Wicked Winged Wiles (Torm, Kressara)

[Kressara Thryn]

“The chase begins...I wonder if his fighters will be able to…” Something on her surveillance systems zoomed at unsettling speeds from the main ship towards her location. Behind that flight apparatus over her head a pair of hazel eyes flashed with anxiety. Her hand hit the comlink so hard that she could have jammed a finger.

“JACOBI!!! Jacobi, PLEASE answer me! You have to hurry! I don’t know how long I can hold this one fighter off! It’s fast! Way too fast!” Kressara would have to rely on maneuvering alone to escape the enemy’s wrath, knowing good and well that any gun fire might result in something of an even more dangerous retaliation. She had the enemy’s eye on her at least, and that was enough for now, though getting herself blown to bits in space by winged death itself didn’t sound appealing. “Please Jacobi, answer!” She tried to reach her partner again. This time something akin to fear cracked in her voice. Her pursuer was hot on her tail now.

“HURRY!”

Was the last thing she yelled into the Mandalorian’s comlink, unaware that her partner was out like a light. She’d need to focus entirely on piloting the blast boat if she stood any chance of evading an unpleasant demise. With the fighter now in sight Kressara flew back into the asteroid belt, careful to completely avoid the hunk of rock on which Jacobi’s ship was hunkered down so as not to give him away. Kressara wasn’t much of a pilot. She didn’t grow up flying, she wasn’t mechanically inclined, and she was never really all that well trained to use the functions of her ship. What she did have in her corner though was a sharp aim. If she could catch the fighter in an awkward angle through the thick of the asteroids, then she might be able to land a strike. Until such an opportunity, Kressara would fly on the defensive and give very little reason to use excessive force against her. She might be a natural behind the sights, but the young sith was still trigger shy and the ship coming after her was no doubt unevenly matched in terms of maneuverability.

Jacobi could have probably made better use of her on the ground than in open space. At the very least she wasn’t about to ditch him along with the objective. Whatever happened would just have to happen, even if she was white knuckling the controls with a nervous chattering of teeth. Kressara would lead the chase without leaving the vicinity.

[Jacobi Wylcott]

And so she was screaming his name - for all the wrong reasons!

Vision was swimming, even beneath the protection of his modified Mandalorian Armor he was not impervious and that wrench that had rung his bell had him just now climbing up to his hands and knees - still trying to seize the spinning world around him. Her voice was distant and muffled but with each shriek it focused his mental condition and he crawled towards her voice. One measly measured pull of his muscled arms by the push of his tree trunk legs he inched onwards until bumping his helmet into the wall where he meagerly reached up and grasped a pipe. Her voice again called to him and he tried hard to reach his hand out to grab her shoulder to settle such a frightened stance but he only found his hand wrapping around the piping, gauges, wiring harnesses and whatever else he could grab to pull himself to his feet.

Finally he settled his rattled senses enough to look around and in the far distance by a spectacular margin he noticed someone running away. It wasn’t Kressara or so he assumed and so he made a sloppy quick draw of his pistol and fired! The shot flew ten feet and smacked into the metal grated deck - he hadn’t even aimed. Shaking his head now to clear the ringing he took better aim and centered it right on the large back of his attacker - his shot again went wide but it was by far a better demonstration.

“Kre,” he mumbled to himself, stepping towards the fleeing character before flopping down to his knee once more. He tasted blood, had the impact been that hard? Well yes! Even a non-violent man of that size could swing a metal tool like a warclub! Knowing better than to take off his helmet to ease the recovery he decided to stick it out.

Once more the Mandalorian staggered onto his feet and by this time the runner was gone down the corridor and turned the corner. Undoubtedly he was going to tattle and so Jacobi knew he only had a few minutes before the jig was up. About then was when he realized that Kressara was actually calling for him and that she needed his help and desperately so. With a curse he knew that he didn’t have the few minutes he’d anticipated but he actually had no time at all. But he couldn’t just abort the mission in this state, his ship was kilometers away and his jetpack was out of fuel. He became angered when he recalled that his communications equipment could not return Kressara’s transmissions despite being able to receive them. He desperately wanted to call back to her a reassure her or something! Alas - he could not.

Resolved, he chose then to make the call - action now to save Kressara from death or worse, capture by the Imperials meant spoiling the trap and alerting everyone present that this raid was by far more serious than it appeared to be. Gritting his teeth he acknowledged that Kressara was worth the risk of their target making the slip.

Reaching to his left gauntlet he tapped the icon on his tacpad which sent a signal back to the ‘Jai-Galaar’. Accomplished, he knew he had roughly three minutes before the Firespray-31 reached his position to pick him up.

With renewed confidence he holstered his pistol - but missed the holster entirely and the firearm dropped to the deck. Annoyed at his dazed state he leaned down to pick it up - missed - grabbed it again and shoved it back into its keeping. He stormed off in the general direction of the fleeing mechanic. Meanwhile back at his ship the engines flared to his signal and she shot away from the asteroid, banked and began making a run towards the Imperial Freighter ‘Cossack’.

[Professor Mors]

Vedil was confident he was in the clear- when an untimely blaster bolt ricocheted into his peripheral vision. With a panicked yelp, the lumbering laborer shot forward as if he’d been struck on the rear, redoubling his efforts with manic enthusiasm. He had just rounded the bend when another volley came careening forth: this time with far better technique. In a feat of sheer luck and timing, the lethal lance managed to just barely skirt the synthleather padding on the tech’s uniform. Unfortunately, though it missed the man, a nearby power terminal was not so blessed. The interface erupted in a plume of fire and smoke, momentarily blinding the mild-mannered engineer and temporarily robbing him of his balance. All it took was one misstep, and the giant fell to earth, losing all trace of consciousness upon impact.

Still, for all his noble efforts, Vedil’s defeat was not without positive repercussions. The succession of shrieks, blasterfire, explosions, and subsequent thunk of muscle and flesh on unforgiving durasteel had handily drawn the attention of other nearby technicians. It did not take long for the loyal civilians of the Empire to put two and two together- they were under attack! And from the looks of it, the interlopers were already sneaking about inside. This time, a proper alarm was raised. The whining klaxon of distress reverberated harshly throughout the Cossack’s interior, and quickly snapped her commander from a leisurely daze. In a frenzy, the put-upon naval officer decided to pool communal resources, and sent the freighter on a starboard intercept vector with one of its siblings.

“It's coming here”, Doren sputtered incredulously, “What do they expect us to do? Smoke them out! Whoever’s at the helm is clearly no expert on procedure...”. Apparently, in a desperate attempt to clean the raiders from their closet, the Cossack’s chief officer intended to pull alongside the Atalantea, and requisition the visiting marines for its faltering defense. A less pompous, or at least more level-headed tactician would probably have opted to dump their cargo and jump ship. Clearly, whoever was in charge across the way felt this was some battle that had to be fought in person. Sighing inwardly to the point of wheezing, Doren hastily gave the order for his own ship to meet its flailing sibling halfway. Rubbing tired eyes, Doren began to contemplate how things could get any more convoluted.

At around the same time, Major Frass was chuckling with glee in light of his target’s sudden maneuver. A dance amongst the asteroids- what delicious, devious sport! Spiraling down towards the granulated surface of one of the smaller rock clusters, the Anzat and his fighter temporarily disappeared from view. Curving around the far side of the slowly spinning sediment, Walkko increased the throttle centimeter by centimeter, using the pseudogravity of the diminutive satellite to propel himself even further. Frass’ intention was to hide his vector of approach, and hinder the enemy pilot’s opportunity to adjust once he began his attack run. Exhaling happily, the Anzati sprang from his hiding place with wicked intent- only for his eyes to widen in surprise.

A trio of smaller asteroids had seemingly popped up to delay the Major’s advance, and threaten to crush his chassis in the process. Licking dry lips, the time-tested ace jerked his neck to one side in preparation of the system shock, and pitched the Black One at a steep ninety degree angle. In a narrow act of daring, Walkko managed to slip through just before the trifecta of space debris crumpled against one another, scattering particulate matter out in a shimmering column. Breath rising and falling, Frass’ eyes darted towards the Skipray’s familiar outline in the distance. It had yet to travel out of effective range, but flying at this present angle, only the Major’s portside lasers stood any chance of landing a hit. For Walkko, that was of little confidence. Grinning with enthusiasm, the Anzat depressed the primary firing trigger, and sent a duo of luminous green spears rocketing towards the Ni’Ceta Par Gar Sarnr’s starboard wing. It was time for fun: and given the situation, Frass was certain there was a surplus to be had.

[Kressara Thryn]

The zealous fighter pilot was hot on something of Kressara’s which rhymed with Frass. Her surveillance systems showed his vessel closing the distance between them even through the belt of debris and asteroids that served as the young sith’s only saving grace. The natural chaos of the battlefield she retreated to nearly wiped him out before she so much as lifted a finger, however it was proving just as difficult an obstacle course for her as well. The Ni’Ceta Par Gar Sarnr’s larger hull skid against a passing hunk of ice covered stone, scratching the surface with little to no true damage done before Kress dipped down and around the front of debris. Her stomach churned with the lurching of the ship. “I hate this already…”

Bolts of green blazed through the belt towards Kressara’s fighter, forcing evasive action. She was quick to react by kicking her spacecraft into overdrive. The Skipray launched into a dangerously fast paced orbit around an oncoming boulder nigh four times the size of the sith’s ship and then wove through a cluster of smaller chunks before turning sharply upwards. Kress doubled back with a wide loop, straightened out her craft, and took aim upon the large asteroid between herself and her enemy. Crimson return fire seared hot through the vacuum of space and pelted the rockface rather than her pursuer, breaking off piece by piece, chunk by chunk, from the asteroid until a thick wall of stone was hurled between herself and Doren’s best.

Kress knew better than to stay still however, so upon completion of her onslaught the sith sped off again with the intention of putting distance between herself and the other.

“He’s obviously faster and packing more firepower than me…” She mused out loud. The name of the game was to remain calm and practice her original intention. Ni’Ceta Par Gar Sarnr made a sudden right, and then a nose dive to avoid a head on collision with some orbiting scrap metal. Jacobi would come through for her. She couldn’t be certain of course, but Kress wanted to believe in him more than she wanted to think about the potential scenario of failure.

[Jacobi Wylcott]

Jacobi moved through the narrow corridor and he ground his teeth the entire time. How had he let himself be ambushed by a coward? The embarrassment of such a concept was blowing his mind and bringing his rage to the fore. Stalking these corridors was taking too long - the Crow needed him outside but here he was fooling around with a crew of freighter jockeys.

Stopping at a terminal near the transfer chamber from cargo hold to engineering deck he accessed the data stream, it seemed that the fleeing man hadn’t yet gotten back to his friends to report the intrusion. Jacobi’s ears were still ringing from the heavy blow but this did nothing to distract his next actions. This being just a basic terminal it did not have the security permissions for anything too complex, but any terminal could initial an emergency lockdown due to a containment breach of a fuel cell or a radiation leak.

The enemy were about to be alerted one way or another. Either he’d allow the mechanic to flee and alert his friends of an intruder which would send up alarms to the nearing Imperial reinforcements and then the freighter would be flooded with Stormtroopers - not an appealing concept. Or he would send up a mechanical failure, seal the major bulkheads to delay the call of his intrusion - red flags would surely be lifted but at least he had the cover of a freighter that was already in the midst of structural deterioration - a fine cover for at least a moment.

His decision made - red lights began to strobe accompanied by a wailing alarm. Bulkheads to the bridge slowly started dropping. Jacobi had to roll beneath one to ensure he was on the save level as his fleeing prey.

While that coward wasn’t likely his prey, he needed to be immediately silenced before it was too late. Jacobi was unwilling to let his primary target slip away in this matter. There would be a reckoning, even if he had to vent the entire ship to see it done.

[Professor Mors]

Vedil, confident he had made a grand and daring escape, released a premature sigh. Though he continued to run at full steam, he was already planning how he would spin the tale of his pirate encounter to the barlady back at the main fuel depot. That distracted thinking nearly cost him his lead, as the simple-minded mechanic impacted against an emergency bulkhead. What in Empress’s name was this?! The doors ought to be closing behind him! Not the other way around! Panic quickly set in, and the towering human nearly slipped in a pool of his own fresh sweat as he considered his options. He was down a wrench, and the service corridors weren’t exactly a munitions cache. Reinforcements were sure to arrive eventually, but for the young Holway, it could be far too late.

Nervous eyes jumping from bulwark to bulwark, an excited squeal leapt free of the man’s lips as he spotted an innocuous grate just to his left. He wasn’t often on wiring duty, but he knew the internal veins of the Cossack better than most: in this case it would be enough. Thankfully, the aloof engineer’s tool kit came in a standard durasteel carrying case. With few strikes and a dollop of blunt trauma, the intimidating figure, in spite of his size, began to gleefully shimmy his way through the cramped access shaft. His avenue for communication was now sealed- he had no reservations about it. Someone, anyway more qualified for fighting would come along to deal with whoever the masked man was. For now, Vedil need only survive. And though a cumbersome snake caught in a log, he would do just that.

***

A grin lit up on the Major’s face as he observed his opponent’s maneuver. Finally, things were starting to get interesting. Whoever the pilot of the skipray was, they were clearly brighter than the Anzat had originally supposed. And that always made things more fun. Pursing his lips in thought as a few precious seconds trickled by, the pilot’s face curled up into a malicious grin as he keyed the safeties on his warheads and primed the starboard missile tube. The plan was, in truth, more complicated than necessary. Frass would fire a warhead point blank into one of the larger rocks, pumping auxiliary power to his front deflector shields to weather the blast. The heat signature would simulate a convincing crash: a feint he trusted would lower his target’s guard.

Unfortunately for the flying ace, it was not to be. Just as Frass had sent the missile rocketing out toward a smaller chunk of the wounded asteroid, a warning alarm went off inside the TIE’s cockpit. The Anzati had only to flash his eyes off to the left and sneer. The yellow claw of a solar flare leapt up off of the larboard rim of the nearby sun, and sent a palpable vortex of astral wind hurtling toward the asteroid cluster before the intrepid Imperial could blink once more. Growling in anguish, Frass attempted to correct his course and fly over Kressara’s makeshift minefield. It was too little too late however, as the Major’s own missile blast fried one of his stabilizers and sent him spinning out of combat range. The first round went to the skipray. But the hunt was far from over. It stood to reason the unknown pilot would be just as jostled by the sudden cosmic intervention. If and when they recovered, Frass would be more than ready to finish what he had started.