Bargain Hunters (Field Trip!)

[Rev Solomon]

Lethe was an ideal planet for anyone who would just as soon be forgotten. It was an unassuming ball of blistering hot rock that somehow had the grace of an oxygen atmosphere with marginal water content that was maintained by immense plains of lichen. Sometime in the past century, smugglers operating near Wild Space had begun using the arid world as a dumping ground for scrap metal, ruined equipment, and even entire ships, eventually creating whole strata of interstellar refuse at the poles, the only area of the planet temperate enough to support humanoid life for the long haul. Sensing a profit to be made, scavengers and opportunists had descended on the burgeoning junk world to stake their claims and set up various scrap businesses - smelters, choppers, parts dealers, fabricators. It had become a poor man's Ord Mantel. You could find virtually anything there if you looked hard enough, and you could just as easily find someone willing to sell it to you.

Lethe was also beyond the reach or notice of the Galactic Empire, which made it an ideal resting point for the Wheel shortly after its fateful encounter with the ISD Decimator. Most of the ships that had survived the battle required repairs of one kind or another. That was why a half dozen or so support craft descended from the Whaladon, Valiant, and Challenger, each one with a long shopping list for parts and scrap to keep the mobile Jedi flotilla afloat.

The Theta-class shuttle Exodus folded its wings upward as it settled gracefully on a makeshift landing pad among several sad-looking wrecks. Moments later the gangplank swung down from the shuttle's belly, admitting a handful of Jedi, from padawan to knight, into the noxious atmosphere of the junk world.

Reverend Solomon led the way, setting a broad-brimmed hat on his head to protect his scalp from the glare of the system's three suns. "Remember what we talked about," he said. "We've got four hours here, then it's skids up and back to the barn. You've all got partners, so stick close to them. Nobody goes kiting off alone. This place is dangerous - there'll be smugglers, thieves, outcasts, people even more desperate than we are. There's no telling what you might find around the next bend. Stay in close communication, watch your buddies' backs, and we'll polish off our shopping list in no time."

And with that benediction, the Jedi began to fan out into the junkyards of Lethe.

[Anbira Hicchoru]

There were times Anbira was happy his suit's bodyglove liner had thermal venting, and this was one such time. Even with that extra cooling, the heat was intense. He'd taken to draping a white kerchief over his head and securing that with an elastoband to keep the sun's brutal rays off his head and neck, and to avoid heatstroke. Taking a hefty quaff of water, he passed it along to Solomon.

"Dehydration is a soldier's worst enemy. Take it, even if you're not thirsty."

Anbira's eyes scanned over the vast junk piles, the air shimmering into fantastic mirages where the sky met hot metal. He glanced to the manifest given to him.

"I see the mechanics crews have opted to have some fun at our expense, and sent us on a scavenger hunt."

[Akasha Khan]

Akasha grimaced the moment the sunslight hit her dense, black fur. She'd jumped at the promise of a planetary excursion, imagining some idyllic wilderness where she could feel grass under her toes and the breeze across her ears. But the air here was thick and boiling hot, and it smelled of machine oil and rotting fabrics, and she was sure she was already starting to bake under her fur. Probably the only member of the party worse off than her was her poor half-Nautolan roommate.

"Ugh. I'm thinking this might have been a mistake," Akasha said, vainly fluttering a paw near her cheek to move some air across her face. "Come on, Kala, I think I see some shade over there."

Without really even waiting, the Orryxian hurried across the shimmering hot tarmac to a corridor through the debris lined with pavilions and awnings where merchants and scavengers hawked their wares.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

"What a lovely day!"

Cirr was in great spirits, bounding down the ramp with a datapad in hand. He wore his normal cargo-pocketed canvas pants and a sleeveless shirt that was starting to get sweat marks already. Other than that, all he needed was a pair of shades he'd managed to nick from Sanis's cache, which he'd explain away some other time.

"Mjight even get a tan!"

Poking his tongue out slightly, he looked over Anbira's manifest, reaching over to pluck it from his gloved hands.

"One moment, forrgot a few morre thjings. Hope that's not a botherr."

He glanced back to a guy who was called Solomon, apparently the head honcho Jedi behind this little shopping spree.

"So Masterr Jedji, how much of a stjipend do jI get? Wanna know what my budget's ljike!"

[Rev Solomon]

"Fifteen hundred credits," Solomon replied. "That includes up to two hundred fifty for a new shield coil for the Whaladon's deflectors."

For the list of materials and equipment they needed to secure, calling it a shoestring budget would be generous. Some of the repairs would, by necessity, be stopgaps until they could get a proper shipment of parts from the Alliance.

[Barton Henning]

It would have been easy to mistake the Knightfall for yet another of Lethe's scrap-heaps. There hadn't been new Dynamic-class freighter's built in the galaxy for centuries, so it was a testament to Core Galaxy Systems that the ship could fly let alone keep place with the likes of the Wheel. Captain by way of circumstance and necessity, Barton Henning looked back at his freighter and was surprised to feel the smallest hint of pride. It was one of the few craft's that had emerged unscathed from their encounter with the Decimator, but as a member of the Alliance Support Services, scavenging was common place for the captain and his crew.

“You heard the man,” he said with a nod towards Solomon, before his back on his disembarking passengers and looked out across the mountains of junk that sprawled over Lethe. It was going to be a long day.

[Cleo Némain]

The heat didn't bother Cleo. Space was, after all, a cold place. Not that you really knew with the temperate atmosphere projected throughout most of the ships on The Wheel, but it seemed like a good enough reason to not be hating the heat like it seemed most of the others were.

Cleo practically skipped away from the Knightfall, catching up to "Captain Barty" in short order. The simple excitement of being on a planet that wasn't Nar Shaddaa was clearly imprinted on her face.

"So where we goin' ta star'?"

[Kala'ndryl Ryj]

"Why couldn't this have been a water world? Would that have been too much to ask?"

The tall, slender blonde actually pouted as she followed after Akasha, her bright lavender gazes flicking over the others as they went.

The important thing was, she supposed, that her feet were on solid ground for a change. It was a lumbering hulk of a ship, nor was it under attack. Kala shuddered at the too vivid memory, fingers absently smoothing out the loose, flowing fabric of her tunic. The pale shell-pink matched her leggings and the well-worn boots that were laced up to her knees. Her two hilts were tucked securely at the small of her back, out of sight from prying eyes.

She soon caught up with her Orryxian friend, tucked under the awning of a large merchant stall with an array of neatly bundled wires, buttons, levers, and other small components laid out. Lifting a hand, she pushed her silver streaked curls back over her shoulder as she looked over the table, eyes drawn to a heap of charred and broken crystals off to the side in a forgotten bin.

"Ohhh...look at these...." she said brightly, carefully picking through to find those that still sparkled.

[Akasha Khan]

Akasha was dubiously eying a selection of jewelry that appeared to be made purely from scrap - strings of badly polished rivets, crystals of splintered transparisteel, bracelets covered in weird spiky bits of metal - aside from a few haphazardly placed gemstones, the lot of it was repulsive. She turned to see what had sparked her roommate's attention.

"Wonder what those came off of." She wrinkled her nose at a passing offensive stench. "Your shell collection is prettier, honestly."

A flash of movement caught her eye, and she lunged to chase a meter-tall, blue-furred foxy thing away from Kala before it turned up the fabric covering her lightsaber hilts. "Go! Get out of here, you pestilent little fleabag!"

The Squib chittered angrily back at her before scurrying out of sight.

"Maiur's eyes, this place is disgusting."

[Anbira Hicchoru]

"The longer we sulk about it, the longer it will take to find what we need."

Anbira, armed with Cirrsseeto's (amended, after much fussing) list of parts, headed to a table surrounded with a few assorted bins. He picked through a few, hoisting what appeared to be an insulator cuff, giving a bit of grime on the outer sleeve of it a wipe with his thumb before putting it back where it came.

"We have our own limited list under our responsibility. I'm confident we'll have it finished in no time."

[Kala'ndryl Ryj]

"Thanks, I think so too...still though...if they get polished, these might be pretty..." Kala grinned over at Akasha, mouthing a quiet 'thank you' as she adjusted her tunic more carefully in the back.

Fingertips soon sorted through the small bin and plucked out several pink and purple crystals, before she began picking through the various bits of metal wire. There were plenty of hours aboard the Whaladon with nothing to do, and a project would keep her occupied. And not wandering aimlessly hoping to find someone who wasn't around anymore.

Kala was about to reply to Akasha's next comment, but was stalled when Anbira appeared, hovering over the table and flicking through some of the offerings for sale.

Glancing over her shoulder and through a lock of silver-streaked blonde hair, the young woman grinned at him, her voice emerging bright and teasing. "This isn't sulking, Master Hicchoru...this is pouting. We could arrange to sulk though...or perhaps a demonstration of an indignant fit would do?"

[Akasha Khan]

Akasha splayed back her ears at the appearance of a chaperon. Maiur's mane, she was eight years old now! And Kala was seventeen, which for her mix of species was much the same.

But she put on a stretched smile and, in a light tone that was somewhat alien to her voice, she said, "We don't want to be a hindrance to you, sir - I'm quite sure Kala and I can handle our part of the search on our own."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Along with Solomon...

Cirr shook his head emphatically.

"jI'm surre you can worrk mjirracles wjith the forrce, Masterr Jedji, but mjirracles wjith starrshjips take morre crredjits than that!"

He buried his nose in the datapad he carried, and pushed it forward for Sol to read.

"You need a betterr shjield generratorr forr Whaladon. Not want. Need. jI'd barrely tolerrate powerr djisplacement that low on my own shjip, and we'rre a lot smallerr!"

He didn't feel like he was getting through to the leader of this little expedition.

[Rev Solomon]

Solomon grimaced an apology. "Unfortunately, it's less a question of what we need than a question of what we can afford. The refugee business isn't very profitable these days. We've got to do the best we can until we can get new parts shipped in from other sources."

He scanned over the datapad as they walked. Though he'd been a flight-rated pilot back at the Jedi Temple, he'd never been altogether mechanically inclined when it came to maintenance - it was one of the reasons he'd traveled by eopie wagon on Dantooine instead of a speeder. He'd volunteered for this mission in part because he was just as stir-crazy aboard the Wheel as some of the kids. He was glad to have someone as accomplished as Cirr in stretching a repair budget, and he didn't take his advice lightly.

"Unless you've got an idea of something we can sell, we're just going to have to prioritize. I might be able to get Colonel Tyree to approve another few hundred credits for a shield generator."

He pointed toward a likely purveyor of freighter-sized components, a Trandoshan operating out of the ruined husk of a YV-1250 transport.

"And while we're down here, it's Solomon, or Rev. This may not be an Imperial world, but it's still mixed company."

[Anbira Hicchoru]

Anbira gave the faintest of smiles to Kala's little jab in his direction.

"No demonstration necessary. Come on, the both of you, I think I spotted a plasma pump over by that dug's trailer. I'm sure you're both eager to brush up on your bartering skills."

He walked along with the two Jedi girls towards a dilapidated repulsor-trailer, now more or less permanently downed, resting on stone blocks and not looking like it would be anything more than a ramshackle place to peddle junk.

The proprietor, tilting back a straw hat with his feet, bounded over to Anbira.

"Hey big man! You buy?" Very excitable offers inquire within!"

Anbira made a calming gesture, gently shaking his head.

"Nothing yet, thank you. Just looking. I'll leave the buying up to these two."

He gestured to Kala and Akasha.

[Regan Altink]

Meanwhile, with Team Tink...

Regan breathed deep, savouring the smell of air that hadn't been endlessly recycled through scrubbers and vents, relishing the way it felt in his lungs. He regretted it instantly, coughing hard to clear the retched, fetted, greasy stench out of his body as swiftly as possible. Wincing, opening his mouth wide to try and coax the disgusting taste off his tongue, he glanced over his shoulder at the assortment of knuckle draggers he'd brought with him. "Shallow breaths, lads," he advised, voice dropping to a mutter as he turned back towards the scrap heap. "Shallow breaths."

He sighed, head rocking once to each side, the cartilage in his neck popping and crunching under the strain of bunched muscles. It was a shame they were stuck out on such a backwater planet; he'd promised himself that he'd get a massage next time they stopped anywhere for more than a few under-fire seconds, but somehow he doubted that Lethe would cater to those particular desires.

He frowned, wondering if that cute violet-eyed Padawan chick would be interested in a little medicinal physiotherapy. sure, she was half-fish and all that, but Tink was a pretty open minded guy; and besides, there was something appealing about a species naturally disposed towards swimwear.

A mischevious smile forming on his face, he turned to glance at his draggers, only to spot an electric blue furry critter thing crawling around on one of his stabiliser fins. All the mirth and mischief faded in an instant, replaced instead with a scowl. "Get down from there!" he snapped. "It's no a climbin' frame!"

[Akasha Khan]

Bartering skills? Akasha was fairly certain she'd never bartered in her life, and she had no name for any of the rusting, oil-stained drums and pipes and gearbox things littered all around with rubber hoses and wires hanging out like entrails. Anyway, they all looked so old that if there was anything called a plasma pump among them Akasha would expect it to come with a hand lever.

But then she found herself face-to-face with a barbel-twirling Dug whose breath smelled of rotting shellfish. Akasha tried not to look too thoroughly repulsed, and she pointed to a random article, something big and heavy with chains hanging off of it.

"How much for that?"

"Oh, yes, oh, yes, good eyes have you, furry girl. That is being grapple winch in excellent conditions. For you, sixty-five credits. Is golden deal."

"I don't need a winch."

"Never knows. Ion storm, tractor beams not works. Chain rated for many thousand tonnes pressure."

"Show me something else. A plasma pump, maybe."

The dug shambled on his oversized arms and perched himself on something roughly the size and shape of an R2 unit with metal-plated hoses on either side. "This is best in junkyard you will find. Sell with winch, one hundred fifty. Use chain to tow back to ships, yes?"

[Barton Henning]

“Where?”Barton puffed out his cheeks with a breath. “Just... go where your feet take you. I think finding what we need will be as much about luck as having a keen eye.”

The others were going their separate ways, some already engaging with the merchants who made their living trading off of the junk-yard. Henning moved through the furrows between the scrap heaps, with Cleo trailing along at his side. He kept his pace slow and even, in anticipation of the girl being distracted by something.

“Anything jumping out at you?” He asked, then added as a quick afterthought. “Not literally.”

[Erik Quillian Sol]

Among the deck crew trailing along behind their boss was Erik, scanning over a list of objects Tink had declared his group was responsible for securing. The list comprised of fairly rudimentary items, easy pick ups at a normal market. Though as Erik cast a glance at the mounts of garbage and sorry excuses for booths in front of them, it seemed the task was going to be anything but easy.

The sun felt good though, even if it was a bit extreme, and despite its harshness it seemed that the natural light was at least moderately lifting the mood of Tink and the others. That was, until the blue thing showed up. Erik watched as one of his fellow members of the deck crew picked up a small rock and threw it at the creature, missing entirely and in the process managed to get the rock wedged in the hinge of the stabilizer fin.

While a sharp intake of air came from nearly every deck hand, naturally the guilty party attempted to mimic his peer's actions, which left Tink to round on the lot of them as each one attempted to convey their innocence by appearance alone.

[Muridaemus-musculus]

Spinning in response to the human's yelled command, the Squib plucked his rapier from the scabbard at his waist, dropping into a combat stance as he aimed the sharpened length of durasteel towards the behatted giant. His golden eyes narrowed into a scowl, and despite his diminutive stature - only a dash or so over two feet; short even by Squib standards - the threatening pose and the singing hum of his vibroblade cut (he hoped) a reasonably intimidating figure.

His lips parted to utter his opening words; he was upstaged however by the clunk of a poorly aimed stone throw striking the wing behind him. His gaze shifted ever so slightly, scanning the giant's cohorts for any indication of guilt. Finding none, he broadened his threat to encompass the entire collective. "I warn you," he issued, with narrowed eyes, his voice thick with a recieved prenunciation Coruscanti accent, "Though my stature may be diminutive, my skills with this blade are quite formidable. I suggest you maintain silence and stillness while I reprimand this -" He gestured towards Tink with his rapier. "- hapless brigand for his trespass, lest ye find yourself under threat of the same fate."

"Now -" He turned his attention back to Regan with a dramatic flourish of his off-hand, held high for balance. "Who are you, human, and what arrogance emboldens you to use such a tone against the great Muridaemus-musculus?"

[Chrys Atreides]

"But mumma! He's my fa...fav...favrit color!" Emma proclaimed, pointing at the adorably diminutive creature brandishing a piece...of durasteel. As if it were a sword of some sort.

It was all Chrys could do to not laugh, given the creature's indignation, Tink's frustration, and the rest of the techs trying to look innocent. She shook her head, sending platinum curls bouncing around her shoulders as Emma gave her her very best imploring, pleading, wide-eyed look.

"Alright...but be careful. He doesn't look very happy right now." she said carefully, keeping her eyes on the creature.

In a pale blue dress and matching leggings with ribbons in her hair, Emma wandered over and gently plucked the rock from the hinge near the creature. Her tiny little voice emerged far quieter than it had before. "M'sorry....wassint nice fer summin to trow a rock...mumma will yell at them afters." she nodded, smiling tentatively.

[Muridaemus-musculus]

The Squib watched the miniature human out of the corner of his eye, trying his utmost to keep his attention focussed mainly on the trespassing giant. However, when the infant addressed him directly, he found himself forced to respond in some way. Conflict flashed in his eyes, gaze fluttering between the child, the adult, and his rapier. He winced, sword arm falling, and with a flourish he disabled the vibrounit and carefully slid it back into his belt.

His eyes narrowed towards the adult for a moment, voice dropping low. "You are fortunate that manners and curtosy prevent me from exacting justice against you in the presence of an infant," he warned, before turning to face the young child.

Arm tumbling before him, he dropped into a low, theatrical bow. "You honour me with your kindness, young one," he said, his murine features twitching into an approximation of a smile. "My name is Muridaemus-musculus, swordsman and defender of Lethe. You have my gratitude; and my service."

He straightened slowly, turning to thrust an angry finger back towards the adult. "And you have yet to explain yourself."

[Regan Altink]

It was shaping up to be one of those days; yet another in a line of those days that had come to dominate his life of late. If it wasn't Rebel pilots hell-bent on undoing all of the repair, maintainance, and other work that he spent every waking our engaged in, it was Imperials ambushing their convoy and trying to blast him out of the sky or, apparently, irritating blue rodent creatures who had apparently learned to speak purely from watching the amateur theatrics channel on the holonet.

Weirdly, thanks to the timely intervention of young Emma Atrides, he had been spared from an apparent skewering with a vibrating needle, and for that he was at least briefly greatful.

"I'm Chief Regan Altink," he explained with a scowl, trying to tone down the scorn in his voice, but failing miserably. "We're here tae procure supplies an' spare parts for our convoy -" He waved a hand in the direction of Erik. "- we have a list a' the parts we require."

[Muridaemus-musculus]

Muridaemus' eyes narrowed again, not in threat this time but in contemplation. There were of course all manner of convoys that travelled around the stars, but very few would travel to this backwater place in search of supplies. The Imperials certainly would not: neither would they have landed on the planet without a heavily armed escort, nor without more obvious indications of their service in their clothing and uniforms. It was possible of course that these individuals were civilians, but the behatted giant had clearly identified himself as Chief -

His eyes widened momentarily with realisation. Could these, at long last, be the Rebels he had heard so much about? The fearless warriors brave enough to stand up against the unwavering might of the Galactic Empire? The liberators of Sullust and of Bothawui; the slayers of Palpatine, of Vader, and of countless other vile masters of the galaxy? The noble heroes who fought for the restoration of the Republic; for a return to peace, to freedom, and to the golden age that Muridaemus had read of and learned of for all these isolated years?

He regarded this Chief Regan Altink again, not through a lens of distain but through one of scrutiny this time. He had the air of the mechanic about him - respectible, true, but not the kind of warrior that the Squib aspired to meet, or be. Perhaps though, on his ship there would be such warriors. In order to meet them then, he must first earn the trust of these Rebels, and aid them in their search and acquisition.

At last! he thought, excitement brewing inside him. A quest!

One nagging doubt lingered in his mind however, and he leaned towards the innocent young girl who had demonstrated kindness, his voice dropping into a low whisper. "Can this man be trusted, my lady?"

[Emma Atreides]

"Mumma says Uncle Tink is good people...you can....trus....tru...." tiny little features twisting up with frustration she turned back to look at her mother. "Mumma? Wassa word?"

"Trust, sweetheart."

Nodding, she turned back and smiled. "You can trust Uncle Tink. Oh...and my name is Emma. That's my mumma, and that's Brianne. She's my wittle sister." Emma said, pointing back to the little girl clad in pink and clinging to their mother's leg.

[Muridaemus-musculus]

Muridaemus mulled her words over carefully, a sidelong glance scrutinising the so-called Uncle Tink. He cocked his head to the side slightly, mildly amused by the notion that Brianne, a scant few inches shorter than he, could be described as wittle. Still, such things were relative, he supposed; he must look like an infant to these towering brute humans.

He bowed his head in respect once again. "Very well, Lady Emma. I shall trust this -" Reluctance seeded hesitation into his words. "Tink."

He turned, hand grasping the ornate hilt of his rapier in an almost salute. He bowed, slightly, though the gesture didn't convey nearly the same respect as it had to the child. "Chief Regan Altink: I volunteer myself as your guide, and protector, through these harsh and unfamiliar climbs." He plucked the rapier free, drawing it with a flourish and extending it to the sky. "Onward!" he cried. "Onward, to -" He frowned. "To -"

Shoulders slumping, he turned to the technician with the datapad list that the behatted human had indicated earlier. His tone and scowl made it evident that the Squib held this man entirely responsible for breaking his dramatic stride. He sighed. "What parts do you require, o' keeper of the list?"

[Kala'ndryl Ryj]

"Show me something else. A plasma pump, maybe."

The dug shambled on his oversized arms and perched himself on something roughly the size and shape of an R2 unit with metal-plated hoses on either side. "This is best in junkyard you will find. Sell with winch, one hundred fifty. Use chain to tow back to ships, yes?"For once, Kala mused, she was ridiculously glad her father had insisted she at least learn some of the basics of mechanics. The plasma pump the dug perched on had seen better days, but it was, at least mostly intact. Wrinkling her nose she approached and shooed the dug off the top so she could inspect it more closely.

A bit rusty, but nothing deep that would affect the integrity of it. She did, however, pity whoever had to buff the rust off of it. Stepping back, she balanced her hands on her hips and tilted her head, a smile curling her lips.

"Best in junkyard is not bad...but its missing two negative couplings and three sections of twelve-gauge pipe. I'd say not a credit over forty-five."

[Akasha Khan]

"Forty-five - what, is this joke on your planet? I sell for eighty."

Akasha scoffed. "Oh, sure. Maybe for eighty... things... that are worth less than credits."

Her ears burned under the combined stares of her roommate and the dug merchant.

"Forty... six?" she said, hesitantly.

"Is serious?" the dug said, its face even longer than normal. "For that, I raising to eighty-one!"

Akasha looked promptingly to Kala.

[Kala'ndryl Ryj]

Kala spared a quick wink for her roommate before turning back to the dug. Her smile softened as she clasped her hands together in front of her, and took another appraising look at the plasma pump.

"Perhaps we could go up to fifty-two, with a few extra negative couplings tossed in to sweeten the deal?" she said brightly.

[Akasha Khan]

"Sixty. I like round numbers. For the pump and two couplings. You take before I change mind."

Something on one of the rickety shelves behind the dug had caught Akasha's eye. On impulse she pointed a claw toward it. "And that."

The dug turned, adjusted the lenses on his eyes, and pulled the thing from the shelf in his opposable toes. It was a metal pipe just over half a meter in length, heavily scored but without a hint of corrosion, with a curious-looking valve covering one end.

"You want this?" the merchant said, perplexed. "It just piece of junk."

Akasha gestured all around them. "You run a junk shop!"

The dug shrugged all its limbs. "Eh, what do I care. Sold, you pick up as soon as I verify credit."

It slapped the grimy shank of metal into Akasha's paw and lumbered off to settle with Anbira.

[Cleo Némain]

“Anything jumping out at you?” He asked, then added as a quick afterthought. “Not literally.”
"Nope!" The way she practically chirped the reply proved she wasn't exactly bothered by that fact.

Not that Cleo was exactly a mechanic, or even remotely knew what anything they had been told to look for even well, looked like. But she knew since she was following the Captain along that things would work out...eventually. Maybe.

[Anbira Hicchoru]

Anbira inspected the haul, echoing the dug's confusion at the choice of the sturdy hunk of durasteel with a rub of a few fingers down his beard.

He considered shaving the price even further with a Jedi mind trick, but his young accomplices had done a fair amount of bargaining already, and he knew they were already coming off near break-even for the shop owner. With a nod, he authorized the chit and passed it off to the dug, who after a few moments, gave a gruff nod.

"Well, that takes care of a few good items. Well done, the both of you."

They walked a ways off with their new-found parts, and Anbira plucked the hefty pipe from Akasha's paws. Now out of earshot, he was eager to hear about this one.

[Akasha Khan]

Akasha felt oddly self-conscious when the Knight took the length of pipe in his hands. Odd because it was exceedingly rare that she ever felt self-conscious about anything.

"Well, it's probably a longshot," she said haltingly, "but I was thinking it might work. It's balanced, and it looks like it's large enough inside for a power cell. Obviously I'd have to do something to fit an emitter to it, but I was thinking it's long enough... I maybe could put one on either end."

The Orryxian's tail lashed as she watched Anbira carefully, half-eager, half-afraid to hear his own opinion on the matter.

[Anbira Hicchoru]

Anbira gave it an appraising heft, holding it as he'd seen her hold her own weapon. It felt alien to him, but he knew out of familiarity with his own lightsaber that her instincts were in the right place.

"It took me two months to find the right dimensions of durasteel that I wanted for mine. Outer rim junkyards make for a relative oasis compared to Felucian war zones."

He returned the proto-saber to the Orryxian with an approving nod.

"Your insight serves you well. But I think this is the easy part for you."

With a grin, he moved on to another kiosk, ready to continue with the task at hand.

[Kala'ndryl Ryj]

Kala would have bounced with joy had she not been trying awfully hard to be good and proper for change. Good and proper, however, didn't last very long. With Akasha and Anbira occupied for the moment, she wandered off by herself, bright eyes glancing over each vendor's wares. She didn't find anything else from their list, but between two small stalls there wound a path.

A path, the young woman mused, that must surely lead to someplace interesting!

Kala... I don't think this is a good idea...

Think what's a good idea? I haven't done anything yet.

Well no, you haven't, but I know you.

Rolling her eyes, Kayla lifted a slender hand and discreetly motioned to Akasha. She debated for a moment, if she should attempt contacting her friend through the Force...but wasn't entirely sure how the Orryxian would view such a gesture. Instead, the young woman erred on the side of caution, and hoped Anbira wouldn't notice.

She looked back down the path, the now shadowed path...how...odd. There weren't any shadows a moment ago.

[Akasha Khan]

Akasha caught Kala's beckoning gesture in her peripheral vision and turned to see what the matter was. At first she didn't even notice the narrow alley - which meant that, should Anbira look that way, he might not notice it either without someone standing there to point it out. And what was more, there was shade from that thrice-damned sunslight that was cooking the whole planet!

The Orryxian stole another glance at Anbira, but he was safely engrossed in a large collection of small piston things with rubber tubes growing out of them. Akasha padded toward Kala, grabbed her by the hand, and, without a second look, pulled her into the narrow passageway between the stalls.

It was at least ten degrees cooler in the shade of the huge machine parts, and what was more, they were out from under the watchful eye of their chaperon. Akasha grinned broadly, having no difficulty adjusting to the lower light.

"Kala, you are a genius!" she said. "Come on, let's find out where this leads!"

Hooking the length of pipe into her belt as if it were a real lightsaber, Akasha stepped over a squirming two-meter junkworm and plowed deeper into the jungle of debris.



Continued in Be Careful What You Wish For (http://www.sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?t=21397)

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Solomon grimaced an apology. "Unfortunately, it's less a question of what we need than a question of what we can afford. The refugee business isn't very profitable these days. We've got to do the best we can until we can get new parts shipped in from other sources."

He scanned over the datapad as they walked. Though he'd been a flight-rated pilot back at the Jedi Temple, he'd never been altogether mechanically inclined when it came to maintenance - it was one of the reasons he'd traveled by eopie wagon on Dantooine instead of a speeder. He'd volunteered for this mission in part because he was just as stir-crazy aboard the Wheel as some of the kids. He was glad to have someone as accomplished as Cirr in stretching a repair budget, and he didn't take his advice lightly.

"Unless you've got an idea of something we can sell, we're just going to have to prioritize. I might be able to get Colonel Tyree to approve another few hundred credits for a shield generator."

He pointed toward a likely purveyor of freighter-sized components, a Trandoshan operating out of the ruined husk of a YV-1250 transport.

"And while we're down here, it's Solomon, or Rev. This may not be an Imperial world, but it's still mixed company."

"Hang on, hang on, hang on..."

Cirr put a big paw across Sol's chest as he looked across the way at a large parts yard, and pointed in it's direction.

"That's a Verrpjine rredundant generratorr housjing. Now, jI'm surre the rrouterrs arre blown jin jit, but those, we can fjix, and cheap. jIt'll almost get what you need, and jI can rre-wjirre jit forr betterr output anyway."

Pulling Sol along, Cirr made a beeline for the parts yard, and a Jawa quickly cut him off at the pass, chittering rapidly in Jawese the price and condition of the Verpine housing.

Needless to say, Cirr wasn't impressed.

"No way, not on yourr ljife. jI'd neverr pay that, even jif jit was new!"

He shook his head at the Jedi.

"Forrget jit. We'rre gettjing rrjipped off herre.

He moved to walk away, but the Jawa frantically chittered at the potential customers, hugging onto Sol's leg to prevent him from getting away.

[Rev Solomon]

Solomon dragged the little shopkeeper a meter before he realized he had a passenger, and he looked down into a pair of solicitous yellow eyes.

"I'm sorry, friend, but he's the one you're going to have to convince. Now, maybe if you could knock a hundred credits off that price--"

Another torrent of chattering, somewhat too fast for Solomon to follow. His Jawese was rusty in the best of circumstances, but now the shopkeeper was augmenting his speech with vigorous gesticulations. At first Solomon thought the Jawa was pointing to the sky above him. Then he touched the wide brim of his hat, and the Jawa clapped his hands and nodded fiercely.

Solomon set his face and took a deep breath. "You'll give us the price we want?"

The Jawa replied with nod that was almost a bow.

The preacher sighed deeply and turned to Cirr. "How important is this thing?" he asked at a rumbling whisper. The forward tilt in the Cizerack's ears was enough of an answer for him. His heart sank, but there was nothing else for it.

Solomon returned to the shopkeeper, removed the hat from his head, and settled it down gently over the Jawa's hood. "It's a deal."

"Utinni!" the Jawa cried in triumph, and he held his new hat fast on his head as he scurried about getting the generator packed up for transport.

Solomon felt the beating rays of the Lethean suns keenly on his scalp as he said sadly, "Well, we've all got our sacrifices to make."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirr, in an act of good faith on Sol's relinquishing of his hat, pulled the shades off his face to extend to the Jedi. His baby blues adjusted to the sun, irises contracting to the thinnest of slits as he wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Good on you, sjirr. That pjiece of beauty overr therre, wjith enough elbow grrease, wjill gjive you enough shjield powerr to keep Whaladon honest, and wjith a smarrt enough mechanjic, you rrjisk even less chance of a surrge blowout."

Cirr pulled his shirt off, tying it haphazardly over his head to keep the sun off the top. He crouched to his hands and knees as he approached to get a detailed look.

"Carrbon scorrjing jin herre, herre, and herre. Not bad, jI can get MARCUS on that, no prroblem."

He paused, doing a bit of math on the datapad.

"We'll need about...thjirrty meterrs of hjigh output condujit wjirrjing, but jyou can bjuy that for a crredjit a meterr overr by that Trrandoshan lot."

Now half-inside the big generator superstructure, he popped back up to look at his Jedi companion with a grin, pulling out a hand that held a live scurrier by the tail.

"And bonus pojints!"

The ornery rodent attempted to wriggle its way up to bite its captor's hand, but Cirr casually flipped it in the air, caught it by the neck, and gave the creature a flick of the wrist to snap it's neck.

[Rev Solomon]

Solomon laughed, then coughed overtop of it. "You're welcome to it. Which reminds me, we'll have to do a full bioscan on everything we bring up. Want to make sure we're not bringing any uninvited passengers."

Of course, he wasn't just talking about scurriers. Any time you had this many species converging on this much refuse, you had to worry about pathogens, parasites, even steel-eating microbes that could infect an entire starship and reduce your hull plating to the tensile strength of styrofoam.

He regarded the squirming rodent dubiously. He wasn't going to quibble with a Cizerack over his eating habits, but for the love of common sense, it had to be said. "Might want to think twice before eating anything you find here, for that matter."

[Erik Quillian Sol]

Shoulders slumping, he turned to the technician with the datapad list that the behatted human had indicated earlier. His tone and scowl made it evident that the Squib held this man entirely responsible for breaking his dramatic stride. He sighed. "What parts do you require, o' keeper of the list?"
Erik had been watching the entire procession of little girls and blue creature like it was some bad weekend morning holoshow that you watched because you couldn't get to sleep the night before and it was only entertaining because you were half delirious from lack of sleep.

So when the Squib rounded on him, well, he didn't quite know how to react.

At first he stuttered, there was a lot of "I... uhh... we need... umm... 'Keeper of the List?' ... err..."

Finally he shook his head slightly, thought about slapping himself but refrained, and focused his eyes on the datapad in his hand.

"Right..." Erik steadied himself to start naming off a few choice pieces. The smaller things would no doubt be easy to find, but the major ones were the things they may actually have needed help on. "Looks like we need to find a working deflector shield generator, Chempat Defender if possible. An electro-photo receptor, parts for a GBk-585 drive, bits and pieces of a 4j.4 thrust engine, and various pieces of Titanium alloy which I guess we'll just know if they're right when we see them."

The list seemed ugly to Erik, it spoke all too well of the beating the X-Wings had taken. True, they'd keep flying in the condition they were in now, but the question was for how long and if Tink had his way the mechanics would see to it that time-frame was forever.