Kilian Asteeds was gone. Apparently taken by the men of Malan Thule, the notorious bounty hunter who had quite the established enterprise. However the target had not been Kilian, but rather, apparently, the youth Dirk Yutani, commonly known as Spanner. By the time Pron, Spanner and Koraz managed to arrive on the scene of the blaster battle, only a deceased Devaronian remained, slumped against the wall with a smoking hole where his left eye had been. The other thugs had vanished, dragging their wounded with them.
The team was now left with a dilemma - continue the mission to track Lieutenant Herkin or try to rescue Kilian. Unfortunately taking on a criminal syndicate the size of Malan Thule was likely outside their current abilities. They didn't even have their ship available, as the Vagrant remained stationed on Geonosis presently.
Xander recruited Roona to help dig up info. The Rodian scout was not a permanent resident of Mos Shuuta, but she knew her way around the under belly of the small town, ruled by Teemo the Hutt. And she had dealt with Jask as well. He was the one who upgraded her own landspeeder. It didn't take long before she learned that Jask wasn't the only one who 'disappeared' into Imperial custody recently. The Bothan doctor, El'Jammir, had also been arrested, then no longer listed as in custody. A group of spacers had been asking questions about her disappearance. It was time to ask them some questions.
The team returned to the Mos Shuuta cantina where they had originally met Oona Braitano on their first mission together, to discuss their options on how to get into the Landing Bay where the shuttle was, past the Stormtrooper guards.
Meanwhile FL-AR3 accessed his holonet uplink - the droid's secure channel flickered to life with static-laced encryption patterns. "Query: Status update on contract fulfillment parameters," FL-AR3 transmitted, their photoreceptors dimming slightly as they awaited Ota's response. The Bothan's reply came through distorted - half-garbled Basic interspersed with Huttese profanity that made Proiah snort into his drink. Apparently credits were being rerouted through three shell accounts, and Ota wasn't happy about the delay either. The payments would arrive later that day.
Koraz didn't react to the news.. The Iktochi's fingers tapped a slow rhythm against his blaster grip while his other hand swirled the blue liquid in his glass absently. He wasn't drinking. Koraz never drank on the job - a lesson learned after that disaster on Ord Mantell. Across the table, Proiah had already drained half his glass.
The cantina's flickering overheads caught the Rodian scout's emerald skin first as she slid past two drunk Twi'leks. Xander, the slicer, followed a step behind, scanning the room with quick, darting glances until he found the group he was looking for. Roona had tracked this group to the cantina. FL-AR3 rotated its head toward them with an audible servo grind.
"Been looking for you," Roona said by way of greeting, leaning over the table with her knuckles planted between sticky drink rings. Her compound eyes reflected the neon holosign, fracturing her gaze into a dozen shimmering shards. Xander remained standing, one hand inside his jacket..
Koraz didn’t move his fingers from his blaster grip. "We're listening," Pron grunted, voice low enough that the drunk Twi'leks nearby wouldn’t overhear.
Xander’s hand stayed buried in his jacket, fingers undoubtedly curled around something lethal. "They took Jask," he said, his voice tighter than a hydraulic press. "Same way your friend vanished." His nostrils flared. "Jask could strip a speeder down to bolts and put it back together blindfolded. Not the kind of man you lose to bad luck."
Roona’s tapped her fingers impatiently "Imperials don’t *lose* people," she hissed, leaning in further. "They disappear them."
"And you want our help in finding him," Koraz stated, try to appear distanced from their situation.
Roona let out a grunt of irritation. "You have doctor. Same same situation. Many people taken by Imperials. Work together," she offered in her broken Basic.
FL-AR3 rotated its photoreceptors toward Koraz with a soft whirr. "Hypothesis: Concurrent abductions do suggest coordinated operational parameters." The droid tapped one metal finger against the table. "Query: Do your parameters align with ours?"
Xander's fingers twitched inside his jacket. "Depends," he said, eyes flicking toward Spanner's grease-stained sleeves. "Why'd they grab your doctor? Imperials usually arrest spice runners and blackmailers, not medics."
Spanner's fingers curled into fists, knuckles whitening under engine grime. "We don't—" His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. "We don't know."
Koraz's fingers stopped tapping his blaster. The cantina's neon glow painted his horns purple as he leaned forward. "We were hired to tag Herkin's shuttle," he said, voice low enough that the words barely carried past the sticky table. "Plant a homing beacon. Nothing more." His black eyes flicked to Xander's concealed hand.
Roona and Xander looked at each other. "Can do that," Roona said, her rolling Rodian accent stretching the Basic words oddly.
Xander grinned and removed his hand from his jacket—empty—only to tap something on his wristpad. A holoprojection flickered to life above the table, displaying a crude schematic of Mos Shuuta’s landing bay perimeter. "Stormtrooper patrol routes," Xander murmured, "are predictable when you know how they think. Which, fortunately, isn’t very hard." He tapped again, and red dotted lines overlaid the schematic—shift rotations every four hours, blind spots where moisture vaporators blocked sensor sweeps.
Roona grinned. It was an unusual expression. Due to her non-human facial structure, the expression of a "smile" is not the typical upturning of lips seen in humans. Instead, a Rodian's attempt at an expression a human might interpret as a smile often results in an unusual facial movement that can appear "janky", due to the difficulty in translating human expressions onto their unique anatomy.
The group decided on a plan. Xander was going to use his recon remote to get an initial view of the layout and also track the progress of Roona. Pron would be standing guard with Xander. Roona would be going "over the wall" and Spanner would be her spotter. Meanwhile a distraction would be needed. Koraz and FL-AR3 would provide this when the time was right.
Shadows in the Docking Bay - Episode 19
Moderator: GM Fang
Re: Shadows in the Docking Bay - Episode 19
The plan was formed. FL-AR3 tilted its photoreceptors toward Koraz. "Clarification required: Distraction parameters." The droid's servos whined as it leaned forward, drink forgotten. "Do you prefer structural damage, auditory disruption, or biological incapacitation?"
Koraz's eye twitched once. "We're going to stick with auditory disruption," he said, thumbing the safety off his blaster. "Follow my lead." He didn't explain further—didn't need to. The Iktochi had run enough ops to know exactly how much noise it took to pull stormtroopers off their patrol routes without triggering a full base lockdown. The trick was making it sound like a simple disagreement, not an assault.
Xander's recon remote whirred to life, its repulsors kicking up dust as it lifted from his palm. The device was a small and spherical probe droid used by military and security personnel for reconnaissance and surveillance. Its lens array could spot a credit chip at fifty meters. Roona pointed toward the jagged cliffside hugging the landing bay's northern perimeter. "Flight path there," she hissed. "Up the rockface, then drop behind the fuel silos. No surveillance - blind spots."
Spanner followed Roona, his boots crunching over gravel as they slipped past the power station's humming converters. The air smelled of overheated Tibanna gas and rust—old machinery bleeding out under Tatooine's twin suns. He kept one hand on his scanner, the other wiping sweat from his brow.
The Rodian moved like liquid shadow, her emerald skin blending with the industrial grime as she darted between storage crates. Spanner froze when she raised a three-fingered hand—a silent warning. He crouched, heart hammering against his ribs as bootsteps echoed ahead. Too close. Roona vanished around the warehouse corner, leaving Spanner stranded between a coolant tank and a Stormtrooper patrol.
White armor plates clicked as the trooper turned. "You. Stop right there." The modulator flattened the threat into a bored monotone. His throat went dry as the trooper's blaster swung up. "Identify yourself." The trooper's helmet tilted slightly, studying him with that impersonal black stare. Behind the plastoid, Spanner imagined some Core World conscript sweating under the twin suns, trigger finger itching for an excuse.
"Maintenance," Spanner croaked, jerking his chin toward the grease-stained toolbelt sagging against his thigh. The stormtrooper's blaster didn't waver. Spanner's throat tightened as he watched his own reflection distort in the trooper's polarized visor.
"Warehouse panel thirteen was serviced yesterday," the trooper said, voice crackling through the helmet's vocoder. The barrel twitched—left, toward the power station. "You're in the wrong sector."
Spanner forced a nod, fingers tightening around his scanner until the plastic creaked. "Right. Must've mixed up my routes." He edged backward, boots scuffing against the gravel. The trooper's blaster tracked his movement for three agonizing seconds before finally lowering with a dismissive grunt. Spanner didn't breathe again until he'd rounded the coolant tank, sweat icing down his spine.
Meanwhile, Roona's heat signature pulsed green on Xander's datapad as she scaled the landing bay's perimeter wall, her ascension pistol zipping her up the hanger wall in a flash. The recon remote hovered silently above, its lens capturing every flex of her sinewy arms as she hauled herself onto the service ledge. Pron leaned over Xander's shoulder, his Sullustan ears twitching at the grainy feed. "She's clear," he murmured. "No patrols near that wall."
Then—she was gone. The feed shimmered for half a second, and when it cleared, Roona was gone. Not crouching behind a fuel drum, not sprawled unconscious on the duracrete—vanished, as if plucked from existence by some celestial hand. Xander jabbed at his wristpad, cycling through filters. Infrared showed only residual heat where her fingers had gripped the ledge. Motion tracking registered empty air. Pron inhaled sharply. "How is that possible?"
Koraz's distraction began precisely on schedule—thirty paces past Baba's Grill, where the alley widened into a thoroughfare right in front of the landing bay and two Stormtrooper guards. The Iktochi slammed his fist against a rusted vaporator casing, the metallic clang echoing off the prefab walls. "Piece of "junk" droid!" he roared.
FL-AR3's photoreceptors dimmed in perfect synchronization with the insult. "Statement: This unit's performance metrics exceed standard parameters by—"
"You call this exceeding?" Koraz's boot lashed out, sending a loose hydrospanner skittering across the plaza with a metallic screech that made nearby Jawas flinch. The Iktochi's horns flushed crimson under Tatooine's twin suns as he jabbed a finger at the droid's dented chassis. "Three jobs. Three kriffing jobs where your subroutine glitched!" His voice carried beautifully—just shy of a shout, loud enough to draw stares from the Stormtroopers flanking the landing bay's entrance without sounding like deliberate provocation.
FL-AR3's photoreceptors flickered between yellow and red in a calculated display of agitation. "Correction: Primary motivator malfunction occurred once—" A servomotor whined loudly as the droid jerked its arm toward Koraz's face, stopping precisely three centimeters short. The Stormtroopers shifted, their white armor catching the sunlight as they turned toward the commotion. One trooper's hand drifted toward his holstered blaster.
Koraz seized FL-AR3's wrist with a metallic clang that echoed off the prefab walls. "You call *this* functioning?" He wrenched the droid's arm downward in a movement that looked violent but required minimal actual force—a performer's flourish honed across a hundred backwater worlds. FL-AR3's gyros whirred in protest, its torso twisting at an unnatural angle that sent sparks skittering across the duracrete. A Rodian fruit vendor ducked behind his stall.
The stormtroopers were fully turned now, their blank visors fixed on the spectacle. Koraz tasted their hesitation—that precious half-second where protocol warred with curiosity. He leaned into it, slamming the droid against a stack of empty fuel drums with a crash that sent one rolling. FL-AR3's vocoder emitted a static-laced wail that could've passed for genuine distress circuits overloading.
"Primary directive violation!" the droid shrieked, limbs flailing in a sequence that looked convincingly uncontrolled. Its photoreceptors strobed erratically, casting jagged crimson shadows across the alley. One armored hand twitched forward in a fist—just enough to sell the threat without actually deploying it.
The stormtroopers finally reached them, their boots crunching sand-grit into the alley's permacrete. "Disengage immediately!" barked the taller trooper, his gloved hand resting on his blaster's grip. Koraz shoved FL-AR3 backward—another theatrical push—before rounding on the trooper. "Don't worry, we're out of here."
Koraz grabbed FL-AR3's arm and hauled the droid around a stack of rusted cargo containers, just far enough to exit the troopers' sightline. As soon as they were out of earshot, the Iktochi released his grip. FL-AR3's photoreceptors cycled from red back to blue. "Performance assessment: Adequate. Though protocol recommends against excessive physical simulation without prior—"
"My apologies," Koraz said, low enough that only the droid's audio receptors could pick it up. He'd worked with enough droids to know FL-AR3 wasn't some mindless tool. "Necessary theatrics. You played your part well."
FL-AR3's photoreceptors flickered blue-green—amusement?—before a soft chime from Xander's wristpad cut through the tension. The slicer's fingers danced over the display, pulling up a holo-message encrypted in Rodian glyphs. Before long, Roona's signal pinged through—task complete. Tracking beacon successfully planted on Lt. Herkin's shuttle. Pron let out a relieved huff, rubbing at the sweat-darkened skin behind his ear.
Roona emerged from a shadowed alcove behind the restaurant's coolant tanks, her emerald skin flushed darker with exertion. She shrugged off what looked like an ordinary worn poncho—until it shimmered in the dim light, its threads rearranging into an almost-liquid refraction pattern before settling back into dull fabric. "Cloaking Cloak," she announced, her Basic halting but triumphant. "Black market Nar Shaddaa tech. Won't fool eyeballs, but..." She tapped her temple meaningfully. "Scanners? Gone. Thermal? Ghost." The Rodian's grin stretched unnaturally wide. "Imperials never see me."
Now they just had to wait until the shuttle departed to find out where they needed to go to rescue their friends.
Koraz's eye twitched once. "We're going to stick with auditory disruption," he said, thumbing the safety off his blaster. "Follow my lead." He didn't explain further—didn't need to. The Iktochi had run enough ops to know exactly how much noise it took to pull stormtroopers off their patrol routes without triggering a full base lockdown. The trick was making it sound like a simple disagreement, not an assault.
Xander's recon remote whirred to life, its repulsors kicking up dust as it lifted from his palm. The device was a small and spherical probe droid used by military and security personnel for reconnaissance and surveillance. Its lens array could spot a credit chip at fifty meters. Roona pointed toward the jagged cliffside hugging the landing bay's northern perimeter. "Flight path there," she hissed. "Up the rockface, then drop behind the fuel silos. No surveillance - blind spots."
Spanner followed Roona, his boots crunching over gravel as they slipped past the power station's humming converters. The air smelled of overheated Tibanna gas and rust—old machinery bleeding out under Tatooine's twin suns. He kept one hand on his scanner, the other wiping sweat from his brow.
The Rodian moved like liquid shadow, her emerald skin blending with the industrial grime as she darted between storage crates. Spanner froze when she raised a three-fingered hand—a silent warning. He crouched, heart hammering against his ribs as bootsteps echoed ahead. Too close. Roona vanished around the warehouse corner, leaving Spanner stranded between a coolant tank and a Stormtrooper patrol.
White armor plates clicked as the trooper turned. "You. Stop right there." The modulator flattened the threat into a bored monotone. His throat went dry as the trooper's blaster swung up. "Identify yourself." The trooper's helmet tilted slightly, studying him with that impersonal black stare. Behind the plastoid, Spanner imagined some Core World conscript sweating under the twin suns, trigger finger itching for an excuse.
- troopers.png (146 KiB) Viewed 14654 times
"Warehouse panel thirteen was serviced yesterday," the trooper said, voice crackling through the helmet's vocoder. The barrel twitched—left, toward the power station. "You're in the wrong sector."
Spanner forced a nod, fingers tightening around his scanner until the plastic creaked. "Right. Must've mixed up my routes." He edged backward, boots scuffing against the gravel. The trooper's blaster tracked his movement for three agonizing seconds before finally lowering with a dismissive grunt. Spanner didn't breathe again until he'd rounded the coolant tank, sweat icing down his spine.
Meanwhile, Roona's heat signature pulsed green on Xander's datapad as she scaled the landing bay's perimeter wall, her ascension pistol zipping her up the hanger wall in a flash. The recon remote hovered silently above, its lens capturing every flex of her sinewy arms as she hauled herself onto the service ledge. Pron leaned over Xander's shoulder, his Sullustan ears twitching at the grainy feed. "She's clear," he murmured. "No patrols near that wall."
Then—she was gone. The feed shimmered for half a second, and when it cleared, Roona was gone. Not crouching behind a fuel drum, not sprawled unconscious on the duracrete—vanished, as if plucked from existence by some celestial hand. Xander jabbed at his wristpad, cycling through filters. Infrared showed only residual heat where her fingers had gripped the ledge. Motion tracking registered empty air. Pron inhaled sharply. "How is that possible?"
Koraz's distraction began precisely on schedule—thirty paces past Baba's Grill, where the alley widened into a thoroughfare right in front of the landing bay and two Stormtrooper guards. The Iktochi slammed his fist against a rusted vaporator casing, the metallic clang echoing off the prefab walls. "Piece of "junk" droid!" he roared.
FL-AR3's photoreceptors dimmed in perfect synchronization with the insult. "Statement: This unit's performance metrics exceed standard parameters by—"
"You call this exceeding?" Koraz's boot lashed out, sending a loose hydrospanner skittering across the plaza with a metallic screech that made nearby Jawas flinch. The Iktochi's horns flushed crimson under Tatooine's twin suns as he jabbed a finger at the droid's dented chassis. "Three jobs. Three kriffing jobs where your subroutine glitched!" His voice carried beautifully—just shy of a shout, loud enough to draw stares from the Stormtroopers flanking the landing bay's entrance without sounding like deliberate provocation.
FL-AR3's photoreceptors flickered between yellow and red in a calculated display of agitation. "Correction: Primary motivator malfunction occurred once—" A servomotor whined loudly as the droid jerked its arm toward Koraz's face, stopping precisely three centimeters short. The Stormtroopers shifted, their white armor catching the sunlight as they turned toward the commotion. One trooper's hand drifted toward his holstered blaster.
Koraz seized FL-AR3's wrist with a metallic clang that echoed off the prefab walls. "You call *this* functioning?" He wrenched the droid's arm downward in a movement that looked violent but required minimal actual force—a performer's flourish honed across a hundred backwater worlds. FL-AR3's gyros whirred in protest, its torso twisting at an unnatural angle that sent sparks skittering across the duracrete. A Rodian fruit vendor ducked behind his stall.
The stormtroopers were fully turned now, their blank visors fixed on the spectacle. Koraz tasted their hesitation—that precious half-second where protocol warred with curiosity. He leaned into it, slamming the droid against a stack of empty fuel drums with a crash that sent one rolling. FL-AR3's vocoder emitted a static-laced wail that could've passed for genuine distress circuits overloading.
"Primary directive violation!" the droid shrieked, limbs flailing in a sequence that looked convincingly uncontrolled. Its photoreceptors strobed erratically, casting jagged crimson shadows across the alley. One armored hand twitched forward in a fist—just enough to sell the threat without actually deploying it.
The stormtroopers finally reached them, their boots crunching sand-grit into the alley's permacrete. "Disengage immediately!" barked the taller trooper, his gloved hand resting on his blaster's grip. Koraz shoved FL-AR3 backward—another theatrical push—before rounding on the trooper. "Don't worry, we're out of here."
Koraz grabbed FL-AR3's arm and hauled the droid around a stack of rusted cargo containers, just far enough to exit the troopers' sightline. As soon as they were out of earshot, the Iktochi released his grip. FL-AR3's photoreceptors cycled from red back to blue. "Performance assessment: Adequate. Though protocol recommends against excessive physical simulation without prior—"
"My apologies," Koraz said, low enough that only the droid's audio receptors could pick it up. He'd worked with enough droids to know FL-AR3 wasn't some mindless tool. "Necessary theatrics. You played your part well."
FL-AR3's photoreceptors flickered blue-green—amusement?—before a soft chime from Xander's wristpad cut through the tension. The slicer's fingers danced over the display, pulling up a holo-message encrypted in Rodian glyphs. Before long, Roona's signal pinged through—task complete. Tracking beacon successfully planted on Lt. Herkin's shuttle. Pron let out a relieved huff, rubbing at the sweat-darkened skin behind his ear.
Roona emerged from a shadowed alcove behind the restaurant's coolant tanks, her emerald skin flushed darker with exertion. She shrugged off what looked like an ordinary worn poncho—until it shimmered in the dim light, its threads rearranging into an almost-liquid refraction pattern before settling back into dull fabric. "Cloaking Cloak," she announced, her Basic halting but triumphant. "Black market Nar Shaddaa tech. Won't fool eyeballs, but..." She tapped her temple meaningfully. "Scanners? Gone. Thermal? Ghost." The Rodian's grin stretched unnaturally wide. "Imperials never see me."
Now they just had to wait until the shuttle departed to find out where they needed to go to rescue their friends.
Re: Shadows in the Docking Bay - Episode 19
While waiting for the shuttle to reach it's destination, the group heads back to the cantina. Along the way, Spanner stops at the doctor's building again and has a brief conversation with the medical droid, FX-779. This series was often referred to as 'Fixits'. The FX-series was designed with utility in mind; each unit was symmetrical and cylindrical and no attempt was made to make it look humanoid. FX-779 did not have its own mobility. Only the series 6 FX droids were designed to be mobile as it was assumed that they would be stationed in operating theaters. All other model FX droids either had to be physically dragged from one location to another or ferried on repulsorcarts.
FX-779 remained stationary in the middle of the room. It was cylindrical and about waist-high. It had a single photoreceptor, red in color, and it was positioned on a hemispherical protrusion at the top of the cylinder. Spanner sighs, rubbing his forehead. The Fixit didn't understand much Basic, but it would respond to simple requests—medical diagnostics, wound treatment, that sort of thing.
Spanner crouched down beside the droid. "FX-779," he said, enunciating carefully. "Listen." He tapped the droid’s chassis twice. FX-779's photoreceptor blinked once, cycling to a dim yellow standby glow. Spanner pulled out his datapad and punched in a quick series of binary commands—short, clipped chirps that translated to: Prepare contingency protocols. Primary operator absent. Security measures engaged. The droid emitted a soft, acknowledging beep.
"Hide the good bacta," Spanner muttered in Basic, miming tucking something under his jacket. FX-779's photoreceptor flickered, processing. Then, with a whirr, its hemispherical dome rotated toward a locked cabinet near the operating slab—where El'Jaameer kept the premium supplies. Another affirmative beep. Spanner exhaled. Good enough.
He punched in another binary string—this one longer, more urgent. The droid responded with a series of rapid chirps that translated to *Query: Duration of operator absence?* Spanner hesitated, fingers hovering over the datapad. He typed: *Unknown. Hostile acquisition.* FX-779's yellow light deepened to amber. A panel on its side slid open, revealing a seldom-used comms port.
Spanner pulled a thin cable from his belt and jacked it into the port, uploading FL-AR3's encrypted frequency in a burst of static. The droid emitted a low, oscillating hum—the sound it made when processing something against protocol. Spanner leaned closer, lowering his voice even though the clinic stood empty. "If anyone asks where El'Jaameer is—" he mimed wiping his own memory banks, then tapped the droid's dome twice for emphasis.
FX-779's photoreceptor pulsed amber once, then cycled through diagnostic colors before settling on a dim green. A synthesized voice crackled from its internal speaker—not Basic, but binary rendered in monotone: Affirmative. Security protocols engaged. The droid's hemispherical head swiveled toward the clinic's entrance, its single photoreceptor dilating slightly.
Spanner slid the datapad into his pack and straightened just as FL-AR3's encrypted ping vibrated against his thigh. He stepped out into the dusty street, squinting against the twin suns' glare. The others were already moving—Koraz's horns cutting a sharp silhouette against the horizon, Pron's squat form trudging ahead with the gait of a man who'd spent too many years in cockpits.
Roona saw it first. Her finger jabbed upward, slicing through the haze like a vibroblade. "Shuttle!" The Rodian's voice rasped with urgency as the angular craft arrowed skyward, its repulsors kicking up swirls of red dust. Pron didn't waste time gaping; he yanked the beacon receiver from his belt and jammed it into his datapad's auxiliary port with a click that sounded louder than it should've.
The screen fizzed to life, painting Pron's jowls in sickly green as the signal locked on. Vector coordinates scrolled vertically—northeast trajectory, climbing fast. "Herkin's on the move," Pron muttered, squinting at the altitude readings. "That's no patrol route. Trajectory has him heading right for the Star Destroyer."
FL-AR3 rotated its photoreceptors skyward, servos whining against the wind. "Statement: Probability of direct engagement exceeds tactical viability parameters by—"
Koraz silenced the droid with a raised hand, his face flushing darker as he tracked the shuttle's arc through Tatooine's dust-choked sky. The *Devastator* hung in geostationary orbit like a durasteel dagger plunged between the twin suns—its underbelly a flat plane of turbolaser batteries, its dorsal command tower bristling with comm arrays. Even at this distance, the sheer scale of it made Koraz's fingers twitch against his blaster grip. "If that's where the people are being held, our mission is done. We can't assault a Star Destroyer."
Pron's jowls quivered as he swiped through beacon telemetry, each datapoint scrolling faster than the last. The shuttle had breached atmosphere in a spiraling ascent. "Signal's clean," he grunted, tapping the screen where the trajectory line terminated inside the *Devastator*'s aft hangar bay. "Beacon's still in place."
Roona's skin flushed darker under the twin suns. "Prisoners not kept on Star Destroyers," she whispered, her Basic fracturing under stress. "Policy—too much crew." She jabbed a finger toward the orbiting monstrosity. "Shuttle land—then poof—sent to real cages."
Koraz's horns caught the light like curved vibroblades. "Can we track it across the sector then?" His thumb tapped an arrhythmic pattern against his blaster grip. The unspoken *if they take her beyond reach* hung heavier than Tatooine's heat.
Spanner cleared his throat—soft at first, then louder when no one turned. "Star Destroyers don't just... wander." His voice wavered on the last word, fingers sketching a rough sphere in the air. "They stick to assigned sectors unless ordered otherwise. Chain of command bullshit." He tapped his temple where an old scar puckered the skin. "Star Destroyers move like clockwork—patrol grids, resupply cycles. All logged in triplicate by some desk jockey."
Imik Suum's jowls quivered as he slid the credchip across the table, his tiny hands leaving sweaty smudges on the metallic surface. The Sullustan's black eyes flicked between them—lingering on FL-AR3's scorched chassis, then Spanner's grease-caked nails. "Payment as promised," he rasped in that whistling accent. His leathery fingers twitched toward the credchip protectively before releasing it fully. "But questions remain." The Sullustan leaned forward, his breath reeking of pickled gorg. "Where are they taking a backwater medic, a speeder mechanic, and a swoop jockey?" Proiah, being the pilot of the ship and the current holder of group funds, pocketed the credchip and ordered food for the group.
Over the next few hours, the group discussed possible reasons for the odd collections of arrests made. None made perfect sense, but there were too many unknowns. Still, maybe they would find out soon enough.
FL-AR3's thorax chimed softly during the meal—a sound like distant temple bells filtered through rusted pipes. The droid's photoreceptors cycled through rapid diagnostics before settling on a pulsing indigo. "Alert: Encrypted transmission received." Its vocoder flattened the words into something between a statement and a question.
Koraz didn't look up from his half-eaten nerf steak. "Credits?"
FL-AR3's photoreceptors pulsed brighter. "Affirmative." The droid's thoracic plating slid aside with a hydraulic hiss, revealing a holoprojector embedded in its chassis. A flickering blue image materialized—Ota's furry Bothan features rendered in staticky miniature. His grin was all teeth. "*Payment transferred,*" the recording crackled. "*Consider future contracts open—if your tin can stops overclocking its vocoder.*" The message dissolved into binary laughter before cutting off.
Spanner would take a break to download the credits from the banking terminal in the middle of Mos Shuuta. The transmission included the required security to access and retrieve their payment. Finally the group had some wealth behind them. Enough to finally get the transponder on the Vagrant modified so the could actually fly their ship more freely. A stolen ship was a major liability.
That also meant they needed a ship to follow Herkin. By the time Spanner returned, Proiah's datapad signaled that the Star Destroyer had exited hyperspace near Rodia—and the shuttle had docked planetside. it was only about a three hour trip from Tatooine by standard hyperdrive. The Vagrant's transponder modifications would take days, time they didn't have if the prisoners were being transferred to another facility. Koraz drummed his fingers against the cantina table, studying the holomap between them. "We need to get there before we lose them on planet."
Roona frowned and confirmed Koraz's concern. "Many places for hide." She took the data pad to study the location. Roona had not been born on Rodia but she had most recently been there a few months ago, and she learned much about her race's homeworld. Her clan had been beaten by a rival and forced to depart. She was born and grew up on Klatooine, then eventually made her way to Tatooine for various reasons.
Roona checks to locate the signal from the homing beacon, which originates from the edge of the Wessessa Sea not far from the Anyettu Islands. A zoom in reveals that this area is thick with swampland, and a quick data check indicates that it is claimed by the Rodians of the Oonta clan.
Xander's fingers paused over his datapad, the glow reflecting in his narrowed eyes. He exhaled sharply through his nose—that particular sigh he reserved for situations requiring both risk and unpleasant social interaction. "The "Nebula Raptor"," he said abruptly, tearing a strip of jerky with his teeth before continuing. "Captain Vanda and her crew brought us here from the Core a few days ago. If they're still here..." He tapped the table twice, as if settling an internal debate. "Transport between here and Rodia is quick. Should be cheap. And doesn't put them far away, regardless of their next stop."
FX-779 remained stationary in the middle of the room. It was cylindrical and about waist-high. It had a single photoreceptor, red in color, and it was positioned on a hemispherical protrusion at the top of the cylinder. Spanner sighs, rubbing his forehead. The Fixit didn't understand much Basic, but it would respond to simple requests—medical diagnostics, wound treatment, that sort of thing.
Spanner crouched down beside the droid. "FX-779," he said, enunciating carefully. "Listen." He tapped the droid’s chassis twice. FX-779's photoreceptor blinked once, cycling to a dim yellow standby glow. Spanner pulled out his datapad and punched in a quick series of binary commands—short, clipped chirps that translated to: Prepare contingency protocols. Primary operator absent. Security measures engaged. The droid emitted a soft, acknowledging beep.
"Hide the good bacta," Spanner muttered in Basic, miming tucking something under his jacket. FX-779's photoreceptor flickered, processing. Then, with a whirr, its hemispherical dome rotated toward a locked cabinet near the operating slab—where El'Jaameer kept the premium supplies. Another affirmative beep. Spanner exhaled. Good enough.
He punched in another binary string—this one longer, more urgent. The droid responded with a series of rapid chirps that translated to *Query: Duration of operator absence?* Spanner hesitated, fingers hovering over the datapad. He typed: *Unknown. Hostile acquisition.* FX-779's yellow light deepened to amber. A panel on its side slid open, revealing a seldom-used comms port.
Spanner pulled a thin cable from his belt and jacked it into the port, uploading FL-AR3's encrypted frequency in a burst of static. The droid emitted a low, oscillating hum—the sound it made when processing something against protocol. Spanner leaned closer, lowering his voice even though the clinic stood empty. "If anyone asks where El'Jaameer is—" he mimed wiping his own memory banks, then tapped the droid's dome twice for emphasis.
FX-779's photoreceptor pulsed amber once, then cycled through diagnostic colors before settling on a dim green. A synthesized voice crackled from its internal speaker—not Basic, but binary rendered in monotone: Affirmative. Security protocols engaged. The droid's hemispherical head swiveled toward the clinic's entrance, its single photoreceptor dilating slightly.
Spanner slid the datapad into his pack and straightened just as FL-AR3's encrypted ping vibrated against his thigh. He stepped out into the dusty street, squinting against the twin suns' glare. The others were already moving—Koraz's horns cutting a sharp silhouette against the horizon, Pron's squat form trudging ahead with the gait of a man who'd spent too many years in cockpits.
Roona saw it first. Her finger jabbed upward, slicing through the haze like a vibroblade. "Shuttle!" The Rodian's voice rasped with urgency as the angular craft arrowed skyward, its repulsors kicking up swirls of red dust. Pron didn't waste time gaping; he yanked the beacon receiver from his belt and jammed it into his datapad's auxiliary port with a click that sounded louder than it should've.
The screen fizzed to life, painting Pron's jowls in sickly green as the signal locked on. Vector coordinates scrolled vertically—northeast trajectory, climbing fast. "Herkin's on the move," Pron muttered, squinting at the altitude readings. "That's no patrol route. Trajectory has him heading right for the Star Destroyer."
FL-AR3 rotated its photoreceptors skyward, servos whining against the wind. "Statement: Probability of direct engagement exceeds tactical viability parameters by—"
Koraz silenced the droid with a raised hand, his face flushing darker as he tracked the shuttle's arc through Tatooine's dust-choked sky. The *Devastator* hung in geostationary orbit like a durasteel dagger plunged between the twin suns—its underbelly a flat plane of turbolaser batteries, its dorsal command tower bristling with comm arrays. Even at this distance, the sheer scale of it made Koraz's fingers twitch against his blaster grip. "If that's where the people are being held, our mission is done. We can't assault a Star Destroyer."
Pron's jowls quivered as he swiped through beacon telemetry, each datapoint scrolling faster than the last. The shuttle had breached atmosphere in a spiraling ascent. "Signal's clean," he grunted, tapping the screen where the trajectory line terminated inside the *Devastator*'s aft hangar bay. "Beacon's still in place."
Roona's skin flushed darker under the twin suns. "Prisoners not kept on Star Destroyers," she whispered, her Basic fracturing under stress. "Policy—too much crew." She jabbed a finger toward the orbiting monstrosity. "Shuttle land—then poof—sent to real cages."
Koraz's horns caught the light like curved vibroblades. "Can we track it across the sector then?" His thumb tapped an arrhythmic pattern against his blaster grip. The unspoken *if they take her beyond reach* hung heavier than Tatooine's heat.
Spanner cleared his throat—soft at first, then louder when no one turned. "Star Destroyers don't just... wander." His voice wavered on the last word, fingers sketching a rough sphere in the air. "They stick to assigned sectors unless ordered otherwise. Chain of command bullshit." He tapped his temple where an old scar puckered the skin. "Star Destroyers move like clockwork—patrol grids, resupply cycles. All logged in triplicate by some desk jockey."
Imik Suum's jowls quivered as he slid the credchip across the table, his tiny hands leaving sweaty smudges on the metallic surface. The Sullustan's black eyes flicked between them—lingering on FL-AR3's scorched chassis, then Spanner's grease-caked nails. "Payment as promised," he rasped in that whistling accent. His leathery fingers twitched toward the credchip protectively before releasing it fully. "But questions remain." The Sullustan leaned forward, his breath reeking of pickled gorg. "Where are they taking a backwater medic, a speeder mechanic, and a swoop jockey?" Proiah, being the pilot of the ship and the current holder of group funds, pocketed the credchip and ordered food for the group.
Over the next few hours, the group discussed possible reasons for the odd collections of arrests made. None made perfect sense, but there were too many unknowns. Still, maybe they would find out soon enough.
FL-AR3's thorax chimed softly during the meal—a sound like distant temple bells filtered through rusted pipes. The droid's photoreceptors cycled through rapid diagnostics before settling on a pulsing indigo. "Alert: Encrypted transmission received." Its vocoder flattened the words into something between a statement and a question.
Koraz didn't look up from his half-eaten nerf steak. "Credits?"
FL-AR3's photoreceptors pulsed brighter. "Affirmative." The droid's thoracic plating slid aside with a hydraulic hiss, revealing a holoprojector embedded in its chassis. A flickering blue image materialized—Ota's furry Bothan features rendered in staticky miniature. His grin was all teeth. "*Payment transferred,*" the recording crackled. "*Consider future contracts open—if your tin can stops overclocking its vocoder.*" The message dissolved into binary laughter before cutting off.
Spanner would take a break to download the credits from the banking terminal in the middle of Mos Shuuta. The transmission included the required security to access and retrieve their payment. Finally the group had some wealth behind them. Enough to finally get the transponder on the Vagrant modified so the could actually fly their ship more freely. A stolen ship was a major liability.
That also meant they needed a ship to follow Herkin. By the time Spanner returned, Proiah's datapad signaled that the Star Destroyer had exited hyperspace near Rodia—and the shuttle had docked planetside. it was only about a three hour trip from Tatooine by standard hyperdrive. The Vagrant's transponder modifications would take days, time they didn't have if the prisoners were being transferred to another facility. Koraz drummed his fingers against the cantina table, studying the holomap between them. "We need to get there before we lose them on planet."
Roona frowned and confirmed Koraz's concern. "Many places for hide." She took the data pad to study the location. Roona had not been born on Rodia but she had most recently been there a few months ago, and she learned much about her race's homeworld. Her clan had been beaten by a rival and forced to depart. She was born and grew up on Klatooine, then eventually made her way to Tatooine for various reasons.
Roona checks to locate the signal from the homing beacon, which originates from the edge of the Wessessa Sea not far from the Anyettu Islands. A zoom in reveals that this area is thick with swampland, and a quick data check indicates that it is claimed by the Rodians of the Oonta clan.
Xander's fingers paused over his datapad, the glow reflecting in his narrowed eyes. He exhaled sharply through his nose—that particular sigh he reserved for situations requiring both risk and unpleasant social interaction. "The "Nebula Raptor"," he said abruptly, tearing a strip of jerky with his teeth before continuing. "Captain Vanda and her crew brought us here from the Core a few days ago. If they're still here..." He tapped the table twice, as if settling an internal debate. "Transport between here and Rodia is quick. Should be cheap. And doesn't put them far away, regardless of their next stop."
Re: Shadows in the Docking Bay - Episode 19
Xander activated the comm he held and contacted the Nebula Raptor. It was still in dock at Landing Bay Besh. Venlana answered the call.
Venlana's voice crackled through the comm with the smooth, measured cadence of someone who'd negotiated a thousand backroom deals. "You're lucky we're still dirtside," she said, her Pantoran lilt wrapping around the words like silk over durasteel. "Rodia huh?"
Xander winced at the way she drew out the planet's name—three syllables stretched, each one dripping with unspoken cost multipliers. "Hundred creds a head," she said finally. "In advance."
The slicer exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers tightening around the comm. He could feel Koraz's crimson gaze boring into the back of his skull. "That's a bit high for a three-hour milk run," he countered, pitching his voice into the flat neutrality of someone who suspected they were being overcharged.
A beat of static hissed through the speakers before Venlana's chuckle resolved into clarity—low and rich, like aged corellian whiskey. "Oh sweetheart," she purred, the endearment sharpened to a razor's edge, "you're not paying for transit. You're paying for speed, right?"
Spanner's fingers twitched against the datapad still warm from the cred transfer. The kid exhaled through his teeth, tapping Koraz's elbow with the back of his wrist—once, urgent. "Take it." His whisper carried the raw practicality of someone who'd spent too many nights counting ration portions. "We'll make it up later."
The gunslinger flicked two fingers toward Xander—approval sealed with silent efficiency. The slicer's jaw tightened, but he thumbed the commlink alive again. "Deal," he bit out. "We're gear-up in twenty."
Landing Bay Besh stank of scorched coolant and leaking hydraulic fluid—the familiar reek of ships pushed beyond their limits. Koraz strode past a gutted Y-wing, its stripped hull gaping like ribs in a carcass. Something about the *Nebula Raptor*'s angular silhouette set his teeth on edge even before he spotted the droid. It stood motionless at thetop of the docking ramp, its matte-black and yellow chassis absorbing the bay's harsh floodlights rather than reflecting them. Kill plating—the kind that ate sensor scans.
FL-AR3's photoreceptors cycled to threat-assessment crimson. "Identification: IG-series assassination unit," it intoned, servos whirring as it subtly positioned itself between Spanner and the ramp. "Designation unknown. Combat capabilities exceed standard parameters by—"
Xander stepped forward and looked back at his companions before addressing the droid. "I'm happy to kill you again," he said. Surprisingly the droid repeated the phrase and stepped aside. The voice was female and had the sophisticated accent found on Imperial core worlds.
Pron froze halfway up the ramp, his jowls twitched as the IG unit's photoreceptors tracked their movements with predatory precision. The droid didn't breathe—none of them did—but something in the way its hydraulic servos purred at low frequency set Spanner's teeth on edge.
Roona laughed—a sharp, clicking sound that echoed off the bay's durasteel walls. She jabbed a finger toward Xander without breaking eye contact with the assassin droid. "Tell them joke," she demanded, her Rodian accent clipping the words into staccato bursts.
Xander chuckled and said that the droid was designated GI-61 and that it still talked in destructive terms. Everyone passed by carefully, although FL-AR3 stopped to ask about GI-61's function. "I kill everything," she responded in a voice that sounded like it was talking to school children.
FL-AR3 was a bit taken aback and looked at his companions. Before anyone could say anything, the black and yellow droid added, "There will be blood."
Captain Vanda emerged from the ship’s shadowed interior like a blade drawn from its sheath—tall, sharp, and gleaming with quiet lethality. Her Zeltron skin was the deep pink of spilled wine under the bay lights, her long curly hair a deep blue that made her piercing violet eyes burn even brighter. She wore a figure flattering outfit in yellow and green that left little to the imagination. The air around her hummed with the scent of ozone and something richer, spiced—pheromones dialed up just enough to make Koraz’s forehead prickle with involuntary alertness.
Spanner’s breath caught audibly beside him. The kid had probably never seen anything like her outside of smuggler’s holos. Vanda’s lips curled in amusement as she descended the ramp, sandaled feet silent against the metal. "Payment first," she murmured, her voice lower than the comms had conveyed, textured like velvet dragged across durasteel. She held out a hand, palm up, fingers lazily beckoning—but her stance was coiled, balanced on the balls of her feet. A fighter’s stance.
Koraz didn’t react outwardly—he’d learned long ago that Zeltron pheromones messed with perception. She wasn’t just beautiful; she moved like someone who’d slit throats mid-kiss. Proiah, ever the pragmatist, cleared his throat and produced the credchip, though his jowls flushed darker when Vanda’s fingertips lingered against his palm a beat too long. "Full tank?" he rasped.
"You know it," she said as she placed on arm around his neck and leaned in for a lingering kiss. This process continued for each of the passengers, except Roona who put her hands up as the Zeltron approached.
As she approached Koraz, she leaned in close and said, "Come on tough guy. You can pretend you don't like it." He snorted a bit but gave her a brief kiss to get it over with. Koraz was a humanoid male, and the pheromones were a fact of biology. He didn't like it, but didn't fight it either.
Spanner stood frozen as Vanda turned her attention to him, his teenage nerves betraying him entirely. When she cupped his face with both hands, he made a sound somewhere between a cough and a whimper. The kiss lasted barely two seconds, but left the kid's ears burning crimson. FL-AR3's photoreceptors flickered rapidly, processing the exchange with evident confusion. Even he received a kiss on the side of his metallic head.
The assassin droid's voice dripped synthetic amusement from the shadows. "Organic mating rituals usually end in death." Vanda responded by tossing her hair—a deliberate cascade of blue curls that caught the bay lights—before playfully backhanding the GI unit's chassis with an audible smack. The droid's photoreceptors dimmed momentarily. "This unit will... reevaluate fatal activities." Once the greetings were complete Vanda disappeared for the remainder of the trip.
The *Raptor*'s lounge was obviously a place designed for comfortable leisure. Several vid screens were available as well as holo-tables for gambling or other games. The couches were upholstered in rich fabrics of dark red and grey. A citrus scent seemed to fill the air. Venlana lounged across a crescent-shaped divan, her bare feet propped on the dejarik table's edge. The Pantoran's asymmetrical bob framed her beautiful blue features, her violet-blue skin nearly shimmering in the dim lighting. She held a tumbler of something vividly blue between two fingers, swirling it absently as her gold-flecked eyes tracked their entrance. "So," she purred toward Xander and Roona, "your homecoming on Tatooine didn't last long."
Spanner hovered near the doorway, his gaze darting between the assassin droid lurking in the corner and the obviously expensive liquor rack behind the bar. FL-AR3's photoreceptors flicked to Venlana's drink—an identical shade of blue to his favorite liquid. It was tough to find on Tatooine and he usually settled for Bantha milk.. The combat droid tilted its head with an audible click. "Query: Is that Rychelian blue?"
Venlana blinked, her drink paused halfway to her lips. "Why yes it is," she said slowly, her gold-flecked eyes widening with amusement. "I never met a droid who was a connoisseur." She swirled the glass again, watching the viscous liquid cling to the sides. "You want a taste?"
FL-AR3's photoreceptors flared brighter—a droid's equivalent of surprise. Its thoracic plating emitted a series of rapid clicks as internal processors recalibrated. "Statement: Consumption of organic beverages exceeds standard operational parameters." The droid hesitated, then tilted its head in a motion eerily similar to human curiosity. "Inquiry: Does Rychelian blue contain trace amounts of ionic stabilizers?"
Venlana's laughter was low and rich, like engine hum at sublight speeds. She set the tumbler onto the dejarik table, the blue liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. "Only the quality grade does," she said, her gold-flecked eyes glinting with mischief. "Go on. Live a little."
FL-AR3's photoreceptors cycled through several hues before settling on an uncertain flicker of indigo. The droid bent at the waist with precise mechanical whirring, bringing its ocular sensors within centimeters of the glass. "Acknowledgement: Trace elements detected. Tertiary stabilizers compatible with my hydraulic fluids." The droid remained captivated by the drink. "Gratitude: Your offer is... unexpected."
Venlana arched an eyebrow, her lips quirking at the corner. She waved a dismissive hand toward the bar. "Make yourself at home, everyone. The liquor's not going anywhere." Her gold-flecked gaze swept over the others lounging in various states of relaxation. "We'll be at Rodia in a few hours—might as well relax while you can." Koraz quickly took position on a comfortable chaise and quickly nodded off, while Xander fired up the Sabbac table.
FL-AR3 remained frozen, its photoreceptors fixed on the blue drink. The silence stretched long enough for Spanner to elbow the droid's scorched chassis. "You gonna just stare it to death?" he muttered, already reaching for a bottle of Corellian whiskey with a teenager's reckless enthusiasm.
"You sure that's a good idea," Pron questioned. "After the reaction you had in Teemo's palace?"
Spanner shrugged off the warning, already pouring three fingers of amber liquid into a tumbler. "Different poison," he muttered, sniffing the contents before taking a cautious sip. His face immediately contorted—eyes squeezing shut, nostrils flaring—before forcing the swallow down with an audible gulp. "Kriffing hells," he rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Tastes like engine cleaner."
Several of the group laughed—Xander's chuckle bordering on cruel, Roona's sharp clicks of amusement—but the sound died abruptly as a massive silhouette filled the lounge entrance, blocking the dim overhead lighting like an eclipse. The newcomer stood at least seven feet tall, shoulders nearly brushing the bulkhead on either side. His smooth hide reflected the ambient light in dappled patterns reminiscent of deep-space nebulae—blues and violets shimmering across a muscular physique that looked capable of deflecting blaster bolts.
"Toy!" The word sprung from the Koodan's mouth with such enthusiasm and it moved quickly toward FL-AR3.
FL-AR3's photoreceptors snapped to the towering figure, cycling through threat-assessment protocols with audible servo whirs. The Koodan's massive hand—each digit thicker than Spanner's wrist—reached out with alarming speed, but stopped millimeters from the droid's scorched plating. "Query," FL-AR3 intoned, its vocoder flattening the word into pure confusion.
The Koodan's answering grin split his face like a canyon, revealing rows of blunt teeth polished to ivory smoothness. His violet-skinned fingers flexed in the air between them, tracing the droid's silhouette with near-reverent precision. "Toy," he rumbled again, his Basic thick with an accent that vibrated the dejarik table's surface. Venlana's drink trembled.
FL-AR3's thoracic plating emitted a series of rapid clicks—hydraulic systems priming for rapid disengagement. "Clarification required," the droid stated, photoreceptors locked on the Koodan's throat—a vulnerable point regardless of species. The large creature reached out and plucked the droid off the ground.
Pron's jowls flushed darker as he subtly shifted waiting to see what would happen. The Koodan ignored them all, cradling FL-AR3 like a child holding a prized toy. "Toy mine," the giant rumbled, his breath smelling oddly of ionized copper. One massive finger traced the lights across the droids torso. "Pretty." Then the Koodan turned and started to walk off with his prize.
FL-AR3's limbs flailed in a rare display of panic, hydraulic joints hissing as they strained against the Koodan's grip. "Correction: Property designation invalid—" The droid's protest cut off as the Koodan tucked it under one arm like a datapad, humming what sounded like a lullaby in a language that made the dejarik board vibrate.
Venlana sprang from her seat with the liquid grace of someone who'd negotiated with worse. She caught Dorn's massive forearm in both hands, her fingers barely encircling the thick muscle. "No, Dorn," she said, voice pitched low and soothing—the tone one used with excited gundarks. "That is not a toy." Her thumbs traced the swirling violet patterns beneath his hide, a deliberate distraction. "It's our guest. Like Xander."
The Koodan stopped, his large eyes dilating as he processed this. FL-AR3 tried to twist free but Dorn's grip was too strong. Dorn's face crumpled like a crushed ration packet. "But... lights," he rumbled, pointing at the droid's still-flickering thoracic array.
Venlana sighed, rubbing her temple with her free hand. "Yes. Lights. Like Gigi." She gestured toward the assassin droid lurking in the corner, who emitted a burst of static that might have been laughter. The comparison only confused the giant further—his brow ridges knitting together.
Dorn made a noise deep in his throat that rattled the dejarik pieces. "Gigi kill things," he protested, tightening his grip just enough to make FL-AR3's hydraulics whine.
Venlana exhaled through her nose, her gold-fleched eyes flicking toward the assassin droid lurking near the ceiling conduits—currently cleaning a vibroblade with detached precision. "Yes," she conceded, "but Gigi is _our_ killer." Her fingers tightened around Dorn's wrist. "This one belongs to them." She nodded toward Spanner, who was half out of his seat despite the absurd size difference.
The Koodan's massive nostrils flared, his grip loosening just enough for FL-AR3 to twist its torso with a sharp hydraulic hiss. "Statement: This unit is functionally operational—" The droid's protest was cut short as Dorn suddenly lifted it to eye level, peering into its photoreceptors with unsettling intensity.
Venlana's fingers tightened around the Koodan's arm. "Dorn," she said sharply, her voice slicing through the tension like a vibroblade. "This is a droid. Just like Gigi. Not a toy." She held up three fingers, slowly counting them off. "Listen now—Rodia next. Then toy."
Dorn's massive brow furrowed, his grip slackening further as he processed this logic with painstaking deliberation. His nostrils flared. "Rodia... toy?" he rumbled, the words vibrating through his chest. "Okay." And set the flustered droid back down.
Venlana gave the group a look like this sort of thing could happen every day—the bored, patient expression of a woman who'd negotiated with drunken Hutt enforcers and trigger-happy bounty hunters for years. She smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from her tunic while FL-AR3 staggered back two mechanical steps, its photoreceptors flickering rapidly between diagnostic modes. The Pantoran’s gold-flecked eyes lingered on Spanner’s slack-jawed expression and the way Pron’s eyes barely suppressed alarm. She smirked, swirling her Rychelian blue with casual elegance. "Dorn collects droids," she explained, as though discussing an eccentric hobby. "He likes the shiny bits. Anyway, enjoy the rest of your trip." She walked off with the grace and confidence of someone knowing they watched her until out of view.
The rest of the trip went by smoothly compared to the introductions and it was not long before the signal came over the comms that they had dropped out of hyperspace. Xander switched one of the vid-screens to follow the cockpit view and the group could see the green planet rapidly approach. Venlana's voice then spilled out of the comm like honey, as she gave a quick run-down on their destination. "Rodia is a remote and swampy jungle planet. It is the primary world of the Savareen sector. Cities on Rodia are encased with domed environmental shields that allow entry and exit for vehicles and vessels. A hotbed of life with a hot and humid climate and breathable atmosphere, Rodia is mostly covered in water, including the vast Wesessa Sea. The majority of the planet's solid landmasses that are not submerged are covered in unworkable swamps, thick forests and jungles. There's quite a bit of hostile life forms inhabiting the planet as well. Not what you would consider a calm vacation spot. Oh, and it smells too." That last comment drew a miffed look from Roona.
The signal from the homing beacon, which originates from the edge of the Wessessa Sea not far from the Anyettu Islands, was still strong and the Nebula Raptor headed for the closest city, once it entered atmosphere. The ship settled at a landing pad in the commercial district of Anyettu. The team disembarked and headed out to get some information.
It is not difficult find some information about the area that reveals that Goova Oonta, matriarch of the Oonta clan, is a renowned bounty hunter past her prime. Further investigation confirms that her children, Moxo and Plateena, are known to operate a hunting retreat for off-worlders who visit the planet. Coincidentally, the location of the island where the retreat sits is right near where the homing beacon is transmitting. A last bit of digging locates a comm frequency for the hunting retreat and it is learned that the cost to attend is 100 credits per individual per day.
------------------------------------------
Unused XPS (Those with +40 bonus unspent can use them now, provided an in-game reason is provided)
Spanner - 15 (+40)
FL-AR3 - 0 (+40)
Pron - 10 (+40)
Koraz - 10
Xander - 0
Roona - 5
Vagrant Group Funds - 4623 credits (+2000 Imik Suum payment, +2000 Ota payment, -400 transport to Rodia)
Archelon Group Funds - 5591 credits (-200 transport to Rodia)
Gear: quick sale value in ()
3 Geonosian Rifles hidden in cargo hold for Nyn
4 Blaster Pistols (200 ea)
Venlana's voice crackled through the comm with the smooth, measured cadence of someone who'd negotiated a thousand backroom deals. "You're lucky we're still dirtside," she said, her Pantoran lilt wrapping around the words like silk over durasteel. "Rodia huh?"
Xander winced at the way she drew out the planet's name—three syllables stretched, each one dripping with unspoken cost multipliers. "Hundred creds a head," she said finally. "In advance."
The slicer exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers tightening around the comm. He could feel Koraz's crimson gaze boring into the back of his skull. "That's a bit high for a three-hour milk run," he countered, pitching his voice into the flat neutrality of someone who suspected they were being overcharged.
A beat of static hissed through the speakers before Venlana's chuckle resolved into clarity—low and rich, like aged corellian whiskey. "Oh sweetheart," she purred, the endearment sharpened to a razor's edge, "you're not paying for transit. You're paying for speed, right?"
Spanner's fingers twitched against the datapad still warm from the cred transfer. The kid exhaled through his teeth, tapping Koraz's elbow with the back of his wrist—once, urgent. "Take it." His whisper carried the raw practicality of someone who'd spent too many nights counting ration portions. "We'll make it up later."
The gunslinger flicked two fingers toward Xander—approval sealed with silent efficiency. The slicer's jaw tightened, but he thumbed the commlink alive again. "Deal," he bit out. "We're gear-up in twenty."
Landing Bay Besh stank of scorched coolant and leaking hydraulic fluid—the familiar reek of ships pushed beyond their limits. Koraz strode past a gutted Y-wing, its stripped hull gaping like ribs in a carcass. Something about the *Nebula Raptor*'s angular silhouette set his teeth on edge even before he spotted the droid. It stood motionless at thetop of the docking ramp, its matte-black and yellow chassis absorbing the bay's harsh floodlights rather than reflecting them. Kill plating—the kind that ate sensor scans.
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Xander stepped forward and looked back at his companions before addressing the droid. "I'm happy to kill you again," he said. Surprisingly the droid repeated the phrase and stepped aside. The voice was female and had the sophisticated accent found on Imperial core worlds.
Pron froze halfway up the ramp, his jowls twitched as the IG unit's photoreceptors tracked their movements with predatory precision. The droid didn't breathe—none of them did—but something in the way its hydraulic servos purred at low frequency set Spanner's teeth on edge.
Roona laughed—a sharp, clicking sound that echoed off the bay's durasteel walls. She jabbed a finger toward Xander without breaking eye contact with the assassin droid. "Tell them joke," she demanded, her Rodian accent clipping the words into staccato bursts.
Xander chuckled and said that the droid was designated GI-61 and that it still talked in destructive terms. Everyone passed by carefully, although FL-AR3 stopped to ask about GI-61's function. "I kill everything," she responded in a voice that sounded like it was talking to school children.
FL-AR3 was a bit taken aback and looked at his companions. Before anyone could say anything, the black and yellow droid added, "There will be blood."
Captain Vanda emerged from the ship’s shadowed interior like a blade drawn from its sheath—tall, sharp, and gleaming with quiet lethality. Her Zeltron skin was the deep pink of spilled wine under the bay lights, her long curly hair a deep blue that made her piercing violet eyes burn even brighter. She wore a figure flattering outfit in yellow and green that left little to the imagination. The air around her hummed with the scent of ozone and something richer, spiced—pheromones dialed up just enough to make Koraz’s forehead prickle with involuntary alertness.
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Koraz didn’t react outwardly—he’d learned long ago that Zeltron pheromones messed with perception. She wasn’t just beautiful; she moved like someone who’d slit throats mid-kiss. Proiah, ever the pragmatist, cleared his throat and produced the credchip, though his jowls flushed darker when Vanda’s fingertips lingered against his palm a beat too long. "Full tank?" he rasped.
"You know it," she said as she placed on arm around his neck and leaned in for a lingering kiss. This process continued for each of the passengers, except Roona who put her hands up as the Zeltron approached.
As she approached Koraz, she leaned in close and said, "Come on tough guy. You can pretend you don't like it." He snorted a bit but gave her a brief kiss to get it over with. Koraz was a humanoid male, and the pheromones were a fact of biology. He didn't like it, but didn't fight it either.
Spanner stood frozen as Vanda turned her attention to him, his teenage nerves betraying him entirely. When she cupped his face with both hands, he made a sound somewhere between a cough and a whimper. The kiss lasted barely two seconds, but left the kid's ears burning crimson. FL-AR3's photoreceptors flickered rapidly, processing the exchange with evident confusion. Even he received a kiss on the side of his metallic head.
The assassin droid's voice dripped synthetic amusement from the shadows. "Organic mating rituals usually end in death." Vanda responded by tossing her hair—a deliberate cascade of blue curls that caught the bay lights—before playfully backhanding the GI unit's chassis with an audible smack. The droid's photoreceptors dimmed momentarily. "This unit will... reevaluate fatal activities." Once the greetings were complete Vanda disappeared for the remainder of the trip.
The *Raptor*'s lounge was obviously a place designed for comfortable leisure. Several vid screens were available as well as holo-tables for gambling or other games. The couches were upholstered in rich fabrics of dark red and grey. A citrus scent seemed to fill the air. Venlana lounged across a crescent-shaped divan, her bare feet propped on the dejarik table's edge. The Pantoran's asymmetrical bob framed her beautiful blue features, her violet-blue skin nearly shimmering in the dim lighting. She held a tumbler of something vividly blue between two fingers, swirling it absently as her gold-flecked eyes tracked their entrance. "So," she purred toward Xander and Roona, "your homecoming on Tatooine didn't last long."
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Venlana blinked, her drink paused halfway to her lips. "Why yes it is," she said slowly, her gold-flecked eyes widening with amusement. "I never met a droid who was a connoisseur." She swirled the glass again, watching the viscous liquid cling to the sides. "You want a taste?"
FL-AR3's photoreceptors flared brighter—a droid's equivalent of surprise. Its thoracic plating emitted a series of rapid clicks as internal processors recalibrated. "Statement: Consumption of organic beverages exceeds standard operational parameters." The droid hesitated, then tilted its head in a motion eerily similar to human curiosity. "Inquiry: Does Rychelian blue contain trace amounts of ionic stabilizers?"
Venlana's laughter was low and rich, like engine hum at sublight speeds. She set the tumbler onto the dejarik table, the blue liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. "Only the quality grade does," she said, her gold-flecked eyes glinting with mischief. "Go on. Live a little."
FL-AR3's photoreceptors cycled through several hues before settling on an uncertain flicker of indigo. The droid bent at the waist with precise mechanical whirring, bringing its ocular sensors within centimeters of the glass. "Acknowledgement: Trace elements detected. Tertiary stabilizers compatible with my hydraulic fluids." The droid remained captivated by the drink. "Gratitude: Your offer is... unexpected."
Venlana arched an eyebrow, her lips quirking at the corner. She waved a dismissive hand toward the bar. "Make yourself at home, everyone. The liquor's not going anywhere." Her gold-flecked gaze swept over the others lounging in various states of relaxation. "We'll be at Rodia in a few hours—might as well relax while you can." Koraz quickly took position on a comfortable chaise and quickly nodded off, while Xander fired up the Sabbac table.
FL-AR3 remained frozen, its photoreceptors fixed on the blue drink. The silence stretched long enough for Spanner to elbow the droid's scorched chassis. "You gonna just stare it to death?" he muttered, already reaching for a bottle of Corellian whiskey with a teenager's reckless enthusiasm.
"You sure that's a good idea," Pron questioned. "After the reaction you had in Teemo's palace?"
Spanner shrugged off the warning, already pouring three fingers of amber liquid into a tumbler. "Different poison," he muttered, sniffing the contents before taking a cautious sip. His face immediately contorted—eyes squeezing shut, nostrils flaring—before forcing the swallow down with an audible gulp. "Kriffing hells," he rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Tastes like engine cleaner."
Several of the group laughed—Xander's chuckle bordering on cruel, Roona's sharp clicks of amusement—but the sound died abruptly as a massive silhouette filled the lounge entrance, blocking the dim overhead lighting like an eclipse. The newcomer stood at least seven feet tall, shoulders nearly brushing the bulkhead on either side. His smooth hide reflected the ambient light in dappled patterns reminiscent of deep-space nebulae—blues and violets shimmering across a muscular physique that looked capable of deflecting blaster bolts.
"Toy!" The word sprung from the Koodan's mouth with such enthusiasm and it moved quickly toward FL-AR3.
FL-AR3's photoreceptors snapped to the towering figure, cycling through threat-assessment protocols with audible servo whirs. The Koodan's massive hand—each digit thicker than Spanner's wrist—reached out with alarming speed, but stopped millimeters from the droid's scorched plating. "Query," FL-AR3 intoned, its vocoder flattening the word into pure confusion.
The Koodan's answering grin split his face like a canyon, revealing rows of blunt teeth polished to ivory smoothness. His violet-skinned fingers flexed in the air between them, tracing the droid's silhouette with near-reverent precision. "Toy," he rumbled again, his Basic thick with an accent that vibrated the dejarik table's surface. Venlana's drink trembled.
FL-AR3's thoracic plating emitted a series of rapid clicks—hydraulic systems priming for rapid disengagement. "Clarification required," the droid stated, photoreceptors locked on the Koodan's throat—a vulnerable point regardless of species. The large creature reached out and plucked the droid off the ground.
Pron's jowls flushed darker as he subtly shifted waiting to see what would happen. The Koodan ignored them all, cradling FL-AR3 like a child holding a prized toy. "Toy mine," the giant rumbled, his breath smelling oddly of ionized copper. One massive finger traced the lights across the droids torso. "Pretty." Then the Koodan turned and started to walk off with his prize.
FL-AR3's limbs flailed in a rare display of panic, hydraulic joints hissing as they strained against the Koodan's grip. "Correction: Property designation invalid—" The droid's protest cut off as the Koodan tucked it under one arm like a datapad, humming what sounded like a lullaby in a language that made the dejarik board vibrate.
Venlana sprang from her seat with the liquid grace of someone who'd negotiated with worse. She caught Dorn's massive forearm in both hands, her fingers barely encircling the thick muscle. "No, Dorn," she said, voice pitched low and soothing—the tone one used with excited gundarks. "That is not a toy." Her thumbs traced the swirling violet patterns beneath his hide, a deliberate distraction. "It's our guest. Like Xander."
The Koodan stopped, his large eyes dilating as he processed this. FL-AR3 tried to twist free but Dorn's grip was too strong. Dorn's face crumpled like a crushed ration packet. "But... lights," he rumbled, pointing at the droid's still-flickering thoracic array.
Venlana sighed, rubbing her temple with her free hand. "Yes. Lights. Like Gigi." She gestured toward the assassin droid lurking in the corner, who emitted a burst of static that might have been laughter. The comparison only confused the giant further—his brow ridges knitting together.
Dorn made a noise deep in his throat that rattled the dejarik pieces. "Gigi kill things," he protested, tightening his grip just enough to make FL-AR3's hydraulics whine.
Venlana exhaled through her nose, her gold-fleched eyes flicking toward the assassin droid lurking near the ceiling conduits—currently cleaning a vibroblade with detached precision. "Yes," she conceded, "but Gigi is _our_ killer." Her fingers tightened around Dorn's wrist. "This one belongs to them." She nodded toward Spanner, who was half out of his seat despite the absurd size difference.
The Koodan's massive nostrils flared, his grip loosening just enough for FL-AR3 to twist its torso with a sharp hydraulic hiss. "Statement: This unit is functionally operational—" The droid's protest was cut short as Dorn suddenly lifted it to eye level, peering into its photoreceptors with unsettling intensity.
Venlana's fingers tightened around the Koodan's arm. "Dorn," she said sharply, her voice slicing through the tension like a vibroblade. "This is a droid. Just like Gigi. Not a toy." She held up three fingers, slowly counting them off. "Listen now—Rodia next. Then toy."
Dorn's massive brow furrowed, his grip slackening further as he processed this logic with painstaking deliberation. His nostrils flared. "Rodia... toy?" he rumbled, the words vibrating through his chest. "Okay." And set the flustered droid back down.
Venlana gave the group a look like this sort of thing could happen every day—the bored, patient expression of a woman who'd negotiated with drunken Hutt enforcers and trigger-happy bounty hunters for years. She smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from her tunic while FL-AR3 staggered back two mechanical steps, its photoreceptors flickering rapidly between diagnostic modes. The Pantoran’s gold-flecked eyes lingered on Spanner’s slack-jawed expression and the way Pron’s eyes barely suppressed alarm. She smirked, swirling her Rychelian blue with casual elegance. "Dorn collects droids," she explained, as though discussing an eccentric hobby. "He likes the shiny bits. Anyway, enjoy the rest of your trip." She walked off with the grace and confidence of someone knowing they watched her until out of view.
The rest of the trip went by smoothly compared to the introductions and it was not long before the signal came over the comms that they had dropped out of hyperspace. Xander switched one of the vid-screens to follow the cockpit view and the group could see the green planet rapidly approach. Venlana's voice then spilled out of the comm like honey, as she gave a quick run-down on their destination. "Rodia is a remote and swampy jungle planet. It is the primary world of the Savareen sector. Cities on Rodia are encased with domed environmental shields that allow entry and exit for vehicles and vessels. A hotbed of life with a hot and humid climate and breathable atmosphere, Rodia is mostly covered in water, including the vast Wesessa Sea. The majority of the planet's solid landmasses that are not submerged are covered in unworkable swamps, thick forests and jungles. There's quite a bit of hostile life forms inhabiting the planet as well. Not what you would consider a calm vacation spot. Oh, and it smells too." That last comment drew a miffed look from Roona.
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Unused XPS (Those with +40 bonus unspent can use them now, provided an in-game reason is provided)
Spanner - 15 (+40)
FL-AR3 - 0 (+40)
Pron - 10 (+40)
Koraz - 10
Xander - 0
Roona - 5
Vagrant Group Funds - 4623 credits (+2000 Imik Suum payment, +2000 Ota payment, -400 transport to Rodia)
Archelon Group Funds - 5591 credits (-200 transport to Rodia)
Gear: quick sale value in ()
3 Geonosian Rifles hidden in cargo hold for Nyn
4 Blaster Pistols (200 ea)