9.015 - Ours is Not to Question Why

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Acting Captain.

He'd read the encrypted communique from Dac and looked at it like it was the aftermath of a bomb going off. He'd just gotten over the growing pains of being promoted once, and this second time was just cruelty. Fleet command had been briefed about the ongoing situation with Sanis. They had (secondary) orders to find him, but it was clear that command was moving on. The greater war effort couldn't wait for Sanis to be found. Despite every part of him wanting to rage and defy what was in front of him, he knew what was being demanded of him.

He hated it, but it wasn't his choice. No, he and Sanis had long ago made up their minds about that sort of thing, didn't they? Cast their lot.

Lok s'Ilancy was still onboard, but the role had changed. She was a liason, offering guidance and advice as he acclimated himself to command, but giving him just enough room to fly, or just enough rope to hang himself. Cirr winced, gulping away his own nagging thoughts of inadequacy. It would be too easy for him to say that he wasn't prepared for the task. He simply had to be ready.

Enough moping.

He stood from his desk, tugged down at the hemline of his jacket to straighten it as he looked in the mirror across the room. Captain of the Alliance. The extra pip on his chest weighed a ton, at least in his mind. Time to act like he knew how to carry the weight.

He headed for the bridge.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

"Captain on the bridge!"

The ensign called out loud enough to be heard on a bridge twice the size. Right into Cirr's sensitive ears. The felinoid took pains to not make a face at it, and kept heading for his seat. After all, what could he say? It wouldn't come out any better than him sounding like a grump. Before he could stew on this for long, the comms officer was looking up from what looked like a dispatch.

"Captain, we've got directives inbound from fleet command. We've lost three freighters in the past two weeks near Ryloth, and they suspect pirate activity."

Cirr had to suppress a scoff. Suspecting pirate activity near Ryloth was like suspecting disappearing cake near a fat girl. Sure he was cynical from his smuggling days, but even if you wore too much starch in your collar, how do you not know to fly those lanes double fast and extra paranoid even in the best days?

Still, this was something familiar for him, and probably an easy win. At least that's how he imagined somebody on Dac would be floating it. A greenhorn Captain on a light corvette? Sure, send him to the hairy ass of the Outer Rim and chase some flea-bitten Weequay corsairs to make sure he can shoot straight.

A bit of an exhale, and a bit of a shrug.

"Coorrdjinates forr Rryloth, then."

Was he supposed to make a speech here or something? He hoped not.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

s'Il stepped onto the bridge much the same way that she always did, though now it was not as ships' captain. No, that had been given over to Cirr while she herself assumed the role of adviser. Even though it was certainly not permanent, she welcomed the chance to help her Cizerack friend acclimate. It was a pleasant enough change of pace from her usual duties aboard the Dauntless, and despite the nature of the last communique she'd received from her temporary replacement - the poor man claimed Dan to be nothing less than an absent-minded tyrant unwilling to do his own paperwork - she was determined to stay until she was satisfied with Cirr's performance.

The doors closed behind her, and her eye swept those around her. Cirr towered over all, and as she came around to stand beside him, the Lupine clasped her hands at the small of her back.

She could smell his uncertainty. His body language conveyed that sort of nervous tension that could be read like a book, and from her peripheral vision she saw him lick his lips, as though he was unsure if he should say something more.

Leaning over slightly, she spoke in a bare-whisper, knowing that none but him would hear.

"No speech."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

There was always that pesky question in the back of Cirr's head whenever he hung around Lok s'Ilancy. Did she pick him apart because she was a Jedi and had that natural advantage, or because he telegraphed himself on his sleeve? He winced a little, hoping it was the former, despite how unnerving that prospect still was.

"Thanks."

The ship began to adjust its trajectory, and the hyperdrive started to spool. It felt different than it did back on Layla, but you could still hear and feel it coming. The helm called off coordinates to match, and the checkdown to light speed rolled off like clockwork.

After the jump, the bridge crew returned to a sense of normalcy. Ryloth would be a good hour's traverse through the ether. Enough time to suss out where they were going and what they were doing.

"Ljieutenant Malljin, forrwarrd the mjissjion brrjief to mjy offjice."

The comm officer gave an affirmative, and Cirr rose from his seat, headed to his ready room. He glanced back at s'Il to follow.

Hopefully she wouldn't pry at the thought simmering on his brain right now - that they had a much more important mission that they simply weren't allowed to give precedence. Truth is, he was beginning to envy that kind of natural lackadaisical style Sanis had when running things on Layla. For someone so shifty and contemptuous of order and authority, he had a talent for knowing exactly how to do what was needed when it came right down to it. If Sanis was sitting in his ready room and Cirr still had Captain's pips, what would he ask him?

That he didn't even have those questions on hand worried him. Everything Cirrsseeto did was deliberate and premeditated. He'd have to find his own style.

Sitting down across from s'Il, he brought up a holo with all data on their mission, expanding it for both of them to see.

"The frrejighterrs we lost look to have one thjing jin common jin thejirr manjifests: bacta."

Confusion spread on his face.

"That's a hot tjicket, no? Why no escorrt jif we'rre pulljing somethjing ljike that? Trryjing to sljip underr the rradarr?"

The Hutt kadjics were usual suspects here. They held clout in Ryloth and probably had the ability to sniff out a clandestine run. But anybody with a few guns and good instincts could be on that drop. The fact that the freighters were hit over a period of time and didn't deviate though?

"You had some dealjings wjith the Hutts back jin the earrly Rrebelljion, no?"

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

That question brought forth a flood of memories; good, bad, and some most definitely bizarre.

"There were... events that transpired back then, yes."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

His ears lifted, expecting to hear more than he got, and lowered again when he realized that probably wasn't coming. Probably a story he didn't want to hear.

"One shjip, jI can see us losjing ljike that. But thrree? All arround the same arrea?"

He was letting unanswered questions hang in the air between them.

"Feels ljike a joke jI'm mjissjing the punchljine to. Ljike we'rre savjing somebody's face forr bejing stupjid enough to send those shjips out."

He was never this openly cynical, and had to wonder if that was overcompensation for not hearing the same words that Sanis would probably say about all of this.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Leaning back in her seat, s'Il folded her hands in her lap, fingers lacing together as she thought on his words. It was a sensitive situation yes, and one that required a small amount of delicacy to explain.

What she knew, and what she was allowed to speak of were two different things.

"To say that we're saving someone from the ultimate repercussions of their percieved blunder is certainly one way to think of this."

She paused, then went on.

"But unfortunately incorrect.

"Those freighters had no escorts. For a reason."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

He had to remind himself that this woman shared a bed with and was privy to the mind of one of the most prominent figures in the Alliance military. That thought didn't always give him comfort. It was simpler when she was just their Jedi guardian angel.

He raised his eyebrows a bit.

"We wanted somebody to take those shjips. The Hutts?"

Now that he had that question, it led to others.

"To take ourr bacta, orr at least what we'rre sayjing was bacta?"

Clever.

"...somewherre we couldn't. Orr somewherre we'd need a lot of forrce to deljiverr?

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

The look she gave him was a knowing one. Cirr was smarter than he gave himself credit for in matters such as these, and she nodded.

"There are certain elements that can indeed place themselves in areas that the Alliance cannot yet tread. And until we can, those elements are necessary and useful."

The Lupine made an odd face.

"To a degree at least. We do what we must with the tools we are given."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

He inwardly wondered what the Hutts demanded in return for this charade. Probably something he didn't want to know. Shaking his head a little to dismiss his non sequitur thoughts, he clasped his hands together in front of him.

"So we'rre not even huntjing pjirrates. Just makjing a show."

Which was even more of an insult. The galactic politik was beyond his pay grade, but he'd give it the benefit of the doubt. It still stung though.

He flicked his ears a little, straightening in his seat.

"Well, jI'll do my parrt to look convjincjing."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"It isn't enjoyable, this charade, but at times we are required to look and act a certain way."

s'Il, in opposite reaction to Cirr, leaned back in her seat with an almost galaxy-weary sigh.

"Things were not always as such though. There was a time when this ship did not play host to masquerades of this sort."

She smiled as she looked to her charge.

"And it will again. This mission is not meant to insult, I promise you."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirr waved off the perceived slight.

"jI know therre's a warr on. That's why jI'm herre. Sanjis..."

He chewed on his words a moment.

"...wjill have to wajit."

As much as he was loathe to admit it, barging into a Black Sun stronghold with an Alliance frigate with all tubes blazing wasn't going to solve this mess. A few words, somebody willing to point in the right direction, and a shuttle with a handful of gunslingers, maybe. Pie in the sky stuff for now.

Tucking that aside, the Captain flipped up a holo of Ryloth and it's surrounding star system.

"Forrtunately, we pjicked a good system forr thjis ljie to worrk. Rryloth gets herr fajirr sharre of pjirrates, and they've even been actjive rrecently frrom what ourr scouts say. How ourr bacta made jit thrrough wjithout bejing jinterrcepted jis jinterrestjing."

He shrugged.

"No doubt therre's a Hutt to answer that questjion too."

A few keystrokes, and he drew up a few patrol outlines.

"jI can cerrtajinly fly the colorrs. Put ourr squadrron on a wjide pjicket, and make surre we'rre seen."

He chuckled a little.

"Maybe we'll rrun jinto an actual enemy. jI don't suppose you'rre agajinst advanced negotjiatjions jif we have to boarrd some rrusty old skjiff?"

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

There was a knowing smile, and the Lupine spread her hands a little bit as she dipped her head.

"I am here to serve."

The moment passed, and she once more settled her arms upon the rests.

"How you handle this is ultimately up to you. I am here to guide and advise. Whether you take what I offer is another story."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirr didn't respond with anything beyond a nod. This was, if anything, a guided trial for him. He was already a newly-minted Commander before all this, and now? He wasn't too proud to admit he might lean on that advice.

"Djismjissed."

Even that statement took some getting used to. The authority to command and lead, even to some extent a Jedi. This was his ship.



* * *




Novgorod splashed onto realspace beyond the mass shadows of Ryloth and her sister worlds and moons. Her predatory contours caught glints of faraway starlight as she banked along a parabola, easing into a patrol course at full sublight. A scant minute later, her ventral hull plating split open, disgorging a mixed squadron of A-Wings and X-Wings, which soon cast a wide net around their mother ship, spreading to cover a considerable swath of space.

On the bridge, Captain Raurrssatta waited for telemetry to flood in. While his frigate's sensors were good, it was sound doctrine to always pair that with other sources for added range and the clarity that multiple source triangulation offered. A numbers wonk, he insisted on the information being fed graphically onto the viewer and to his near-side holoprojector, giving him a busy multimedia representation of his battlespace.

All quiet.

He looked to s'Ilancy with a passive glance, as if to acknowledge the obvious.

"Any sjign of comm chatterr?"

The comms officer, Ruria, shook her head.

"Nothing deep system. Nearest signatures are planetary nav buoys on Ryloth approach."

In other words, no nibbles. Even if fictional pirates became real ones, none were stupid enough to spring an attack that close to a populated planet with witnesses, at least unless they were supremely confident in getting away with it. That being said, Cirr's mission was to be thorough.

"Fjilterr thrrough the garrbage, see jif anythjing falls out."

That ought to be a nice bit of boring work to keep his comms officer busy.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Sitting quietly, s'Il put off a deceptively casual air as she watched the minimal activity around her. She listened as Cirr gave out his orders, blinking as she leaned back ever-so-slightly in her seat.

For now, all was quiet, but it was always that sort of quiet that was the most disconcerting. The possibilities of what might happen was prevalent upon the minds of everyone, and because of that the tension on the bridge was a noticeable thing.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

This was boring as hell. Cirr tried to look anything other than bored. Also he was hungry, and while he wasn't the most button-down officer in the Navy, he was pretty sure that eating at your post was unbecoming of a command. Instead, he aligned last-known flight trajectories of the three freighters along their search vector, and pored over the data. A hopeless nerd when it came to logistics, getting into the weeds was cathartic.

"Captain..."

Ensign Saine suddenly straightened in her seat, then leaned over her terminal. Something had obviously caught her eye. Relieved at the thought of something noteworthy, Cirr swiveled his chair slightly in the ensign's direction.

"...I'm picking up a mass signature. Fairly small, and in motion. It's well off any used traffic vector in the system."

That in itself didn't mean anything. It wasn't a crime to go off vector, it just wasn't the norm. Still, they were here to investigate, weren't they? Would be remiss of him to leap at an opportunity.

"Put Gold 3 and Gold 7 on an jinterrcept. Marrk jit on the grrjid."

A yellow circle appeared, tucked within a handful of moons around the major gas giant in the system. It was in motion, but not in a hurry to get anywhere. Cirr glanced at s'Ilancy, and spoke low.

"Prrobably just joyrrjiderrs."

[Ledo G. Prent]

Ledo wiped a trickle of whisky off his chin with the back of his hand as he leaned closer to his viewscreen.

"Hah, y'look a' this?"

A motley gang of Weequay, Gand, and Human pirates grumbled on the bridge of the Weequay pirate ship Prent called home.

"Now you fuckin' tell me there ain't no money in this system, eh? Them Rebels a' least got the message to send an armed ship this time."

Unlike the corsairs skulking between ice moons, there wasn't anything at all subtle about Novgorod entering the system. They stuck to the wide open lanes, and spread a net of fighters.

"Ledo, that's the point, mate. They's armed. Ain't an easy take. Let it ride!"

The Weequay, Grelk, sniffed a bit as he scowled, leaning against a hand rail as he watched the frigate pass.

Ledo Prent, the Rancor of Malastare (it was a pending nickname, he was still in the process of kicking enough asses and saying it enough to make it stick) glowered at Grelk, swirling the contents of his whisky bottle. He was right, of course. You didn't get rich, famous, and laid by matching strength against strength and risking your ass when it didn't need to be risked. You took the easy with the big payout.

"If only we'd been on them others when they'd shown, boyos. Neck deep in bacta, you fucks. Neck fuckin' deep."

He spat. So much for passed opportunities.

"Go on, 'en. Piss off. This party's over, ain't it? To greener pastures, boyos. Less find some easier pussy, eh?"

A string of Weequay curse words caused Ledo to look sideways. Another pirate, manning a sensor terminal, quickly slapped his readings onto the main viewer.

"Fighters inbound, Cap'n. You was sayin?"

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

This was not a ship that she knew. She had been briefed extensively on those who'd been chosen to take the bacta, and while s'Il was not about to reveal entirely the classified nature of those meetings, she knew that this new little wrinkle had the potential to cause problems.

Her brow furrowed in thought, as the readout spat information.

This ship was not one of their hired handlers, and the Lupine did not particularly find herself at ease with the notion that one who was not in the Alliance's employ was now plying the lanes in this region. Of course, it stood to reason that news of easy bacta grabs would spread, and while unfortunate, it provided a fair amount of more realism to this whole game.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

"Captain..."

"jI see jit, jI see jit. Helm, let's go!"

The quickened tone from Saine timed just right with a change of vector and acceleration from the blip on the screen. In a moment, they too were adjusting to intercept. The net of fighters drew in tight, flanking Novgorod as they headed for the gas giant.

"Can we get a rread on the shjip?"

Saine shook her head.

"Whoever they are, they're jamming sensors. Somebody's gonna have to catch a visual."

Cirr looked to s'Ilancy, shaking his head.

"That doesn't sound ljike joyrrjiderrs to me. Guess we get to have fun afterr all, eh?"

[Kidd Smix]

A couple of A-Wings broke formation, peeling off in the direction of twin moons huddled over Ryloth, and in a matter of seconds the pale blaze of sublights diffused into the shimmering starscape. In a stuffy cockpit, Kidd Smix, the newly-minted member of Gold Squadron, plucked anxiously at his collar and took a deep breath. It was his first mission in months, and so much had changed since the incident at Strombard IV, not least of all the insignia on his arm. Gone were his fishbowl visor and Imperial blacks, replaced by a sweat-slick flightsuit and second-hand helmet that made his ears itch. Motley was a word used by snooty officers to smear the reputation of rebels, but himself a product of humble roots, Ensign Smix embraced the familial comfort of his hand-me-downs. It remained to be seen, however, whether or not he was capable of filling the boots of the men who had gone before him.

Suddenly, over the ambiance of humming engines sounded a series of sensor blips, lights started to flash in frantic rhythm with the computer, casting the cockpit in a stark amber haze. Into his ear wormed the hoarse voice of his wingman, prompting confirmation of the readings, Kidd obliged, and the fighters altered course away from the scorched copper glow of Ryloth, swinging into the shadow between its conspiring moons. His pulse quickened and he sucked a long tremulous breath of stale air from his cockpit, into which he had been packed and sealed like fresh meat, and now it was as if the hull itself constricted to draw the very life from him.

"Tribb Obo. Corellian fullback. Twenty-eight years old. Played... six seasons with the Dreadnaughts. Scored twice in his last game against... the Rancors. Jalabba Rix. Twi'lekki forward. Thirty... two. Fourteen seasons with the Dreadnaughts. Scored a hat-trick against the Durasteelers. Marvolo Jo. Corellian defender. Nineteen..."

By the time he'd successfully listed half of the Corellian Dreadnaughts team and their accomplishments, Kidd was calm and the alarming tremor in his hands had subsided. Once again, he feathered the yoke and drifted into neat alignment with his counterpart, and not a moment too soon. Out of the gloom winked a thin sliver of light, it was a smooth disc blazing gold as it caught the sun, and it swelled ever rapidly in the transparisteel viewport. Kidd activated the comm:

"Novgorod, this is Gold Three. I have a visual on the unidentified vessel. It's- it's a uh- it's a flying saucer. Like nothin' I ain't ever seen before... Over."

[Ledo G. Prent]

"Piss an' shyte, them's A-Wings."

Ledo stood from his chair, finishing the dregs of his bottle, which he threw against the wall in a violent display of displeasure at their circumstances.

"We ain't got time t' scramble. Man the guns. Keep 'em dancin' while we plot a shot th' hell outta 'ere."

The Corona class cruiser, Filthy Minx hugged the contours of the nearest moon, attempting to use whatever space they had to put it between the pirates and the fighters. That distance was closing, however, and the four point defense laser cannons began to swivel aft, ready to put down a few lanes of covering fire.

[Kidd Smix]

The cruiser's sudden retreat surprised Kidd, who found it nothing if not suspicious. And as he and Gold Seven trailed the shrinking saucer, he was reminded of an old docuholo he saw featuring a couple of kaadu wandering cluelessly into the lair of a hungry nexu and its vast snapping jaws.

"Easy, Spiceman," he muttered into the comm, "My pa used to say you should never corner a womprat."

"Iceman," a voice hissed in his ear, "My name is Iceman. How many times, blast it? You make me sound like a frackin' dealer. Why don't you corner a womprat?"

"Well, I heard they get all antsy and make a mad dash up your pants. But don' worry, I don' think that's entirely possible in our present situation."

Although both pilots had diplomatically steadied their approach, they failed to dissuade the cruiser from firing up its weapons, and the cockpit suddenly glared a crimson warning. In the last desperate violence-free seconds that followed, Kidd blurted into the comm, transmitting on an open channel:

"Unidentified vessel, please... identify... yourself," he tapered off, lamely.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

The nice thing about not only being in the position that her rank allowed but the very nature of who she was, s'Il had a bit more of a grasp on the unknown than those around her. She watched with interest at the dance that was playing out before them, her thoughts stretching outward.

Normally she would have simply taken over the comm channel with her own orders, but this was now - for all intents and purposes - Cirr's ship. And while she knew that she had the ability to override his commands, the Commodore was loathe to pull the rug out from beneath the Cizerack's feet so soon. Instead, she merely watched with intense curiosity, her eye never leaving its' forward direction.

She frowned, her mind stumbling over the bizarrely familiar, and moving from her position to lean back in her seat, she lifted a hand to rest two fingers over her lips.

This was interesting indeed.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

"Gold Seven to Novgorod, taking fire from unidentified frigate. We are evading."

This was most certainly beyond chasing phantoms now. Cirr kept his eyes fixed on the battlespace map. Telemetry began flooding in on their target, which the databanks IDed as a Corona-class Frigate, an old heirloom Haor-Chall mulitasker that the Weequays in particular had used for over a generation on the rim. He had faith in his fighters, the ships themselves blindingly nimble and fast, and his pilots half crazy stuntmen. Still, he worried. Lives were on the line.

"Gold Thrree, Gold Seven, flank and overrtake. Flush them arround that moon. We'll set up a fjirre line."

He looked at his helmsman, who didn't even need the vector order, and was already intuitively interpreting his command to form the anvil for the fighter's hammer. It would be a long minute to see if the gambit worked.

Out of the corner of his eye, the Captain noticed s'Il's demeanor change.

"Trrouble?"

[Kidd Smix]

"Copy that," Kidd droned into the comm, then with a dubious sideways glance, whispered, "Okay, Bette, be kind."

The flight pedals gasped underfoot, engines boiled, and the A-Wing surged forward alongside its brother. Shortly, the freighter loomed vast in their field of view. It opened fire, spitting crimson death into the void, forcing the starfighters to weave and tumble away from their wicked glare. In an instant, Gold Three and Seven were regrouped, and climbed dangerously close to the saucer ship, swooping overhead while its cannons barked like angry dogs, lasers criss-crossing in futility.

"Lame mules don't kick," said Kidd, mysteriously, over the comm.

"Huh?"

"Lame mules-"

"Look, if this is another one of your codes-"

"Just blast the stinkin' cannons, Iceman."

By the time the chatter subsided, both A-Wings had rounded on the larger ship for another pass, and this time bared their teeth. A brief explosive volley of laser fire lanced the freighter, striking a mounted cannon. In unison, the starfighters dipped gracefully out of sight and swept under the belly of the ship to line up a second strategic blow.

[Mdharra Ceergorra]

"Thejy've opened fjire, captajin."

Huntress Captain Mdharra Ceergorra sipped gingerly at her Krii'aachee tea and wrinkled her nose. It was a few degrees too hot, but not hot enough to disguise the weak flavor that came from mixing the tea with brined fish oil instead of oil pressed from the liver of a freshly slaughtered aachee bass. Krii'aachee should be an assault on the senses, possessing an acid pungency that stung the mouth and forcibly opened every sinus.

Curling her lip, Mdharra returned the cup to its saucer on the tray beside her seat on the command dais. "Opjinjion, Commander?"

Lieutenant Commander Neyashte Ajakeeri, Mdharra's second aboard the battle galleon Santaurra, sat like a statue of polished bronze beside her captain, moving only her cerulean eyes as she scanned the tactical viewer between them. "Dogs fjightjing over the same bones, ma'am," she said. "We majy capture two prjizes todajy."

"A Marauder-class corvette," Mdharra observed, "fjieldjing RZ-1s and T-65s. Advanced loadout for a rustjy museum pjiece ljike that."

It might have been a privateer under the flag of Ryloth, or perhaps an enforcer for the Hutts intending to collect on an overdue debt. Whatever the Marauder's intentions, it was moving in on another hunter's prey. Mdharra rose from her seat and turned her eyes to the forward viewer, where tiny flashes of blaster fire lit up the dark side of a misshapen moon.

"We have wajited long enough," Mdharra said. "Helm, plot for paraboljic jintercept. Weapons, jI want targetjing solutjions as soon as we breach the magnetosphere. Comm., prepare to announce our presence."

The rumble of the battle galleon's powerful sublights filled the bridge as the Santaurra prowled forward out of the dead zone he had occupied in the gas giant's magnetic field. Until now the galleon had been invisible to the other ships in the star system, but before either the Marauder or the Corona could register the massive warship bearing down on them on a descending arc like an avenger from heaven, Santaurra's comm tower opened up with a debilitating howl of noise on every frequency. It was a predatory roar that served two purposes: first, of disrupting the local communications of any ship that could pose a threat to the galleon, and, second, of announcing the arrival of the Pride Mother's long arm of justice to all pirate scum who violated the sovereignty of Cizeri commerce.

The echoes had barely faded when Mdharra spoke, in basic, on an open channel to all ships: "Thjiss jis Huntrrrresss Captajin Mdharra Ceergorra of the Battle Galleon Santaurra. The pjirrrate frrjigate Filthy Minx isss the lawful prrrrey of the Cizerack Hunterrr Forrcesss. Do not jinterferrre jif jyou value jyour ljivess."

[Ledo G. Prent]

If ever there was something to dump icewater in your veins...

Ledo Prent wasn't exactly the sort of man to smile in the face of death. Lie, cheat, and steal from death, and shiv him in the back as you tip-toe away from a confrontation. That was his style. There was absolutely nothing about engaging the Cizerack that was his style. You. Get. The. Hell. Away.

"Th' fuck we ever do to you?!" He shouted impotently at the screen, a channel not even open to the potential harbinger of every person's death on the Corona frigate.

He slapped the back of the Weequay's head who was running helm, and screamed, spittle wetting his dome.

"Definition of all-holy-fucking haste, lad! Or do you want to see the end of days as a pair of boots?"

The only thing they'd ever hope to rely on was their speed, their fickle luck, and a dirty trick if he still had one in his pocket.

Was he afraid? About as afraid of the day the tap ran dry, the pussy walked out, and his balance read zero. So yeah, pretty fucking tiffed.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

"Si'aarrreita..."

The tip of a murderous Cizeri curse dangled on the edge of Cirrsseeto's tongue, and the Captain only just managed to rein it in for the sake of his command. His arm-rests, however, were not so lucky, mauled by two handfuls of claws in full-dig mode.

The galleon captain was clever too, using the gas giant like a patch of high grass to shorten their approach. While both Novgorod and likely the Corona frigate could dance circles around a Korri galleon, the Cizerack warship could outgun them multiple times over, and take a titanic amount of damage. There would be little to nothing gained by a fight there.

That being said, Cirrsseeto was angry. This was his mission, and that pirate ship was his prize. Even if this was a mission about nothing, it was now about something. If all he could do at the moment was be heard, he was going to do exactly that.

"Channel to Saantaurra, now!"

The comms officer nodded when the line was live, and the tension on the bridge ratcheted up.

"Galleon Saantaurra, thjis jis the Alljiance frrjigate Novgorrod. We arre on an jinterrdjictjion mjissjion agajinst a known supply rrajiderr. Stand down at once!"

He wasn't going to be bullied, even if it was a Cizerack female with a much bigger ship.

[Kidd Smix]

The sudden obnoxious wail of comm noise made Kidd squirm in his seat and left him disoriented long enough to get clipped by one of the frigate's hungry cannons. The ship rocked, jostling him out of his deafened stupor, he took a glance at the diagnostics readout and was relieved to discover it had only been a glancing shot, most of which had been mercifully absorbed by the shields. He took a bracing breath and kicked the pedals for a burst of speed.

It seemed the trap had been sprung prematurely with the boisterous arrival of the Cizerack galleon, and while Captain Raurrssatta fenced words with their uninvited guests, the pirate frigate, now identified as the Filthy Minx, dramatically altered course. Both A-Wings were swept aside in its wake, dashing any hopes they would be able to lure the pirates into the waiting jaws of the Novgorod, instead all that was left for them to do was buzz about the fleeing vessel while awaiting orders.

"Gold Three to Novgorod. The frigate has altered course and is now in full retreat. Figure those Cizeracks have 'em spooked."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

It took a fair amount of mental wrangling, but s'Il was able to keep herself from simply standing to her feet and taking charge of this situation. She remained seated - almost casually even - as Cirr displayed the steel in his spine. It was heartening to see her friend stand his ground to another of his own kind; and a female at that.

For now she would allow Captain Raurrssatta the room he needed while she remained focused within the Force.

That feeling of familiarity nagged at her, and the Lupine stretched out with her thoughts to pinpoint exactly what it was.

[Mdharra Ceergorra]

"Pjirate vessel jis fleejing, captajin. Headjing two-one-seven mark fjifteen."

Straight for the ring matter gathered on the gas giant's ecliptic - clearly the pirate captain thought he could mire the battle galleon in the orbital muck and then escape before Santaurra could close into firing range for his Gorroka particle cannons. Little did he know that the Gorroka hardpoints on Santaurra's centerspine were dummy units, concealing something far more lethal below.

"Arm Saanja tube one," Mdharra growled. "Envelopjing matrjix. Twentjy-fjive percent power. Hold tube two at fjiftjy percent, standard matrjix."

"Aye, ma'am, tube one twentjy-fjive envelopjing, tube two fjiftjy standard."

Such was the language of the Saanja torpedo. When Mdharra had taken command, the terminology and logic of the weapon had been alien and mysterious, an unwelcome spanner in well-oiled workings of a ship of the line and a heresy against the established combat doctrine of the Pride Navy. But since then it had become second nature to her to think in terms of long-range ballistic duels, charging cycles, and precision strikes instead of the low-speed raking actions galleon captains were accustomed to.

The forrda pirate thought he was still out of range. He was wrong.

"Open a channel to Novgorod," Mdharra ordered. "Alljiance frrrjigate. jYou do not gjive orders to a shjip of the Prrrrjide Navjy. jI suggest jyou sssstay out of mjy way."

"Target locked, captajin!" the weapons officer reported.

Mdharra curled her lip at the saucer-shaped skiff on her tactical viewer. "Fjire torpedo one."

Even at twenty-five percent power, the firing of a Saanja torpedo was a cataclysmic event. The lights dimmed momentarily from the power drain, and then the bridge filled with the bubbling sound like molten lava cooling in an ocean as a miniature green sun burst from Santaurra's centerspine and hurtled through space toward the Filthy Minx at terrifying speed.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Saine blanched behind her sensor suite readout.

"Captain, I'm reading some massive energy spikes from that galleon. Hypermatter antiproton readings...five times beyond a hyperspeed spool. That's..."

She shook her head.

Cirrsseeto bounded from his chair, meeting his recon officer at his station to pore over the data.

"That's not a heavy parrtjicle spjike ljike a Gorroka charrge..."

He hadn't the foggiest what he was looking at, but this shouldn't be normal at all.

"Helm, back us off qujickly! All fjighterrs, rrally pojint thrree zeta!"

The galleon's reactor looked like it was on a runaway feedback to critical. If that was true...

Novgorod immediately cut its vector, peeling away to gain distance. There was no room to rattle the saber anymore.

"Captain!"

A blinding orb of light screamed from the galleon's port-side particle cannon superstructure. Cirr spun around to catch the sight on his viewscreen.

"What the..."

[Ledo G. Prent]

"Cap'n! Massive energy build on that galleon!"

Ledo spun around. What was going on? They were clearly outside of particle cannon range. He slipped into his chair, bringing up sensor readouts.

"Wha' is da'? Ain't the main weapon, its somethin' else."

Almost drowned out by the alarming power readings from the galleon was another reading. A weapon's tracking lock, pinging for IFF frequencies. More specifically, theirs.

Nearly tripping over a Klaatoinian deckhand, Ledo tackled the gunny out of his seat, accessing direct control to the launch tubes. He was looking for...

"Gunny deck, dis' is th' Cap'n. Load the rabbit toot suite boys!"

They'd only have one shot at this. Whatever hell was about to be unleashed, it was a seeking weapon, trained on them.

"Rabbit loaded, Cap'n!"

"Fire! Fire! Fire!"

What appeared to be a probe launched with a comet tail of thruster exhaust, speeding aft in a hurry. The weapon broadcast the same IFF frequency of the Filthy Minx.

[Kidd Smix]

From above the Filthy Minx, Kidd had a clear view of all the major powers at play and had the distinct impression that he had suddenly become the small fry in the shark tank. No sooner had the order to retreat been barked over the comm than a bright green orb was belched from the hulking galleon, his cockpit flashed with all the psychedelic flare of a Zeltron cantina, and sensors bleeted deliriously. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a probe launch from the pirate vessel and it sped off on a lonely intercept course for the alien weapon.

"Oh, I have a bad feeling about this..."

Pulling back on the flight stick, he wrestled his ship belly-up and watched the frigate fall away beneath him. Suddenly, a burst of emerald set his hull ablaze like sunlight and a heart-stopping moment later Kidd lurched forward, snatched upon the crest of violent energy wave and sent spiralling into oblivion.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Now she did stand, coming to her feet with a suddenness that was born from carefully controlled surprise. What sort of weapon was this?! her shoulders hitched back as she watched the sight unfolding before them all on the viewscreen.

Every head on the bridge was turned to watch, and the Lupine's brow knit in concentration. With her thoughts torn from the pirate vessel, they now focused on the battle galleon with grim determination.

With a quick look to Mallin, she noted the man's return glimpse, and her hand lifted in a hurried gesture. The comm officer nodded, opening another channel to Santaurra.

"This is Jedi Master Loklorien s'Ilancy," the solid currents of calm iron laced her voice heavily.

"You are requested to stand down your attack at once."

[Mdharra Ceergorra]

Mdharra flicked one ear in irritation. Even if there was a Jedji aboard that ship, her authority had died with the Galactic Republic. Mdharra had no intention of kowtowing to a deluded mystic. "Close that channel, Ensjign Harrushi."

The young woman on sensors frowned at a sensor reading that shouldn't be possible. "Ma'am, the pjirate has reversed course," she said. "Headjing thjirtjy-seven mark seventjy-fjive, acceleratjing at two thousand gravjitjies--"

Mdharra seized the tactical viewer at her left hand and lifted the screen toward her face. The pirate's signal was rapidly backtracking, but there was another, fainter signal continuing along his original course. "A decoy!" she spat. "Weapons, reacqujire orjigjinal target!"

"The torpedo jis not respondjing, ma'am!"

Crackling with hypermatter potential, the Saanja torpedo made an abrupt turn to chase after the Minx's decoy probe, which in turn had decided to lock onto the nearest sustained signal: the Novgorod.

"Detonate! Now!" Mdharra snapped.

It was going to be close.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

The green sphere blossomed into the microcosm of a nova, hurting Cirr's eyes in the half second it took for the viewscreen to auto-correct for brightness. With the explosion at that distance, they only had a second or two to...

"Brrace brrace brr..."

Cirr was bowled over a railing as his ship rocked violently under the shockwaves of the Saanja weapon. Consoles sparked and belched smoke as the ship broke out into a shrieking of klaxons. Novgorod took an indirect hit, but that was more than enough to rip her shields apart and wreak havoc over more than a few systems. Her sudden retreat was reduced to a limp on emergency thrust, as her reactor temporarily locked down for a second or two to ensure that the damage sustained wasn't causing a cascading overload. Main power groaned back a second or two afterward, and everyone on deck slowly started picking themselves up.

[Ledo G. Prent]

Oh, his luck held!

"Tha' got 'er!"

Not only had they turned back the Cizerack terror weapon, but it had also put a wrench in the works of the Alliance ship too. Ledo's pock-marked face creased with a wide grin, and he slugged the arm of the nearby gunny in approval.

"All speed for the rings, lads! Get us a jump to whereva, soon as we can."

Maybe the Cizerack and Alliance ships would start fighting each other. That would be a bonus.

[Kidd Smix]

"Gold Seven, do you copy?" Kidd spoke into the comm, "Iceman?"

"You sound worried, farm boy," croaked his wingman.

"That was some kinda crazy thing. Thought for sure I was a goner that time."

While they talked, Kidd went through the usual process of checking each of his ship's key systems, only to discover no substantial damage had been sustained. That was just the shockwave, he considered darkly. A weapon like that was a real game-changer. It was imperative they didn't linger, and just as Kidd was about to regroup with Iceman, the Filthy Minx sailed overhead.

"Novgorod, this is Gold Three. The frigate is making another break for it. Orders?"

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Coughing up lungfuls of smoke, Cirr stumbled to Mallin's station, nodding to patch the line live to his advance scouts.

"You made jit thrrough that? Good flyjing, Thrree."

He glanced back to the viewscreen, filled with the Cizerack galleon. Unfortunately, their hands were a bit tied at the moment.

"Purrsue but do not engage. Move to band two-fourr Tau, and keep rrespectful djistance."

He looked back to s'Il, hoping she had some ideas up her sleeve with the current bind they were in.

"You'rre gonna be on yourr own forr a ljittle bjit. Do what you can. Novgorrod out."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

It had taken a considerable amount of balance to manage not being thrown about, and as it was the Lupine had dropped to a crouch, as low as possible as old reflexes kicked in. She'd had enough practice back in the old days of trying to stay as upright as possible during those particular mission when Novgorod was rattled like an empty tin can. Which had happened far too often for her tastes.

With herself well enough shaken about, she took to helping up the other bridge personnel who'd not been so lucky to keep their feet - or their seats - beneath them.

"Irresponsible," she muttered darkly; mostly to herself.

Her eye met Cirr's glance, and she let him finish speaking to his pilots before addressing this new situation they were in.

"I do no think even the Pride can afford to risk the consequences of this... incident."

Of course it did not need to be said that neither could the Alliance, but s'Il knew that Cirr was more than aware of that, and as she knelt to help another of the crew, she went on.

"Hail them again."

[Mdharra Ceergorra]

Kosa.

"Helm, majintajin pursujit course on the Mjinx. Weapons, djisable torpedo trackjing. jI want ljine of sjight targetjing onljy."

A drastic precaution, but a necessary one, if the Pride's state-of-the-art weaponry could be fooled by something so rudimentary as a decoy beacon! Mdharra burned underneath her uniform jacket, both because of the weapon's failure and because she had not foreseen it. She was no fool. As long as she commanded Santaurra, Saanja's success or failure was her own. If she did not salvage some victory out of this mission, she could be facing a court-martial before the very admiralty that had opposed her command candidacy in the first place.

"What jis the status of the Alljiance frjigate?"

"Deflectors have been depleted, central power fluctuatjing, but stable, Captajin," the young sensory officer replied.

They were still minutes away from intercepting the Filthy Minx, by which time he would be among the ring debris. She could fire tube two, but there was the rub - she'd meant the second torpedo for the Novgorod should he turn hostile. Fire it at the much lighter Weequay vessel, and there would not be enough solid matter left to fill a midshipwoman's locker.

She had a plan, but she could not act on it now. Which meant she had no excuse for postponing the consequences of her failure.

"Open a channel to Novgorod," she said.

"Captajin," Ensign Harrushi said, "thejy're hajiljing us."

No doubt, Mdharra thought darkly. She flipped the comm. switch at her right hand. "Thjis jis Santaurra. Do jyou rrrrequjirre assjistansssse, Novgorod?"

[Ledo G. Prent]

No return fire was given...yet. Ledo collapsed in his seat, breathing the biggest sigh of relief he'd had in at least a year.

"Good on ya', then, lads. Good on ya'."

With all eyes fixed on Santaurra, and the particularly vigilant possibly also eyeing Novgorod, the fighters they'd been evading only minutes before were all but forgotten. Indeed, as they used their superior sublight engines to put valuable distance between themselves and the enemy capital ships, the mood seemed to palpably lighten aboard the Corona frigate.

"Bring us deep in th' rings, helm. We move quiet like, an' when we get the chance, we jump."

[Kidd Smix]

"Okay Iceman, I say we go in cold, which means we throttle up then cut power to everything except life support and comms. We tail the frigate, drifting, almost invisible to sensors, but we got to nail our approach vector, okay?"

"You know, farm boy, that's one crazy ass idea," replied Gold Seven.

"Just a trick I picked up at the academy," he winced inwardly, "I mean-"

"Trust a frackin' Imp to think of something that slippery. Okay, I'm ready, this better work."

"It will. I had a heck of a flight instructor."

Both starfighters fired up their sublights and after a few seconds burning at half capacity, the power was cut, allowing the A-Wings to drift lifelessly some distance behind the pirate ship.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Answering Santaurra's hail was now Lok's charge. Again, Cirr was playing support. Inwardly, he was relieved she was rising to that situation. He could only imagine how badly it would go for a Cizerack Huntress Captain to wrap her mind around a male Cizerack Captain. Her being a female authority figure probably helped them more than her being a Jedi.

In the meantime, Cirr helped his crew manage their stations. Tactical took a beating, and a medical situation with lacerations. Cirr worked with another crewer to make sure his gunny was patched up. He sent his man along his way to the infirmary, but the gunny was made of tough stuff, and requested to man his post again. In the face of that determination, Cirr nodded.

Returning to his seat, he waited for Lok and the Huntress Captain to begin their high stakes conversation. So as to not be completely useless, he pulled up telemetry from his scouts. So far, so good.

"Gold Thrree? Status?"

[Kidd Smix]

"Presently, sir, we're hot on the tail of the pirate vessel. Power has been cut from all non-essential systems so we're effectively drifting like a couple o' hunks o' space junk, maintaing, as per your orders, sir, a respectful distance and maximum stealth."

"Hey, farm boy," Iceman interrupted, "Just because we're being sneaky does not mean you have to whisper over the blasted comm. It's a secure channel, man!"

"Copy that, Gold Seven," said Kidd, clearly this time, and doing his utmost to sound unperturbed.

The first time he met the captain, he had been a gibbering mess and found himself unceremoniously pummelled into unconciousness by the hulking Cizerack. In the interest of fairness, Kidd had to concede that he had, at the time, been decked out in all his Imperial finery and had just played an important role in violating the sanctity of his would-be captain's ship, which in turn resulted in jeopardising the safety an entire rebel fleet. In retrospect, Captain Raurrssatta's response had been mercifully restrained, all considered. And he was lucky to not only be alive but granted a second chance to prove himself, which was why it stung so much whenever he made himself out to be a total nerfherder. Stick to the mission, he reminded himself.

"The frigate is going to lie low in the rings. If it starts to spool up the hyperdrive, are we to disable it, sir?"

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Still waiting for things to pan out on the channel with the Galleon, Cirr split his attention with Ensign Smix.

"Tarrget the hyperrdrrjive only jif they'rre makjing a rrun. Otherr than that, stay qujiet and keep yourr djistance."

It was risky. Two fighters weren't a slam dunk to disable hyperdrive. Even if they got off surprise shots, it was a long shot, and they were outgunned if they overtly engaged the frigate. He wasn't going to throw away lives recklessly here.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Straightening up as she finished helping one of the crew to his own feet, s'Il did not bother to smooth the lines in her uniform as Mallin patched through the message from Santaurra. She let the other woman's words hang in the air for only a moment before answering.

"It would seem that we do."

The Lupine picked her way back across the bridge and lowered herself into the captain's chair - with Cirr busy with his fighters, she fell back into old habits.

"Your aid would be most appreciated."

[Mdharra Ceergorra]

Mdharra did not know whether she was speaking to the ship's true commander or to a figurehead. Prejudice would incline her to guess the former, but she was not inclined to trust prejudice on matters of command. It was enough to know that the other female was hiding her true intentions, just Mdharra was hiding her own.

"We cannot brrreak off ourr pursssujit," she said, "but jI can djispatch a shuttle wjith medjical and engjineerrrjing persssonnel to render emerrrgency ajid jif jyou requjire jit. Otherwjise, jI wjill rrreturn for jyou once we have made ourrr capturrre. jI advjise that jyou pull jyour fjighters awajy from the engagement to avojid anjy further unforrtunate accjidentsss."

She had to walk a narrow line between diplomacy and detachment - too callous and she embarrassed the Pride as a thick-headed brute; too conciliatory and she embarrassed them as an obsequious weakling. The situation obliged her to find a way to be gracious without debasing her stature as a Galleon captain. It was just one more cost to add to a costly error.

"Sensorjy, range to target?" she demanded.

"Two hundred thousand kjilometers and gajinjing, captajin."

And he was still another ten seconds from the ring matter. If he were fleeing for open space, her only option to catch him would be another torpedo, which could only destroy him outright. If he meant to go to ground, she wanted him deep underground, deep enough that he could not use his superior speed and maneuverability to elude her.

"Prjime all turbolaser batterjies. Target the rocks, not the shjip."

Minx was too small and nimble a target to hit reliably at this range, but surrounding him in a halo of deadly plasma would force him down into the debris field, where he could not safely plot a hyperspace jump. And by the time Santaurra reached the rings, there would be another Saanja torpedo warming in Tube 1.

[Ledo G. Prent]

"Galleon's firin' again!"

It was almost a relief to see it was just an unsubtle deluge of turbolaser fire, although that was highly relative.

"Sap th' weapon power an' dump it all into shields!"

The rings of the gas giant had stopped being distinct shapes minutes ago, and were now an approaching maelstrom of dust, debris, and rocks. Ledo watched inaccurate turbolaser shots burn through the rings brilliantly as they hit around them. The strikes, however, showered their vicinity with a torrent of debris, some of it big enough to give their shields hell even if the kittys couldn't aim for a direct shot.

"Bear down, lads. Bear th' fuck down."

This was complicating his plan. They didn't have enough open space to jump with, not without risking another shot like the other ship had taken. So they moved for cover. With their approach skewing the axis of debris, if they punched through, it might screen them against a shot, but there was no certainty.

Ledo remained quiet as he contemplated all of this. His bridge was deathly quiet, as everyone seemed to get the same bleak ideas in their head.

"Ev'ryone, as ya were. I gotta figga this out."

Ledo left the bridge, glancing around as he ducked down a corridor, headed to the cargo/shuttle bay.

[Kidd Smix]

"Woah! Plan B!" Kidd blurted into the comm the moment streaks of turbolaser fire started to light up his cockpit.

"Plan B? What the hell is Plan B?"

"Forget Plan A," he said, as every system on his ship suddenly jolted alive.

Gold Seven followed suit, and with engines and, more importantly, shields reactivated, both starfighters banked eagerly away from a fresh salvo of pulverising firepower. They were once again aligned in lazy pursuit of the pirate frigate, and as they watched it dip into the cover of a myriad drifting fragments of rock and ice, both pilots silently agreed their trip was about to get rather interesting.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirr gritted his teeth, listening in the background to comm chatter as his A-Wings weathered the indirect barrage from the galleon.

"Pull back purrsujit, both of you. Keep vjisual contact, jif you can, but don't rrjisk yourr necks. jI need both of you aljive, and the two closest people to that shjip."

Something troubled him, and he returned to the gunny station to talk to his now-bandaged gunnery chief.

"Gunny, what the hell werre we lookjing at back therre?"

Gunnery Chief Tagge shook his head.

"Nothing I've ever seen, sir. Guided projectile, but the energy wasn't any kind of warhead. A lot of megajoules, a lot of pressure."

Cirr nodded absently, thinking ahead. He needed more.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"A shuttle would be most appreciated."

Still seated, the Lupine found her features set in a loose scowl. Far from the supervisory show of force that this mission had been slated as, the fact that it had become anything but proved to be a few steps above annoying.

Why could nothing ever simply go as it was supposed to?

[Mdharra Ceergorra]

"Commander, see to the shuttle," Mdharra muttered. "Standard medjical and materjial ajid. A fljight of Taithaa for escort."

Commander Ajakeeri nodded and stole away to a comm. panel to deliver the orders. The flight deck was already cleared for action, so the talon-shaped Taithaa interceptors could be in vacuum within seconds, and the slow, stubby, utility shuttle would follow as soon as the requisite personnel had been assembled. Galleon crews were as accustomed to rendering aid to commercial vessels stricken by the hazards of deep space as they were to stripping out bounties of captives and cargo from corsair hulks. Mdharra had no doubt that they would acquit themselves with all the honor and skill worthy of a Korri crew. She simply couldn't bother herself with such trivial details with a fugitive on the hoof.

"Range to target?" Mdharra asked again.

"One hundred fiftjy thousand kjilometers," the sensory officer replied. "He's burjied jin the rjings now, ma'am."

Santaurra swooped low over the dusty ring field, casting a shadow like a whaladon gliding over a Mon Calamari reef.

"Ceasefjire," Mdharra ordered. "Sjignal the fljight deck. Launch Jalthi Squadron. Objectjive: jinerdjict and djisable. Tractor the rocks jinto hjim jif jyou have to."

Twelve Keerta-class fighter-grapplers spilled out of Santaurra's belly and plunged into the rings - sixty guns all told, twenty-four missile launchers, and forty-eight elite Trade marines prepared to board any target immobilized by their twelve fighter-sized tractor beams. The skies were growing crowded for the Filthy Minx.

[Ledo G. Prent]

Ledo heard the news as he made it to the bay. Not that he needed to confirm it since he heard the concussions from the guns stop a half minute prior.

"Issat true? They're siccin' fighters on us? We gotta scramble!"

Taking his chance, the Captain stepped up with a shot of bravado in his voice.

"Harden' up, lads. Man the ships an' le's get ready t' give 'em hell! Defend th' Minx, boys!"

The scurvy lot of pilots took a bit of yelling at to get their spirits up, and Ledo booted one in the ass as he was a little slow in mustering.

"Double time!"

With five of the pilots mustering, he pulled the sixth aside, and gave him a slap on the shoulder.

"Sit this'n out, fella. Cap'n's p'rogative, y'see."

He gave a confident wink, and climbed aboard the sixth assault ship, firing up its systems.

Some Captains believed in last stands and going down with the ship.

Ledo wasn't one of them. He had a plan.

[Sadie K'Vesh]

Oh hell no. Sadie hadn't on the bridge for the entirety of whatever shit the Minx found herself buried in deep with, but one thing was for certain. It was time to get the fuck out. And really, what was the good of lettin' the boss go and run out on ya without tellin' him Told ya so.

Which she had. But wasn't quite certain that she was going to go and make a point of it just yet. First thing was first, stay alive.

So when things started gettin' all real rocky she left her post from where she'd been havin' a nice long chat with the Minx's mainframe and booked to where the only known escape was - the fighter shuttles.

She ran into the shuttle bay just in time to watch the ol' bastard tell a pilot off. Good on 'im. And good on the ship takin' a few minutes to fire itself up. Gave her plenty of time to make the last ditch hero run and duck into the closin' ramp. Unlike the last time she was on the damned thing, this time she had no qualms 'bout plunkin' down in the co-pilot's chair and she cast a lazy grin at the Captain.

"Hope you weren't plannin' on cuttin' out... 'least not on me. Aint got enough experience with this whole pirate business to call it quits now. Figure I owe you somethin' for savin' my ass back on Tatooine too. Don't know who's beer ya went and pissed in to get 'em so uppity, but I figure two brains will work a heap load better than one in gettin' out of this here shindig alive."

Despite the casual air she was speakin', already her eyes were workin' over the console in front of her, lookin' for what outs could be made. Which was all types of fun when you were workin' blind.

[Ledo G. Prent]

"Well congra'ulations missy. You jus' saved yer own arse."

Something between a shark's smile and a sneer cut across his grizzled face.

"Buckle in, then. Time for us t' piss off."

No sense in the you were right capitulation speech. She was naturally cautious on Tattooine. Hell, he was too. You still reach for a fucking cookie, even if you might get caught with hand in jar.

[Kidd Smix]

When the turbolasers started to vaporise the rings, huge clouds blossomed in concentrated pockets, thick like flour, obfuscating the Minx and wreaking havoc with the sensor readings. For a while, the pilots flew blind, relying on instinct and good fortune to see them to safety. In the end, Lady Luck won through, as the galleon ceased fire, earning them a reprieve from the blitz of splintered rocks and showering dust. A sudden and eerie stillness came over the battlefield.

"Hey Iceman, do you get the feeling we're in the wrong place at the wrong time?" Kidd muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"Man, tell me about it. Hey, hold up, we have a visual."

Upon clearing the soup, the Minx took centre stage in their view ports, framed in a froth of dust and slush, and belching fighters from its belly. In unison, the sensors resumed their psychedelic panic attack. A column of bright blips pinged up on the scopes and just as suddenly a swarm of larger, more intimidating, blips appeared from behind.

"I think this is the part when we get the hell out of dodge!" said Kidd, as he plunged his ship into a swift evaisive dive.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirr frowned as he watched the Cizerack "mercy mission" approach his ship. The galleon was large enough to effectively multi-task, so even this wasn't discouraging him from directing a full assault on the pirates.

"Gold Thrree? Smjix? You have fjighterrs jinbound. Keep out of thejirr vectorr, but jif you can stjill monjitorr the sjituatjion, we need you as close as you can."

What was he expecting? The odds were turning drastically against the pirates in this fight. Still, he wasn't about to just surrender them to the Cizerack uncontested. He knew what would happen to them.

"Captain, Cizerack shuttle docking along portside umbilical."

He muttered a curse, and looked to s'Ilancy.

"Djiplomacy tjime."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"Seems that way," she grumbled in response, tugging at the hem of her uniform jacket as she moved across the bridge.

"Let us go then - best no to keep them waiting."

[Mdharra Ceergorra]

The icy diaspora beneath Saantaurra lit up with brilliant flashes of laser and ion fire. Below, deep in the ring matter, Jalthi squadron swarmed the Filthy Minx like hawkbats on fresh carrion. Two of the Minx's assault shuttles went up in incandescent candleflames almost immediately; their meager shields were nothing against the overwhelming firepower of a whole squadron of Keerta fighter-grapplers. The pirates were hopelessly outmatched.

But Mdharra was never one to rest on a merely excellent chance of success.

"Weapons, status of Torpedo Tube One?"

"Torpedo one jis armed at twentjy-fjive percent capacjitjy."

"Set the matrjix to envelop," Mdharra growled. "Slave the targetjing scanners to Jalthi leader's telemetrjy."

"Envelopjing ajye, ma'am. Scanners locked jin."

Let them try to fool a Keerta's targeting scanners at close range. "Brjidge to Jalthi squadron. Wjithdraw to a djistance of fjiftjy thousand kjilometers. We'll crack open thjis koonhathee egg for jyou."

Mdharra watched her tactical display as the fighter-grapplers fell back to a safe distance, content to corral the frigate in the targeting zone. Even now, at what would be extreme range for Gorroka particle cannons, there was no way they could miss.

"Fjire."

Another blazing green sphere of hypermatter spat from Santaurra's centerspine and fell toward the Minx like ball lightning.

[Mdharra Ceergorra]

Aboard the Novgorod

It was the work of moments to exchange the appropriate protocols and mate the shuttle's docking cowl with the Rebel frigate's umbilical line. A short, thickly built Cizeri female wearing engineer's patches on her navy uniform stood at the gangway flanked by a pair of armed marines as the hatchway doors slid open. At the threshold of the Rebel warship stood a hyooman woman and a big Cizerack male, both of them in what passed for a uniform in the Alliance.

The engineer instinctively looked to s'Illancy. "jI am Deck Offjicerrr Anjuuree Sayalee. We arrre here to rrrender all reasonable aid accordjing to the Marjitjime Code of the Confederacjy of jIndependent Sjystemsss. Permjissjion to come aboarrrrd, ma'am?"

[Kidd Smix]

Safe below the Minx, Kidd regarded the fierce swarm of combat with the same kind of detached curiosity as a natural history holovid, a flurry of pigeon pirate ships and hulking Cizeri raptors. One by one, the Weequay fighters were destroyed with a faint pop of orange fire, debris tumbling every which way. It was a dance he was happy to sit out. And, in that sentiment, he wasn't alone.

"Would you look at that?" he uttered with a note of surprise, "Looks like we got ourselves a couple o' rogue nerfs out the pen."

Upon the canvas of black, twin splinters of shimmering silver sped away from the action, shrinking amongst the stars. Instinct took hold and he kicked the flight pedal, his ship lurching in pursuit. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Iceman pulling up on his flank.

"What's the score, farmboy? A couple of VIP's?"

"Whoever they are, they're about to be a lot less deader than their buddies, and the boss wants answers. Shoot to disable, Iceman, we don't want-"

Kidd froze, silenced by a creeping sense of deja vu. Slivers of light striped the contours of his ship, and his cockpit was bathed in an eerie green glow, he looked up. The torpedo blazed like an emerald sun as it descended upon the battlefield, and then winked out of view behind the Minx, framing the disc ship in a warm corona of light. Kidd's gaping mouth snapped shut in a determined grind of teeth, crushing pedals underfoot, he wrestled the A-Wing into a sharp sweeping stoop. His Sightline system flashed and he squeezed the trigger, bearing down upon the pirates, spitting columns of laser fire.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Aboard the Novgorod
The engineer instinctively looked to s'Illancy. "jI am Deck Offjicerrr Anjuuree Sayalee. We arrre here to rrrender all reasonable aid accordjing to the Marjitjime Code of the Confederacjy of jIndependent Sjystemsss. Permjissjion to come aboarrrrd, ma'am?"

"Commodore s'Ilancy," came the clipped response.

s'Il hesitated a moment, trying to pick apart the woman before her before finally taking a small step back.

"Permission granted."

She canted her head slightly to the side, affording Deck Officer Sayalee a stern look with her white eye as the other woman formally stepped aboard.

"If you and your team will follow me... "

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirrsseeto said nothing, but his jawline set tight at the sight of Hunter Marines under arms. Smile politely with your claws out, he reminded himself of Cizeri realpolitik, saying nothing to contradict his superior officer's acceptance of aid. Still, he didn't like this turn of events. Stalling tactic as it might be, it felt like a capitulation of a sort. He didn't want the Pride Mother's finest sticking their noses where they didn't belong. He could only hope that the Commodore was prepared to enforce their limits. They couldn't afford to let this distraction delay them, especially if he still had fighters outbound.

[Ledo G. Prent]

Ledo hated introspection. It forced oneself to look back and to question the sanctity of the moment. He'd always looked out for number one, and that had served him just fine, but as he watched the Filthy Minx take her coup de gras, he couldn't help but find the gravity in it all. Drawing out a flask from an inside pocket, he unscrewed it and held it up.

"T' th' Minx. Not th' ugliest bird I flew, an' not the scraggliest buncha cunts I served wit'."

Guzzling a few gulps, he winced, and passed the flask to Sadie.

"Neva' lose sight of th' fact tho'. In th' end, its yer own arse. Still. To me boys."

And that's when the laser blasts hit, causing a series of klaxons to sound.

[Dr. Saanjakeeto]

"jI would be onljy too happjy to assjissst!"

From the crowded cabin of the shuttle, a tall, shimmering specimen of Cizeri aristocracy shuffled forward through the deckhands and marines in a bright blue non-military uniform. She clapped her hands together and turned to face the assembled engineers and medics.

"Rrrjight, team han to the deflector sjystems. jI want full rreporrts on magnetic rrretentjion and energjy djissjipatjion rrrates. Team fei to the engjines--"

Deck Officer Sayalee made a sound in the back of her throat as if she were dislodging an entire bone from her windpipe. The blue-suited Cizerack started and whirled around toward the Rebel officers.

"Oh, rjight!" she said, and she smiled brightly and offered a hand to s'Il. "Dr. Tataari Saanjakeeto, specjial consssultant from Cana'daari Engjineerrrjing. Just pojint me the rrrjight way, and we'll have jyou fixed up jin no tjime at all!"

[Mdharra Ceergorra]

In the Rings

By all rights, the boiling mass of hypermatter should have punched through the Minx's meager shields like a cannonball through a sail, then erupted over her hull with a force that would scatter the frigate's debris to the five moons of Ryloth. But for all its shock and terror, the Saanja torpedo was a work of technical wizardry full of tactical possibilities that stretched the definition of possible.

The moment the glistering torpedo struck the Minx's shields, the magnetic bottle surrounding the hypermatter payload merged with the frigate's deflector field. The result was a cascade of green fire that burned its way across the deflector grid until the Minx was bathed in a sphere of transdimensional potential. Potential that then erupted all at once into destructive force.

The blast sent the Minx tumbling on its axis, shields completely stripped away, generators fused by the overload, internal systems scrambled by the electromagnetic burst. All at once, well before the frigate's crew could recover, Jalthi squadron swarmed back in, raking her hull with ion cannon fire, harpooning her with a dozen tractor beams to keep her from running.

"Jalthi leader to Saantaurra. Enemy frjigate djisabled. We are deplojyjing marjines now."

Mdharra's fingers tightened over the arms of her command chair. The day was not a total loss, then - there would be prize money for the captain and crew, close to a million credits spread across the five thousand women and men who had contributed to the capture of a dangerous pirate vessel. But Mdharra was not satisfied. There was one more objective to fulfill.

"Saantaurra to Jalthi lead. Confjirm whether Ledo Prent jis aboard."

[Kidd Smix]

It was a direct hit, the saucer-shaped shuttle jostled in his targetting scopes, and tumbled away before a second volley was unleashed. The sudden manouver suggested the brunt of the attack had been absorbed by the ship's shields, rather than its engines. Kidd frowned, the element of surprise had gone to waste. Rolling onto their sides, the A-Wings plunged effortlessly into the ghostly trail of sublights, and pinned the fleeing pirate ship in their sights.

"Look at that thing," he muttered, "Weequay's must have no imagination."

"I like it, in a minimalistic kind of way."

"Minimalistic kinda- oh, wait, thar she blows!"

Sensors warbled frantically and the trio of weaving starfighters were soaked in a brilliant green aura. It meant only one thing: the Minx was toast. Kidd thumbed a red switch atop the flight yoke and waited for the satisfying click-click of fully-loaded concussion missles. It was time to give this pirate something to think about.

"Unidentified shuttle, this is Ensign Smix, of the Alliance corvette, Novgorod," he announced, with practised clarity, "Your comrades have been neutralised by Cizerack forces. You are outnumbered and outgunned. Surrender yourself peacefully, now, and no further harm will come to you."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

"Or, ya know, could always trick their fighters inta self destructin'."

Sadie wasn't sure if she was glad the comm wasn't on or not. Just like she wasn't sure if she was just talkin' shit or not too. The one possession she'd managed to drag off the rock and keep with her to this point was her datapad and oh the wonders she could do with it when given 'nough motivation. And 'bout now was right and proper motivation indeed.

Already she was figurin' out the logistics of it. She had a program that could drive a whole fighter squadron's sensors screwy to the point where anythin' a pilot could see with their eyes was all they were gettin'. Had been tested on Imp and Alliance folk alike and gone smoothly. Sadie wasn't sure it would work on the angry kitty folk though so she hadn't even suggested it. But now... Well... these rebel types already had a bead on the shuttle so that lil trick was next ta worthless. But to make 'em blow themselves to hell... well, that'd be a feat. Somethin' to write home to the band 'bout.

Course, it wasn't her ship. And it wasn't her call.

"So... we runnin' or we playin' their game?"

[Ledo G. Prent]

The Pirate took another drink. No witty comeback. The calculus of his situation was removing possible answers and leaving only one. Two A-Wings outgunned him, out-maneuvered him, and out-sped him. He had no desire to join the cosmic space dust in eternal fucking communion or whatever.

Surrender to the Cizerack was already a non-starter. There was no such thing as clemency with their lot.

He looked at Sadie, and shrugged.

"Guess we takin' our chances wif dese lot. Maybe put on th' ol' charm an' get outta this. Maybe."

He switched on tighbeam comm with his pursuers.

"A'right, come off it. Follow me navs t' Ryloth. Y' got me, ya cunts. I'll go gentle as y' please."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"Oh, rjight!" she said, and she smiled brightly and offered a hand to s'Il. "Dr. Tataari Saanjakeeto, specjial consssultant from Cana'daari Engjineerrrjing. Just pojint me the rrrjight way, and we'll have jyou fixed up jin no tjime at all!"

s'Il took the offered hand, but her grasp was firm and conveyed the sense that she meant to be obeyed.

"Dr. Saanjakeeto."

It was a curt delivery, and as their hands came apart, the Commodore made sure to mix equal parts diplomacy and firm control.

"We are on secondary power for the time being," she started as they began walking.

"Our main relays are overloaded, and my engineers will no doubt appreciate your help."

[Dr. Saanjakeeto]

"Oh, of courrrse, of courrrse."

Dr. Saanjakeeto had produced a datapad, on which she was recording notes at a prodigious rate.

"jYour rrrrelajys are overrrloaded, jyou sajy? Was the electrrromagnetic pulssse that powerrrful? Fascjinatjing!"

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

By every power that bound him under naval protocol, Cirr kept his mouth shut, but he was grinding the hell out of his teeth in doing so. Seeing these women on his ship? If they didn't need the distraction to potentially work in their favor, he'd throw them back through the airlock. He mumbled an excuse to his Commodore to relieve himself of attending to the most polite invasion ever, and stomped off to presumably resume command. Instead, he took a left at the t-intersection and found exactly who he was looking for.

"You!"

Cirr pointed at Regan Altink, stalking up to his chief engineer as he nearly yanked his arm out of socket, pulling Regan along with him as the Captain went back the way he came, towards the bridge.

"jI've got an jimporrtant mjissjion forr you. Engjineerr to Engjineerr. Come on!"

[Regan Altink]

Regan found himself gripped by a variety of things. The most visibly obvious was the Cizerack Captain that grabbed his arm; second came the look of confusion that gripped his brow. There was a lot more manhandling going on below the surface however; chief among them was the sadness and longing that was cast back towards the open EPS manifold that Regan had been repairing.

It wasn't longing for the task that fuelled his fleeting gaze; the calibration had been nothing but a source of frustration, which really required the kind of engineer with smaller hands that Regan was too stubborn to summon. No: there was something else to long for in that direction; to lust after, even.

Atop the deck plates, now protected only by the hydrospanner discarded beside it, was the most wonderous and soul-melting sandwiches that Tink had ever crafted or consumed. The secret was the emulsion of his own recipe: spices, citrus, and just a dash of grain alcohol thrown in to really give the slick yellow paste a kick. The net result was something smooth on the tongue but vicious on the sinuses: it had blasted it's way through Regan's brain, and made him feel more awake and alert than he had done in months.

And now he was getting torn away, his precious sandwich left exposed. It would be found and consumed by someone, he wagered. Probably Murray. Damn that bastard Squib. A section of Regan's brain was instantly set aside for the task of plotting an appropriate culinary revenge.

Fortunately, another more attentive part was paying attention to the more important matter at hand. "A mission, y'say?"

There was a pause, fractured aspects of Regan's psyche chattering away to each other in the back of his mind. They reached a consensus. The question was asked.

"Will there be sandwiches there?"

[Kidd Smix]

"A'right, come off it. Follow me navs t' Ryloth. Y' got me, ya cunts. I'll go gentle as y' please."

A stunned silence was drawn out following the announcement, then suddenly, in his ear, Kidd heard his wingman, "Well, that was easy."

"Hmm. Too easy..."

"Did you just say that, Smix? Did you actually just use those words?"

"Just keep your gorram eyes peeled, Spiceman."

"Hey now, that was deliberate!"

The A-Wings plunged gracefully through Ryloth's golden atmosphere, and followed the pirate shuttle down towards the outskirts of a vast desert, where the scorched earth was scarred in jagged brown streaks. Swooping lower, Kidd saw small settlements etched into the canyon walls, terracotta husks of homes, long since abandonned. The fighters settled down behind the landed saucer, whipping up torrents of dust around them. When the pilots emerged from their cockpits, they were armed.

[Ledo G. Prent]

Ledo emerged from his assault shuttle, stepping down the gangplank as he puffed a cigar. Sadie didn't look thrilled, but he honestly couldn't care. The alternative to this was pretty fucking awful.

"Lookie 'ere, love. Coupla real hard cases, these lot. Can't help but surrenda in th' face a' this."

He paused a moment, smiling cheerily as he puffed on his cigar like it was a holiday.

"Well now, lads. Y' go' me. Now...how is y' gonna spirit me off this shitpile wiffou' dem kitties flossin' they teeth wif our guts?"

[Sadie K'Vesh]

It was a right mess. Down to the last bit everythin' had up and gone sideways in ways it wasn't supposed to. And now this... two rebel pilots, one of which looked like he was young 'nuff to still go and get excited 'bout havin' body hair in new places. Nice.

Aw well, there weren't no use in poutin'.

Sadie eyed the A-Wings the boys had come in on and crossed her arms over her chest as she came to a stop next to Ledo. She shook her head at the site of it all and let a grin form. Or maybe it was forced. Fuck it.

"Was wonderin' 'bout that m'self. I'd go and say it was their lucky day but I'm guessin' havin' our likes sittin' in those birds with 'em aint exactly what you'd call 'fortuitous'. Still... can't go an 'magine they'd let the Ciz turn us inta red jelly neither." She shrugged and cast her eyes briefly upward as if expectin' the galleon to suddenly burst on through the atmo. "Course maybe the Rebs are lookin' to change that goodie-goodie anti-establishment rep they got."