"Let's hope that this flight is uneventful; I'm not a huge fan of space travel," he relays.

Guessing that a multitude of time is before him DeSuto takes out a rifle cleaning kit from his traveling pack and starts to disassemble his sniper rifle with meticulous care and accuracy.

"Seems I practically clean the damn thing after every use...," he announces as he lifts his helmet off his head and sets it down at his feet. As he cleans his movements become fluid, poetic. The manner in which he oils down the parts and disassembles the components is sensual. As he finishes cleaning the parts and putting the rifle together he transforms from the trance and recomposes himself to fit his previous demenor. With stacato movements he rummages through his pack and drops its contents on the floor. Once everything is spilled he counts over them by pointing with his index finger and then silently mouthing its number. "Everything seems to be here," he confides to himself while he lets out a sigh of relief.

Kell grunts at the tone in which the voice relied to him. "And Bon Voyage to you too."

He negotiates the ship through the hangar doors and fiddles around for a moment checking has input the right data to his navigation system.

"Okay, the course is set. Anyone for tiddlywinks?"

The last remark is intended as a joke. Kell pulls out a magazine and starts examining the latest weapons on offer in some of the most private of black markets.

To Kell:

You input the data, but you aren't too confident of your results. To give yourself and your ship more time to react to any flaw in the jump calculations, you reduce your speed a bit. The extra caution will add about three hours to the trip, for a total of 27 hours.

(astrogate check 14 vs. DC 16, failure adds 1d12 hours)

To All:

You feel the deck shift below you as the inertial compensators lag slightly trying to keep up with the sudden acceleration of a hyperspace jump. For those of you near a window, you see the stars streak and then dissolve completely into the blue and white chaos of hyperspace.

Ishtah opened his cold eyes and looked at what his fellow conspirators were doing to pass the time.

Kell sees the information flash on the screen in front of him. "Twenty seven hours - anyone wants to sleep feel free. I shall have to at some point. Not a good idea walking into danger half dead with fatigue. But I suggest someone keeps alert at all times. I'm happy to do the next fifteen hours. Then I suggest two six hour shifts. I'll sort out provisions in a couple of hours. I've a few magazines but they won't interest everyone."

He waves them around. They are all to do with weaponry - legal and illegal.

Apart from identifying who will take the shifts Kell hopes the journey will pass without incident.

Ishtah regards the captain and speaks in his usual halting manner:

"While you wake, I will sleep, we shall alternate, my...metabolism is not like yours and...functioning like that shall not matter to me."

As Kell points out the magazines he johovially (sp?) reaches for one and begins to sift through it with an intensity as though he was opperating on someone.

"How contemporary is this?" he inquires, "I'll take a shift if you need me."

Kell nods to the others. "Okay, you watch when I sleep. In the mean time rest if you want."

He glances at the magazine DeSuto holds. "That is very up to date. But..."

He points to a laser gun that fires from buttons on a tunic activated by a code tapped in by the big toe.

"Some of them may even be imaginary. It's why I'm always very careful to inspect the product and see it working before I get involved. There are too many fools who are taken in. I'm not too fond of gimmicks myself."

He turns away. "Excuse me if I don't seem sociable. I expect we will learn more of each other in the days to come but while there is safety there are matters I need to attend to. I must accept, as must we all, that our mission may fail. Others need to know how to proceed with my unfinished business."

Ishtah closed his reptile eyes and sunk into oblivion....running through open grasslands back home, with nought but spear in hand...

"I'll take one of the later watches. To be honest, I'm exhausted. Are there crew bunks or are we sleeping in these chairs" asks Anya.

Kell points back towards the sleeping quarters. "They are all the same and there's no privacy here."

He goes back to his magazine.

"And so we wait!"

Anya shrugs. "That doesn't bother me." She wanders back to the bunks, curls up on one and is soon fast asleep.

OOC: Sorry bout not posting can we plz just assume that I did everything quietly or something like that? If it'll screw anything up just tell me and I can leave

OOC: Would we have maps of the area where we are going to land? If so...

IC: DeSuto searches over his data pad and studies the area where the team will be landing. He tries to record the areas that he thinks will have the most people (uh, search/computer use?). Also he tries to determine where the indigenous population to Imperial ratio would be greatest such that their presence would go unnoticed due to scattered patrols.

<ooc: sorry, it seems I've been having too few hours in the day recently. I'll try to be a bit better about updating this>

To All Characters:

The trip passes without incident, and right on schedule you exit hyperspace in the Habassa system. In front of you is the system's single inhabited planet and its two moons. The blue and white orb seems oddly peaceful for what you are heading into. Only the white dagger shape of an Imperial Star Destroyer in high orbit betrays the conflict in the system.

As you approach, more details become visible. A small repair dock and several weapon platforms orbit the planet, and you can just barely see the reflection of sunlight off clouds of tiny objects that can only be one thing: a heavy minefield. Below you, continents and cities begin to appear as distinct objects. Your course is aimed at the largest continent, approximately a tenth of the planet's surface. A dense layer of clouds covers your apparent destination.

A few minuites later, you break through the last cloud layers and into clear air. Below and behind you, an ocean stretches out to the horizon. In front of you is a point of land sticking out from the massive mountains behind it. As you get closer, individual buildings can be seen covering the steep cliffs of the land. You catch a brief glimpse of massive white towers as you fly over, and then you are over an open plain and turning in to line up with your assigned docking bay. And then the outside world is blocked by the walls of the docking bay as you land. A slight bump and sudden absence of engine noise tells you that you are now on the ground.

To Kell:

Everything goes as expected on the trip in. Your ID codes are accepted without any unusual interest, and you are assigned a safe approach path. You have no trouble flying the simple course, and not even the strong winds near the surface disrupt your flight. On landing, a message appears on your screen giving you a list of docking fees and optional services. Fuel, food, minor maintenence. extra security, the usual options you would expect from a decent sized spaceport.

To DeSuto:

Your search finds no real useful informtaion. The intelligence data you were given does not contain enough specific details, especially since it is too far out of date to be trusted. The navigation database entry is even less helpful, only general information on services, fees, and trade routes is included. To get the information you need, you will most likely have to wait until you can get access to local sources.

Kell completes the necessary formalities ensuring the ship will be held ready for a rapid departure.

"Okay everyone. You never know whether anything is safe here that isn't rivetted down. Get everything you need together as we probably wont be back for a while. Anyone wanting to leave instructions letters and so on in the event of disaster I'll put them in a locked desk that should is as secure as anything."

He glances at them.

"We don't have a plan as yet. Perhaps we'd better get a meal somewhere - for show if you're not hungry - and decide what we are going to do. And as of now let us be sure we can recognise each other - uniforms disguise too much. No helmets except in conflict, agreed?"

He regards Kell with an expression as though he committed some unrepentable crime, "Sorry comrade, my helmet has to stay on my head. It's how we Ubese present ourselves. I wouldn't expect you to know that, though."

He clambers the contents of his pack, which he laid out for inventory, back into it. Locking the Lavnarok launcher from accidentally discharging he also secures the safety on his rifle. "I suppose we should keep our weapons close if we aren't coming back here for some time," he offers to the group.

"My primary prerogative at this point is to make sure that the credits were delivered to my account, and hopefully find some updated maps of the region as these are completely useless. For a rebellion with such potent technology I would expect nav charts to be the least difficult to attain," he removes the data card from the holopad and snaps it in half with one hand.

"Food sounds ample, those rations are going to disrupt my bowel movement for the next decade," he smiles under the guise of his helmet, "Lets mosey."

Ishtah conducts some last minute equipment checks and prepares to file out with the others, rifle slung across his back and vibro axe tucked under his left arm.

Anya wakes up when she hears the rest of the crew getting ready to leave. Taking one last glance at her gear's preparedness, she walks out to the main cabin area just in time to hear Kell's comment regarding no helmets. A quick thought of being recognized and the deathmark flashes through her mind, but she estimates that the odds of being recognized this far from home are minimal.

Taking a deep breath, she address the group. "I agree that we should start blending with the local populus and begin to gather intel. The best place to do that would be the spaceport's hostel. It acts as a crossroads and we should be able to get a wide variety of information from the locals. And a real meal is better than rations any day."

"Don't go shooting your mouth off at anyone. You wouldn't want to bring the weight of the Imp's down on us would you?" he interjects.

"You all can mess around with space junkies, I'll start looking for signs of rebellion factions, which will likely found in the less than welcoming areas. That's where I'm headed."

Walker looks up as he heard that last idea.

<You are right, we will have likely more succes in coming up with something there.>

He takes his gear and prepares himself to leave.

<We stick together or not?>

Ishtah sidles up to the female human. He looks down at her and fixes her with his reptilian stare:

"If you are going to the...hostels...I will go with you. You can talk, while I eat."

Anya gulped a little as Ishtah offers to accompany her. "Ah...sure... not a problem. We should get going then." she replies, hoping she doesn't sounds like a complete imbecile.

As she heads to the hatch she thinks to herself, "I hope he doesn't consider me fresh meat."

The females apprehension had the effect of inducing another snort from Ishtahs sensitive nostrils. Truth be told, she had little to fear from him, his offer to accompany her was a gesture of goodwill amongst other things (That being food, drink and the chance to be in familiar surroundings.)

Ishtah, for obvious reasons, had been employed as a bouncer in a few canteens and less established drinking holes already...those places could be a little rough.
He gestured to her with his claws:

"You lead. If anyone else wants to...come with us, they should feel free."

<ooc: yes, I'm really still here. I'm just letting you finish deciding your plans before I send you on into the city.>

Kell grunts. "I'm for some proper food. Who knows the next chance we'll have. But before anyone goes anywhere lets fix up a rendezvous or message leaving system. If we each get information the others can use we need to be able to pass it on and I'm not using anything that can be monitored or overheard. I'll talk to the guys securing the ship and see if there is a place where we can leave stuff for each other. Don't leave anything too sensitive. Code word 'running late' if we need a rendezvous and the space hostel sounds as good a place as any just now."

He looks at the Ubese. "I don't mean to be picky but how are we going to know it is you and not a trap? The uniform could conceal anybody. Can you give us something that will enable us to know when it really is you we are facing?"

Assuming the question will be answered to one of the others, he walks off to consult the security guards to see if they might take the occasional message or know a good place to leave one.

"The hostel sounds like an appropriate place to reconvene and talk about what we've discovered," he announces to the group, "If there are no objections then I'll be taking my leave."

His folds his arms over each other and leans on a sturdy panel.

Kell returns from the discussion with the guards.

"Drop a message with them in an emergency. They don't seem over-intelligent but you never know, so keep it innocent looking. Okay, Anya, Ishtah. Let's head for the food."

So saying he starts shepherding the others ahead of him, allowing the ship to be secured

He studies those moving around him, while he makes his way to the hostel. He is looking for signs of unease or anything that does not seem normal.

Ishtah falls in line behind Kell, his nostrils taking in the wide variety of smells that hang like a thick fog around them. His eyes wandered here and there calmly for anyone or anything that looked like it might be trouble.

Gueldiar is surprised at the length of time it is taking Max to come up with the results of his search.

"Oh well" he says and heads over toward the bar. He knows there are places he can stay, things he can do - there always are on planets like this. He'll just have to find them on his own.

DM Note: All original players, except Kethruch are Party #1. The new additions are Party #2. These aren't permanent groups, but for now, since you're all still together it's more convenient for typing replies.



To Party #1

The sun begins to sink lower in the sky, and around you, the spaceport traffic seems to be getting quieter. Those of you with any experience in Outer Rim travel know that the night brings both new dangers and opportunities, and it would be a good idea to secure a place to stay for the night soon.

To Kell:

The guard listens to your question, then points in the direction of the nearest public computer. His attitude is of clear boredom, as the question is apparently one he has heard far too many times.

To Gueldiar:

Your suspicion about the length of the search is correct, no doubt due to the fact that the poor droid is searching the planet's entire employment listings for you. You realize that the spaceport's network will likely have a listing of local jobs posted for pilots.

To Party #2

The brilliant blue and white of hyperspace disolves around you, to be replaced by pure black. Ahead, your destination is obvious. Habassa dominates your forward view, and as you fly closer, you begin to see the reflection of sunlight off orbital platforms.

"Habassan Defense Control to incoming ship, identify yourself." The message that interrupts your study of the planet is delivered with no obvious concern: it is apparently the standard challenge to incoming ships.

Tiber, appearing as non threatening, human and small in stature is leaning against the hull of the ship behind the cockpit. Tiber runs his fingers along one of his rapiers thinking cassually of the pain it had inflicted on his enemies. He had barely spoke for the last day that they were in transit and knew only vague pointss of information he had picked up from the others conversations before he had lost interest. All that was on his mind now was spinning his blades into the flesh of an Imperial.


edit(lots of typos)

edit2: You've been stopped before reaching the planet, so I fixed your mistake.
-Peregrine

Gueldiar laughs at himself, realizing his error.

"Sorry, Max, cancel request." He says laughing. He looks around, trying to find a kiosk where he can have Max plug into.

"Max, spaceport schematics. Access kiosks priority in search." He says quietly. "Also list all ships that have arrived in last hour, and all of those that are scheduled to arrive in next hour." He'd done this before, knowing that the one way pilots were scarce, but many times an opening would go to the first one there.

To Gueldiar:

The kiosk you are looking for is obvious, down the hall with a few travelers waiting in line.

While you are looking at it, Max beeps quietly and prints out the following list:

New Arrivals:

Artemisia, Light Gunship Class
Arrived 47 minutes ago from Etti IV, Bay 89
Cargo: None
Registered to: Captain Diero, Independent Pilot

Incoming Ships:

Indar II, Class 13 Heavy Freighter
Inbound from Kerest
Ariving in 4 minutes, Bay 25-28
Cargo: Starship components for Habassan Shipyards
Registered to AEC

DR13-A4, Imperial Transport
Arriving in 19 minutes, Bay 153
Additional information unavailable.

G'Rho'Uko, Light Frieighter
Inbound from Hutt Space
Arriving in 41 minutes, Bay 68
Cargo: Luxury Foods
Real Cargo: Illegal Goods
Registry information unavailable.

Unknown New Contact, Light Transport Class
Inbound from vector 234-116-309, no flight plan filed
Cargo: Unknown
Registry information unavailable.

"Damn," Gueldiar says. "I knew that whole thing with the language modifications was a bad idea. Max, edit entry for timespans, under definition of 60 seconds. Correct spelling of entry to minutes 'm-i-n-u-t-e-s' from current incorrect spelling." He chuckles to himself, then goes on. Perhaps I should develop some very expensive tastes in what I eat? he thinks to himself.

Even if nothing comes of it, it's an excuse for him to get to his favorite place, the starport. "Max, check of credit balance." Perhaps he can get some of these 'Luxury foods' for himself, but he would like to be in a better financial position. At least it might get him some more contacts with an employer who might not be so picky about the food that spilled in the client's laps or the atmosphere sickness that occurred when he pulled out of some maneuvers at seven or eight Gs.

Looking at the line at the kiosk, he makes his decision and heads for the spacebays. He still had his pilot's credentials, and that should be enough to at least get him in, he hoped.

"Max - thank you." He says. "Give me the locations of the kiosks between here and the spacedocks." If it was going to take some time, perhaps there would be a less used kiosk along the way.

"Max - find the dock that the Indar II is heading toward. We'll go there first and check out things. If nothing else, it's much less obvious that our motives are unsavory if we are looking to a regular freighter for employment rather than the incoming Hutt ship."

To Gueldiar:

The holographic map Max projects is almost unnecessary as you not so much hear as feel the roar of capital ship engines pass overhead. A ship that is obviously your intended destination passes slowly overhead, then descends into one of the larger docking bays. On the map, you see the docking bay marked just a short walk from where you are.

The trip is as fast as promised, the light crowd that is left so late in the day producing no delays. You arrive at a docking bay, not too different from the countless places you've seen in your travels. Through the doors, you can see the massive bulk of the Indar II. What looks like a high-ranking member of the crew is just inside the door, talking to a spaceport official.

OOC: The Indar II is a ship of this class, except with a full load of cargo containers attached to the center spine.

OOC - Aw, you should have kept the old spelling - now my post doesn't make sense.......

Gueldiar heads over toward the door, and tries to get in a position to overhear what the conversation is about. He looks at Max, and pretends to be fiddling with him while he listens in. Instead, he is looking for any files on the ship's crew that would perhaps include the name and picture of the crewman.

Kell has finished eating.

"Guess we'd see if we can get rooms. Need somewhere to work from."

He stands up and looks to see if anyone else has the same idea.

DeSuto, tired of waiting, leaves before anyone has the chance to stop him.

Once out in the spaceport area he scans his surroundings for open cantinas (search check); he knows quite well the dangers of the night, and isn't affraid to be one of them if the prize is worth it.

It's worth testing, he thinks, why not have a bit of fun in the process

Anya quickly finishes her meal and stands up after Kell.

"It might be better if we can find a suite of rooms rather than individual rooms; we can coordinate information better if we are together." she says quietly. "The downside though is that if we are discovered, then all of our assets are in one place. Whatever we decide, we should do it soon. If we just stand around too long, we'll be noticed. Best way to find what we need is to ask a local."

She looks around the room at the dwindling throng looking for a likely prospect to ask.




OOC - Sorry, for not posting for so long. Our router blew and we only recently reacquired the internet. I'll try to be

Hearing the message Shadow approaches the pilot and asks him how much longer it will be until they arrive adn If it will be neccisary to have his armor on when he leaves the ship.

Adrian Firewell answers, "This is the Balmoral, I'm here on business with some friends. Will probably stay longer though, we need some down time."

"Turns out honesty is the best policy, especially when deception isn't your forte," Adrian thinks to himself.

Continuing to pilot the ship towards the planet he adds, "I need approach vectors and a docking destination, please."

OOC: The Balmoral is a British Light Bomber in the game Crimson Skies, it is without a question the worst plane in the entire game. I don't particularly like my ship, but it's way better than no ship
at all.

Kell goes to the counter where the food is served and asks where rooms can be rented.

Fenn looks up and notices the white streaks from stars and the blueness of hyperspace dissapate, revealing the planet of Habassa.He shifts his weight and looks down at his datapad, reviewing the given information, but he knows that it is nothing new, more of a nervous action.

Thinking to himself; "Well, here we are, I guess this is what I have been training for.. Bah, I shouldn't worry, I need to have confidence." He then feels a slight pain in his gut,

(thinking) "Dang, I am gonna have to get something to eat once we dock".
(Outloud) "Hey you guys don't mind if we stop at the local cantina to get something to eat when we dock, do you?"

Shadow replies 'Not at all I'm starved." and then asks the captain once again how long it will be until they get there.

To Gueldiar:

A quick check of the computer system doesn't produce any results (computer use: 24 vs DC 20). You are fairly confident that your failure is because the information doesn't exist on the spaceport's network, not because you made a mistake. You suspect that information like that is probably going to be found only on the ship's internal computers.

Your listening, however, gives better results. The background noise makes hearing exact words impossible, but you can understand enough to know that the conversation involves negotiating docking and cargo unloading fees.

To DeSuto:

You leave your fellow passengers back at the hotel, and begin your search. Fortunately, the overwhelming advertising makes missing the variety of cantinas impossible. Brilliant holographic signs light the darkening streets, promising every kind of entertainment you could ask for. Whatever kind of cantina you were looking for, you only need a few minuites of looking at signs to find.

To Party #1

ooc: you hadn't actually left the ship yet, so I don't know how you were eating.... but to simplify things, I'll teleport you into a spaceport hotel where you are finishing dinner right now.

To Kell:

The man behind the counter barely bothers looking up at you as he points in the direction of the front desk, just down the hall. He pays attention to you just long enough to realize you aren't going to order any food, then waves for you to move out of the way for a new customer standing behind you.


To Adrian:

The controller takes a few moments to reply, then a flight path appears on your screen. When he finally begins to speak again, the nervousness in his voice is clear.

"Balmoral, you have priority docking clearance. Follow your assigned flight plan. Your escorts will arrive momentarily. We apologize for the delay."

On your map display, a pair of TIE fighters begin flying an intercept course towards your ship.

"Thank you control, taking flight path going in for landing," Adrian replies.

"Why does this guy sound so uncomfortable? An what the hell do I need an escort for!? This could turn out ugly, though being a wanted man wouldn't make it much of a surprise. On the other hand, I could be the guinia pig for a training exercise, or... any of the myriad of possibilities that could justify a pair of TIEs heading to 'escort' me." Adrian thinks to himself, as he checks the possibilities of making a run for it, either towards or away from the planet, if things gets ugly.

"Then again, Cpt. Tabanne's friends might have arrenged it for me to get VIP status. Though I'm not counting on it."

Adrian sets the ship on the provided flight path, and then turns to his passengers, "We are approaching to land, please sit down and strap yourselves in. It is during take-offs and landings that unexpected malfunctions cause crashes."

Gueldiar is used to these types - trying to get the best labor rate possible. He looks down at Max. "Max. how long til the other ship docks, forty minutes, right?" He doesn't wait for the answer. If this is a space squid, he might actually have some information on a seat or something else interesting.

"Beep me in twenty minutes, Max." He says, turning back away fromt he door for a moment. "I would like to talk with this man, and that would seem to give us plenty of time to get to our true destination."

He turns back, then a sly grin comes over his face.

"Max, additional search. Search on the agent the man is talking to. See if there is anything interesting on him somewhere." Gueldiar laughs quietly to himself. Perhaps there is a way he can help this fellow space jockey out.

To Gueldiar:

It doesn't take long for Max to give a sad beep at his lack of results. Combined with the plain looking uniform of the official, he is apparently too low in rank to have a reputation.

Meanwhile, negotiations seem to have finished. The freighter crewman shoves a datapad into the official's hands with a look of obvious disgust. As he turns to walk away, he spots you standing in the doorway.

"Hey! You over there! This is a restricted area, what are you doing?" he yells. Though he is clearly annoyed, it is more likely due to the thought of a random civilian wandering around in a dangerous area than any specific suspicion of you.


To Adrian:

As you follow your assigned path towards the planet, the pair of fighters drop into close formation on either side of you. You remember from your Imperial training that the formation is a standard escort one, used for ceremonial purposes with known friendly craft only. A typical escort of a potential hostile would have the fighters farther back, with your critical systems in their gun arcs.

The planet grows larger in your front windows, and your thoughts of escape grow far more unappealing as you notice the distinctive hull shape of a Star Destroyer in orbit. But that too seems normal for what your training would suggest, a standard defensive position for a world not expecting an attack.

Adrian gives a mental and inaudible sigh of relief, "Glad to see my paranoia was unfounded. Though just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean they're not after you." He continues heading for Habassa.