<ooc: yes I know I'm contradicting the events of the prequels. They're garbage not worthy of the Star Wars name.>

SETTING:

It is now three years before the battle of Yavin and the events of SWIV. It has been almost eighty years since the fall of the Republic. The Empire that replaced it has been slowly tightening its grip on the galaxy. The freedoms and prosperity of the Republic are little more than a distant memory. An entire new generation has grown up under Imperial rule, accepting it since they know of no alternative. The Jedi have been hunted down and destroyed, and all knowledge of them suppressed. The Senate remains in name only, nothing more than a playground for the powerful elites that support the Empire.

The clone wars were the beginning of the end for the Republic. Though the Republic won in the end, the war highlighted the crumbling state of the Republic. A charismatic young senator named Palpatine appeared, and began demanding reform. Palpatine rose quickly through the ranks of his faction, and soon held nearly half the senate under his direct control. The military expansion he called for passed almost unopposed as "patriotic duty". And the rest of the government sat comfortably ignorant as Palpatine filled the military with his own supporters. By the time the first Star Destroyers entered Corruscant orbit and Palpatine declared himself Emperor, it was far too late for anyone to stop him.

The few systems with the will to resist were crushed quickly. Their navies had been designed for anti-piracy and customs duties, not full scale war. After the first orbital bombardment "disciplinary actions", most opposition faded away. Within five years, the Empire had near-total control of the core and mid-rim regions.

Rebellion appeared soon after, but most groups lacked the organization to fight an effective war. They were limited to blindly lashing out at the closest Imperial presence, or spreading anti-Imperial propaganda. Neither did much to dent the massive Imperial military, and when rebellion was discovered, the punishments were harsh. Rebel leaders simply disappeared in the night, at least when they weren't used for show trials and public executions. The few surviving resistance groups were forced into absolute secrecy, making whatever defiant attacks they could get away with.

But there was still hope.

The lawless and "worthless" Outer Rim Territories were almost completely ignored by the Empire. A token force was sent to maintain order, but most of its officers soon fell to apathy or Hutt bribes. It was here that the rebellion grew. Exiles and defeated system navy officers fleeing Imperial "justice" were the beginning. Soon idealists began to join the rebellion. Between theft from the Empire and black market purchases, the rebellion slowly obtained the ships and equipment to do some serious damage to the Empire. But one problem remained: they were still as disorganized as ever, with no chance of pushing past the Outer Rim and into the core regions the Empire actually cared about.

It is one of these rebel factions you have found yourself with, by whatever story. The group of ex-Corulag navy officers is small, but their equipment is good. You have already witnessed several successful attacks on Imperial bases. In recent days, you have heard rumors of a much larger operation. And now you have recieved new orders, to report to the CRV Freewind's main briefing room for a new mission.

To Gueldiar Bantal:

You have arrived on the Outer Rim world of Habassa after another "successful" cargo flight. Your frieghter's corporate identification made the trip through customs a quick one, and you soon find yourself standing at a public computer somewhere in the crowded spaceport just outside the capital city. A quick check of your messages reveals six thousand credits deposited into your account, exactly as promised by your contract. You also find a message waiting for you.

Ishtah looked around the briefing room and thinned his eyes to the offending lights. He took in a deep breath and regarded the motley crew around him. Humans...if the elders that took to taunting him on his home planet could only see him now...

This was a means to an end however, he was a soldier and he would obey orders, the question was not "Why" but "How". Once he had brought back the skin of a high ranking imperial official, the taunts would end. His claws glided absent-mindedly over the long shaft of his vibro-axe as he attempted to assimilate himself into the crowd of mammals.

Gueldiar Bantal looks at the screen in front of him and sighs. The force, that which flows through him so freely when he is flying, has once again landed him in a very familiar situation. At least I have some credits to kick around with. He thinks to himself. He has half a mind to hack the corporate computer and let loose a pesky yet harmless worm, but decides against it. The last time he did that, only his ability to talk most people in circles and the fact that the troopers they sent to check him out were so stupid that he had them so dizzy that they actually had given him the reward money for finding the perpetrator had saved him from a long incarceration. He really didn't want a repeat of that - his hasty retreat from the area had forced him out of the areas where the best jobs were and out into the rim.

His sense of danger alerted him to something, and his hand dropped to the familiar shape hanging from his hip. The danger however, was from a small child and his mother. He always got that - when the children saw the archaic weapon, they were always curious about him. Even in this late time, the stories of the Jedi were still in every child's psyche - the glorious stories of their valour and daring, always fighting on the side of good and truth - no matter how much the vidscreens tried to convince them that the stormtroopers were the 'new' Jedi, the children somehow innately knew that they weer nothing but very cheap knockoffs of the real thing.

"It's okay," He says, even before the mother could apologize. "It's good that he's interested, that shows an interested, creative mind." He puts out his hand and musses the child's hair. "That's your greatest weapon, my young friend. An inquisitive mind is sharper than the finest light saber and more powerful than the biggest blaster. Hone that tool, and there is nothing that is beyond your grasp." He waves, like always, as they walk away, hurrying, like so many people do nowadays, never taking the time to see the beauty around them and realized the power, the force, that even the smallest of weeds has.

His thoughts drift elsewhere, and suddenly he realizes that there might be things he can do here on this world. With any luck, there were plenty of bigwigs who could use his skills. That's the thing - no matter what happened, he knew he'd always land on his feet.

To Gueldiar Bantal:

As you walk away, you notice a pair of stormtroopers across the room watching you. Their rifles are still slung across their backs, and they have the obvious appearance of bored guards whose minds are occupied with more interesting things. One of them waves in the direction of a third stormtrooper, then at you. The third trooper walks over and apparently joins the conversation. After a few moments, all three of them walk off in the direction of the closest bar.

Kell Olafssohn walks in impatiently. The repairs to his ship, though minor, have had to wait their turn on the priorities list and he has been grounded for a couple of days. He does not like to be waiting. And without a ship no one has offered him any jobs. Still there seems to be something of more significance than usual going on. He takes a seat irritably and hopes he will not have to wait long to get some work.

Anya fidgits with the datapad in front of her waiting for the briefing to begin. She had slipped in (hopefully) unnoticed and sat quietly in a seat in the back of the room. She looks around and marvels at the organized chaos of the rebels working around her. "The Imperials were never this noisy" she thinks to herself. "It was always quiet, always efficient. Everything had it's proper place, everyone doing the proper job..... everyone, that is, except me." She sighs quietly. "And now I'm on the run because I was born with an ability that I didn't even want, that I don't really know how to use. I hope I can help out the people here. Maybe then, we can make the Empire something worthwhile again.." she thinks bitterly.

DeSuto strolls about the room and glances across the diverse group gathered there. Specifically he scans the crowd for any other Ubese (search check).

DeSuto is 5'10". He is wearing an environmental suit typical of his species. At this time his helmet is situated under his left arm while over his right shoulder is what appears to be a high power sniper rifle. On his left is a mechanism probably few have seen, a Lanvarok launcher. At first glance anyone can tell he has a mild temperament, his movements are fluid and graceful, remeniscent of successful diplomat. Yet his posture and worn look indicate a battle hardened warrior who has his share of experience; his face is stoic to the point of intimidation.

After surveying the scene he finds a wall and leans against it and places his helmet in a seat adjacent to him that is offered by the commander. He folds his arms over each other and lets out an audible exhale while using his left index finger to secure his goggles on the bridge of his nose.

"Interesting," he breathes to himself, careless of whether or not anyone heard him. He notes the Trandoshan seated among the rest of the team. "Don't see many of them off Trandosha," he relays to himself, "I wonder why he had to leave."

In a rather silent way Walker, or at least that's what he calls himself now, enters the room. 'Hmmm', he thinks to himself: 'What do we have here?'.
He looks around in search for anyone familiar. He sighs relieved as he sees that there is none who might know him from earlier, from the time he didnt care for the Empire and Rebel struggle.

His eyes clearly are the ones of a hunter, rather strange since once it were the very same eyes that shined of pleasure and happiness. Now they shine anger and hate.

He sits down quietely, hoping that the others didnt much care for his presence.

To DeSuto:

You don't see any other ubese in the room. Of course this isn't much of a suprise, considering you hadn't seen any in your time with the rebels.

To All Others:

The commander notices that the last of you have arrived. He moves to the speaker's stand, and all conversation dies, and is replaced by a feeling of barely contained anticipation. Apparently the others in the room have been wondering about their orders just as much as you have.

Once the room is silent, he begins to speak. "The time for a decisive strike against the Empire has come. If we intend to make any useful progress towards overthrowing the Empire, we must shift our focus from hit and run attacks to retaking worlds. For several months we have been looking for an ideal planet to start our campaign from. Two weeks ago we found it."

He pushes a button on the control rod in his hand, and a holographic planet appears, floating just behind him. As the planet rotates, side displays highlight important features. The planet is dominated by plains and grasslands, with most of the civilization on the single major continent. Two moons and a large station/shipyard orbit the planet.

"This is the Mid-Rim world Habassa. Two weeks ago we recieved a request for help from one of Captain Tabanne's former allies. The Empire has begun to tighten it's grip on Habassa. But the sector governor and his staff are corrupt and incompetent. Security is far looser than on most comparable worlds, which leaves them open to rebellion.... if they are given the military support to turn their idealism into results."

He points the control rod at the planet and pushes another button. The planet fades away and is replaced by a list of names, separated into three groups. All of you notice your names listed under "Spirit of Destiny".

"That is where all of you come in. You will be the advance force we are sending to prepare the revolution. We can not bring in our capital ships and ground forces until the system is ready for our arrival. We are too badly outnumbered to remove the Imperials without Habassan assistance. Your job will be to organize this assistance. You have three major objectives. First, you must organize the local resistance and ensure that they will be able to fight when the time comes. Second, you must prepare the destruction of the Imperial garrison. Third, and perhaps most importantly, you must be ready to secure the orbital defenses and shipyard."

He points to the lists of names. "You will be arriving on Habassa aboard mercenary ships we have hired. This should allow you to slip through their defenses unnoticed. You will recieve more specific orders and flight plans once you are aboard your ships. Once you leave here, collect your equipment and join your team in the main hangar. Are there any questions?"

DeSuto clears his throat audibly while massaging it with his right hand.

"Yes," he alerts, "I have several questions. First of all, how are we to know who to contact once we reach the planet surface as I'm sure any hint of rebellious factions are well hidden and extremely weary of people who approach their organizations. Second, this orbital platform you are talking about, how are we to secure it once the garrison is attacked; I'm sure our offensive will rouse some attention regardless of how coordinated it is and might bring the weight of the imperial navy on us...and our allies," he continues," Merc ships sound a tad suspecious, especially given my experience. Are you sure there aren't any civilian transports opperating to and from the planet that we could use instead?"

He pauses for a response. His arms return to their folded position across his torso. An expression of intent interest and concern floods his face.

The officer waits for you to finish your questions before he begins to answer. Once you finish, he looks down at a page of notes for a moment then replies. "Your contacts are unknown. We have a list of possibilities that you will be given, but nothing definite. That will be your first job, to study and report back on the extent and location of resistance groups."

He presses another putton on the control rod, and the station returns to the display. Side notes and technical details highlight the station's defenses and weapons. Overall firepower appears to be average for the station's 1.5km size.

"The station is one of your main objectives for exactly the reason you mentioned. Coordinating an attack on it will be difficult. That is why you are being sent in advance of our attack. We can not make the hyperspace jump with enough precision to eliminate the station before it can bring its systems online, or worse.... standard Imperial response to planetary revolutions begins with orbital bombardment of any resistance. You must be ready to destroy, disable, or capture the station as soon as our fleet enters the system."

"As for the mercenary ships, you will be doing exactly what you suggested. You will be entering the system as 'independent traders', and your official identification will support your claim. But even if your deception fails, you shouldn't have much trouble. The local Imperial forces are concerned only with the rebellion, and are known to take bribes to ignore smuggling and piracy."

"The station still itches the me in a place I just can't scratch quite yet. Perhaps, and pardon me for saying so, it might be worth investigating whether or not we could get commandos on board the station prior to the garrison attack. We could disable their bombardment craft and knock out the station's reactor effectively making it a sitting duck for the rest of the fleet."

It's obvious he's enjoying the discussion.

"I don't suppose any of you," he generalizes to the rest of the team, "have skills in finding hidden rebel factions? Perhaps our Trandoshen friend here could sniff them out for us?" he grins.

"Your plan would meet our requirements. In fact, it matches our planning on this subject. In an ideal situation, you would board in advance and temporarily disable the station, capturing it intact. But since we do not know the full details of the situation there, we have decided not to commit to a specific solution to the station problem yet. You will have to use your own judgement there."

He points the control rod at a section of the display and it focuses on the listing of the station's crew.

"As you can see, we know very little about the station's security force. Depending on the resources and support you find, you may be too outnumbered to attempt a boarding operation. We do know that at least a light security force is maintained at all times to protect against pirate attacks, so you will definitely not be able to walk in unopposed. But how much more than that is aboard can only be discovered once you are there."

"Hmm, know of any pirate troupes in the immediate region that might be willing to act as a diversion, for their cut of whatever "Imperial treasures" might be on board. It might also be possible to bribe our way onto the station. It appears most people in the Outer Rim can be influenced by the value of a credit."

For this question, the commander has to flip through a few pages of notes looking for an answer. Finally, he returns his attention to you. "No, not that we have definite information on. Pirate organization in that sector is too chaotic to keep up to date information on. Unlike the Hutt-controled sectors, there isn't a dominant group, and nobody with a desire to unite them. Any temporary alliances end as soon as the profits stop coming. The pirate leader we know of today could be dead tomorrow and his group's alliances shifted to the opposite."

Gueldiar looks somewhat confused by the stormtroopers' actions. But, what the heck. He could use a drink. Usually, he would wear the saber in concealment, but he had once again found it hanging off of his belt in plain sight. It was as if it was always begging to be used - to draw him toward the actions that would reveal to him his true purpose in the universe. He knew he had one, but he just didn't know what it was. Perhaps on this planet he would find it out.

"Come, max" he says out loud, and the droid behind him whirrs into motion and comes closer to him. He takes the saber and places it in a compartment in the droid for safe keeping, then heads for the bar where he saw the guards head toward. Partway there, he stops.

"Max, what can you tell me about this planet? How is it aligned, and how tight might security be?" He asks, awaiting the response.

The droid beeps a few times, then begins speaking quietly with the dull tone of a preprogramed information file.

"Habassa: 4th Planet, Habassa System
Outer Rim Territories
Alignment: Imperial Loyalist
Security: Complete

One moment....."

The droid's status lights change and you recognize the beeps of an information search in progress.

"Security: Relaxed and easily bribed.
Customs Enforcement Level: Low
Anti-Rebel Enforcement: High

Any additional requests?"

At the mention of his race, Ishtah snapped out of the daydream that had enveloped him and regarded the Ubese, practically half of Ishtahs size. However Ishtah's training had taught him how to determine a potential threat. He could tell by the way the Ubese carried himself that he too may have enjoyed the thrill of the hunt...he would keep a respectful eye on DeSuto.

He turned to the commander and hissed:

"Will I...we get to kill Imperials? High Imperials? I care not for the fodder."

Kell Olafsson grunts. He feels as if his ship has been commandeered. It would have been nice to be forewarned.

He says: "I don't like to sound sour but that ship is my income. What chance is there of making enough to live on in this scheme of yours? Or will I get the chance to do some of my own business as well?"

Walker looks up from his feet as he hears DeSuto's question. He's doubting wether to answer it or to keep his business for his own, afterall he didnt care much for the rebellion, he just wanted vengance for the crimes that the Empire had commited upon him and his family.
After thinking for a while, he decides to rise his hand. Afterall, what possible damage could he do that would make the Empire panic. This rebel-help would be more than welcome.

<Bountyhunting is what I do for a living these days. Won't say I'm the best but let's say I can find 99% of my targets... >

DeSuto ever so slightly tips his head down towards Ishtah. He grabs his helmet out of the chair he set it in and slips it over his head; he has no hair on his head whatsoever and his eyes are slighty flourescent blue. His goggles seem to be tinted black. He readjusts the sniper rifle so its strapped to his back instead of on his shoulder.

Speaking through the mask a baritone insect-like voice cuts through the air. "So it sounds like this whole opperation is on our shoulders? I'll sign on if I'm assured some means of living once this is all over. I'm not one to get involved in politics, I'm a simple mercenary."

To Ishtah:

The commander looks at you with a bit of suspicion, then replies, trying but failing to hide his discomfort. "Yes, if high ranking Imperials are what you are after, there will be enough to satisfy your.... request...."

To Kell Olafsson and DeSuto:

The commander turns to address both of you at once. "You have no need to worry about money. All of you will be paid well for your efforts. But if the promise of future credits is not enough motivation, when you arrive on Habassa you will find five thousand credits in your account."

"I suppose that will be adequate as a start," he pauses for a moment just as he turns to leave the briefing room, "Not collectively I hope."

"Of course not. You will recieve more payment information once we know better what is required from you. Now if there are no other questions, I wish you all good luck. Your ships are ready to depart from the main hangar, collect your equipment and meet your pilots there. Dismissed."

DeSuto retires to the hangar where he tries to calm his nerves despite his apprhension.

He reviews his equipment thoroughly as well as cleans his weapons.

Anya waits as the others file past her from the briefing room discussing their various missions. Wistfully she looks at the people chatting amicably, wanting to join in, yet silently holding back. Following the others she heads down to the hangars. She has most of gear already packed. Kneeling down she doublechecks to make sure that her stolen files are where she left them. "My life in a carryall.... How depressing." she thinks to herself.

As she starts to get up, she slips on something. Trying to regain her balance, she grabs onto the first thing she sees - which happens to be the arm of the mercenary(DeSuto) who spoke earlier at the briefing. Anya turns bright red with embarassment and quickly snatches her hand away.

"Oh my! I'm am so sorry about that, I must have slipped on something. I'm usually not so clumsy. My name is Anya.... Anya Triellanov. It looks like we'll be shipmates together.....glad to meet you....." she trails off lamely.

A slight snort of amusement issues from Ishtah as one of his associates seemingly collides with another, hoping that she will refrain from doing that when it counts.

Wealth, is that the driving force behind this mission? He supposed he could relate, after all, he cared little for the empire or the rebellion. If he had not taken this path, he would surely have sought employment from the empire. Wookie hunting was a common trade back home.

"Hsssssss" These accursed lights! Though his eyes had grown accustomed to the brightness that most of galactic neighbours lived in, he still got caught unawares now and then.

He strode into the hanger and positioned himself where his sensitive eyes could have all around him, in his field of vision.

Kell pursed his lips. Well it was a start. He would save it for the time when he could no longer fly and might settle down. If he could settle down. The thought of having to stay in one place was just too appaling to consider.

His equipment was by and large already on the ship. He'd double check those idiots doing the repairs hadn't helped themselves to any souvenirs. Thieves the lot of 'em!

As he walked out of the room he called back to the others. "It's gonna be a might cosy. Hope you realise we are all on the same side." He glances at Ishtah and DeSuto. "All on the same side in my ship. Understand me!"

Ishtah gritted his fangs as the human asserted his authority. How he loathed them sometimes, their soft skin, their pale features, their scent suffocating him.... However he understood the utter futility of disobeying orders. A slow soft hiss escaped his throat, as he gave an indicative nod that there would be no trouble from the Trandoshan.

The thought of rending the skin from a well guarded imperial official will keep him in check.

Walker waits till everybody has left the briefing room. He decides not to get involved with them too much, afterall, if one of them gets killed, he would have to mourn. Something he hasnt done for ages.

<For now, it's better this way...>

He mumples as he stands up. He follows the noice of the others and finds the main hangar by just following the noice of his new compagnions. Before throwing everything onto his back he checks everything.

He knods satisfied as he sees that everything is in order. He looks at the ship that'll be transporting them to Habassa. He smiles as the thought of hijacking some 'mobilisation' on Habassa. Afterall, they will need some transportation on the planet itself...

To All Characters:

You enter the hangar to find a scene of absolute chaos. Two starships dominate the hangar, a Lambda class shuttle and a boxy transport of an unfamiliar design. The ship's crew swarm around the transport, locking down last second repairs and loading crate after crate of weapons and supplies. As you watch, the ship's engines flare to life with a near-deafaning roar, then cut off again almost instantly. The yells of "conversation" and the sound of heavy equipment moving echo through the hangar, making conversation difficult.

To Kell Olafsson:

You notice that the repairs on your ship now seem to be almost finished. A Habassan tech is welding the last armor plates back onto the damaged section. Your ship is much less active than the transport, only a couple of Habassans are there, apparently waiting around for your orders. Your yell to the others apparently gets their attention, as one of them runs over to you.

He has to yell to make himself heard over the background noise, despite the fact that he is standing right next to you. "She's ready to go, sir. All repairs done as ordered and your identification has been set to the CSA transport ST-4216. Full Imperial authorization and weapon licenses. Don't attract too much attention and it'll stand up to customs. Here's your flight data and clearance codes for our defense patrols. Anything else sir?"

Gueldiar thinks for a little, then responds to his trusty droid. "Yes Max. Possible locations for employment, use the standard options on the search." He continues in a lower voice as to not attract attention. "Include in search level of sympathy to resistance where known and use silent printout for display." He begins walking toward a quiet corner where he can peruse the results in peace.

Kell Olafsson doesn't trust the average tech to know his arse from his elbow and checks the work with care. He goes inside to make sure nothing has been removed or damaged - or added. He has almost been caught out by sneak listening devices before. He goes over the inside of the ship carefully.

Ishtah watched with slight interest as the tech crews scurried all over the ships, like scavengers on carrion. He could smell their sweat and anxiety as they fought to meet their schedules. A deep sigh escaped his nostrils, while he tapped his claws on the shaft of his weapon. He let his mind drift to thoughts of mating, how his trophies would most assuredly gain the attentions of an attractive fertile female.

DeSuto, unexpectedly face to face with Anya releases a perplexed expression beneath his mask. "Watch yourself love, this isn't the time or place to be making futile mistakes," he recalls a theory he read once about physical signs of internal conflict; Loosing balance was near the top of the list.

Extending his hand he introduces himself, "I'm DeSuto, an Ubese mercenary who recently left Centerpoint Station because of the Imperial occupation. Pleasure to meet you," he studies her embarrassed expression, "No need for that, where we're going you should try and keep emotions within yourself else you will be exploited undoubtably."

Kell's comment slightly offends him, "I'll do my part, for what it's worth," he jokingly continues, "and apparently it's worth a lot. For whatever reason any of us have found ourselves here, whether it be for profit or politics, it seems to me that our task is colossal, so coordination is key. I'm a team player so long as everyone else is willing to pull their weight," he trails off.

He scans the clips of bolts he has in his traveling pack, checking to make sure they are fully charged. Also, he inspects the various sets of lavnaroc discs set aside for this mission. "Damned things are so expensive," he looks up at Anya and Kell, "I hope I don't end up having to use 'em."

Kell leans in towards DeSuto. "Listen, I'm not talking of teams. I'm not a team player by nature but yeah - by force we are going to have to be. What I mean is my ship's not large. I don't want tensions. We get to where we're going and do what needs doing as professionals. What we think of each other - personally - is on hold."

He looks at Anya narrowing his eyes. "Are you okay? I've got the usual supplies but nothing too fancy. If there's anything you need?"

Kell's movements are all tighly controlled, his eyes forever on the move miss little. It does not look as though he smiles often.

Walker decides not to interfere with the discussion that's going on. The loudly noice that rages into the hangar slightly irritates him. He decides to ignore it and sits on a crate, keeping an eye for the others their actions.

He takes the E-11 rifle from his back and cleans it. Just a waiting-routine he picked up...

DeSuto audibly addresses Kell such that anyone in the immediate area can hear, "Well, if by force, you have to 'put up' with us and save your tongue then I'll have all the more reason to keep an eye fixed on you. Trying to protect yourself only makes you all the more vunerable to betrayal. You work for the cause now regardless of your motivations. I'm not keen on being a team player either, but you speak as though you are tortured by having to do so. That attitude will get us all killed," still speaking through his mask. He lifts it up revealing his face and rests it on his forehead. From his pocket he takes out a ration and starts to feed himself.

He breaks off a piece and offers it to Kell, "Want any?" he continues, "It's not about tension, it's about respect. Personality has no place, like you said, among us."

He turns to Ishtar, breaks off a piece of the ration and offer it to him, "It isn't wookie steak, but it's edible. So tell me, why are you off Trandosha? I know you species not to venture off world unless banished; most of them at least."

Ishtah leaned in towards the hunk of flesh, letting his nostrils take in the sweet odour. The Ubese had a subtle humour that was not lost on him and the corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly in amusement. He plucked the meat as delicately as possible with his claws and considered for a second. Poison? No...none that was so carelessly concealed at least....to refuse could be seen as insulting and cowardly...yet to accept might be seen as too much of a compromise.

He chose the route of friendship instead and plopped the morsel into his mouth. He then regarded the mercenary and began his hissing halting response:

"I left to seek...stature, if it could be called that. I must prove myself to the almighty Scorekeeper and in doing so, be blessed with a mate. I have killed many since I left Trandosha, but they were...weak scum, filthy rabble. To take trophies from them would be...an insult to my divine mistress. So I seek a guarded prize."

Ishtah did not tell Ubese how the elder warriors ostracised him on Trandosha because of his lack of "'score". At almost 2 metres Ishtah was a formidable sight, but they had felled beasts beyond imagination and would most likely fell him with as much ease.

"What of your homeworld, Ubese?"

Anya smiles slightly back to Kell and DeSuto. "No.... thank you... I won't need anything special." she replies shyly. "And you won't have to worry about me causing problems on your ship.... or being a team player. My forte is operational support, so if I can help you in that respect, just let me know."

She straightens up a little and looks at Kell. "If you need any help with the ship though, I'd be glad to look things over. I'd like to see what these techs did for your ship's credentials, if possible. I used to work in intelligence and I might be able to tweek what they installed to better stand up to Imperial scrutiny. ....If that's okay with you of course."

"The only place I've ever known is Centerpoint Station, but since the Imperial occupation of it and their takeover of my employer I decided it was time to search for alternative means of living."

Ishtah nodded solemnly at these words and allowed himself the luxury to relax again...and playing with more optimistic images of his homeworld, wondering if he was ready to stroke his claws against the smooth shell of an egg. Waiting for it to hatch and continue his legacy. On a complete opposite track, he let his thoughts drift to killing and pictured an imperial officers uniform and which parts he would save as a keepsake.

The pangs of any would-be poison had not struck him yet. The Ubese had made a offering of friendship. It would be noted, but Ishtah had not survived this long amongst power hungry Hutts and murderous Rodians by being naive.

Kell nods to Anya. "Feel free to check it out and search for bugs. I don't trust anyone these days. I'm gonna try to trust this lot because if you mean to blow us to sausage meat I doubt we'll know anything until it's too late."

He is about to check the rest of the ship himself when he adds. "The blue panel that's locked with a remote pin. That's mine. Don't try to crack the code or you'll be blown to buggery!"

DeSuto turns his head towards Kell and addresses him, "Buggery?! That's a euphemism I've never heard. Did you come up with that one by yourself?"

A Trandoshan trait is patience...but Ishtah wondered how long it would take before they could be on their way. He began looking at his reflection in his rifle, turning it slowly and watching the image of himself distort in the long cold barrel.

A touch of a smile lifts Kell's lips. "It's a common enough expression where I come from. 'Pieces' is a bit colourless, don't you think?"

He glances around looking for someone to shout at. "Isn't anyone going to give me a list of who's supposed to be on this blasted ship before we leave?"

He counts five including himself, DeSuto, Anya, Ishtar and Walker. Is that it?

A little later confirmation is received.

"Okay, everyone get to a seat and make yourselves comfortable. It's time we were moving."

Kell powers up the ship. "Is some damned fool going to open the hangar door or am I supposed to ram it?"

Anya looks over at the console near her seat. Typing in a few commands, she scans the identity profile given to the ship by the rebels. If there is anything she can add to that profile to enhance it, she will. She also carefully (and quietly) checks the the ship's mainframe for any "unnecessary" transmitting or recording devices which may have been slipped onboard during maintenance. If she does find anything, she will quietly inform Kell of the situation.

Ishtah took his seat, whilst he was glad to be finally taking off, his captains patience left a lot to be desired. Hopefully, the man would be able to channel some of that aggressive energy into fighting with actual enemies, instead of the world around him.

He closed his eyes and rested his head back, letting his nose and ears see for him.

To Anya:

You scan the ship's programming, but don't find any signs of tracking or recording devices. If any such devices are present, they are completely separate hardware from the ship's systems.

(computer use 29 vs DC 25)

To Kell:

The voice that comes back is clearly annoyed by your lack of patience. "Hangar doors opening now, 'sir'. Be sure not to switch over to your Imperial ID codes or you might have a little 'accident' with the defense guns on your way out. Docking control out."

As promised, the hangar doors above you slide open.