A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...

STAR WARS

"The Space Between the Stars"

It has been almost a full year since the Rebel Alliance destroyed the Death Star in a battle in space over the planet YAVIN and its FOURTH MOON. The Galactic Empire is readying its troops to strike back against the Alliance and hopefully destroy them once and for all. The Alliance has abandoned its base on the moon and is in the process of relocating elsewhere.

Meanwhile, strange rumors have begun circulating smuggler dens, cantinas, and syndicate hovels all throughout the galaxy - whispers that some EVIL has taken the Yavin system as its stronghold and is rapidly increasing in power. The rumors have yet to be confirmed, because no ship to travel to the system has returned in more than half a year...

Captain Chora Asichi stared into her empty glass, sitting at the bar of a hole-in-the-wall cantina in Junction City, wondering if she could somehow will it to refill itself. Her crew should have been here, but then again, most of her crews left when they made port, forcing her to hire a whole new lot of greenhorns. She sighed, pushing her braided greyish hair over her shoulder.

He's taken more wrong turns than he'd care to admit in finding this place, but after glancing back and forth from the datapad in his hand to the cantina in front of him a few times, Ror realises he's finally found the place. Cities were so much more complicated than they had any right to be. Strolling into the cantina, he scans his eyes over the patrons before spotting the Captain, promptly taking a seat next to her and dumping his heavy bag down at his feet. Extending a hand, he grins. "Captain Asichi, right? Ror Zil, at your service, I hope."

Arkuat hadn't meant to be late. He also hadn't meant to get as drunk as he was. This particular cantina was the last stop on his impromptu cantina crawl. Arkuat had meant to just stop around and see some people and get some info. The only hitch had been that each one of his 'friends' had insisted on having a drink or two or three while they discussed their business. Five cantinas later and Arkuat's head was spinning. If it wasn't for his datapad telling him exactly where to turn, he'd probably have been hopelessly lost.

Staggering through the doorway, he scanned the room to the best of his quite impaired ability. Most everything past 5 feet was a blur, but there was only one blur with the Captain's particular color palette. He swaggered over to the Captain's table and sat down rather unceremoniously on the opposite side of her. "Hey there, Cap. Sshorry bein' late an' all. Meant to only have a few drinksh, but hey, you know how it goesh. Right?" He turned his head slowly as if with considerable effort and blinked his large black eyes twice before managing to fix his gaze on Ror. He shot out a hand and grabbed Ror's arm and shook it vigorously, "Hey there, buddy. I'm Arkuat. I'm the pilot. Nice to meet ya." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder as he swiveled his head back to Chora. "Who'sh this guy?" he asked in a rather loud whisper.

A tall wiry fellow in a long tatty coat hurried inside the cantina, bumping into a drunken Rodian on his way out. The two glared at each other, in the manner of one who expects the other to make apologies. A moment of tension sparks, and fades as reality and caution prevail. The man turns and continues, scratching his beard with a slight shake of the head. He stops next to a table with a lone Duros slumped on its elbows and stood there, eyes narrowed as he took the cantinas occupants in. Once satisfied he hurried over to Captain Asichi. Removing his wide hat he offers a hand,

"Captain Asichi? 'M sorry for the late hour, got some bad directions,"

Although Massan is a being of many diverse talents, the one talent he’s practiced the most in the past few years is the talent to make himself scarce when people really want to have a word with him. Specifically people with blasters and blades. And now is a good time to leave town. Leave the planet, as a matter of fact. Although he’s fairly sure no sensors managed to capture his image during the botched payroll job, the private security firm he attempted to rob with his now dead team won’t take too long to connect him to his dead teammates. Not too many Klatooinian slicers around, Massan reflects as he turns the corner, scanning the alley carefully to make sure he’s not walking into an ambush.

There it was. No sign out in front. Just another nameless canteena selling watered-down booze and food you wouldn’t want to eat unless you were heavily inebriated. But this one is right next to the monorail tracks, opposite a closed-down shopping mall. This had to be the place Vex had mentioned. Now all he had to do was find this Captain Chora Achichi and convince her to take him on as crew. With the expenses from the payroll-job and no payoff he’s flat broke. There is no time to line up a job to pay his way off planet. His best bet is to get hired as a crewman on some little freighter and then jump ship once that freighter has arrived in a better system. Free travel for very little work. Perfect.

Vex hadn’t been specific at all about where this Captain Asichi was headed, but frankly, Massan isn’t too bothered. Anywhere but here will do for now. Since she’s hiring crew here it’s probably a cargo-hauler captain who can’t afford to pay a crew enough to keep good people. Which suits Massan perfectly.

The pudgy Klatooinian gets to the door and nods to a Rodian coming out the door. “What’s’ya lookingat foool,” the Rodian slurs, clearly in a bad mood. Massan simply holds up his hands and backs off a step. “Not looking for any trouble, friend,” he says. The Rodian is clearly thinking about his next step, but decides to just walk off. Massan might not be the most intimidating Klatooinian, and carries no visible weapons, but the race does have a reputation for producing fierce warriors and the Rodian clearly doesn’t want to risk it.

Feeling grateful for having avoided a fight, Massan enters the canteena. His silhouette is outlined in the pink phneon-sign from across the street as he walks through the doors. The slightly overweight Klatooinian looks even more bulky than he already is due to the fact he’s wearing his heavy dark-brown synth-leather coat which neatly hides a few tools and his new, prized Merr-Sonn Model 53 blaster pistol. He grins at the barkeep, exposing a row of sharp teeth, and the fact that he’s missing a front tooth from his lower jaw.

Massan stops close to the door and scans the bar. Vex had described the captain to him in overly graphic detail, and there aren't too many gorgeous blue-skinned Pantorans in the city, let alone in the canteena. Massan’s eyes are drawn to a woman who surely has to be Captain Asichi, sitting at a table in the rear of the dark canteena. Sitting next to the woman is an outdoorsy-looking Duros and a Sullustan that looks like he’s about to pass out from too much drink. The fourth person sitting at the table is a rough-looking human with sparse face-fur with enough grey in it to indicate middle age at least.

The bulky Klatooinian wastes no time ambling up to the table. He grabs a chair from an empty table nearby and stops in front of the Pantoran woman. “You are waiting for a mechanic by the name of Erto Munn, right? Well, he won’t be showing up. He’s on one of his very regular benders and probably won’t sober up for a week or more. Our mutual friend Vex thought you might be interested in hiring an engineer that isn’t as fond of drink and spices as our friend Erto. If so, I’m your guy. The name is Massan, by the way. Mind if I sit?” The credits he had spent on getting Erto drunk and spiced-up had hopefully be well spent.

When the woman nods, Massan takes that as agreement and sits down. He looks at the others, and then back at the captain. “Are you taking applications from those fools? They don’t look like they’d be much use in an engineering section.” He indicates the Sullustan with his thumb. “This one doesn’t look useful anywhere on a ship, for that matter. No, if you want the best engineer you can hire in this dump at this time of day, you are looking at him. Just ask Vex. And if you’re wondering why the sound system at his canteena suddenly works again it’s because I fixed it for him."

Corek stood in front of the cantina entrance, looking right through the duracreet building. He knew this day would come and he'd always told himself it wouldn't be a big deal. If it ever came. But it had. Corek chided himself for being surprised that Cora Asichi had even remembered him much less bothered to call in his debt. She must be desperate, which was never a good sign.

Corek frowned. "But I do owe her and I always pay my debts," Coreks thoughts were interrupted by a Rodian bumping into him as he rushed out of the cantina.

"Hhheee" the Rodians swallowed his words as Corek glared at him and lowered his head slightly, Corek's red horns prominently displayed.

The Rodian walked around Corek and glowered.

Corek stepped to the side of the doorway and looked in. Typical dive cantina.

"Well, I know what kind of crew she's gathering." Corek muttered. He squared his shoulders and strode into the cantina. He looked around, saw the captain and headed straight for her.

"Hello, captain" Corek nodded respectfully, his horns making the gesture seem more grand, and took a seat. "I'll join your hunt."

Corek didn't need to know the details before signing on - he owed her that much. Corek chuckled. It was his naïvety in taking any bounty job without getting the details that had originally put him at the mercy of Captain Asichi. And now, despite having learned his lesson well and hard, he was going to repeat that mistake.

Arkuat swung his head around to look at the offending Klatooinian, his face a mask of indignation. "Hey buddy, why don't you shtow that kinda talk til ya get the job? I'll have you know I happen to be a pretty good pilot!" Arkuat swung his arm in a short arc, his index finger pointing at nothing in particular as it wobbled through the air. He leaned in and said in an almost conspiratorial tone, "That'sh what I do, I'm the pilot." He tapped his own chest twice then pointed at his own head, smiling and nodding. Arkuat leaned back and seemed to take in the rest of the group that had, to his view, suddenly appeared. He blinked and counted slowly pointing at each as he did, "One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . ." He considered his own hand for a moment, four fingers raised. He looked up suddenly, "Oh wait, I'm number five! Hey, Cap, I think we're all here!"

"You lot talk too loud," Chora grumbled into her empty mug. "And some of you talk too much." She aimed a glare at Massan. " Regardless...We shouldn't talk here; too many prying ears and eyes about. But, I will tell you this: got a special command from 'up the line'. The bosses want us to find out what's so special about this place where the navy lost their precious space station last year. Maybe bring back a few shiny pieces. Lots of creds will be lined up for us once we get back, and the big slug himself gave us part of the prize up front - for 'travel expenses'."

She reached into her hip pocket and pulled out a credit chip for each of the five men and lowered her voice even more. "A thousand creds each for expenses. Shop wisely, gentlemen, and don't flash it around too much. Don't want scavs or navy spooks in our wake. Agreed?"

Doing his best to pretend he doesn't overhear the Sullustan drunkard, Ror just lets out a sigh and hails the barkeep, ordering himself a Corellian ale. Sipping at the mug quietly, he eyes off the newcomers, not bothering to greet them just yet, occupying himself with the dust-caked, scratched up datapad set down in front of him. He's pulled as much data on the Yavin system as he can from the university archives in the hope of making sense of what's happening in there, but leafing through it isn't getting him particularly far. A decent chunk of the history seems to have been redacted, but that could mean anything; academia is really suffering under The Emperor's rule, with old records disappearing faster than new ones can be made. With another dramatic sigh, he switches off the datapad, taking a long swig from his mug before looking to Massan, the bold comments drawing a chuckle out of him. "I'm plenty handy with a hydrospanner in a pinch, thank you very much! You pick up mechanical skills pretty quick when fixing your sonic perimeter generator in the next five minutes is the only thing saving you from ending up in a Dramothan Ichor Weaver's belly. ” Grinning, he continues. “Hardly my specialty though, not trying to steal anyone’s thunder here. I’m uh, resident scholar-slash-survivalist I suppose.” He points a thumb over at Arkuat. “Can also fly a ship alright when this one’s too hungover to sit in the pilot seat.”

Ror nods along with Chora's explanation. "I'm looking forward to this, should be fascinating." Slipping the credit chip into one of the pockets of his vest, he finishes off his ale and brings up the map on his datapad. "I'll be discreet. Not planning on buying anything too fancy, anyway." Once he thinks he's plotted a vague route to the marketplace, he rises from his seat. "I'll see you all in an hour or so, then?"

Thankfully he doesn't get too lost this time, and soon enough he's picking his way through the marketplace. He hadn't noticed anyone particularly medically savvy in the group, so his first port of call is getting his hands on a decent set of medical supplies. Someone's got to patch them together when things inevitably go belly up. After a little bartering with a droid dealer, he gets his hand on a shiny new recon remote too, should make recording data for his research reports that much easier. The scouting capabilities are more of an afterthought, really; Ror definitely has his priorities straight. Done with his short shopping trip, he returns to the group after about an hour.

Massan’s first instinct is to ignore the drunk Sullustan. Clearly he will never get the job. When he speaks up and claims to be a pilot, the Klatooinian does a double-take, causing his double chin to quiver slightly. “Are you our pilot? I hope you have lots of oxy-pills to get yourself sober if we are leaving any time soon.”

He nods at the Duros, when he extols his virtues as a survivalist. Interesting. So he wasn’t competing for the job, the captain was hiring a crew wholesale. Interesting indeed. What could have happened to the previous crew? Didn’t they want the job? If so, why not?

“Yeah, anybody can say they’re handy with a hydrospanner," he replies to the Duros. "And although that can be nice in a pinch, that’s not what you want to rely on when things go wrong in deep space. And no offence to our Sullustan friend here, but I think you might need to brush up on those piloting skills soon,” Massan says with a forced grin.

The captain‘s reply leaves Massan slightly confused. What, exactly, was he signing up for? Apparently they were to raid an abandoned station of some sort. That doesn’t sound half bad to the Klatooinian. When the pretty Pantoran hands her new crew a chip with 1,000 credits each, Massan has to stop himself from grinning like an idiot. Easiest credits he’s ever made, that’s for sure.

“I do have a few items that will come in handy that I need to pick up, captain,” he says, nodding to the pretty Pantoran. “I’ll be back within the hour.”

As Massan gets up, he has no intention of returning after an hour. 1,000 credits can go a long way when you are careful with your credits. He can buy a passage off world on a freighter for less than 250 credits and use the rest to get settled and find new friends. Massan heads for the monorail station, determined to take a train to the space port. And then he stops.

Massan has always been clever, and there is something about the current situation that makes him think twice. First of all, the job doesn’t sound half bad. Now, admittingly he doesn’t have all the info he’d like to have, but an abandoned military facility was sure to have all sorts of valuables lying around waiting for an enterprising crew to claim. And for a slicer like Massan, the potential to sneak a look at some interesting data might mean there could be a special payoff for him later, if he could keep the info from the rest of the crew and sell it later, on his own.

And then there was the other thing. Clearly the captain had the backings of a Hutt. A Hutt who was willing to throw 5,000 credits at Massan and the others. To the Klatooinian that sounds like a Hutt he might not want to cross.

And besides. 1,000 credits could go a long way for someone who can be careful with his money. But nobody had ever accused Massan of being careful with credits. Well, if he is taking the job he might as well get the equipment he could need. Too bad he has no real idea where they are going or what sort of gear could be useful. In the end, Massan decides to buy a decent crash kit. Not just because of the drunk Sullustan pilot, but because it contains a lot of useful stuff that could be helpful when trekking through wilderness to get to this navy outpost. And since this kit is quite heavy he picks up some load-bearing gear to hang stuff he might need on.

And that’s it. Massan stuffs the large kit into his backpack and decides to save the rest of the credits for later. Who knows when they might come in handy. Since he has the time he walks around in an inside shopping mall. When he spots a new model of GlasTech Ultimate MaxViz Scanner Goggles he decides to try them on for fun. Two minutes later he has purchased the goggles. The enhanced low-light functions alone make this one miles better than the junk Fennwool Inc produces. And they aren’t that expensive…

On his way out he takes a shortcut through a market selling tools for mechanics. He hasn’t really needed tools to fix most things for years. But no point letting others know that. He picks up a few cheap tools to maintain a look people expect of a mechanic when he notices a specialized weapon maintenance kit designed to maintain and repair blasters. His eyes light up. That is soooo nice. He opens the case. Lots of specialized tools fill the small case. So very nice.

He doesn’t need the tools. Not as such. But it is always much more fun to use his hands and proper tools when working on something he loves working on. Like his brand-new Merr-Sonn Model 53 blaster pistol. He‘s already installed some attachment to increase the output, as well as the custom grip and magnetic tether. But according to what he’s read, there are several ways to increase the functions of those attachments the producers don’t exactly advertise. And Massan might just have time during this trip to fiddle around with his blaster.

By some strange coincidence, the price for the tool kit is exactly 450 credits, all he has remaining from the credit chip given to him by his new captain. He’s flat broke again. Bah, easy come, easy go, Massan thinks to himself as he strokes the small case housing his new tool kit. His lovely, lovely tool kit.

The Klatooinian strolls back to the canteena. Time to go already.

Arkuat palmed the credit chip and tucked it into a pocket on the inside of his jacket. He gave a wink and a smile, "Aye, Cap'n!" and slid out of his seat. The world wasn't quite as blurry when he stood up, which he counted as good since he may be called to fly quite soon. I guess shore leave didn't last quite as long as I had thought!, he thought to himself as he made his way out the door. The street seemed to be wobbling slightly, and Arkuat took the opportunity to lean up against a wall, pull out his datapad and make a shopping list. A few minutes later when the ground seemed more receptive to his feet, Arkuat made his way into the market.

His first stop was a pilot's depot, where he picked up a Crash Survival Kit. He'd been through that before, and didn't feel like trying to drink his own piss. Again. The kit had a bunch of useful stuff, just in case. Next he staggered into a chop shop that specialized in spare parts and quick fixes. He picked up a few emergency patches, for just in case. He stumbled his way over across the street to a street doc, a different sort of chop shop, and picked up a couple of stimpacks, also for just in case. After a while of wandering, he found himself in a weapons dealer's store. He was persuaded to buy a holdout blaster, some reloads, and a combat knife, for just in case. At this point he bought a backpack, to hold everything. Finally, he sat down at a much quieter cantina and had a few glasses of water while he packed his bag. He slipped the holdout blaster, one of the reloads, two of the emergency repair patches, and one of the stimpacks into the crash kit. His senses had begun to return, although there was still an undeniable haze from the liquor.

He made his way back to the Captain's cantina, passing by another merchant's stall where he picked up two stun grenades, simply because he felt like it. A few minutes later, Arkuat walked back into the cantina and made his way over to Captain Asichi's table, somewhat less drunk then before. He ordered another glass of water and began silently dreading the hangover to come.

Jerome glanced around as the jostling for recognition as a pilot erupted round the table. He stayed quiet. Been a while since he flew anything serious, he certainly wasn't going to start making claims right now.

As the skipper presented them with a thousand cred chip he frowned, rolling it in his palm he licked his lips. This was a good thing. But it also meant this worm had thrown quite a lot of money at the venture, a grand each for the ground floor was a big up front payment for this group. Meant there was something valuable in it.

Meant it would attract dangerous competition too.

But the money wasn't even the real hook, it was nice, sure. The site where the Empire lost their battle station was what the captain had said, and Jerome wasn't going to turn that down. Standing slowly and excusing himself he walked purposefully out the door. He'd needed to trick the model '80 out, certainly doing it before going into danger was better than after. He knew a Niktos with a nice little shop ten minutes away, Jokuill. The conversation was brief, Jokuill kept his hands under the counter as Jerome selected an actuator for the Merr-son. As he came to pay he grabbed another energy cell and some shells for the slugger. It'd be embarrassing to scrounge for ammo.

After that it was a simple trip to the pilots depot. Alarmingly they were running low on crash kits, he grabbed one and dumped it on the counter. As an afterthought he also grabbed a couple of stimpacks.

Walking back with a hundred creds of the chip left, he idly wondered if it would be bad form to get some drugs, just to help him sleep like. Half the others seemed to have turned up drunk, or hungover. In the end he was hot and sweaty, and wanted a cool drink to much to trawl around looking for a spice contact at this moment. Later then.

Back at the cantina he dumps his backpack down, running his hands through his hair Jerome stares at the others kit, and laughs.

"We probably coulda got a bulk discount if we're all gonna buy a crash kit. So, we probably need to talk more..."

"Agreed."

Corek stood up from the table and left the cantina.

The streets were busy but Corek wasn't rushing himself. He needed time to think. He could put the money towards paying off his debt with Chora. But his bounty hunter kit wasn't really up to snuff yet. No, he needed these credits to invest in his professional tools. Only with a solid footing could he really pay Chora back. And hopefully live through this job.

Corek eventually made his way to a sturdy and squat building with no one milling around outside. He walked inside and got an annoyed look from the staff.

"What, uh, can I help you with?"

"I'd like to try on some of your armor. I'll need a gear harness, reloads, stun grenades. And are those MCI-100 magnacuffs I see over there?"

"Usually..."

Corek cut him off by slamming something on the counter.

Surprised, the clerk looked down and saw an official bounty hunter's license.

"Oh, I see. yes sir. This way, sir"

Some time later Corek, geared up, worked his way towards the star port and his destiny.

Some time later...

"Right, lads, get that cargo stowed!" Asichi hollered at the port droids who were loading various crates and sacks into the hold of the [ship hasn't been named yet]. "I want to get off this godsforsaken rock as quickly as possible. And where are those bloody layabouts I hired to crew this mission?" she grumbled under her breath. The crew had dispersed from the cantina after receiving their forwarded pay more than an hour prior and had yet to arrive at the spaceport. Surely they would know to come here when they discovered the blue-skinned captain was no longer at her table. If they couldn't, well...Hutts weren't exactly forgiving.

Strange. Massan looks around in confusion. Where is she? Have they left without him? He waits for a few minutes in the canteena before he realizes that the captain is gone. What is this? Is she some sort of angel who randomly hands out thousands of credits to random people before moving on to look for more desperate losers to give credits to? That makes no sense.

Why would she not tell him where to meet her? Was she at the spaceport already? And how would he find her? She hadn't told them the name of her ship. Hadn't told them much at all. In the end, Massan walks out of the canteena again and head for the monorail station. As he walks he picks up his comlink and calls Vex, the friend who recommended him for the job. Vex doesn't have a clue, but promises to make some calls to find out what's going on.

After boarding a train to the starport Massan is careful to avoid any official-looking droids. People with his talents didn't need to pay for public transport. It was easy enough to fool the machines. Didn't stop him from getting into trouble if he ran into a random transport officer, so he keeps a low profile.

As he steps into the starport, Vex gets back to him. "Try hangar 54-Aurek, she should be there. And you owe me one, Massan," the gruff man tells him. Massan picks up the pace. He is relieved when he finds a ship in the hangar, and a the beautiful Pantoran woman in there, pacing about. He walks to her.

"We need to work on our communications. If you want people to show up for work it helps telling them where to find the ship. Unless you are testing our amazing detective abilities," he says, trying to keep his tone light. "So, is the rest of the crew here? I'll pick a bunk and head to engineering, see what's what."

From a distance Corek could see Asichi pacing and moving about in frustration. The spaceport wasn't that big but large enough to make him late.

"Right here boss!" Corek shouted as he neared the ship. Lugging his bags up to the ship Corek stopped to appreciate the ship. "Nice ship captain. Which post you want me to take? Gunner?"

Arkuat entered the docking bay, gritting his teeth against the noise of the outside hustle and bustle. As the door hissed behind him, the noise quieted slightly and he smiled as he looked up. There was nothing like the feel of freedom the flying provided and just the memory of it helped distract from his headache. He readjusted his backpack's strap on his shoulder, put a big grin on his face and started making for the Captain. "Hey there, Cap! Ready and reporting for duty!" Arkuat gave a mock salute, still grinning. He relaxed a bit, letting his hand drop and looked around a bit. "So, how soon you want to launch? Everyone here yet? I'm going to throw my pack down somewhere and get the ship prepped for takeoff."

The observer remote hovers above his head as Ror jogs towards the bay, panting as he comes to a stop near the loading "Sorry about that, thought we were meeting at the Cantina. I'm all good to go." Smiling at the captain, he makes his way up the ramp and finds a room to dump his baggage in, setting down the remote to charge. Once he's all settled, he finds his way back to where everyone. He nods to Arkuat. "Let me know if you need a copilot. Might be a bit rusty by now, but I'm a Duros, pretty sure I can't forget how to pilot. It's in the blood. Been trying to study the local astrogation charts too, figured it pays to be prepared."

After watching most of the others leave the cantina, presumably to find the missing captain, Jerome enjoys a glass of Corellian whiskey. No ice.

He's just finishing and getting ready to go and ask around for her when Gygax arrives. The old reptile hadn't been in for a while. They had another drink and caught up, Jerome had worked with Gygax twenty years ago, before family and kids had brought them to heel and settled in a quieter way of life. Turned out Gygax's partner didn't want the traditional Trandoshan hunter upbringing. She had her eyes on a proper education, Imperial standards, only that cost a fortune for non humans. Still, she wouldn't be denied, and Gygax had just returned from a job in the corporate sector, finding out if a directors wife was cheating on him. Boring but well paid. Jerome liked Gygax and his lazy way of telling a tale.

The wife was cheating and so was the director Gygax took the creds and spared neither a moments further concern.

So it was an hour later that he arrived at the starport, smelling of whiskey, and in a bad mood. He didn't so much greet the skipper as just arrive and carry his stuff on board. Not that she was the reason for his ill temper. He didn't want to be away from his wife for weeks. The story had been eating him a bit inside on the walk down.

Shouldnt have had the fourth drink.

It had taken Thell longer than he had expected to reach the hanger, it had been some time since he had last walked across half of a spaceport. He had been in many throughout his time gathering information and each spaceport had its own quirks, and this one had been no different. The old Neimoidian paused outside the hanger, then keyed the entrance. The door hissed open and Thell passed through, he heard it close behind him and began to cross the hanger, walking with his cane. “My apologies for being late, Captain,” he called across the hanger, “I’m not as fast as I used to be.” Thell paused once he was close enough to the captain that neither of them had to increase their volume to be heard. As he waited for the captain’s reply he looked around, it was quite a unique crew that had assembled, it should make the trip mildly interesting at least, but he was far more interested in their destination. The location where the Empire lost their battle station, the system could contain valuable information, and maybe just maybe it would have the information that he had been looking for all these years.

"Well, that appears to be everyone, including a wayward passenger," Asichi said with a begrudging sigh. "Everyone aboard. We'll sort out stations soon enough."

She gestured for the crew to board the vessel and followed them up the ramp. "Right, so, names and stations on my ship. Massan - scanning and comms station, Fill - dorsal cannon, Tek - you'll play backup on the ventral cannon, Kholl - if you didn't smell like a rancor stew you would be the pilot. Get to your bunk and sober up before I decide to leave you here for the slug's hunters to pick up. Zil - you're my engineer mainly, but for now I need you to take us into the black. Newcomer, you look the intelligent sort; make yourself useful in engineering until my pilot can see straight. Questions?"

"No, captain." Corek made his way to the sleeping quarters, dropped his bags on one of the beds then made his way straight to the ventral cannon station.

He sunk into the chair and breathed in deeply. The turret station didn't have that new ship smell but it didn't have a bad odor either. A good sign.

Corek put on his headset and reported in: " Captain, Corek ready at the ventral cannons."

Massan is rather surprised to be ordered to the sensors station rather than to the engineering, but doesn't argue. It's better to be in the cockpit at first, after they enter hyperspace he will have time to explore the ship and find out what's what. He makes his way to the comms station in the cockpit, to the rear of the command area of the ship. He takes a seat and starts familiarizing himself with the controls.

He soon finds out that the sensor suite on this ship is rather powerful, much more powerful than on most ships this size. When he brings up the floorplans on his screen it suddenly hits him. This ship is more of an exploration vessel than a freighter. So what the captain was after was clearly not hauling back some imperial tech left behind on whatever base the Empire apparently lost in whatever system they are headed to. Massan doesn't really mind all that much. This would probably just be a quick in-and-out mission, after which he could make himself scares.

"Sensors and comms ready cap," he reports. "How far is it to our destination, and how long are you planning for us to stay there?"

Ror sets himself down in front of the Navcomputer, adjusting the seat a little before familiarising himself with the workstation. Glancing to his datapad a couple of times to familiarise himself with the charts, he nods, feeling as confident as he's going to get for someone with no formal Astrogation training. "Alright, just let me know where we're going and I'll program the jump. I'll try my best not to put us into a sun."

It seemed introductions would have to wait, it had been a several years since Thell had been on an E-9, but he should still be able to find engineering. “On my way” he said, starting up the ramp, once inside the ship was small enough that it didn’t take him long to find engineering. Rather than trying to find quarters, to put his things in, he settled into engineering, “Ready in engineering.” He called over the internal comm system. He had found that in the outer rim, if you want to keep everything you brought with you, keep it nearby, at least until you find out what kind of group you’re working with. Thell also hoped that nothing was going to go wrong in engineering while he was there, it had been a long time since he had worked with starship systems from this perspective.