The Lost Fleet Returns

[Jola'Edana Kahlid]

Jola had endured a lot today.

The hyperdrive failure had sounded something like a protocol droid being fed through a recycler while it was still on. Perhaps it sounded worse to her than it actually was- she imagined that had something to do with the slight headache building at the base of her skull. Or maybe, it had to do with enduring the company on the ship. Their explosives expert had decided to try and chat her up, and the medic had tried her best to make it clear quickly that there would be no after mission hookup.

She knew she was being anti-social, but sometimes that was better when you were fairly sure you were going to be patching those same people back together at some point.

Which brought her to her final point of contention: the whole bloody mission.

After spending a good portion of her time in the hold reviewing what she'd been thrown into, she'd decided it was the dumbest and most overly complex plan she'd ever been a part of. And after all her time with the Rebellion, that was saying a lot.

As she understood things, she was the medic for a swoop racing team. Not exactly a stretch- she'd told the rest of the team not to worry about her "real name"- Surri Mandel- and just stick to calling her "Doc". She figured it was a lot easier to remember, even in moments of pure panic. Nat Marl, otherwise known as "Jockster" was posing as the crew's swoop racer. Ati was their pilot, which was as easy as her own assignment. The rest of the pilots and the slicer were going to be support crew.

They would fake a limp into what should have been a bustling system looking for help. Meet up with the other ship, which was posing as a scrap scavenger. The scavengers, team two, would offer to scrounge them parts from the ships in the area for their dead hyperdrive in exchange for creds.

Under the cover of looking for said parts, she, Dr. Jodo, and the rest of the "scavengers" would go out in their ship and answer as many distress calls and rescue as many injured as they could manage. The rest of the "racing team" would stay behind on their damaged ship in case (hopefully) company of the Pirate variety showed up to investigate. It was likely they were monitoring the system, and they would want to know what was going on.

The scavenger crew would return and say that they couldn't find any appropriate parts for them that weren't badly damaged, and "go on their way", taking the injured and serving as stealthy backup guns. The racing team would then- hopefully- strike a deal with the pirates to trade them the shiny and expensive swoop engines in their hold for hyperdrive parts. Ideally, the bargain would include getting back to their hidey-hole and collecting intelligence about the supposed Imperial presence.

There were a million things wrong with the plan- including having pilots untrained for co-ops missions along when the mission didn't call for them. Other things didn't make sense- like splitting up the team on two ships. Too much of the plan depended on positive and predictable responses from the pirates- and the few pirates Jola had met in her life were anything but predictable.

She knew- KNEW- she wouldn't have enough time to help all those injured that needed it.

The whole thing was one big speeder wreck.

She'd watched, eyes wide, as an explosion sparkled near the edge of an absolutely huge field of damaged ships. Their sister ship had just blown someone up upon entering the system. "Great. Tell me THAT was part of the fracking plan," she muttered loudly under her breath.

The pilot, Ati, gave her a sharp look, and Jola returned a smoldering glare of her own. Lead of their half of the mission or no- she knew what "stupid" was. That little fireworks show had likely cost her most of the time she would have had to rescue anyone- someone would be checking that out if they were really monitoring the system as they were rumored to be. She seethed with frustration, and could almost sense the rest of the crew giving her unconscious personal space.

What really made her seethe though was seeing the distress call signals lighting up the cockpit's control board as call after call came into range. "Gods," she murmured, feeling her stomach sink. "So many."

She glanced at the two Womprats on board and saw that both of them looked a little ill at the scene spreading out before them. Until now, they had not seen the damage that occurred after their unit and commanding ship had pulled out.

They had left the station to die.

The blackened hull of the station loomed over the field of destruction. Jola knew without even scanning that there wasn't anyone left alive. The place was opened to vacuum, with far too much damage. She could only hope that some had made it out on ships. She felt like throwing up.

To think she had admired the Admiral earlier.

"Sensors?" she asked quietly.

Ati pushed a few buttons before shaking his head curtly. "Station is blank. There are some on the ships, but it's random and hard to pinpoint."

Neither of the 'Rats said anything; both studied the floor with white knuckles on their seat handles.

"We have a mission to accomplish, let's do it," the captain said quietly. Ati sent out a distress signal of the highest priority on the broad frequency. He leaned forward and said into the com, "This is a Registered Transport of Bin Grassi Racing, we've run into some Hyperdrive trouble and could use some help fixing it. We're more then able to pay for any help."

After a tense silence in the cockpit, a familiar voice crackled back over their coms. ""It's never a safe thing to advertise you can pay for help like that, but you're in luck. We are currently in the outer system. We will begin making our way to you. We may have what you need to fix your drive, or can ferry someone to get what you need. Stand by for updates. Skifter out."

Jola chewed on her lips, and let out a long, slow breath. The adrenaline that always filtered into her system before a rescue mission made her clench and unclench her fists. She pushed to her feet. "You all better be damn good actors," she finally ground out. "I'm gonna need all the time you can give me." The medic left the room to gather her supplies.


Jola felt the lurch of the ship as the docking claws from the scavenger ship attached to them and pulled them closer to dock. She stuffed the last of her painkillers and synthaflesh patches into the bag she had slung across her chest. She was carrying everything she had.

She hurried to the entry corridor, weighed heavily under her supplies. She saw the kid Medic, Jodo, through the other ship’s docking tube- stuffing supplies into pockets on his uniform, and the other crew members gathering blasters and spare packs for their pockets. The scavenger ship’s captain came walking through to their ship and met Ati in the corridor, and gave him a nod.

“Things are on track,” Erc – otherwise known as Captian Jonas said.

“We certainly hope so,” Ati, AKA Captain Naton, replied with a slightly raised eyebrow. He didn’t get into details over the brief combat situation- an unspoken agreement to stay in character.

“Oh that,” Erc said dismissively. “Been taken care of.”

Ati’s mouth formed in a thin line, but he didn’t say anything. Everyone knew what was at stake. They needed to get on with the rescue part of the mission. “Well, you know what parts we need?”

Erc’s mouth twitched up in a half smile and he nodded. “We’ve got a lock on a couple of good possibilities, and we’re ready to go when you are.” Erc’s eyes fastened on Jola, and she nodded.

“I’ll get the ship ready to move. We’ll be glad to have you along to help. These salvage missions can never be safe enough.” He turned to stalk back to his ship to get things ready, expecting the medic to follow.

She did.


Jola huddled with the small rescue group in the Skifter’s airlock. They all checked weapons as the airlock shuddered and made contact with their next rescue target- a nearby ship with air and a distress signal.

They had ruled out two ships so far- no life signs on the scanner. And they had skipped ships without atmosphere completely, leaving them as lost causes. Triage was ugly, but necessary. This was the first ship that was reading life signs that they’d come across.

They were all suited up for vacuum, just in case. In a damaged ship, it never hurt to be prepared for failed systems. Even the medics were carrying blasters on top of their supplies. Most of their stash had been left on the main ship- they only took what they could carry easily and would absolutely need to get someone stable and back to the safety of the scavenger.

Jola had been briefly introduced to the rest of the team as Doc, and filed away their pseudo names in her own brain- Adok, Jones, Bogey, Whisker, and the medic Jodo, who was also going by Doc. Jola figured that didn’t much matter, as they were pretty much interchangeable. Captain Jonas would be manning the main ship and the coms.

She glanced over at her fellow medic- the kid was sweating and looked green as a rodian. “You’ll be fine,” Jola muttered in his general direction, keeping her eyes on the windows of the airlock.

“Uh huh,” Jodo said weakly.

Jola fought the worry hovering in the back of her mind as the airlock door’s timer flashed green and the door hissed open.

Adok and Jones, also known as Matak and Janson, stepped out in front with the other two team members. “Us in front, medics behind. Wait till we clear you.”

Jola nodded and got a grip on her own blaster, watching the four move farther into the damaged hold of the ship. It was mostly intact, but it looked like there had been a fire, and according to the readout on her wrist, oxygen in the room was lower than it should have been.

“Wait-“

Jola looked at Jodo, startled. He was reaching after them, fear on his face. “This doesn’t feel-“

His words were cut off abruptly as Adok and Jones ducked into the left side corridor. Without warning, an explosion rocked the ship. Jola was thrown against the side of the airlock along with Jodo, and waited for the brief inferno to disappear before ducking into the extremely smoky room. The lack of oxygen had reduced the explosion’s potency, so any flames died almost before they started.

“Where are you?” Her voice cut through the confused shouts coming from the other corridor, where the other two team members had gone. That decision had probably saved their lives.

She heard a groan from the left hand hallway, and made her way through to where she thought they probably were. Jodo, much to her satisfaction, was right with her.

“Here,” she finally heard. The corridor had gone dark, even the emergency lights had blinked out. The wall on one side had been peeled back to reveal a partial view of a storage hold. There was the slight ting ting of rapidly cooling metal in the air.

On the floor, sprawled against the wall across the hall from the source of the explosion, was Jones. The front of his suit was mostly gone- he looked like he’d taken the brunt of the small blast. Jodo kneeled down next to him, so Jola took Adok, who was propped up slightly farther down the hall. He was lying with his neck at a strange angle, and Jola’s jaw tightened.

His eyes were open, she saw, but he was breathing fast and shallow, and his eyes were glazed. “Adok?” she didn’t bother to use his mission name- he was too badly hurt to be likely to respond to it. She was pulling supplies out of her pockets. Adok tried to look at her and groaned, and instead of moving his head, just moved his eyes to focus briefly on her face. The smoke was slowly clearing.

Jodo appeared by her side, looking grim. “He- he’s dead,” he said, eyes wide. He turned his attention back down to Adok. “He’s lucky, the other guy was right on top of whatever it was.”

The other two crew members, Bogey and Whisker, appeared behind them.

Jola didn’t spare them a glance as she pushed back Adok’s vac suit’s hood and gently used probing fingers to test his neck and shoulder area. “Go,” she barked out. “Get a stretcher from the ship.” Their coms had started squawking at them, and their hearing was finally returning, following the after explosion ringing in their ears. “And for frell’s sake, tell the Captain what’s going on. There were bombs set on this ship.”

She continued working, entering an emergency code into the controls on the arm of her patient’s suit, which essentially immobilized the joints- to keep him from accidentally moving. She placed a portable respirator over his face and sealed the bacta edging on the mask to provide him with enough oxygen.

Jodo looked up from where he was placing medicated patches on Adock’s newly exposed wrists to ward off shock and dull his pain. “You mean that wasn’t just ship damage?”

Jola looked a bit uncertain. “Someone else needs to make sure- but I’m almost positive that was a trip mine.”

They continued to work on Adok, who no longer looked even remotely. “Neck and possible spinal injures,” Jola pronounced finally. He had a number of smaller shrapnel wounds, and burns that were not as bad as they could have been. Between the protection of his suit and the low oxygen atmosphere, he’d gotten lucky. Those could all be treated with bacta patches- but the spinal injury… “We’ll have to get the swelling down, and then see how bad it really is.” She hoped it was the spinal equivelant of a bad sprain.

Jola fought worry as they waited for the stretcher. She had only a field medical droid back on the racing ship, which could stabilize him- but it wasn’t designed for delicate work like spinal or brain injures. He was going to have to be out of commission, and strapped to a bed in their makeshift med ward- and hopefully gotten to a real med ward soon. “You’re gonna be fine,” she said, looking down into the man’s eyes. He blinked at her slowly, and Jola hoped she was right.

Jodo composed the dead man’s limbs and closed his eyes while they waited. “There wasn’t anyone on this ship, was there.” He finally got out.

Jola shook her head. She stood as the remaining two team members returned to the corridor with a stretcher. They looked worried.

“Captain wants to move NOW- he says we’ve got company coming.”

Jola swore a steady stream in every language she could think of as she and Jodo carefully moved Adok to the stretcher.

[Maxwell Gandel]

Captain Marachek's task force reverted from hyperspace in perfect formation. The three frigates - Malignant, Sawbones, and Heretic - joined their command ship in a protective screen around the rest of the task force. A quick glance at the tactical plot confirmed that his ship's were maintaining their formation as they moved in-system from the hyper limit.

The Dominator was out in front of the task force, ready to engage any defenders head on. She was already launching fighter squadrons to counter whatever local militia was brave, or stupid, enough to offer armed resistance. The frigate Malignant and it's fighter squadrons were tasked with the starboard flank, while the Sawbones had the port flank and the Heretic took up the rear. They were also launching fighters, just in case.

In the middle of this diamond formation sat the freighters, a group of a half dozen medium to small freighters the pirates had somehow scrounged together to help cart food back from Moorj. Though Askaza had wanted to include a number of the aptly named "ugly" squadrons as escorts, Gandel had talked him out of it. For this operation, their only protection would be the Imperials. Out of place amongst those smaller, bedraggled pirate freighters was the bulk transport Segway. Marachek had no idea where the behemoth had come from, but he knew for certain it didn't belong to Askaza's people. According to them, it was "on loan from friends", and he hadn't really felt like pressing them for answers.

"Report," Marachek demanded as the blue and green orb that was Moorj stopped racing forward to meet his ships. He didn't really expect any startling revelations... the probe droid placed in the system prior to the operation had already told the tale. No traffic, aside from a small number of civillian freighters with light non-military escorts, had been through the place in days. It was a backwater, fogotten by the beurocrats of the New Republic as much as by any Remnant force that would attack it. Any force, that is, except for the 105th Imperial starfleet.

"Sensors show five starships, sir, all with civillian transponders." The sensor officer in the crew pits responded almost instantly to Marachek's orders. He must have pegged the contacts and classified them almost as soon as the ship hit realspace. Marachek smiled. There was something to be said with working alongside the same crew for nearly a decade... without regular personel transfers, they all learned to work together more effeciently than any captain could hope. "Two are in orbit," The officer continued his report, "the other three are inbound from the hyper limit at three zero three mark one niner five. Sensors mark them as light freighters... speed fifteen MGLT's."

"Military contacts?" Marachek turned from the viewport to study the tactical holo more thoroughly. There should be at least some sort of local defense force... something to fend off pirates, or chase down the odd smuggler...

The officer in the pit paused, and Marachek heard muttered conversation from below. "Negative military contacts, sir," He said at last. "Our screens are clear. If they have fighter squadrons, they're still dirtside."

"Perhaps they've realized the futility of offering resistance," Commander Joseth said just loudly enough for Marachek to hear. "It would be suicide for them to try... I bet they're bunkering up, hiding the women, children, and family silverware." There was just enough of a sneer in that last comment to convey Joseth's contempt for such backwater worlds as Moorj. He'd been extremely dissapointed when the fleet found out it wouldn't be able to return to Coruscant, or any other "civilized" Imperial world. Not anytime soon, anyway.

"Possibly," Marachek replied neutrally. "All the better for us if they are... the more they stay out of our way, the faster this will go. Besides," he said with just at ouch of a smile, "We have plenty of silverware already. What we don't have are things to eat with it."

Joseth snorted a laugh, shaking his head in amusement. "Shall I send a message to the planet?"

"Mmmm... no. Not yet. Wait until we're in orbit. Let them sweat a little while they watch us bear down on them. Tactical, what's the status of the civillian transports?"

"The three that were inbound have reversed course and are running for the edge of the gravity well as fast as their engines can take them. The two in orbit are also pulling away, though they stayed long enough to take on some shuttles."

"Can we catch them?"

"Out TIEs would probably be able to catch the three at the edge of the system, but they wouldn't have time for a prolonged engagement. They'd likely get away."

"And the two in orbit?"

"Our fighters would easily catch them, and have ample time to disable them before they reached the edge of the gravity well. In fact..." The tactical officer paused, running a calculation on his terminal. "Any one of our frigates could overtake them short of the hyper limit, sir."

"Send two squadrons of fighters and one squadron of bombers after the ships leaving orbit," Marachek ordered. "Don't bother sending a frigate. Communications, order those two to stand down or be destroyed. Tell them they get one warning shot from our bombers, after that our pilots have weapons free."

The seconds ticked away as a group of green dots broke from the rest of the task force on the tactical holo. They angled towards the blue dots that were the fleeing freighters, and if the captains of those two ships had even half functioning sensor suites they'd know there was no escape. The short, clipped words of the comm officer punctuated the general buzz of bridge operations as he delivered Marachek's ultimatum. More seconds ticked by, the ties racing closer and closer to weapons range.

"Response from the freighters," The communications officer said suddenly. "They surrender."

"Tactical?" Marachek inquired, seeking confirmation.

"Affirmative, sir. The freighters have killed their sublights drives and are coming to a stop."

"Excellent. Have our fighter squadrons shepard them back into orbit..."

Fifteen minutes later, the freighters were back in orbit of Moorj, right alongside the Imperial task force. The bridge's holoprojector hummed with life, it's grainy blue lines sketching the harried looking image of the planetary leader. Marachek stood before the man's projection, hands folded behind his back as he contemplated the unfortunate soul. "You won't get away with this," The man was saying, tone implying that he was attempting to comfort himself as much as he was trying to dissuade Marachek. He was, no doubt, broadcasting his message from some supposedly safe and fortified position. "The New Republic will find out, and they'll send a force to liberate us," he continued.

"Yes," Marachek said blandly, "I'm sure they will. In fact, I'm positive they'll send enough firepower to sweep the system clean of all but the most stubborn Imperial battle group. Fortunatley for you, and for myself, I'm not interested in staying long enough to see it."

"You... what?" The man looked confused for just a second, but even as the expression registered it had changed to suspicion. "You're what?" He asked again.

"Not staying," Marachek replied. "I have no interest whatsoever in conquering your planet. I've come here for one thing, and one thing only."

"But... what one thing? If you don't want to take over... we have nothing of value. What could you possibly want from us?"

"Food," Marachek said simply. "You're an agricultural planet, yes?"

"Um. Well, yes... but if you're hoping to starve the New Republic by destroying one planets crops, you've seriously underestimated the-"

"No no," Marachek sighed, shaking his head. "I don't want to destroy it. I want to take it. All you need to know is this: In very short order, I will be landing transports and light freighters at your major food collection and distribution centers. I will also be landing troops along with those ships. My troops will cordon off those areas, and anybody attempting to interfere with our loading operations will be shot. So this entire episode will be made very easy and painless if your people simply stay out of my people's way. Nobody gets hurt, you keep your planet, and I go away happier and less hungry than when I arrived. Do we have an understanding?"

"But that food is our livelyhood!" The man protested, obviously distressed. "Our economy will collapse!"

"I'm sure the New Republic will render aid," Marachek said dryly. "Besides which, what good is a livelyhood if you're not alive to need it?"

"Ah... yes. I see your point."

"I thought you might. I'll be landing troops and ships now," Marachek said as calmly as possible, "I trust my people won't have any problems from the locals."

"No! No, not at all, captain... it is captain? Yes? Captain, then. Not at all, captain. You won't even know we're he-"

Marachek allowed himself another partial smile as the transmission abruptly ceased. Commander Joseth grinned at him from the other side of the bridge. "Oops."

"Matthew," Marachek said somewhat less sternly than he could have, "you really should work on that impertenant streak of yours. Some day it will get you in trouble." He slowly walked to the end of the command walkway, eyes gazing out at the world his warships orbited. "Commence landings," He ordered, and a number of small transports began their descent through the atmosphere.


*************************

The modular conveyer Tartan shook as it made the transition from hyperspace to realspace. Captain Taggart, currently in charge of the Tartan's six man crew, had long since decided the compensators were never going to get fixed. Not properly fixed, anyway. That would have required an overhaul of the drive unit, and probably a full replacement of the compensators themselves. And that required a shipyard, or at least someplace with good enough maintenance facilities to double as a shipyard. And, as the Tartan was a pirate transport, neither of those were likely to show up in the near future.

But if Taggart couldn't be happy about his engines, he could be happy about his safety in other regards. Unlike most modular conveyers, the Tartan had been modified with a few extra guns... just in case. And on this particular run, he had a squadron of uglies and a few skipray blastboats on hand as escorts.

"Translation complete," Amy Kelner, Taggart's navigations officer reported.

"Allright, shields to full, bring up the weapons." Taggart leaned forward to peer into the sensor display screen, which was helpfully mounted right in front of his command chair. Of course, the fact that the bridge was barely large enough to fit four people in it might have had something to do with that. "Now... where's that frellin' raider?"

Thanks to the Imperials - and Taggart had never, ever thought he'd use that particular expression - the pirates had been keeping a real time eye on their debris field. Having left a probe droid behind after the battle of the depot, they'd helpfully let Askaza's people tap into its hypercomm data feed. And that feed had shown a free raider, likely an independant scavanger, picking over the debris while it's rightful owners were away. Taggart and his escorts had been sent out to "deal" with the raider. Which, of course, meant chase him off or kill him. Preferrably the last.

"I've got two contacts, skipper," replied Lucas Artett, Tartan's sensor officer. "Looks like a couple of light transports. Neither of 'em are our guy."

"Pull the last coupla hours from the probe," Taggart ordered. "I wanna know where that sonuva bantha went. And while you're doin' that, I think I'll give those two womprats a holler." Taggart pushed a few buttons mounted on the oversized arm of his command chair, and hoped he got the right ones. Too damn many buttons, and his fingers were too damn fat... After a moment, the green "comm active" light flashed. Taggart sighed with relief, and hoped it wasn't loud enough for whoever was on the other end to hear.

"Ahoy, light freighters. This is the pirate rig Tartan and escorts. This here's our property. I were you, I'd have a damn good reason for bein' here."

Taggart eyed Lucas, who was waving for his attention. The sensor operator pointed to one of the other display screens mounted haphazardly to a bulkhead. On it were the probe's logs, on fast forward. They showed the raider gathering up some pretty decent salvage... right up until the moment the two transports arrived. The raider fired on one... the wrong one, it turned out. The engagement was over within seconds, after which the two ships moved to meet up with one another. They stayed docked for a little while, then moved apart. The one that had destroyed the raider moved off to dock with some of the abandoned wrecks - Taggart winced, realizing they'd docked with one of the Imp's booby traps - and a small explosion registered on the sensor logs. That's where the log ended... just a few minutes before the Tartan had entered the system.

Taggert pressed his lips together as he waited for a response. If these two ships were just more free raiders, they deserved what they got from his perspective. But this had, until recently, been a New Republic military supply depot. If they were some sort of good samaritans, just trying to help... well, Taggart knew how tough space could be. Anybody willing to help another spacer in need couldn't be all bad.

Taggart pressed what he hoped was the mute button while he waited for their response, then toggled (or hoped he toggled) over to the frequency for his escorts. "Lads, spread out a bit. Keep an eye on the area, and somebody go board that dead raider. I wanna know if he's got friends comin'..."

[Mischa Margolin]

“Who the frak would be crazy enough to plant bombs aboard this ship. And more importantly, how the frak could they have done it?” asked her two squadron mates as they rode the turbolift down to the hangar level. A turbolift that didn’t seem to be moving fast enough in her opinion as she bounced slightly from foot to foot.

“Don’t know Misch” Stone replied, a look on his face befitting his callsign as he prepped his weapon while Chanc growled something in agreement. “Whatever and whoever and however, all I want to know is where they are so I can do some damage of my own in return.”

Margolin glanced at the rifle he was carrying and grinned. “Shouldn’t be a problem if you’re going to use that thing. Just make sure you don’t blow a hole in the hangar bulkhead, Big Man. My callsign may be Vacuum, but it doesn’t mean I want to be out in it.” She said just before the doors of the lift slid silently open and Furball peered out carefully before giving a low grumbling sound in his throat that the other two pilots took to mean all-clear before the three of them exited the lift and made their way swiftly yet cautiously in the direction of the hangar.

Just a few feet from the main entryway they spotted the first signs of the earlier struggle and subsequent explosions. Techs, medics, and other crew members were furiously going about their respective tasks as Jon’son grabbed the arm of a passing deck crewman and asked him what had happened. “We’ve been boarded.” Briggs answered as he gazed around at the wreckage as if in a disbelieving daze.

“Boarded? By who?” Mischa asked. “And how?”

“Don’t know who. They came in on one of our own shuttles, they had IDs and uniforms. Clearance codes…everything They took a couple of the crew hostage and headed gods knows where.”

“How many?” Stone asked him impatiently as the nervous Briggs tried to recall exactly the number of commandoes he saw leave the shuttle.

“F-Four, Five…maybe. I can’t say for sure.” He stammered out before Jon’son, Misch, and Chanc left him to his duties and headed to the interior of the hangar.

“The fighters look alright…for now.” Mischa said of the objects of her first priority upon hearing of the explosions. She scanned the hangar carefully and asked her fellow pilots, “Which shuttle do you think they came aboard on?”

“I’m not sure, but I bet we could find someone here could answer that question for us.” Stone replied as they headed for a group of techs who were busy clearing away some debris near the secondary entrance to the hangar deck. One of the officers gestured discreetly toward a transport close to the starboard bulkhead as the three pilots nodded in acknowledgement before heading out of the hangar as if there was nothing more for them to do there.

Once they reached the corridor again, Stone turned to Vac and Furball. “Alright we need to get a look at that transport, but I want to be careful because we don’t know if there is still any of their group still in there. We’ll double-back to the hangar through the aft doors then split up and approach that ship from three sides to cover it as best we can.”

Chanc gave his rumbling approval to the idea while Mischa added, “Sounds like a plan, Stone. Just be careful, they could have the frakkin thing booby trapped…loaded with explosives for all we know.”

The three Womprats headed back down the corridor toward the rear of the ship, passing more crew members and a few pilots from some of the other squadrons assigned to the Second Chance until they reached the aft-most entrance to the hangar. Misha headed for the far starboard end while Chancbacca approached from the portside and Stone came from the center, all of them using the crates, tool boxes, and even other ships as cover as they made their way toward the transport.

The shuttle appeared unoccupied, but it was still better to be safe than sorry and at the moment, Mischa would have given anything for a smoke grenade or two to help flush out anyone who might still be aboard. She crept closer to the shuttle, alert for any signs of activity onboard or nearby wondering at the same time what was going on throughout the rest of the Second Chance and if all the rest of her squadron still on station, especially one in particular, had run across any trouble themselves.

It was a bad idea to let herself get distracted by such thoughts Vac found out a few moments later when a blaster bolt passed by her head just missing it by mere centimeters and she found herself with little cover in the event of another shot being taken at her as she fired back in the direction it had come from. “Frak!” Margolin swore as she made to run for a nearby tool crate only to have several most blasts shot in her direction by a man standing near the upper entrance of the suspect shuttle’s boarding ramp wearing a crewer’s uniform. He was keeping her pinned down out in the open as she tried to hit him with return fire of her own, his position making it difficult for her to get in any effective shots of her own.

“Damn it where the hell are you two?” Vac called over her comm and no sooner than she did, Furball came around the bow of the shuttle bowcaster at ready as he howled at Mischa, gesturing for her to move as he fired into the shuttle just as the commando was leaning from behind his cover to take another shot with his carbine. The Wookie’s projectile caught the man high in the shoulder, knocking him off his feet and back into the shuttle just as Jon’son ran up.

“What happened?” the burly pilot asked, looking between the ship and his squadron mate.

“Chanc saving my ass, Stone is what happened.” Mischa answered, smiling at the Wookie ‘Rat. “Frakkin guy on the ship was about to take me out until Furb…”

She never got to finish her statement as the sound of running feet accompanied by a barrage of blaster fire came from near the front of the commando’s ship two of the shots slamming into the back of the Wookie, pitching him toward Vac who’d been standing right in front of him.

“Chanc! Goddess no! Stone get a frakkin medic team in here now!” She tried holding him up as he dropped down to the decking, her arms going around his broad waist as her hands became wet with the blood being lost rapidly from the wounds he’d sustained. Standing next to them, Stone had brought his heavy blaster rifle to bear on the commando group and would have not hesitated to open fire on, until he saw who the was hostage among them.

[Baljos Reige]

Master Sergeant Baljos Reige ran along the clean white beach. Behind him his platoon of marines were strung out in single file breathing heavily and rapidly, working hard to keep up with their leader. Baljos looked out across the clear waters and took a nice deep breath of the clean air. So different from the fettered stench of the Coruscant of his youth or the stuffy recycled air of a starship.

Up ahead he spotted the entrance to the Marine encampment and kicked up the pace a gear or two. When they first got here he had needed to work real hard over the last kilometer or so of the 5k morning run but now after three weeks he still felt strong and pretty fresh coming into the home stretch. As he passed through the front gates of the camp he spotted Major Alardo coming out of one of the command hooches and making in his direction.

“Platoon, AHH-TEN-HOO!” Baljos barked, snapping off a crisp salute to the Major. Behind him the Platoon fell into ranks with practiced speed and precision. Major Alardo returned the salute and it was only then as he saw him up close that Baljos noticed the concerned look on his rugged face.

“At ease.” Alardo stated casually, nodding towards the platoon. As one the marines took a step to the right and grasped their hands behind their backs.

“Master Sergeant Reige I need to speak with you . The Cp in ten”

“Yes sir” Baljos replied before snapping off another salute which the Major returned and then hurriedly marched back towards the Command Post. Something was definitely up, something big. He turned back to the marines and the looks of curiosity on their faces told him they knew it too.

“Ok people hit the freshers and change into duty uniforms. I want you reassembled here with full combat load in 2-0 Mikes for weapons drills. Dismissed!”

Baljos headed for his cabin where he showered quickly and changed into his duty BDUs then he headed over to the Base Cp. Time to find out what had the Major looking so concerned. He walked down the short flight of stairs into the Command Post. It was basically a temporary sandbag bunker but inside it was cramped with banks of computers, and communications equipment. A team of half a dozen rather stressed looking techs bustled about the place. He spotted the Major in the corner by a tactical display table and moved over to him.

“Master Sergeant Reige reporting as ordered sir.” The Major didn’t even bother returning the salute. He cut straight to the chase, it was one of the reasons Baljos liked him.

“We have a situation here Joso.” Alardo began. “What appear to be several Imperial Commandos have launched a covert attack on the Second Chance. They have detonated several IEDs aboard the ship and have caused severe damage.” The Major paused to allow the info to set in.

“Frak me” Joso thought. This was some fracking heavy poodoo.

“That’s not all.” The Major went on. “When they were discovered the commandos made a break for it and have taken Admiral Nerys hostage. Their now using her to insure their escape.”

Josos head spun, how could this have happened. Enemy agents shouldn’t have been able to get aboard a vessel in the first place never mind successfully cripple it and kidnap the fleet commander. Those Imperial Frackers sure had picked a dandy time to make their move. They had attacked when the ships crew levels were at their lowest, almost all the Marine complement were on the surface training. Joso was sure that had the Marines been aboard this attack would never have succeeded.

“Joso I’m sending you and first platoon up there to assist in anyway you can. For this deployment you’ll be acting platoon commander. Lieutenant Barris is still on leave and all my other platoon leaders are green.”

Joso wasn’t to shocked at this announcement. He’d been leading the platoon for the past week while the Lieutenant had been away attending to family business. He knew what he was doing , the troops knew him and he knew them and his junior NCO’s were sound.

“Alright Master sergeant that’s it. Transport leaves in 20, dismissed.”

“Yes sir” Joso replied as he saluted.

“Get some, Sergeant.”

“OO-RAH sir.”

[Maxwell Gandel]

It had been a dicey trip through the corridors of the Second Chance, Roschak reflected. While he and his team held the NR admiral nobody had dared to try anything... but that didn't mean the Imperial commandos were left alone. A number of security personel - weapons dutifuly holstered - had followed just far enough behind. Orders had apparently been passed along to clear the corridors, for Roschak and his people hadn't encountered any other ship's crew on their way to the hangar.

That was just as well... the last thing the Imperials needed was for some clueless crewer to stumble into things and, intentionally or not, make the situation worse. Roschak tightened his grip on Karis' waist. She was still concious enough to keep her feet moving in the right direction, and he was grateful for that. Trying to carry her through the ship would have made things that much more difficult. Suddenly, the sound of blaster fire echoed through the corridor. Everybody stopped dead in their tracks, including the NR security personell. Their hands had gone for their weapons as soon as the noise reached their ears, but luckily training and common sense had stopped them just short of drawing.

Roschak himself had stopped just short of blowing the admiral's brains across the hallway, and now his pulse was pounding in his ears. "Deran," He said tightly, "Where are we?" His eyes twitched back and forth, from the security personel behind him to the empty corridor ahead.

"Just short of the hangar," The medic turned navigator replied just as tensely.

"Womprats."

"What?" Roschak demanded, glaring at the NR admiral. She returned his look, a triumphant smile on her lips. For a moment, he thought she was insulting him. Then he realized there was something more in that look... the wrong kind of emotion for a mere insult. "Frell it... Deran, let's move!" He bent at the knees, swiftly turning Karis around and grabbing her around the legs. Sweeping her up in a fireman's carry, and grunting under her weight, he gestured with his blaster for the hostage Hagar to go first. Walking swiftly, Hagar led the procession down towards the hanger and the sounds of combat. Roschak followed grimly, the captive admiral behind him with Deran taking up the rear. The medic looked back at the security personel, and gave them a dirty look. "You lot stay here. I so much as hear footsteps, and that tech is fried crispy, got it?" They nodded their consent, not looking happy about it, and the Imperial took off after his comrades at a jog.

The blaster fire was still going strong as Roschak entered the hanger. He took in the situation at a glance, and realized something had gone wrong. Idanski crouched at the shuttle's entrance ramp, spraying fire out at the deck. He had a young woman pinned down with little cover, and was doing his best to keep her that way. Roschak urged Hagar forward by jabbing his blaster barrel into the man's back, and was about to call out to Idanski when the unthinkable happened. A wookie came barreling around the shuttle, bowcaster blazing. The first shot caught Idanski in the shoulder as he leaned forward to fire another round. He pitched backwards out of sight, and Roschak couldn't tell if the hit had been fatal or not.

Another man appeared from around the other side of the shuttle, human but just about as well built as the wookie. None of them had noticed the Imperials headed their way. Roschak ground his teeth and raised his blaster. Pulling the trigger rapidly, he sent a group of blood red blaster bolts at the wookie's back. Roschak heard the admiral gasp as they connected, but didn't spare any time to look at her. Seconds after the wookie hit the deck, his companions had whirled around to face their new threat. They stopped short as Deran pushed the admiral forward to act as a human shield.

"You aren't going to get away with this," The admiral said in a voice that nearly succeeded in chilling Roschak's blood. "I'll make damn sure you don't." It wasn't the words, Roschak decided. It was the way she said them... there was passion in those words, oh yes... but she said them so damn calmly, as if it weren't a threat but some cosmic certainty she was passing on. Odd, Roschak thought. She seemed more upset by the death of one wookie than by the detonation of explosives on her own command ship.

"You two, make a hole!" Roschak ordered, pointedly ignoring the admiral. The two pilots stood, anger simmering in their eyes as they moved away from the shuttle's entrance ramp. "Deran, take the hostages aboard." The medic quickly moved to get Gabriella and Hagar aboard, dropping to one knee as he neared the prone Idanski. The Wookie's bowcaster had done a number on him, and blood stained an ever widening area of his NR jumpsuit.

But he was still alive... if only barely. "Knew..." He coughed, blood bubbling up between his lips even as he smiled at Deran, "Knew I shoulda worn my armor..."

"Stop talking," Deran ordered. Keeping his blaster pointed at the captives, the medic used his free hand to press down on Idanski's wound. It wasn't much, but it might help stop the bleeding. Damn bowcasters... if it had been a pure energy blast it might not be so bad. It might have even cauterized the wound. But the wookies just had to use weapons that fired metal projectiles encased in energy... "Roschak!" he bellowed, urging the commando leader to get aboard.

The commando leader was standing on the entrace ramp, just outside the shuttle's door. Karis slung over his shoulder, he pointed his blaster at the ground and sneered at the two New Republic pilots. "If anyone or anything follows us," He warned, "The hostages die. If you attack the pirates, they die. If you attack any elements of the 105th, they die." He backed up a few more steps as Deran called his name, putting himself just inside the door. "Don't be heros," He told them.

With that, Roschak closed the door. Touching the button that would retract the boarding ramp, he turned and set Karis in one of the nearby seats. From the way she slouched sideways, he didn't think she was awake anymore. "Sithspawn, what a fraking mess!" he bellowed, glaring up at Hagar and Gabriella. With two of his team down, it would be all Deran could do to look after them and look after two hostages. The numbers had to go down. "I'm sorry, Hagar," He told the tech, "But it's easier to watch one hostage than two." He raised his blaster, sights hovering over the tech's head as the man paled.

"No!" Gabriella snapped, her command voice cutting through the small cabin as she stepped in front of Roschak's intended victem. "No," She repeated, her tone softening only slightly. "No more pointelss death. Just put him off the ship. You've got me, I'm all you need."

Commando leader and admiral stared at each other for seconds that seemed to last hours, each testing the other's will. Finally, Roschak nodded sharply. "You sit," He ordered her, then looked once again at Hagar. "You, move to the exit. Extend the ramp, open the door, then step out." Hagar did as he was told, and Roschak moved up behind him. He chanced a glance out into the Second Chance, saw a number of personel gathered at the edge of the hangar, but none had come too close to the shuttle. The wookie's body was gone. He closed the door, simultaneously pushing the button to retract the ramp. Then he stalked up the isle to the cockpit, pausing to glance back at Gabriella. "Do not mistake me," He told her, "One false move and you'll be sucking vacuum. Deran... keep my people alive."

Deran nodded grimly, bending over Idanski once more. He pressed his lips together, sweat beading on his forhead. He needed three hands... hell, he'd settle for two right now. He shook his head, and set his blaster on the ground. If the NR admiral wanted to make a move, he'd see her coming before she got too close. Right now, he needed both hands to keep Idanski alive. It was a losing battle, but he wasn't just going to let the man bleed to death. There was a medkit mounted to the shuttle's rear wall. He retrieved it, quickly spilling it's contents onto the floor of the narrow isle while he searched for what he needed. "Bandages," he muttered, "Lots of bandages... bacta patch, big one..."

Ripping fabric echoed through the cabin as Deran tore open Idanski's bloodsoaked jumpsuit, revealing the gory wound beneath. Unfortunately, the fabric also took some of the clotted blood with it, and the wound began to bleed as badly as ever. "Sithspawn," Deran cursed, fumbling with a bacta patch. He slapped it over the wound, but the medicated bandage began to turn dark red almost immediately. Working frantically, he pushed a bundle of bandages onto the wound and applied pressure. "Too much blood," he gasped as the bandages began soaking through. "Damnit... must've hit an artery..."

"K-karis?" Deran blinked as Idanski's pale lips wheezed out the other wounded commando's name.

"She'll be fine... I'll get to her right after I get you straightened out," Deran promised. He grimaced, though, as he saw Idanski's face continue to drain of color. The bandages were soaking up as much blood as they could, and the bacta patch was working it's medical magic... but it wasn't enough. There was a broken artery in there somewhere, and if it didn't get closed the wounded Imperial would bleed to death. "Ok," Deran said, breathing heavily as he worked through his options. "Ok... ok. Coagulants. Idanski? Pen? Pen, hold this." Deran pushed the larger man's hand down onto the mass of crimson gauze as he frantically searched through the scattered contents of the medkit. His fingers finally tightened on a one time injector full of blood coagulants, meant to stop patients from doing just what Idanski was doing... bleeding out.

Without hesitating Deran jabbed the injector into Idanski's arm, pumping the entire thing into the man's veins. It was twice the reccomended dose... but Deran didn't have time to wait. Besides, any side effects would be better than dead. "Stay with me, Pen." Deran murmered, pushing firmly down on the bandages. Idanski's breathing slowly became shallow, his chest rising and falling even less with each passing moment. Then it stopped altogether. Deran didn't even bother to curse. He checked his patient's pulse... nothing. Abandoning the bandages, he pressed his hands over the heart and began to push. CPR, at least, was fairly straight forward...

It wasn't working. After nearly a minute, there was still no independant heartbeat, no breathing... Deran fumbled through the medkit's contents. There had to be something to jumpstart a failing heart... anything...

Finding nothing, Deran went back to CPR. He did it for a full five minutes before, exhausted, he sat back and stared at his dead teammate's face. Slowly, through the dispair of failure, Deran realized he hadn't paid any attention to the hostage for... for how long? The fight to save Idanski had seemed like forever. He twitched his head sharply to one side, afraid he'd see the New Republic admiral with his blaster, just waiting for him to realize he'd screwed up. Instead, he saw he sitting where Roschak had told her to sit, empathy warring with some other emotion deep within her eyes. Deran brought his hands up to run them over his face, stopping when he saw they were encrusted in dried blood. It was spattered over his jumpsuit's legs and torso as well, as if he'd been in some dreadful hand to hand battle for the last fifteen minutes.

Stiffly, he reached out and took hold of his blaster. He didn't look back at Idanski as he stood. His gaze was focused on Karis, still slumped unconcious in a nearby seat. He checked her pulse with two blood covered fingers, leaving dark red smears on her neck. She was alive, but probably in shock. He situated her so she was sitting in a more comfortable looking position, then went looking through the contents of the medkit. Most of the items it had held were spattered and smeared with blood. Deran ignored it, grabbed a stim patch and another injector. After his fight to save Idanski, stabilizing Karis was mercifully simple. He sat next to her, staring at the seat in front of him. Roschak was right, he thought, What a fraking mess.

At some point, the ship must have left the hangar and made the jump to lightspeed... Deran hadn't noticed any of it, but now the swirling colors of hyperspace caught his eye. He turned his head and started out at them, then looked back at the NR admiral. Gods, it was going to be good to get back to the fleet...

[Dr. Wess Jodo]

“Did the captain say who was incoming?” Wess asked, his voice trembling slightly as he helped Jola carefully lower Adock on to the stretcher. It was… strange. The suit had stiffened, and, Jodo couldn’t get out of his head how much it was like handling a corpse.

He wasn’t quite sure how he was still on his feet. Part of his brain was trying not to panic, while the other was coolly calculating whether or not he could handle doing an emergency surgery on the man’s spine if need be, or assist Jola in one. Frankly they didn’t know exactly how bad the wounds were. They needed to get him out of that suit and examine him fully before they could be absolutely certain how bad the damage was—they needed proper medical equipment, was what it all boiled down to.

Beyond that, Jodo needed room. He had felt less sick than he usually would have, on the ride out, and very relaxed. It had even prompted a comment from one of the pilots that he must have a set of steel nerves on him to be so cool and unworried.

“Doc.”

That feeling had died the minute they stepped into the airlock. All of them crammed together into the small space had brought everything crashing to the front of his mind again… it had very nearly brought his lunch crashing to the front, too, but then…

Wess had seen some bad injuries during his time at school. He had handled corpses too, without flinching, and during his time on the New Dawn he had been in several light firefights and had to deal with the various wounds and even some battle-shock that had resulted from those.

“Doc.”

But this was beyond brutal. They had come to save people, and now they were trying to save one of their own. It always hurt more when it was part of your team. Or a friend. Most especially if you hadn’t been expecting any danger.

“Wess! Get your head back in the game, I need you, Doctor,” Jola’s voice snapped Wess back out of his private thoughts, and he looked up from the body to see that he had his hands on the handles of the stretcher, but hadn’t moved to lift. Looking up at Jola, he winced as her glare seemed to drill right through him. “I know you’re new to this, kid, but frack this up now and I’ll make sure you don’t have another chance.”

’In the face of shock, where a fellow worker is not responding, sometimes making them angry can cut through where their training fails to kick in,’ the words rang clearly in Jodo’s ears. ’Well frakk me if it isn’t working.’ Wess returned Jola’s glare and bit back an angry reply.

“On three,” Wess gritted, “one, two, three!” together the two doctors easily lifted the stretcher and turned, Wess walking backwards as they hurried Adock back aboard the ship. He was so busy being angry that he almost didn’t notice as they passed through the airlock and back onto the shuttle. Almost.

As the airlock snapped shut, Wess felt a tremor pass through him, and the side of his face twitched as the claustrophobia hit him. But there was no time for that, and so the doctor shoved it aside as best as he could and guided the stretcher into the small section that was set aside for medical purposes.

“Great, so now I guess we…” Jodo trailed off, looking down at the body and realizing that he had no idea what to do next. “Well we don’t know what all is wrong with him, so maybe we should get him out of the… I mean…” Wess looked up at Jola and felt very useless all of the sudden. “But I guess we can’t move him much till we’ve gotten a good scan of him.”

“Brilliant deduction, doctor,” Jola said, her neutral tone making the words far more acid than if she had spit in his face as she spoke them. “All we can do is stabilize him and keep an eye on his vitals till we get him to a proper medical facility. It’s not like we can cut him out of his suit with what we’ve got on hand.”

“You know, I’m not an idio-“ Wess began sharply, but was cut off as the ship gave an awkward lurch. “What the frakking hell was that?” Wess asked, staggering and throwing out one arm to catch himself against the wall, and his other arm to hold the stretcher steady. He saw Jola had simply dropped to one knee and used both of her hands to steady the stretcher, probably assuming he wouldn’t think to. ’Frack me but she’s good, why didn’t I think of that? a small part of Wess’ brain asked.

“Felt like something nailed our shields,” Jola said tensely, scrambling back up to her feet. “Where are those fracking pilots… Go find out what happened,” she snapped, her tone and the look on her face brooking for no disagreement from Wess.

Any trace of admiration Jola’s quick reflexes had bought her from Wess soured quickly as he turned and walked out of the med room. Why couldn’t she just work with him like the equals they were? She was so high and mighty, and all Wess was trying to do was… What? Freeze up and then act like a raving moron who’d never seen an injured man before?

Angry, Wess stomped into the cockpit. “What the hell was that?” He demanded of the pilots. “We have an injured man and too much—“

“Sorry, doc.” one of the pilots hissed, quickly covering the com system with her hand, “but this is really not the time. We’ve got some incomings and they’re not too happy with us.”

Wess bit his tongue as questions bubbled up and he tried to hold them back. Then he nodded. “Sorry,” he managed, then turned and left, feeling even more awkward than before. And sick. The ship was getting smaller by the minute.

“Pirates,” Wess announced, reentering the medical room. “They’re not too happy with our presence, apparently.”

“That’s part of the plan,” Jola nodded, reaching down and unsealing her vac. suit. “Take off your suit—I don’t think we’ll be doing any more rescuing today and these are too clunky if we have to handle the patient.”

Wess stared at her. “But there are other people out there,” he said slowly, his voice incredulous. “We can’t just…” then it hit him. Swoop racers. More concerned about themselves than anyone else—if they kept trying to rescue people when they were in danger themselves, it would be all too obvious that they were here on a rescue mission, and not just trying to help out a person or two.

For a moment, something like sympathy passed over Jola’s face as she saw understanding dawn on Wess’ features, and she shrugged at him; just a little motion of her shoulders, but it said more than a thousand words could have. Then she turned away and began pulling off the clunky suit.

Numbly, Jodo followed her example. It was good to have the hot, awkward thing off, but for what it meant… Jodo thought he could’ve stood to wear it a lot longer if it meant more lives.

“Some rescue mission,” he said softly, picking up his helmet, which he had thoughtlessly tossed off to the side when they had put the stretcher down.

“Here,” Jola handed him her own suit. “These will only be in our way if you don’t toss them back in storage.” There was almost a request in her voice. Almost. It was enough for Wess.

Simply nodding, he turned and headed to the back of the ship, opening the storage closet and starting to hang up the awkward suits. The hangers they were on allowed for a quick grab to get one, but took significantly longer to get the suits back on once they’d been taken down. The ship gave another shudder, but this one less powerful than the first, and Wess looked up. There was a hissing sound, similar to the one he’d heard in the airlock. It looked like they were being boarded.

Hanging the helmets up next to the suits as quickly as he could, Wess had just finished hanging Jola’s when he heard a harsh female voice from the medroom.

“Hands up or I’ll blow your fracking brains, lady.”

Jola!

Slamming the closet closed, Wess turned and sprinted.

“No! Don’t shoot, she’s a doctor- UNG!” Wess’ words were abruptly cut off as he rounded the corner. He barely had time to see a startled, angry woman in a black jump suit swinging her arm at him, and then pain blasted any other thought out of Jodo’s head. The world went black, and Wess crumpled to the floor, stunned.

“Frack you!” Wess barely managed to patch meanings to the words as a loud ringing noise sounded in his ears. “We’ve got a wounded man here! Are you out of you mind? Put that damn thing away before you hurt someone!” Jola. She sounded angry. Again. She was always angry.

Wess groaned, and then coughed as blood filled his mouth with a coppery, too-salty taste. The entire right side of his face was on fire with pain, and he couldn’t seem to think straight enough to move his arms and legs properly. He tried to scramble up on his hands and knees, but couldn’t quite manage it.

“Looks like you nailed him good,” the voice was unfamiliar, and Wess couldn’t make his eyes recognize anything. His surroundings were a complete blur, and nothing wanted to come into focus. The voice was saying something else, too, and Wess thought it might be to him.

“I’m a docotor,” Wess managed to slur, spitting blood, “I juss need a…” what did he need? “a time…” that wasn’t the right word. “Minish…” that wasn’t it either, but he was close. Close enough, Wess decided, spitting more blood. Where was all of this blood coming from?

Someone grabbed him roughly by the back of the neck and lifted him up awkwardly on his feet, causing the young man to yell in pain. Wess’ arms flailed around, trying to find something to grab on to, till something grabbed him and steadied him. He looked stupidly down at his arm. The woman was holding it. Jola. Things were very slowly starting to come into focus. Enough for him to make out the faces.

“Your nose is bleeding,” she stated, somehow completely ignoring the other people in the room.

“I wash ‘bout ask…” Jodo shook his head slightly, trying to clear it, and instantly regretted it. “Fshrak,” he groaned as the movement sent waves of pain through his skull.

“Just prop him against the wall,” Jola sounded resigned.

“I don’t take orders from you,” the man’s voice sounded right behind Jodo.

Wess snorted with a detatched sort of laughter at the thought of anyone not taking orders from the woman. He regretted it, again, as it prompted a new wave of blood to spray from his nose.

“Just do what she says,” the other woman sighed. Wess couldn’t believe she had managed to hit him so hard. He’d been punched, once, and it hadn’t felt at all like this. “Anyways it’s not like--,” she cut off as a faint chime sounded. “Cap’n? Sir. Yes sir. On our way.” There was another short pause. “Sir. Okay, lets go, big guy, captain wants us up and front. We should bring the doctors.”

“I don’t think this one can walk,” the man gave Jodo a shake, causing new waves of pain. Wess bit back another groan.

“Then dump him. Keep an eye on her, though.”

“I’m not going to watch her.”

“I think I can watch myself,” Jola rolled her eyes.

There was a long pause, and Jola crossed her arms, setting her features with a look that said any person touching her would be hurt.

“Fine, leave the bitch too,” the woman snapped, turning and leaving. “Captain said we’ve got ourselves a deal, anyways.”

“Don’t move,” the man’s voice warned spinning Jodo around, “or she might aim for that pretty nose of yours next time.” He shoved Wess into a sitting position on the floor and then turned, following after the woman.

Wess blacked out for a minute, and came to with Jola crouched in front of him, forcing his head back with a hand pinched on his nose. It was the pain that roused him.

“Frack!” he choked, pulling away from Jola and falling over sideways. “Oh frack that hurts, don’t… gods…” he coughed as more blood spilled from his nose. “Oh frack.”

“It’s not broken, but that’s a hell of a nose bleed. What the frack made you do something stupid like that?” Jola sighed, not attempting to touch Wess again, but instead wiping his blood off of her hands onto her pants.

“I thought she was going to shoot you,” Wess voice still slurred slightly, and he put a hand up to his nose, jerking away quickly as the touch prompted more pain. “What… Frack me, that really… hurt.”

“Next time someone swings the butt of their blaster at your face, duck,” Jola snorted, then sighed again. “But thanks for all the help. Next time let me do the helping and we wont end up with someone incapacitated.”

She had hit him with her blaster? Well at least that explained why it hurt so much. It felt as if the right side of his face was going to explode as pulses of pain reverberated through his entire skull.

“Can I get… some…” Jodo searched for the word. “Bactorios?” It was a mildly heavy painkiller, and Wess was certain he had packed some in his medkit. “I think it’s just in my-“

“Sorry, kid, but I need you all with me. No strong painkillers, and you need to stop that bleeding before you pass out again,” Jola said firmly. “I’ll dab some bacta on it, but that’s it. Pull yourself together.”

“Frack you,” Jodo glared, staggering to his feet as his anger flared up to match the pain in his face. “I can prescribe my own…” what was the word? “Things... Don’t be such a bitch.”

“Listen to me,” faster than Wess would’ve thought she could move, Jola was in front of him and so close that he took an involuntary step back, bumping against the wall. “I can almost forgive you for freezing up back on the ship—you’re a rookie. But stupidity I don’t take from any man, and you have been very, very stupid so far. Think with your brain—that’s what it’s there for, incase you missed anatomy 101.”

Wess opened his mouth, and then shut it again, swallowing hard. His anger had died right about the time she pinned him against the wall, and he couldn’t even muster up enough indignation to glare at her.

“Good,” Jola nodded, as if he had spoken. “Now hold your nose and tilt your head back while I apply the bacta.”

'This is going to fracking hurt,' Wess gritted his teeth, tilting his head back and reaching up to pinch his nose.

It did hurt.

[Jon'son Dethrider]

Chaos was around them. The blaster fire came out of nowhere and Jon'son wasn't even aware what happened until he saw Chancbacca crumple to the floor with a blaster wound in his back, his bowcaster clattering on the durosteel floor. Misch, his wingman, ran toward him, gasping, her legs feeling heavy. She cried out to herself, then shouted for a medic team. Jon'son merely stood there in shock at the sight for a few moments, then quickly took his comlink and started barking orders.

"Medical team to the hangar bay. We have a pilot down!" he shouted in despair.

How could this happen? How is this possible? He thought in horror. He'll be okay. He has to be! He stared again at Chanc laying sprawled in a heap. Blood flowed brightly against his chestnut coat. Anger filled his eyes and he bore his rifle at the direction of the laser fire. He would make sure they would pay. All of them.

Until he saw the Imperials with hostages, one of them being Admiral Nerys.

Damn...

Misch fell to her knees beside the wookiee, oblivious to the Imperials and the hostages they had. She feared he was dead-- but he was still bleeding, still breathing. She pressed her hand against the blaster wound again, desperate to stop the flow of blood and save his life. His powerful pulse drove the blood from his body. A dreadful, grieving, keening sound escaped him, not a groan of pain, but a cry of rage and remorse.

"Lie still!" Misch cried. "Chanc, lie still you furball! The doctor is coming, you'll be alright." Her vision blurred with tears. Stone trained his sight on the Imp leader and lined him on his crosshairs. Revenge was only on his mind now.

The commando's gruff voice shouted in their direction. "You two, make a hole!" Stone and Misch stood, anger searing in their eyes as they moved away from the shuttle's entrance ramp. Jon'son lowered his weapon and noticed his wingman's hands were stained with the wookiee's blood.

"Deran, take the hostages aboard." One of Imp's team quickly moved to get the admiral and another hostage aboard. The leader dropped to one knee to address the one Chanc fired on-- he was still alive. Stone hoped he would die. It would only be fair for what they done. His rage grew worse as the wookiee remained on the floor, still bleeding, and they were standing here helpless to attend him.

They kept still as they brought their wounded inside and started boarding. One of them pointed his blaster at the ground and sneered, "If anyone or anything follows us," he warned, "the hostages die. If you attack the pirates, they die. If you attack any elements of the 105th, they die." He backed up a few more steps as another inside called his name, putting himself just inside the door.

"Don't be heroes," he told them. With that, the door closed and boarding ramp ascended. Stone and Misch rushed back to attend to Chanc, his wingman placing her hands back on the wookiee.

"Dammit, Furball!, you can't die!" He must live, Stone thought. He must! There was no sign from the wookiee.

"Come back! Come back to us!" Hot tears ran down Misch's cheeks. "The medics!" she cried. "Where are the medics?"

"I called them already, Misch!" Stone fired back, desperation in his voice. Jon'son tried to take over stanching the flow of blood from Chanc's wound, but Misch pushed him away with a sharp curse. The wookiee's pulse faltered. He was failing.

You will not die! she thought. You must not die. I won't let you die! She drew on her inadequate knowledge of field training to help him. She knew that if she allowed Chanc's warm blood to gush past her hands, his life, too, would stream away. Stone looked up to see the medic team arrive, finally.

Chanc suddenly stopped moving, altogether.

The med officer ran across the hangar. His medical droid clambered behind him, carrying his equipment and supplies.

The officer knelt beside Misch. He observed Chanc's wound with a glance. She felt Stone's large hands pull her away so the medics could start on him.

"Nooooo! Help him!" she exclaimed, struggling in Stone's grip. She allowed herself a moment of hope, even with her hands covered by Chanc's blood.

Chancbacca closed his eyes; he had stopped breathing. Both pilots noticed it. Stone let go of his wingman. Misch sat back on her heels. Her hands were sticky and her flightsuit was smeared and she viewed everything in the clarity of horrified belief.

"Oh no..." Jon'son said softly.

"No..." Misch whispered.

"Get him to the infirmary now!" the medic shouted. Two of his aides huffed and pulled the wookiee onto the repulsorbed, and quickly began to move out of the hanger. The ramp of the shuttle opened and one of the hostages was shoved out. Misch and Jon'son tore their gaze away to notice him, then the ship began to hum to life.

Stone, in desperation to have the shuttle tracked, leapt to his feet and rushed to an overturned equipment cart to grab a small magnetic transponder from it. He activated the module on it, applied the highest transmitting signal, then quickly stuck it to the underside of the shuttle before the repulsorlifts ignited. The ship's lifts roared and it rose off the platform, quickly exiting the hangar bay. Stone remained prone as the shuttle escaped the Second Chance. He hoped the transponder's battery wouldn't die anytime soon and had enough signal boost to trace the Admiral's whereabouts.

Misch approached him, her cheeks trailing hot with tears.

"Did you do it?", her voice tight.

Stone merely nodded.

Leto and the rest of the Womprats finally arrived to the hangar bay after hearing Stone's announcement over his comlink. The captain's face was flushed and he looked uncomfortable. Jon'son rose to his feet and gave a lazy salute. Misch wiped away tears and folded her arms tersely. Cayenne, Maggie, Belle, and the droid, IG-100, gathered around them.

Leto rubbed his face and sighed quietly. "I just got word from medical."

"How's Chanc?" Misch whispered.

"He's dead..."

[Baljos Reige]

The Delta Class DX-9 Stormtrooper Transport broke Borleias’ atmosphere and headed out into space on course for the crippled Second Chance. In the cockpit Joso stood behind the pilots and watched the approaching ships through the forward view port. There wasn’t much external evidence of the attack on the Mon Cal cruiser but the marine reminded himself the explosions had been planted internally. Still he suddenly thought, it wouldn’t hurt to have a squad go EV and check vulnerable spots on the outer hull for secondary devices.

The transport set up on its final approach and Joso moved back through into the troop compartment. The compartment was in silence, there was none of the usual chatter.

“Two minutes”. Reige informed the Marines. They automatically began checking their weapons and securing their equipment. He felt the transport slow and then with a muffled thud it came to rest on the hangar floor.

Baljos lead his Marines out the front hatch into a world of barely disciplined chaos. Techs and pilots ran everywhere and alarm klaxons blared and warning lights flashed. Through the crowds an officer appeared moving towards them. Baljos brought the platoon to attention and saluted the officer whom by his uniform he took to be a captain.

“Master Sergeant Reige Republic Marines, reporting as requested sir.” The officer returned the salute rather hastily.

“Captain Dervis. Glad you could make it Master Sergeant. We could certainly use your help.”

“Where do you need us sir?”

“We have people trapped in the engineering section. A deck depressurised and we can’t get to them. Some of our rescue equipment was damaged in the attack.” Dervis explained.

Baljos thought for a second before turning back to the platoon. “Corporal Maznakh!”

“Yes sir” a white furred Devaronian women stepped from the ranks.

“Corporal take first squad and see what you can do to help rescue those trapped personnel.”

“Roger that sir” the corporal replied. “First squad on me. Lets move like we got a purpose people!” With that ten of the Marines ran off across the hangar bay following Maznakh.

Captain Dervis watched them go before turning back. “Thank you Sergeant. I don’t know what else specifically there is you can do at the moment but-”.

“If I might make a suggestion sir.” Baljos cut in.

“Go ahead Master Sergeant” Dervis replied.

“I’d like to do a search of the outer hull in case the Imps have left any other surprises.”
The Captain nodded. “Good idea. I should have thought to do that.” His frustration with the situation coming through in his voice.

“If you don’t mind me saying sir you’ve had plenty enough to think about given the circumstances.” Baljos stated with genuine sympathy.

“Indeed.” Dervis replied, regaining his composure. “I trust you know where the zero-G equipment is stored?”

“Roger that sir.” Baljos assured him. With a nod the Captain turned and headed back towards the elevator.

Several hours later Joso stared through the Zero-G utility suits transparisteel face plate at the Second Chances hull. The big mechanical suit would need recharging soon but that was ok. The Master Sergeant and the rest of the Marines had finished their search and found no more devices.

Joso activated the suits integrated comlink and opened a channel to the rest of the unit. “Ok people we’re done here, lets head back inside.” A chorus of affirmatives came back to him over the headset.

He disengaged the suits primary magnetic couplers and gently engaged the suits thrusters to propel him back towards the hangar bay. As he did so he switched to the command channel on his comlink.

“This is Marine Alpha. We have completed our inspection of the outer hull and have found no more explosives. We are coming back aboard.”

“Roger that Marine Alpha.” came the tinny reply in his ear.


Joso powered down his suit and popped the hatch release. Two techs were standing by and they reached in and pulled him from the hulking metal Carapace.

“Everything ok Sarge.” the youngest one a blonde haired human asked.

“Yer we didn’t find anything.” Joso assured him as he lowered himself to the deck. He slipped his BDU Cover from his belt and stuck it back on his shaven head then he moved over to where his gear was stored to get a drink from his canteen. Just as he was raising it to his lips his comlink beeped.

“Reige here.” he stated trying to keep the tiredness from his voice.

“Sir its Corporal Maznekh. We’re finished getting those folks out of the cut off area. We managed to rescue four of them but two of them were hurt real bad and didn’t make it.”

“Understood Corporal. I’m sure you did everything you could under the circumstances.” he tried to reassure her but he knew how bad she would feel.

“Yes sir” she replied not sounding convinced.

“You and first squad report back to the hangar bay and get some chow. Everything seems to be under control now.”

“Roger that. Oh and sir?”

“Yes Corporal.” Joso sighed.

“The Lieutenant asked me to tell you that your presence has been requested in the briefing room in 5 minutes.”

“Thank you Corporal. Joso out.” He clipped the comlink back to his belt and turned to one of the marines who was still climbing from his spacesuit.

“Terzo your in charge here till I get back. Get some chow and then hit the racks.”

“Yes sir.” the Klatooinian barked. Joso turned and headed for the elevator. Time to go make nice with the brass and find out how long his Marines were gonna have to wait to get a shot at these imp frackers.

[Leto Tariq]

Not far from the simulators, Leto stopped his band of pilots at a hatch, the captain entering in his security code. When it chirped acceptance, he nodded happily. At least not all of the ship’s systems were down.

“This doesn’t look like the way to the bridge,” Belle observed.

“It’s an arms locker,” Leto explained to her, checking a blaster pistol before holstering it as his hip. He thought about it for a moment and picked up two power cells of ammunition. Best to be careful. “We’re stopping here to pick up a few weapons and ammunition… just in case.”

“Just in case of what?” Maguire asked.

“If there’s been some sort of explosion, that means one of two things. One, there’s been some kind of accident. Or two…”

“Someone’s boarded the ship,” Cay finished for him. Leto nodded. She swept past him and picked up a similar blaster from one of the racks, as well as a few cells of ammo. Belle went to do the same.

“What do you mean someone’s boarded the ship?” Maguire shifted nervously.

“Just take pistols and a few clips of ammunition. We’re just trying to be careful in case we run into trouble, but we don’t want to fight a frakking battle,” he handed a pistol to Maguire. “I don’t suppose you’ve been in a gunfight?”

Maguire shook his head. “I haven’t fired a blaster outside of basic training. Do we… you... get in gunfights often?”

Cay and Leto glanced at each. “Occasionally.” Leto grabbed two power cells and pushed them towards Maguire. “Here. Remember, aim. Squeeze. Hope you hit something.”

Maguire laughed weakly and pocketed the two cells. “Aim, squeeze, hit something.”

“And don’t forget to turn the safety off.”

“Right. Safety off.”

Leto smiled quickly, “Okay. Let’s go find out what the frell is going on.”

They left the arms locker and went down the corridor that would lead them to the bridge… and right by communications.



The first sign the Womprats had that something was wrong was the heat in the air they began to feel as they neared communications. It wasn’t very long after that they began to encounter the smoke and heard the screaming. Then came the bodies. After that, everything was chaos.

Crew rushed past, fighting the small groups of flames that had broken out as a result of the explosion. Medical personnel were busy administering aid and carrying off the wounded, trying to rush as many to sickbay as they could. Even so, there were crew members – human and alien alike – lying about, some crying out while others fought for survival until the medics could reach them. And amongst them were the charred and bleeding remains of those who were too far gone for the medics to save.

Cayenne dropped down to give aid to a sailor who was grasping tightly on a bleeding arm. Belle looked wide-eyed at the damage; Maguire looked sufficiently sick.

“Sir! Sir!” An armed marine came shouting running to them.

“What the hell is going on here?” Leto shouted over the chaos. He shifted to the side of the corridor as a stretcher was ran past him.

“Some kind of explosive device! They went off around the ship, we’re getting reports all over the Chance.”

“They?”

“Some kind of sabotage attack, we suspect we’ve been boarded.”

“Frak me… do we know who yet?”

The soldier shook his head, “There was some suspicious activity reported about a group of engineers. We suspect they may have been Imperials. If you’d follow me, sir, we have to get out of the corridor.”

Leto cursed under his breath and followed the marine back down the corridor away from the destruction. Cayenne checked to make sure the crew member would be okay until the medics reached him, and then the rest of the pilots followed them. “Where’s Gabriella?”

“The Admiral? She’s missing, we suspect she’s been captured.”

“Sithspit! What about Dervis?”

“Last I heard Dervis is on the bridge. He’s assumed command until we can find her.”

“Good, we’re trying to get there.”

“No frakking way you’re going to be able to reach the bridge through here, sir.”

From the looks of things, that definitely made sense. They’d have to make it to the bridge through a different way. Leto began to head back the way they came when he paused. “Are there any reports of where the boarders are headed?”

The marine shrugged. “The hangars, probably. We’re trying to get men down there, but we’re having difficulty with the communications done.”

Leto and the other pilots didn’t hesitate as they began running down the corridor, towards the hangar.



They couldn’t make it very far before the congestion in the hallways slowed them down. Before they could make it to the hangar bay, it was already too late. Leto’s commlink chirped.

“Captain Tariq?” a tired voice sounded on the other end.

“What is it?” Leto snapped. He wasn’t in the mood to be answering calls.

“It’s about Lieutenant Chancbacca, sir.”

Leto froze in the hallway. No. Oh, gods, no.

“We tried everything he could, but he was too far gone when he got here and by the time we got to him… I’m sorry sir. The blaster damage was just too much.”

Leto felt bile rise in the back of his throat. “Understood,” he managed weakly and clicked the commlink off. He turned to look at the four pilots following him. “Chanc…”

“I heard,” Cay said. “He can’t… he isn’t... oh, Force, no.”

Leto was fighting the urge to throw up and collapse to the ground at the same time. Chancbacca was one of their best pilots… he’d served in the Clone Wars and the Rebellion. He couldn’t be dead.

But he knew it was true. He’d sent Chanc, Jon’son and Mischa to the hangar and as a result, Chanc was killed. For someone who cared so much about protecting his men, Leto certainly had a tendency for getting them killed.

“We have to get to the hangar,” Leto said. It was as much a command for himself as it was for the rest of his pilots.

When he went through the hatchway into the hangar and Leto caught sight of Mischa, standing there covered in blood, his chest seized. But she was standing fine and when she approached him, there didn’t seem to be any visible wounds. That meant the blood wasn’t hers. Leto pushed away the relief that at least she was okay and prepared to give them the news. From the looks on Mischa’s and Jon’son’s face, neither had heard what happened.

“I just got word from medical,” he said quietly.

“How’s Chanc?” Mischa whispered and Leto knew exactly then how much he always hated this. But if he couldn’t have the ability to keep his pilots safe, to help them when they needed him… at least he still had the ability to tell them what happened to their fellow ‘Rat.

“He’s dead.”

Chancbacca, Lieutenant, who had been with the New Republic longer than any of the other Womprats, was dead.

[Ceryll Tana]

The deck bucked beneath Ceryll’s feet and she lost her balance, pin-wheeling her arms as she toppled backwards. Two strong arms caught her under the armpits and kept her from landing unceremoniously on the floor.

“Whoa, sweetheart,” she heard Jockster grumble as he set her back on her feet. “What the frell was that?” he demanded of Ati, brushing past Ceryll and glaring out of the viewport.

Ati shook his head. “Warning shot…they nailed our shields pretty good…”

Ceryll scrambled forward. “Who?”

“Pirates.” The pilot gestured out the viewport at a floating ship not far away, bristling with weapons and looking decidedly dangerous, accompanied by a squadron of uglies.

Jockster swore viciously.

“That’s the plan,” Ceryll pointed out shakily. “Remember?”

The demolitions expert glowered at her. “Yeah…it’s part of the plan, but they weren’t supposed to get here for another hour at least.”

Ceryll grimaced. He was right. They had counted on much more time for the rescue team to pick up as many injured as they could. After the explosion during their first try – only minutes earlier - Ceryll still didn’t know exactly what had happened. But she did know that it had been a set trap…and that there would be more. Nothing had gone according to plan so far.

Jockster rubbed his jaw. “Alright, Quai, shouldn’t we send out another distress signal or something…let those frelling pirates know who we are? We can’t have them blasting us to space dust just yet.”

The comm unit blinked, announcing that they were being hailed, and Jockster fell silent as Ati patched the communication through.

"Ahoy, light freighters. This is the pirate rig Tartan and escorts. This here's our property. I were you, I'd have a damn good reason for bein' here."

Ceryll squeezed her fists so hard that her fingernails started to dig painfully into her palms. This was the part of the plan she had always thought sounded doubtful. After all, what in the blazes would make the pirates want to take two suspicious freighters back to their base of operations? Their secret base of operations. Even some fancy swoop engines didn’t seem like enough of a lure.

But that was why Ceryll wasn’t in charge, and why she’d leave the acting to Ati and Jockster.

Ati leaned over the comm and spoke. "This is a Registered Transport of Bin Gassi Racing,” he said calmly. “We’re experiencing some hyperdrive trouble. We were attempting to scavenge some of the parts we need for repairs so we can get where we need to be on time, but no luck…”

There was a pause and Ceryll stared out at the pirate ship floating not far away from where the Skifter and Junkpile sat in space, still trying to recover from the unexpected arrival of the pirats. She swallowed, realizing that everything depended on the pirates’ curiosity. Their only hope was that the captain of the Tartan would be the kind of man to smell easy credits a parsec away. If not, they would have to make a run for it. Everything rested on getting into the pirate base…

“Prepare to be boarded,” the voice said after a long while. ”And no funny stuff.”

* * *

“Listen, pal, I’ve got a big race coming up. I don’t have time for this kind of thing!”

The sound of boots clanking on the floor was their warning that the rest of the boarding party was coming back from their brief search of the ship. Ceryll eyed the stoic female standing a few feet away, who held a blaster trained on the rest of the crew. Jockster, however, had been following the leader of the boarding party all over the ship, complaining at every turn. He was in fine form, playing the part of self-centered swoop racer Nat Marl.

“Listen, we’ve got credits and everything…all we want is to fix our hyperdrive and get out of this…this…”

“Nat, please,” Ati interrupted from where he stood with the rest of the crew, just as the playacting demolitions expert and the other man came into view. His voice held all the patience and long-suffering one would develop after working with someone like Jockster/Nat Marl. “We’ll work this out. Calm down.”

Fuming, Jockster slumped and stepped away from the dark-skinned pirate brandishing a blaster.

Momentarily, the two other pirates that had been sent to pick over the ship came back and gave sloppy salutes. “Nothing interesting, Grag,” one said gruffly, shrugging his large shoulders.

The leader, “Grag,” turned to look at his momentary prisoners. Jockster was still putting on a good act of sulking while Ati was waiting for the opportunity to make his offer. Ceryll and Pietur stood back with Hawkeye and Kaybo, trying to balance out the looks of anxiety and disinterest without overdoing it on either point. The droid buzzed and whirred, but didn’t say anything. Hawkeye was examining the woman now standing on Grag’s right.

“Look,” Ati finally interjected, sighing resignedly. “All we need are some parts. We’ve got credits…”

One of the pirates snorted a laugh. “What, you think that’s good enough? C’mon, ya need to sweeten the deal just a touch, kid.”

With a withering sigh, Ati pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. “Alright, alright. I’ll make you a deal. You help us fix our hyperdrive so we can get to Nat’s race on time, and I’ll hand over some of the nicest swoop engines you’ve laid eyes on.”

Jockster actually turned red. “Are you insane, Blizz?! Me and Shara spent a good part of this year modifying those babies!” he croaked, jabbing a finger in Ceryll’s general direction. “Now you want to hand over all that hard work to these filthy sons of…”

Ceryll’s heart leapt into her throat, but she swallowed it quickly. You might be over-acting just a tad, Jockster…we don’t know how friendly these guys are going to be…

But Grag was chuckling softly, smiling and watching Ati closely. “Didn’t you tell me that there wasn’t anything interesting in the cargo hold?” he asked, directing his question to the two male pirates behind him.

One of the pirates swallowed visibly. “Yeah, well, there were a coupla crates and stuff…but…they didn’t look really important. Not important enough to be anything…”

The dark-skinned pirate held up a hand and silenced them. “Alright, let me have a talk with the Captain. We’ll see what he has to say about this.” He glanced over at the still red-faced Jockster. “We wouldn’t want you all to miss that big race, would we?”

* * * * *

They all looked up when Grag returned with Ati from inspecting the swoop engines. Ceryll felt herself relax only slightly upon spotting the smile of satisfaction on his face. Maybe this whole thing was going to work out after all.

Jockster tapped her knee twice and winked on the sly, as if to say ‘No worries, sweetheart.’ To the pirates, however, he just cast a scowl. “Well? Satisfied? I’ve got a race in three days…we’re already going to be late as it is.”

Ati glanced sidelong at Grag and nodded hesitantly. The pirate only smiled wider.

“We have a deal.”

[Dr. Wess Jodo]

The monitor beeped occasionally at Wess, jerking his attention away from the patient report he was working on. The patient, Adok, was making good progress all things considered. He’d suffered severe injuries during the blast, and Wess was surprised that he had survived at all. Adok was no picture of beauty, but he was a little less pale each day, and some of the smaller wounds had already closed up, or scabbed over thickly enough that they could remove the bandages.

Some of the bandages.

“So, I think you’re doing pretty well for a guy who broke his neck,” Wess said as the health scanner beeped again. “I can’t imagine that you’ll ever be quite as active as before, but hell—if you survive this, there’s no saying that you wont be hopping around happy as a nerf again before long.”

Across the room, Jola looked up from her data pad and arched an eyebrow at Wess. The monitor wasn’t as distracting to her as a certain young doctor was being.

“You’re lucky you didn’t just die instantly like the other guy,” Wess said, not seeming to see Jola or notice her irritation. He’d been minding his step around her since she shoved him against the wall and told him to stop being such a baby, but he still had his moments, apparently. “Comparatively lucky—that’s what you are. See, really lucky would have been not getting caught in the blast. Comparatively lucky is not having been killed by it.”

Jola frowned slightly. Wess wasn’t even holding his data pad any more, or bothering to fill out the information—he had put it down halfway through describing Adok’s luck! Maybe it was time to have another little chat with him. It had been two weeks since the pirates had escorted them to this little base. Difficult as it was to admit, Wess did seem to be handling himself reasonably well compared to how he’d nearly gone into shock after the trip mine went off.

Comparatively well. Jola snorted quietly and rolled her eyes at her own train of thought. Jodo seemed to be having an adverse affect on her. Biting her tongue to keep from saying something, Jola looked back down at the mission report she was working on and tried to drown out Wess’ babbling.

“I’ve been wrong before, I admit, but I honestly think you’ll get through this not too much worse for wear than you were before. Which, I guess, might not be saying much—not that I’m insulting you, mind you…”

Gods, would the man never shut up?

Jola looked up from her report. He had stopped talking, almost as if on cue with her thought. Wess’ frequent, almost silly grin had vanished, and now his face was blank. His eyes were focused on Adok’s chest, and for a moment Jola felt a spike of fear—had something happened?

No… he was looking… beyond Adok. Jodo’s eyes had an almost glassy, unfocused look. As Jola watched, a bead of sweat rolled down the young doctor’s forehead, and dripped into his right eye. Wess didn’t react. Jola frowned and opened her mouth to ask if he was alright, but just then the scanner beside Adok’s bed caught her eye.

The monitor was set to show his heartbeat, which had been irregular for the past two weeks since his injury. It had evened out enough that it was no longer critical, but they had been keeping an eye on it in the hopes of finding a way to stabilize it. Now it was stabilized.

Jola returned her gaze to Wess, taking in his intent focus—he wasn’t blinking, she hadn’t seen him take a breath since he stopped talking, and he was starting to sweat heavily. Something strange was definitely going on.

“Doc,” Jola called, putting her data pad down and taking several steps towards Wess and Adok. “Hey, Doc! Snap out of it.”

The monitor beeped.

Wess gave a small start and jerked a hand to his right eye, blinking and rubbing furiously. “Aah!” he winced, “damn that stings…” he turned his head to look at Jola, and she saw him flinch slightly as she approached.

“What the hell was that all about?” Jola asked, stopping right in front of Wess and crossing her arms.

This close, Jola could easily make out the darkened circle all around Wess’ left eye, and the half-bruise that lined the underside of his right eye. The entire right side of his face, below the eye, still had splotches of dark brown and lighter yellow patches where the bruises were fading. It looked ridiculous, and Wess was sporting a stubbly beard all across his face, claiming that he just didn’t feel like shaving all of the time. Jola assumed he was probably lying and it just hurt too much to do every day with those bruises.

“What was what about?” Jodo’s face was the perfect picture of indignation. By turns he seemed intimidated of her, and defensive of anything she asked him. Today was going to be one of those defensive days. “I was just talking to him—it helps.”

“I’m talking about after that, when you were staring at him,” Jola arched an eyebrow. She seemed to be doing that a lot, lately, and generally it seemed to be happening with the greatest frequency when she was in Wess’ vicinity.

Wess arched an eyebrow in return. “Maybe you need your eyes checked, Doc,” he said rather acidly. “I wasn’t staring at anything—it’s normal to look at people when you talk to them. Maybe if you were more pleasant you’d find people looking at you, too, when you talk to them.” Definitely one of those defensive days.

Jola frowned slightly. So he was lying, or he honestly hadn’t realized that he had gone completely out of contact with everything around him. Her gaze flickered towards the monitor again. Heart rate still normal.

“Try to keep it down, then,” Jola turned and walked back towards her data pad. Happy as she was that Adok seemed to be healing so well, she hoped the rookie wasn’t about to go crazy on her. Maybe the stress was getting to him. Everyone had been under a lot of stress since they boarded the Imperial Star Destroyer and began their spying mission.

As the monitor beeped again, Jola heard Wess mutter something incomprehensible and she heard a clicking noise as he muted the monitor. “Frakk me but that’s annoying,” he grumbled a little louder and then looked down at his data pad, picking it back up and setting to work checking off the vitals again.

Very strange.

~*~

Erc snored gently in his hammock, onboard his ship, his deep breathing causing the rope and cloth bed to swing slightly in a vaguely circular motion. Of all the team, he had been handling the stress best—high risk was the soup of the day for him on most of his jobs anyways. This wasn’t much different, except of course that his beloved ship was now docked with an Imperial Star Destroyer. That was a little unusual.

Since docking, Erc had refused to stay away from his ship a moment more than necessary. It fit his cover well enough—any racing captain was bound to love his ship, and his cover character had owned this particular ship for a long time. Never mind that Erc had actually owned it for almost that long himself—his character had owned it for longer, and was deeply attached to it. Beyond that, Erc had alarms set to trigger and wake him up if anyone came on board his ship, or if the in-dock lasers began to activate. The most important thing, however, was that he could sleep with his transmitter radio tuned in to catch all of the local frequencies.

Erc had picked up a number of fascinating transmissions, lately. All of the communication channels were encrypted with a top secret Imperial code. Or, more accurately, what had been a top secret Imperial code about two decades ago. Erc’s transmitter had no trouble decoding every message that was being sent. It seemed that some sort of mission had been accomplished, and the operatives were due back today.

Erc’s wrist chronometer chimed gently, and brought him awake almost instantly. Erc had gotten a lot of practice at waking up quickly while working for the NRI.

Rubbing his eyes, Erc looked down at his chronometer to check the time. Five minutes till the ‘mission’ was due to enter the local sector. Erc wanted to be awake and ready to decode when that happened. There had been no open communication of what exactly was going on, and Erc was burning with curiosity to know what was so top secret that no one was discussing it even over encrypted channels. What could be so important, and yet so self sufficient, that it either didn’t require discussion, or that speaking about it was forbidden.

“Shuttle 25-9003-1 requesting permission to dock, and a direct channel to Admiral Maxwell immediately.”

Erc swung himself off of the hammock and kneeled down next to the transmitter. This was the first non-routine request to dock he’d heard in the entire two weeks he’d been monitoring the channels.

“Shuttle 25-9003-1, request confirmed, patching you through. Your request to dock is denied—I have orders from the Admiral for you to withdraw to these coordinates where you’ll be boarded. Please confirm with your codes.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Erc pondered this new development as he listened to the com controller rattle off an obviously memorized set of coordinates. It sounded like the Admiral was worried there might be something intending to go boom on that ship. Was he worried about hijackers, or did he not trust the mission crew?

“Order confirmed. Sending codes.”

“Codes confirmed. Patching you through to the Admiral.”

Erc twisted the dial of his transmitter, attempting to trace the new signal. It would be a high priority, and probably using a different transcription code. On a ship this size, there were transmissions flying all over the place, but for something this high up, it shouldn’t be too hard to trace.

“…sir,” the transmission came gradually into focus. “One man down, another severely wounded. They saw us on the way out, but no one followed as per the orders we left them.”

“Excellent work! And a bonus prize it seems… is she conscious?”

“Yes sir.”

“Put her on the com, then, I want to speak with her.”

“Yes sir.”

“This is Admiral Gabriella Nerys of the New Republic Fleet, and I demand safe passage back to the Borealis system immediately.”

Erc rocked back on his heels, too shocked to register the Imperial Admiral’s reply to Gabriella’s demands. They had the Admiral! How had this happened? More importantly when had it happened? Would reinforcements be arriving soon to attempt a rescue?

Either way, it was time to get out. Her presence risked their mission, if she was tortured enough to reveal it, and even more so if the Republic Fleet showed up to get her back, it would complicate, if not completely prevent, them from getting off this Destroyer alive.

Flipping the recording switch, Erc set the transmission to save itself and then terminate once the channel went blank. He had to get to the rest of the mission crew and warn them that it was time to get packing.

~*~

“Here’s the plan,” Erc rubbed his forehead and sighed before continuing. “We’ve got to find out where they’re going to keep the admiral, and then haul ass out of here. With a prisoner as important as her on board, they wont want us hanging around any more, and if the Republic Fleet shows up then we’re in the frack pile as far as getting off this ship is concerned. But if they don’t show up, then we’ve got to get back with information as to where she’s being kept so that they can send in a rescue team.”

The other members of the spy mission were huddled in a small circle in the room that had been assigned to Jola. It was cramped, but only Wess seemed to be particularly effected by it; continually sending longing glances towards the door.

“There’s a problem,” Jola sighed as well, “Wess and I aren’t exactly welcome in the medical bay any more. They made it pretty clear this morning that they think Adok’s in stable enough condition to be moved, and so they’re ready for us to be out.”

“That works well, then,” Erc nodded, “can he be moved today? If we can get him back on the ship, we’ll be in good shape to get the frakk out of here just that much faster.”

“Yes, I’ll go do that now,” Wess was on his feet quickly, and moving for the door. “Just let me know when we’re leaving and I’ll be ready.”

Erc blinked as Wess vanished out the door before he could say anything. “Well… alright, then… That’s taken care of. Now we need to figure out exactly how we’re going to find her location. Here’s the plan…”

~*~

“You are cleared for departure,” the com shut off abruptly.

“Yeah, good flying to you too,” Erc muttered sarcastically. All the same—he let out a sigh of relief, that he heard mirrored by the rest of the shuttle’s crew.

“Frakk me, I thought they might not let us go. They kept us waiting for twenty minutes,” Erc’s copilot was sweating heavily, and breathing harder. “Thank gods they didn’t get their hackles raised.”

“Yeah…” Erc shook his head. “Thank gods… Well we’re on our way.”

“What now?” the younger man asked.

“Now,” Erc took a deep breath. “We get home, report in, and hope for the best… We’re clear. Hyper in ten… nine… eight… seven… six… five… four… three… two… one.”

End of Chapter One.