Accounting for loss.

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Ralt Crethwain
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Accounting for loss.

Post by Ralt Crethwain » Thu Jun 10, 2021 12:53 am

'Dropping out of hyperspace in 3....2.....1....'

The hijacked troop carrier emerged forcefully into the system, along with a trail of former attachments now content to drift off to their own destinations. Ralt had been part of a manifest of 12 persons onboard. That was until the scrutable hold-master paid a little too much attention to discrepancies in the ID serials. If only she hadn't challenged them, if only she'd just decided this once to do the right thing.

Maybe the ship wouldn't be crewed by the only survivor of the fallout.

Ralt's blue eyes adjusted to the planetary orb and luminescent lighting before him. The afterglow of what looked like an Imperial corvette to his eyes, turned the tear he'd yet to wipe from his cheek into diamond flicker upon his face, catching his attention as he quickly dismissed it with the one hand he wore a glove on. He'd been part of this plan to escape the Banking group for sometime now, and had grown attached to the others. Not to mention his sister, Mara. Who lay quietly in the back with his friends, and former adversaries. The tear was for her. Just her, the others he was sorry to see go, but nothing compared to Mara. She'd taken two to the chest when the Hold-master, a female trandoshan, had tried to gun down his bunk-mate. If only her aim matched her attention to detail.

He wanted to feel angry, constantly he tried to remind himself. Yet the incident occurred three days ago, and Ralt was tired. Tired from running, tired from fighting, killing and mourning. He'd given Mara all he had left, and he tried to look forward. To that end, he hadn't left the cockpit. He didn't plan to return. He wrapped his sister as best he could in a blanket, placing her neatly on one of the beds. The others in their party, he offered a lesser attention, but adequate. The crew, he piled inside the airlock, though it was as he joined the space lane for arrivals that he realized, in his grief, he hadn't jettisoned them.

It was fortunate for the survivor of the ordeal, was the only trained pilot aside from the former crew. Ralt steered the vessel to a professional degree. He was meticulous in his work. It was why he had been risen to a higher band within the Banking group, but call it what you want, a slave is a slave. Even if you put a tie around their neck, it's just another chain, and it's absence gave Ralt some comfort.

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"Banking Group vessel, ID registrate - four, one, one, nine, four. Proceed to docking bay seven."

"Thank you tower." Ralt replied, attempting to imitate the previous pilot's tone.

He grasped the double handle of the controls and veered away from the queue, pulling back to cut momentum as artificial gravity grabbed hold of the vessel inside the station, causing him to switch from piloting a space cargo container, to an extremely heavy ship. It landed as such, a bolt pinged off of the front landing strut and punctured a hole straight through a nearby maintenance droid, rendering it useless.

He sighed regretfully. More attention would come his way now. That was the last thing he needed, carrying a dozen corpses and two burnt out droid husks. Ralt checked his acquired blaster was secure in the holster. It was a loose, but still close enough to a fit to do. One last raid of the locker provided him with a civilian long coat, which he promptly dressed himself with before heading down to one of the obsolete escape pod hatches. Ironically, the removing of which endangered lives but it no doubt saved his, as he was able to escape quietly in the commotion. It tore at him to leave his sister's body behind, but not as much as other species. Ralt was from a far out system, rarely touched by the rest of the galaxy. In fact, the Empire was one of the few galactic entities to ever reach out that far. He didn't know much about the other powers, and maybe not a lot about the Empire either.

The station itself was alien to him. He didn't know which way to turn, where to go, or who even held control over the system. He didn't even know what system he was in, but he had a bag of credits, clothing, and a gun, which he knew how to use. He wasn't sure how, but he would leave this station almost as soon as he arrived, and onto his own life.

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Salem Norongachi
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Re: Accounting for loss.

Post by Salem Norongachi » Thu Jun 10, 2021 6:01 am

D4-V3 was old, his right wheel squeaked and gyrated when he moved, like a shopping cart gone rogue and none of the other maintenance personnel could work out why. They'd changed it out a dozen times, oiled the gears and motors, and yet after a day or two you could hear the little droid coming down the corridor ten minutes before you saw him.

His shell was a patchwork of coloured metals taken from dozens of his unfortunate and dearly departed work colleges. In the beginning he'd made an effort to unify the paint, to maintain the standard, but as the years wore on, as a memory wipe never seemed to come and as he observed the slobbery in his organic counterparts he just thought; why bother? A solid paint scheme didn't help fix power conduits or the hydraulics on a landing gear, after all.

They'd replaced his inner workings so much over the years that he wasn't always sure he was the same droid anymore or whether he was some amalgam of the whole, a hodgepodge of the dead made living. Only squeaking his way through his duties on the chasis of those that had gone before.

Still, his little droid brain thought as he moved across the hangar bay, it wouldn't be long now. He was already past the point of doing the more dexterous and agile work in the stations tighter compartments and despite the length of his charge times he barely made it through a shift anymore. The self repair work had slowed, he'd stopped looking for replacement parts in earnest and some sense of weariness had crept into his neural circuitry.

He wondered briefly if there was such a thing as silicon hea-

The droid exploded, the bolt punching through one side of his head and out the other, there wasn't even time for a sad exclamation in droid-speak, just a shower of sparks and the droid fell over. Salem Norongachi, walking past the droid murdering ship a few feet away, ducked as the bolt zinged past him on its trajectory.

"Frak!" he yelled as the chunk of metal shot off across the bay, colliding with the hull of a shuttle at its far end. He got himself respectably upright again, smoothed out his dark suit and shift, ran a hand through his black hair, and then retrieved and lit a cigarra. It flared like an ember, reflecting in his green eyes and he took a long drag on it, which was in no way intended to calm his nerves after his near death experience, and exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Place is going to hell." he muttered.
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Annan Rainwalker
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Location: Mertaal's Locker

Re: Accounting for loss.

Post by Annan Rainwalker » Thu Jun 10, 2021 9:58 am

Docking Bay 8, Anonymous Spaceport
Unspecified system, Unidentified sector


Quite often, Ashara wondered if they should just be renamed the Blue Star Ninjas instead of the Blue Star Pirates. Their uncanny talent at being able to hide in plain sight certainly warranted the name change. Here she stood, now (relatively) well-known Blue Star pirate after she had been awarded captainship of the Venator-class star destroyer The Luminis End, perfectly concealed beneath a dark hood and cloak while getting her misappropriated, heavily modified, reconditioned and reportedly stolen Gamma-class ATR-6 assault transport The Jewel of Jakku serviced and resupplied. It was amazing how, with a measly tip not worth a motivator's equivalent of junk money, and a slicer droid to scramble the register of the Jewel, and every Duros, Rodian and Mon Cala pretended like she and her crew were just another group of law-abiding drifters.

The Togruta pirate captain's sapphire eyes found her First Mate as she descended the boarding ramp. The dichromatic-haired Jedi, was sprawled lazily over a stack of crates, a wide-brimmed hat concealing his face from the glare of the suns above and his immense power concealed beneath a passive Force mask. Only a few moons ago had she been entrusted the Jedi by Captain Buggie, and originally distrustful of the Firrerreo drifter who was clearly suffering from an identity crisis after whatever the frak had happened to him during the Battle of Rhen Var, she had slowly grown to attached to the lanky near-human. With Shorroc injured and recuperating on Vaynai, Annan had become her new First Mate.

"Get up a'ready, ya lazy bum," she smacked the sleeping Jedi on the shoulder as she passed him, and Annan grumbled before yawning and sitting up on the crate.

"*Yaaaaaaaawn*... is Kromo back, yet?" inquired Annan as he rubbed the sleeping dust out of his eyes. Ashara grunted negatively. The Jedi turned, dangling his legs down the side of the crate. "Well then, might as well--"

A high-pitched grind and the sound of a ship making hard impact caused the sharp-sensed Togruta captain and the even sharper-sensed Firrerreo Jedi to quickly direct their attentions towards the adjacent docking bay. The Jedi's nimble, long-nailed fingers twitched near his WESTAR-34 blasters - it had been a while since he had felt the need to use his lightsaber, and the reclamation of his memories had rendered him slightly-more blaster-oriented than he had been since his Antarian Ranger days.

"Is that a Banking Group vessel?" Annan muttered, and beside him, Captain Ashara's eyes suddenly sparkled covetously.

"I dare say it is," she replied absently, all attention on the vessel. A Banking Group vessel in a docking bay like this, with the piss-poor landing she had just seen? Something was definitely suspicious. Had someone tried to raid the vessel and ending up commandeering it? Someone decidedly not a pilot themselves, she would say, but it certainly seemed plausible, at least enough to warrant a closer look.

Ashara didn't become a Blue Star captain by not seeing an opportunity when it presented itself.

"Poor droid," Annan sighed sadly beside her, and the captain resisted the urge to smack him again. Leave it to a Jedi to be concerned about droids and people than a Banking Group--

"Shuddup 'n' follow me," she ordered, quickly sliding out her blaster pistols and sneaking around the crates towards the adjacent Docking Bay. Sighing, her first mate merely followed with matching subtlety.
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"If there is no path before you, create your own."
—Journal of the Whills 7:549
Quartermaster, Queen Amidala's Revenge Blue Star Pirates, Aurek Fleet

Ralt Crethwain
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Joined: Thu Jun 10, 2021 12:16 am

Re: Accounting for loss.

Post by Ralt Crethwain » Thu Jun 10, 2021 3:30 pm

The stray Banking group employee seemed to be the only one moving away from the hanger. Workers and droids rushed towards bay seven, which made it far more difficult for Ralt to get through the incoming mass of tech, security and the curious. He had to take a step to the side to not appear to be in a rush away from the heavy landed and the commotion that followed after. A dull chill worked it's way into his legs, which forced him to move. Not a twitch or a spasm, but a compulsive action. The moment after he cleared that space, security tackled a nuisance to the ground, slapping shock cuffs around his wrists and ankles.

'Close'. He thought inwardly. Cursing himself as he realized the wing of his jacket had flapped aside, essentially flashing his grimly acquired wealth to a trio of unpleasant-looking individuals.

They simply stared at him, and he stared back. To turn his eyes away and move would invite chase, and he could feel their hunger for what he had. They wouldn't try anything here with the increased enforcer presence, so he remained. That was, until security started to prepare a blockade by the entrances. His time was immediately running out, and now he would have to do the same, surely provoking the trio of alien muscle to follow.

He reached to the old hold-master's belt and loosened a spherical-shaped device. He quickly flashed it in his hand to the predatory three, and launched it towards the ship before yelling;

"Grenade! A grenade!" in as much of a hysterical tone as he could manage.

The crowd, as expected, pushed and drove towards the exits as fast as their limbs could carry them, though most of the droids just moved closer to examine the device. One of them reached down to pick it up, with a secondary and tertiary lens dropping over it's visual reticle.

"This is not a grenade." It said as it opened a cap on the top. "It's a ...heavily sugared beverage. Dangerous to Bothans, but quite enjoyable by most standards. Imminent threat is nil, long term effect, potentially severe, depending on intake." The droid rambled, as a returning enforcer snapped it out of it's hand.

Ralt had finally, made it out of bay seven, but he knew the three had sight on him and were pursuing him. He ran with one hand on his credits, the other, pulling at the air around him in an effort to accelerate further ahead. The credits were all he had left, and he wasn't about to be mugged in the first port he set foot in after escaping servitude. He felt a wave of helplessness and a horrible sense of inevitability come over him, then, he remembered the blaster at his side.

He unclipped the holster as he made a sharp left. Cocking the weapon, he placed it back in the holster. He wanted them as close as possible. Ralt was his own worst critic, and he damned himself for not thinking ahead of this action.

'One thing at a time.' He told his inner perfectionist.

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Salem Norongachi
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Re: Accounting for loss.

Post by Salem Norongachi » Fri Jun 11, 2021 9:19 am

"Business or pleasure?" the dock master asked as Salem signed himself and his ship to the docking register.

"Boredom," he answered honestly, his free hand applying a thumb to the pad and the picture that flashed up was indeed his, the name however most certainly was not.

"And how long do you plan to be bored here, Mr Missus?" he nearly didn't register that he was, at the moment, Mr Gen'der Missus. Then he took a further moment to construct the lecture he would be giving to Emah regarding acceptable cover identities.

"As long as it takes," which wouldn't be very long, he thought, watching the commotion unfurl around him. The grenade was a nice touch, got the crowd moving in random patterns, easy to lose a tail, but it didn't last long. He looked back around to the dock master and was momentarily confused when he wasn't where he'd left him before he spotted the man legging it toward an exit. He picked up the mans discarded datapad, finished signing off on the paperwork, and then set it down on the abandoned desk.

There were two types of people in the universe, broadly speaking, the first saw a man lobbing a pretend grenade into a crowd and thought "bugger that." the other thought "Wonder why he did that? Seems a peculiar thing to do. I've got nothing better to do, I better just tag along and find out his thought process.". Norongachi had nothing better to do, he was only here so he didn't have to be where he was previously, which had been three weeks staring at the Hand of Fates bulkheads and quietly losing his mind.

So the man ran, the thugs followed, and a little ways behind them but well within his visual and sensory range, came Salem Norongachi with cigarra in hand.
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Annan Rainwalker
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Location: Mertaal's Locker

Re: Accounting for loss.

Post by Annan Rainwalker » Fri Jun 11, 2021 8:51 pm

Docking Bay 7, Anonymous Spaceport
Unspecified system, Unidentified sector


"Stop," Annan voiced gently, placing a hand on Ashara's shoulder. The Togruta stilled, and the two watched from an inconspicuous corner as Docking Bay 7 suddenly got way too crowded for comfort. "We should leave, it's too risky."

"Grr..." Ashara growled, the pirate captain passively scanning through the crowd using her echolocation to spot anything unusual. Still, the crowd had become so thick it eventually overwhelmed even her perceptions.

"Grenade! A grenade!"

The call fulfilled its purpose: generating mass hysteria. Ashara grit her teeth in annoyance. "Well, kriff," she cursed under her breath, pulling out her blasters and getting ready to get out of here before the explosion, but Annan instead surprised her by beginning a quick stalk towards the racing crowd of panicked sentients, gesturing her to stay back.

"That was our guy. Go prep the ship," he explained quickly, sniffing the air twice before diving into the stampede. A few individuals would be quietly pushed aside by an invisible force to make room for him and he submarined through the stampede straight through to the other side. Ashara, for her part, merely shrugged. She knew by now to not question the guy when he was 'channeling his inner light side', so she turned around and skipped all the way back to Docking Bay 8.

The Jedi had, for his part, merely ascertained that they were not in any immediate danger due to the distinct lack of a flare in the Force to warn him of it. The fact that someone had shouted 'grenade' when there wasn't any nearby automatically marked him as suspicious. Annan's keen eyes had caught the guy who had shouted. After that, it was just a matter of locking onto his life signature and following.

Annan reached for his twin WESTAR-34s. Pulling them both out and cocking them into the stun setting, the Jedi holstered them again, though he kept his right hand on his holstered right blaster for a quick draw should one be needed. The Jedi had sensed four other sentients nearby, and while one was trailing quite a bit to the back, the other three were straight ahead, having almost surrounded their target. The fourth one was still far, and probably unlikely to get involved in this little affair.

Without a sound, the Firrerreo stalked the Banking Group Employee's stalkers. Should they try to harm his target, the one closest to Annan would suddenly trip upon the unobtrusive movement of the Jedi's left fingers, quite likely on top of the one directly in front of him. With the two closest ones disoriented, Annan would only have to stun the third and make off with his target.

And yes, he had every intention of making off with the target; he was ultimately not concerned with any wealth the Banking Group employee might be carrying, unlike his captain.

His plan should work. In theory, anyways.
Image
"If there is no path before you, create your own."
—Journal of the Whills 7:549
Quartermaster, Queen Amidala's Revenge Blue Star Pirates, Aurek Fleet

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