.”

Jager’s voice broke through the static of the communications link. “Ready, two-fists. Give the word.”

“Can we just get on with it,” another voice answered, a voice Jegora recognized as Ron’s.

“The Divinity is prepped for hyperspace,” Angel stated after a moment.

Finally the voice Jegora had been most anxiously waiting for crackled to life. “We’re ready Jeg. On your mark.” Kami Sharpe sounded as calm and confident as ever, but Jegora knew that she was dealing with the same doubts that he was.

“Right,” Jegora said, turning back to the comm. officer and motioning for him to open a fleet-wide channel. “Hyperspace on my mark, Oskers,” he ordered when the link was establish.

Taking a deep breath, Jegora composed himself before speaking again. He pushed his doubts aside, buried his concerns. He was dedicated now, as calm and as cold as ice. “Hyperspace in 3…2…1…mark.”

Through the viewport of the bridge, Jegora could see the stars start to stretch around the [i]Charlotte[i]. He noted absently that some of the smaller transports punched it a little early, but he wasn’t concerned. Suddenly the stars lengthened and then disappeared completely, replaced by the blue-ish tunnel of hyperspace.

“ETA?” Jegora questioned, turning to his XO.

Em studied a display for a second before answering. “Two hours, give or take. Fleet seems to have stayed together fairly well too, as far as I can tell.”

Nodding absently, Jegora started to make his way off the bridge. “Let me know when we’re half an hour out,” he instructed as he left the bridge.

“Aye aye, cap’n,” Em responded sarcastically, but Jegora was already out the door.

OOC:

The Plan:

We basically just sent the entire company after a very specific treasure—we’re just not sure what that treasure is. The facility we’re raiding is located on a moon with no atmosphere, so it’s rather tricky to get inside. That’s for later, though; right now, we have our own problems, problems such as:

• Other pirate fleet already present at asteroid
• Large military defense force present at asteroid
• We have to work together, which is not something pirates do well in general.

Keeping those issues in mind, two things must happen before we can physically raid the facility:

• We have to ally with the opposing pirate group in order to defeat the military forces
  
  and
  
  
• We can’t let the other pirates anywhere near the treasure.

Good luck.

Well this sucks.

Tinker eyes were like daggers as they swept through the spaceport, not that she had free will to look at what she wanted to. The oversized smelly ass hole holding her hair and dragging her like a child dictated what she would be looking at this trip to the asteroid.

She gazed at the 'crew' the man was barking at and had to roll her eyes. His attention sufficiently diverted enough for her to reach one hand deftly into her jacket pocket to press a single button on the small device that was concealed within.

"Where are you goin', huh? Runnin' back to him? Nova!" With a grunt and an even harder pull on her scalp the man stomped after the retreating figures of his former crew. He started to mutter to himself as he pushed random people less because they were in his way and more because he just wanted to and they were near his path.

"I don't know, man, I don't think she likes you 'that' way." In a swift rage influenced motion, the former captain yanked Tinker up by her hair and screamed a primal yell into her face. When he was finally silent save his heavy breathing she smirked. "Yea, your right your breath may have been a factor. Next time a sample is not necessary."

"Argh stupid girl" With that he continued stomping towards the hanger, mostly dragging the red head in his wake. She was glad the play had worked and bought her more time.

They arrived at the gang plank of an old but heavily modified ship and staring down the barrel of a fairly impressive blaster pistol.

Tinker raised a single eyebrow has high as her forehead would allow. "That?!? That is what your so pissed off about? You have GOT to be kidding me man. Did you rob a museum?"

Ron blinked behind the gun. "That is one loud carry on bag you got there."

The former captain sneered and stepped to advance only to yelp in pain as he was shocked at about thigh level by Tinker's R2 droid, Junkie. He promptly dropped the red head and swatted at the droid, but everyone paused when Ron fired a shot just missing the man's head.

"Bout time Junkie, go out for oil on your way?" The orange and gray droid replied in equally frustrated tones, probably angry that Tink called him from his daily re-charging routine to save her ass.

"Quiet." Ron spoke in a normal tone, which only seemed to add menace to his voice and she had to admit was far more effective for him than yelling. "Anyone here want this guy around?"

The crew slowly shook their heads in a negative but remained silent. Tinker reached over and yanked the two pistols off the former captains holster and examined them for a few moments. "These will do, for now. I think the answer to your question is 'no we don't want him around'." She winked at the guy who had really ruined her day and watched as he sulked away.

Tinker scoffed at his backside, then looked up at the crew. "So who are you?"

"Ron, this is my ship the 'Fortunado'. That one, Dimitri is part of my crew, I'll have to consult with these others as to their employment status." Dimitri made an aggravated sound she knew well, it was the sound of someone losing credits at a rapid rate.

The red head nodded. "You can call me Tinker, need a mechanic?"

=====~~~=====

Tinker wandered the corridors of the Fortunado shaking her head every now and then at the outright insanity of the modifications she was looking at. She had to admit, part of her couldn't wait to figure out how this Ron fellow got this thing to stay in the stars.

She heard voices on the comm and approached the cockpit getting a glare from the woman she learned was named Nova.

"Can we just get on with it.” Ron voice didn't disguise his frustration, he had his foot propped up on the control panel and looked utterly bored. She knew that he had already been the last ship to arrive in the fleet which seemed to bother the hell out of him.

Tinker watched some of the other ships start to enter hyperspace. "It would appear we can, Captain."

"And you are not strapped in why?" He immediately started flipping switches and Nova put her hands on the controls. It was quite obvious neither of them was going to wait if she decided to linger. Cadie plopped into a chair within eyesight of where she left Junkie to his recharging pleasures and settled in for one hell of a trip.

The Charelotte jumped out of hyperspace, greeted almost immediately by the laser bolts of awaiting ships, rocking her as the focused fire ate away at her shields. Noose was flung out of his seat beside a table, along with his glass of whiskey, which splattered across the ground, inches away from drenching him. He sighed deeply at it's loss, hauling himself up from the ground, but there were more important things to worry about.

What the frak just happened?!, was one of them. More bolts battered the ships, each one accompanied by a small rattle. Pirates ran rampant through the halls, most without purpose, just trying to found out what happened. A rare few, however, seemed to have an objective in mind. They were obviously crew, not just the shock troops that were accompanying them. Noose jogged towards the nearest window and peered out. What he saw didn't look good. It seemed someone else wanted that special treasure as well. Noose wasn't the most experienced when it came to battles, but he was quite sure that the Osk fleet wasn't well off for a three-way fight. They would lose far too many ships.

Noose decided to see if he could make it up to the bridge to get a better view of the situation. He left the room and walked through the halls, getting shouldered and pushed by pirates as they ran aimlessly around the massive ship. He wasn't surprised at being treated like that. He was just a fresh recruit. Some of the people here had been Oskers for years. He was more like a merc than a pirate to them. Except he wasn't being paid.

"Get out 'o my way, idiot."

"Hmph, call yourself a pirate..."

These muttering followed him throughout the ship, despite the fact they were being attacked. Everyone knew he was an outsider, and disapproval cut through their voices with every word. He did not belong here. Yet. He had to prove himself first.

After much pushing and shoving through the mistrustful pirates, he arrived at the bridge, but was stopped before he could enter by a tall, dark-skinned man.

"And who do you think you are?"

"Name's Noose. Just wanted to see what was going on."

"We're being attacked." The man grunted. "If you couldn't tell that, you don't belong on this ship."

He sneered. "Not that you belong here in the first place, swabbie" He put extra emphasis on the last word, lip-curled sneer growing wider as he spoke. "You ain't fit to scrub my boots, so get outta here before I decide to do Osk a favour."

Noose's mouth opened as he prepared to yell a retort, but he decided against it and stopped. Better not to get into trouble with the higher-ups just yet. Not when they don't trust him anyways. He'd be picking pieces of their boots out of his arse for weeks. Not that he wouldn't even if he was trusted. There just wouldn't be as many pieces to pick out if he was...

Hunter hurtled out of the shuttle before the doors had even fully opened. Eyes watering, he slumped against a nearby cargo crate, gasping for breath. A passerby might think he had just ran a marathon, but he hadn’t ran anywhere. In fact, he had barely moved for the past ten minutes, which was more or less the time that the shuttle had taken to the reach the Charelotte from the surface of Osk 91. Turning his head, he wiped his eyes on the shoulders of his shirt. He had just endured ten minutes of the worst smells he had ever had the displeasure of sampling. His nose even felt like it had been scorched clean by the rank smells emanating from the shuttle. Luckily, there had been seats, so he at least had the luxury of sitting, which made the trip slightly easier. Still, it had smelled like a rancor den full of rotting corpses. Even about ten feet from the closing doors of the shuttle, the smells reached him.

Waving them away, he retreated farther into the cramped hangar. He stumbled a bit as the ship shuddered. That was probably us entering hyperspace. The journey probably won’t be too long. Taking a quick look at his surroundings, he noticed that most of the beings that had been in the shuttle, and those that hadn’t, didn’t seem to be bothered much by the smell, which was a testimony to what they put up with on a daily basis. It was also a reminder of how different he was from them. He was an outsider, and nothing he could do would change that anytime soon.

“Guess I’ll just have to prove myself.” he muttered to himself.

Shaking his head, Hunter took a deep breath, relishing the slightly stale air as if it was some kind of delicacy. Exhaling slowly, he began to maneuver through the small spaces between ships, which were made even tighter by the steady throng of beings that moved throughout the hangar, mostly mechanics and pilots. Slowly, he made his way to one of the few doors scattered around the hangar walls. Looking around, he noted the dim lighting and apparent lack of life. Maintenance area then. Small, most likely a dead end.

Turning around, he reentered the hangar . . . just in time for the ship to shudder again. One step further and the ship shook violently, setting of klaxons. Snapping his head towards the ships in the hangar, Hunter saw the pilots and mechanics scramble, the former heading for their respective ships and the former heading towards the inside of the hangar, away from the ships. Knowing he had to do something, he darted forward. While most ships were started up, or in the process of starting up, they weren’t lifting off yet, presumably waiting for the order to do so. Good, that gave Hunter time to possibly get aboard a ship. Unfortunately for him, there weren’t any in sight that didn’t already have their boarding ramp up. Sighing, he craned his head in vain to search for one that would be accessible and found what he was looking for in the farthest corner of the hangar.

Hmm. A Firespray with mottled gray paint. No wonder I didn’t see it before now. It blends in perfectly with the hangar floor and walls. Dashing over to it, he peered up the ramp uncertainly. Usually, he would not attempt to steal a ship, but this one seemed to be deserted and he certainly wasn’t going to keep it. Shrugging, he jogged up the ramp and promptly ran into a Echani. Bouncing back a step, he stared at the being for a few seconds while the Echani returned the stare. Recovering quickly, Hunter looked the Echani up and down. The being looked to be about Hunter’s eye-level and was wearing utilitarian clothes befitting of a spacer.

“I’m sorry. I thought this ship was abandoned.” both beings said at the same time.

Hunter blinked in confusion, “Huh?”

The Echani paused before speaking, “I thought it was deserted when I boarded and then when I ran into you, I assumed it was yours and you were coming back to it.”

“No, this isn’t my ship. I thought it was deserted too. What were you looking to do with it?” Hunter said.

“I should be asking you the same. I was planning on taking it out into the inevitable battle as I don’t have a ship of my own.” the Echani replied calmly.

“My plan exactly. What do you say we both take it out for a spin?” Hunter said, grinning.

“That would be . . . good. I’m not exactly an expert pilot. Oh, I’m Jubal, by the way.” the Echani said, nodding.

“Hunter. I’m exactly what one would call an expert pilot, if you don’t mind the arrogance. Now, lets raise the ramp and get this baby started up.” Hunter gestured towards the interior of the ship.

Jubal turned, but then stopped and looked back over his shoulder to address Hunter, “Just beware. I may not be an expert pilot, but I know how to kill quite easily. So if you think about double crossing me, you’ll regret it.”

“Likewise.” Hunter said, drawing a quick upwards twitch of the lips from Jubal, who turned back to the ship.

Without looking back, he strode up the ramp and into the ship.

“Well this will be interesting . . .” Hunter muttered as he followed.

The ride to the Charlotte was relatively fast though it certainly felt longer given the cramped space, nasty smells, threatening and/or just stupid looking grins others seemed to have on their faces, poor piloting and/or just horrible condition of the shuttle itself... Wonder if it will suck as much on the way back as well. Chances were it would and the realization really didn't appeal to the Onderonian. Pausing to glance at the guy that stood next to him and that obviously looked much worse than anyone else, well the smuggler was at least thankful for not being in his shoes. Now that would've been really bad...

Shrugging that thought away however Seth began taking a look around. There were just three areas of any larger ship that ever posed an interest to him - the bridge, the living quarters and the hangar. Most individuals would've likely also added the engines room to that list but since the Onderonian hardly knew anything about dealing with them directly and stuff... well there just wasn't much of a point to concern himself with that knowledge. As a pilot he was used to just seeing their status on a small monitor and that was pretty much it...

As for the reason Seth was also interested in the living quarters and hangar as well - that should be fairly obvious however. For one thing every single individual in the galaxy should likely be concerned regarding the conditions he was supposed to spend a lot of time in. There however Seth could also get a better feel of the crew's morale, its loyalties, its needs and quite possibly the extent of their skills as well. Speaking of skills, what better location to gauge them than the hangar? It was the place where one could see the discipline of the pilots, the enthusiasm of mechanics and most importantly the condition of the ships the former were supposed to use. What could possibly matter more to a pilot? Or perhaps just a survivalist in general for that matter...

The smuggler was still taking a look around the hangar when he realized the ship had just jumped into hyperspace. Good, it meant that all the crew had either assembled or was left behind for not being able to sober up on time. It also meant that whatever reason the Oskers were called in for would be made obvious once the whole fleet would drop out of hyperspace. The Onderonian hoped for a simple op, but doubted that would be the case however. Simple ops simply did not require entire fleets to be mobilized after all. Simple ops also would not make pirates band together only to end up also sharing the booty together afterward. Knowing these things Seth couldn't help but wonder what exactly they would end up finding once their destination would finally be reached.

---------------

A couple or so hours passed since Seth got on board the Charlotte and the latter dropped out of hyperspace. It took but a few brief moments and a lot of shaking about for the Navy crewman to realize that 1. they had reached their destination and 2. as suspected, their destination wasn't peaceful. Still being in the hangar the Onderonian couldn't really tell what exactly was going on outside and for that matter he didn't really care either. What he did care about was the fact that the ship he was currently in was being fired upon. From orbit it looked like a fairly sturdy ship that had seen its share of battles but that didn't really succeed in putting the Onderonian's mind at ease. For one thing being in a lot of fights and surviving them was obviously a good thing. Being in a lot of fights and possibly not managing to fix everything properly in between was a strong possibility however all things considered and well that was obviously a bad thing. For now it appeared that the Charlotte was holding together fairly well however and that was all that mattered...

Wonder whether i should see about getting one of these ships for myself and help out... or if it comes to that, use it to get the hell out of here. Hmm...