Looting the Dead

[Mayael Rakkamar]

In every corner, from one side to the other, the galaxy is marred with the scars of war. From the literal scars burned into the surfaces of planets from orbital bombardments to the massive debris fields scattered across the galaxy. Where the great armadas of the Empire and Rebel Alliance clashed there is only horror. Shattered starships, vented corpses, and chunks of durasteel float endlessly in the void as eternal trophies to the atrocities visited upon that sector. In the more civilized areas of the galaxy the debris fields are hounded and collected to be smelted into new weapons and war machines. In the further reaches of the galaxy they are forgotten. Out here the Empire and Alliance fear outlaws, dangerous environments, and each other. They have laid stakes, circled the areas on their maps, and stand patrol for the day they may finally clean up the wreckage of a war that will never end. It only slumbers and waits.

Home was behind, and the galaxy ahead.

An old Turbostorm-Class gunboat rattled and shook it's way through the far reaches of space. It's hull was pot marked and scarred by laser fire, it's engines sputtering out for moments before roaring back to life. It was overly apparent that this machine had seen much better days within the navy of some past galactic force. Now it was a relic, an artifact of a time gone by, but true to it's name the Spirit of Fire never went out. It may die down to embers but it always roared back to a mighty flame. The cockpit, like much of the ship, was a mess. A network of torn open access panels and input consoles who's wires trailed out of their opened crevices like vomit. Crossing all over the cockpit to form a new helm all together; one that had been custom designed to service the needs of a four armed pilot.

Nothing was labeled, everything was a mess. That did not stop the woman at the helm, who's four arms manipulated the controls and, occasionally, reattached something that fell off or disconnected.

Ahead, through the dirty view screen, it came into view. The debris field had once been massive and concentrated. Now it was spread out, some of it's contents falling into stars and planets. However, a few big pieces still floated, and that was where their destination sat. As the old starship maneuvered over the top of floating command deck, the massive hulk of a dead Star Destroyer came into view. It's nose and rear were missing, but the core of the ship was still in place. It's hull was rent in many places, exposed to the void. I sat at the center of the field, like a star for the solar system of debris. That was the prize. A mostly intact starship, crew long dead or evacuated, all manner of supplies and resources to be stripped. It was dangerous. Very dangerous, but that was part of the job. They were pirates and scavengers, and that meant getting what you can whenever you can.

Getting to the Star Destroyer was slow, meticulous work to avoid the dangerously large chunks of debris. Everything else was intercepted by the particle shields of the Spirit; which had been specially boosted for this operation. It took additional time to find a place to dock with the Destroyer. It's docking bays were either closed or filled with shattered starfighters. Instead they opted for a man sized hole in the hull. Gravlocks secured the Spirit alongside the opening, rotating until their docking port lined up and an umbilical tube was connected to secure them together. Finally secured, power was rerouted from engines to the particle shields. Hopefully the ship wouldn't get scraped off the side of the Destroyer by a chunk of space garbage.

Pushing back her chair, Mayael let out a held breath and turned to the only other person in the cockpit. "Horo, watch the ship yes?" He nodded, clearly not too sure about the hotwired control scheme, but he took the seat from her all the same. Mayael left the cockpit and traveled through the threshold into the cargobay of the ship, where a gathering of like minded individuals were gathered. Pirates, scavengers, and outlaws. "Prepare to board." She called out even as her four hands moved across her body, checking buckles and seals on her enviro-suit, which had been custom made from two suits in order to fit her unique physicality. There was not a huge market for Codru-Ji size clothing in the known galaxy. She donned her helmet, the clear bubble that sat over the top of her head, and looked out at her crew; who were similarly dressed.

"Role call..." And she began listing their names.

[Utin Bitini]

In the corner of the cargo bay, Utin had been twiddling his thumbs, waiting for when they would arrive. The Jawa looked about as he felt what seemed to be the ship docking. He jumped to his feet, gathering his things as he mumbled what they were to himself.

"Wires, a touch of baradium, a few thermal detonators..." His mumbling trailed off as he continued to list some seemingly pointless things. He placed them into the two belts that he had across his chest and the one around his waist.

He then looked down and grabbed his "trusty" grenade launcher. Home made by the looks. And it looked like you would explode when you fired the thing. It had four barrels, which, when pulling the trigger all the way, would fire all explosives simultaneously. As he slung it around his back he nearly fell backwards. The launcher seemed to much for the jawa, yet he carried it anyway. His body donned a black protection suit which doubled as an environmental suit, which was small to fit his size. Utin also wore a helmet that hid his face. Though, it was more to protect him from when his random creations decided to go boom while still in his hands.

Utin looked up at the Codru-Ji as she walked in, double checking her suit and putting on her helmet.

"Role call. Utin Bitini..."

He looked up and gave a positive thumbs up. He could understand basic well enough, though sometimes had trouble conveying what he wanted to say. So a thumbs up would have to do.

[Emori]

He was really only here for the paycheck. Signing on had been one of those automatic things that just, well, just happened. The promise of credits drove him on. Not to mention the chance to get his paws wet with a little bit of 'less-than-legit'. His travels usually kept his pockets full and his stomach from growling too awful much. Course, professional scrounger that he was, Emori wasn't really a particular type. He took what fancied him and left what didn't.

He sat in the cargo bay, lost in a ritual that had become second-nature. His pride and joy sat propped in front of him. She was a beautiful thing; curvaceous in all the right places, glistening in all the others. Such raw beauty. He felt honored every time she fell into his outstretched paws. He smiled at her, and held up a sabacc card, the back facing him.

"Six of Sabers."

Of course not a word was spoken in answer, and Emori only grinned wryly.

"Ain't that, eh?"

The modified E-11 blaster was silent, much like it always was. She only really sang when he pushed that one right button of hers.

He vaguely registered his name being called, but ignored it for the moment.

"Two of coins."

Nothing. He gave a shake of his head, and a love-lorn sigh.

Again he heard his name called, and out of frustration - yet without taking his eyes from the firearm leaned up against the bulkhead - he snapped out a single word response.

"WHAT?!"

[Patience Darklighter]

"She done called yor name, ya ign'ant squib!"

Patience attempted to assuaged her headache, a task made impossible since she had her space helmet secured and no real way to massage her temples, or even better, apply fitting hair of the dog. Instead, the dull thud of hangover misery pounded like church bells in her spherical prison. The stink of last night's whiskey recycling in her suit's environmental filter. The sooner they pulled all the cash money outta this old husk, the sooner she could resume drinking. Irritated, she glanced to the Codru-Ji ringleader.

"Shore as y'got eyes ya done seen me standin' ain't ya? We here to steal we ain't here to school!"

[Damien Kantrael]

The Spirit of Fire was not alone in the debris field. Outside of sensor range the Cheron lurked. The Strike-Class Medium Cruiser hid in the high orbit of the nearest moon. Watching, waiting, unaware of the pirate crew that had the same idea as them and slipped into the same debris field to board the same dead Destroyer. The pair of Sentinel-Class landing craft had already been sent ahead, long before the Turbostorm arrived, docked on the other side of the craft, their power shut down as to remain invisible. The identical gray armor plating made them visually indistinguishable from the rest of the hull.

Inside the destroyer, the Sons of Coruscant; great patriots and so called terrorists, culled through the wreckage within. Their glorious leader, the Emperor Beyond the Stars, Grand Inquisitor Damien Kantrael stayed back on the Charon, but in his place he sent one of his best lieutenants and fellow Project: NIGHTMARE agent Davos Minsk; the so called Black Knight. The cybernetically enhanced agent with his advance armor looked like a giant beside the soldiers that poured through the inside of the destroyer. Like ants they swept through, grabbing whatever they could get their hands on. The ship was huge. They broke into teams to cover ground safely. Forcing doors open that would relent, and blasting open those that resisted. Minsk lead the procession, heading deeper into the ship by the moment. Weapons on hand, but not at the ready. They were not expecting any threats.

They had no idea the pirates were there.

[Mayael Rakkamar]

Mayael wondered what Grov would do with this ragtag group of complainers and misfits. He'd space them all. However, she was not Grov; a raving lunatic with more private vendettas than mercs in his employ. He was ruthless and effective, even if the cost was always high. That's why she was heading this mission and not him, because he would probably do something crazy and get them all killed. That was his style. It didn't matter how many bodies he had to step over or leave behind so long as he got his big payout or pushed whatever Empire hating agenda he harbored. No. She was going to be a just but unforgiving queen.

She read off a few more names, a few more people piped up, and finally her finger scrolled to the end.


"You have part list. This primarily weapon run. Grab blasters, grenades, ammunition, heavy ordinance, things like this. If you find anything else of value grab, bring back to ship. Only so much space. Destroyer has residual power readings. Watch out security measures. We break into four man teams. Bitini, Emori, Darklighter with me..." She listed off three more team groupings before setting down the flimsi she was holding and picked up a weapon that could only be described as some cruel marriage between a scatter gun and a turbo laser battery. It was obviously custom made, with thick welding lines visible and odd geometry not normally found among blasters. It had three barrels in a pyramid formation, a bulky body, and enough handles and grip points that it could be held by any combination of the Codru-Ji's four hands. It had the uncanny ability to vaporize just about anything directly in front of it.

Perfect for closer quarters.

Slapping a fresh energy clip into the receiver, Mayael turned and looked over her squad. While most of the crew was far more... humanoid, for lack of a better term, she had chosen those that were even more misfit than the rest for her personal crew. Maybe she had a soft spot for oddball aliens like herself, but mostly it was because they looked very dangerous on their own and she wanted to keep an eye on them lest they blow the Destroyer out from under them. That left her with the Jawa that had traded the hot desert for the cold of space, the furball with the attitude, and... oh yes, the drunk. Not the most promising squad.

They slipped out one squad at a time through the umbilical array. The inside of the destroyer was exactly what you would expect. There was no gravity, naturally, and debris was floating all over the place, along with a few bodies listing lifelessly. Mag-clamps on their boots would keep them tethered to the floor, or walls, or ceiling if they so desired. It was a loss of mobility having to pull your feet free of the floor with every step, like walking through water or knee high snow, but it was a lot better than floating about and smacking your head into every bulkhead. The squads all headed in different directions, two following the length of the hull while Mayael's and another went deeper into the ship. They were headed for the armory at the center of the ship, and hopefully a big payout.

The ship was dark and cold. The occasionally light would flicker on and off, but beyond that the only source of light was what they brought with them. Silent, like the grave save for the clomp clomp of their boots. The torch attached to the front of Mayael's blaster lead the way. Every corridor and room was more of the same. More debris and corpses, sparking control panels, and torn up bulkheads. It was become more and more clear that the ship was not in as good condition as it appeared from the outside. The walls looked ready to buckle the moment gravity rediscovers the vessel. Only the unforgiving void of space was keeping this ship together. It wasn't long before they reached a door that would not open, and it emergency switch was uncooperative in allowing them to manually pull it apart.

"Bitini, blow door open. Carefully. Emori, Darklighter, check rooms for salvage." She indicated the two side doors, likely storage closets or bunk rooms. The layout of the destroyer she had was incomplete and only pointed out what the important rooms and spaces were. Everything else was up to them to discover. Little did they know that the moment those doors were breached the emergency systems had enough juice in it's reserve to empower the two drop down anti-personnel turrets at either corner of the door cleverly disguised above plates that matched the rest of the ceiling.

[Utin Bitini]

Utin pressed his ear up against the door, then began to size up the door. He checked himself over for what he had, then slid a bag off of his shoulder and began rummaging through it. A brief moment and he pulled out what looked like an oddly modified version of a high pressure explosive. He applied a quick adhesive to the back of it and set it on the door in the center. The bomb had enough punch to destroy the door and some. Careful didn't really run in Utin's dictionary. He pulled out a trigger and looked back to Mayael, "Ready." Then quickly gestured for them to stand a bit further back from the door.