Novgorod: Road Not Taken

[Jaden Luka]

Silence.

Not a peaceful one, but an eerie silence. A void from which sound was almost completely absent. Within that noiseless vacuum, every sound seemed amplified. The sound of each breath in his helmet. The chafe of synthetic fabric against synthetic fabric as his body moved within the pressurised EV suit (http://images2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20100810062134/starwars/images/c/cf/RebelSpecForce.JPG). He felt the reverberations each time his magnetic boots contacted with the deck plates, and again when they were pulled away; devoid of a sound, his mind filled in the gaps, recalling a sound effect from a childhood of holomovies with such detail that he could almost hear it.

A shudder propagated through Jaden's boots as the blast door ahead of him juddered open. He imagined the creaking and groaning that would grate across his nerves if the corridor still had atmosphere; but unfortunately for Jaden's ears, and for the crew of this stricken vessel, most of the ship's atmosphere was currently dispersing itself across the surrounding space one atom at a time, having exploded it's way through the violent-looking breach that Jaden and his team had used to enter the scuttled freighter.

The seeker droid that had interfaced with the blast door controls drifted backwards, floating through the void to linger a little closer to the Commander, almost as if it were intimidated by the chilling vista that surrounded him. Servos in the unit's ocular shifted, and a bright flashlight burst into life, teaming up with the counterpart slung beneath the barrel of Jaden's carbine, piercing into the ominous blackness that lay beyond the blast door. Their efforts made little difference, highlighting only vague pools of vision as they danced across the different surfaces. One of the beams was punctured by the silhouette of a drifting corpse, left to hang idle in the air by the derelict's lack of gravity. Jaden turned his head; the seeker droid's focus shifted as well, MARCUS' attention seeming to meet Jaden's gaze through the remote device.

"Alpha-One, entering Zone 3," he announced as he advanced cautiously over the blast door threshold, his voice twisted and distorted by the comms.

This was a routine mission, he kept reminding himself of that. Different from anything he was accustomed to doing, perhaps, but still routine. Ever since the Alliance had acquired it's new territory, the responsibilities of the Alliance Fleet had shifted dramatically. Instead of point-to-point transit from safe zone to safe zone; instead of darting from world to world to mission objective to try and hide the hidden Rebel base that you'd originated from; Alliance ships were now forced to patrol, moving from system to system, null point to null point, pushing the boundaries of their sensor arrays to study everything that happened within the Alliance of Free Planets. They were supposed to be keeping the space lanes safe from Imperial incursions, and opportunistic pirates; but every now and again, a patrol ship stumbled across a distress beacon. Some ships they were able to save from whatever had befallen them; but more often than not, the Alliance arrived too late. Too much space; too few ships to safeguard it.

This vessel though? Everything about this freighter felt wrong. From the very first wave of sensor telemetry, things had stubbornly refused to add up in a way that made sense. The vessel was adrift off the main shipping lanes, but not so far that it's distress beacon wouldn't have been picked up by a passing ship. It made no sense for this freighter to have been out here for long, and yet every indication suggested that it had. Fuel cells, back-up generators, auxiliary batteries; all depleted, signs of an extended time spent abandoned in the void. Thermal readings negative. Atmosphere negative. Even the hull breach that seemed to be the source of the freighter's woes didn't add up right: there was no scorching on the outer hull to suggest weapons fire; the stress patterns and the corrosion around the breach itself were all wrong. The only theory that fit the majority of the facts was sabotage; but then why had the ship been left here, intact and adrift? Why were the cargo bays still full? If the atmosphere had entirely vented, why were the blast doors all sealed? Why, aside from the gaping hole along it's port side and a few drained power cells, was this ship otherwise in pristine condition? Why -

Jaden's blaster snapped around, a flicker of movement caught in his peripheral vision. His flashlight swept across another drifting body; across the slightly frosted fabric of it's clothing. A jumpsuit, utilitarian but not military. Civilian freighter. A bunch of innocent bystanders trying to make an honest living in a galaxy that didn't want to let them. Something clenched around Jaden's chest; sympathy for the life that these men and women must have been struggling through before it was all ripped away. He'd been there, once. He'd tried to make it as a spacer, tried to make ends meet jumping from system to system, staying inside the lines, staying inside the law. It was harder than it sounded; and it was all too easy to understand why smuggling and illicit goods were a temptation that so many surrendered to. There was only so much agricultural supplies, industrial equipment, and Xagoban fernroot you could ship back and forth before the tedium began to eat away at them. But these people were all trying, their lives cut tragically short in the midsts of trying to be good people.

Slowly advancing in magnetised strides, Jaden approached what looked like a computer terminal. Easing his carbine carefully to one side, letting the magnetic patches affixed to the casing attach to the wall beyond to stop it drifting away, he tried in vain to jab the console into life, but nothing but unresponsive darkness remained on the screen.

"Tell Tink and Porter to hurry up with that portable generator," he said to MARCUS' seeker, relying on the automaton to relay the message rather than using the comms. He glanced over his shoulder to where the drone was floating. "The sooner we can get the main computer back online, the sooner we can work out what the hell happened to these -"

More movement, clearer this time. Jaden snatched for his carbine, chasing the shadow he'd seen move, faint wisps of motion just beyond the scope of his light as he followed it around the room. He pursued it as far as a corner, the light finally snaring a decent view. Behind his helmet's visor, Jaden's eyes widened. An expletive and two blaster shots were all that managed to escape from him before the shadowed shape pounced. In an instant it was upon him. Something clenched around Jaden's chest, literally this time, a searing white-hot pain flooding every inch of his body, overwhelming every sense and impulse until his consciousness shattered, leaving Jaden hanging limply in the zero-g, boots still magnetised to the deck.

[TB-0210]

* * *

Jaden groaned, a futile verbal protest to the pain that seemed to permeate his entire body. At it's baseline was a persistent ache, a chorus contributed to by every joint and muscle, aggravated in pulsing waves by each insistent jab against his chest. The only part of him that didn't seem to hurt was his forehead; or perhaps it did, just to an extent that was far beyond his body's ability to comprehend. A disgruntled effort to turn his head and shift his eyebrows confirmed the latter, a new crushing sensation across the front of his skull adding to the cacophony.

The insistent nagging on his chest persisted; arms flailed vaguely in it's direction, and succeeded in batting away the hand responsible.

"I'm awake, gorram it," he muttered, finding his voice cracked and weakened by the desolate dry wasteland that had become his throat. Mustering all his strength of will, Jaden managed to crack an eyelid just a little, wincing immediately at the assaulting wave of light that flooded his vision. Even in that split second of light, he knew enough to recognise the person responsible for rousing him from his slumber. "Get your damn sweaty muscles out of my face, Amos."

[TK-304]

Were his face not so accustomed to scowling, the faint curl at the corner of Amos' mouth might almost have seemed like a smile. Now wasn't the time for that, though, no matter how amusing it was to deepen the level of Jaden's alcohol-induced suffering. The kid needed to learn, and he seemed pretty hell-bent on doing it the head first, in at the deep end sort of way. A drinking contest with a Gungan... stupid kid. Anyone with a lick of sense to them knew that amphibian species metabolised alcohol differently to how normal human folks did. It was like challenging a droid to an endurance race; unless you were some kind of freak of nature superhuman, there was no way you were gonna win.<br><br>"That's get your damn sweaty muscles out of my face, <em>Corporal</em>," Amos countered; not that it mattered, and not that Amos cared. The kid could call him Delilah if he wanted, so long as he kept his head down and got the job done. Corporal Iakona's preferences weren't relevant right now, though: the correction was a kick in the ass, a slap upside the head to get Jaden into the mindset of thinking like a stormtrooper instead of like a real person; for now, at least.<br><br>"Hurry up and get your sorry backside out of bed," he grunted, retreating from the Trooper's bunk and taking a few backwards strides, retreating across their spartan barracks to his own bunk. "Commander's on his way, and I doubt he's in a sympathetic mood."

[TB-0210]

Those words went off like a grenade in Jaden's mind, exploding him into consciousness and motion. Within a few seconds he had hurled himself from the bunk; a few more had retrieved his fatigues, fumbling the Imperial issue jumpsuit onto his uncooperative legs. Thoughts darted back and forth through his mind like speeders at an intersection. Why the sudden arrival of their Commander? Was this some strange early morning inspection being sprung upon them, or had his Lance-mates let him sleep ludicrously late? Why would they have done that? Sympathy, allowing him to recover from whatever had transpired the night before? Malicious intent, knowing that his hangover would land him on the wrong side of a bad situation?

And what had happened the night before, for that matter? Why couldn't he remember a damn thing after that drunken jerk Gungan trying to pick a fight with the off duty Imperials? Why did he feel as if he'd spent the night being dosed with intravenous battery acid? Why did the base of his lower back feel like it had been branded with a hot iron? Did his fellow troopers know? Had they helped him make it back here at the end of the night; or had they abandoned him, only to discover him here much later?

Those questions desperately demanded answers, but they would have to wait for an opportune time. Hands fumbling as if he'd forgotten to insert his finger bones that morning, Jaden barely managed to fasten all the necessary fastenings, stumble into his boots, and marshal his pushing the boundaries of regulation tangles of hair up into his uniform cap before the doorway to the barracks hissed open, heralding the arrival of their CO.

[Ethan Tahmores]

Commander Tahmores wasn't alone as he stepped into the scout trooper barracks, but he might as well have been: there was no question of who everyone's attention should be focused on. His uniform was meticulously presented, as was the rest of him. Sharp seams. Sharp hair. Sharp eyes.

His vision swept across the assembled troopers, carving through even the faintest flicker of insubordination like a cutting beam through a starship's hull. Everyone here had been on the receiving end of the Commander's ire more than once. They knew what lingered behind those threatening eyes. It was like finding a laser sight dancing across your chest: you knew exactly the devastation that awaited if anyone were to pull the trigger.

For now though, the safety was on; set to stern, not disintegrate. Reports had made it to his ears of a ruckus involving troopers from this barracks at one of the local bars; but they'd smoothed over the altercation themselves, before it had the opportunity to spill over into a formal incident report and an encounter with local law enforcement. Tahmores wasn't sure if the emotion he was feeling was relief, or disappointment. These troopers were at the bottom of the barrel, as far as his garrison here on Naboo was concerned. Insubordinate. Unreliable. Questionable. They were the kinds of troopers who were here because they had to be. Conscripts. Second-generation soldiers. Malcontents dodging their way out of prison time. They were the dregs of the Stormtrooper Corps, one tour away from either washing out or serving their time and mustering out with some minor semblance of respectability intact. Their dismissal from the Corps would reflect badly on Tahmores' unit and leadership; but so did their continued presence, and there would come a point when the former outweighed the latter.

Tahmores could only hope that their stupidity would get them killed before that happened. A dead trooper was of more use to him than a disgraced one.

He didn't bother calling them to attention; he was long past expecting proper military conduct from any of them. Instead he merely imposed himself in the centre of the room, his very presence heightening the oppressive silence that had fallen across the scout squad.

"This," he said at long last, the fracture of the silence coming as a blessed relief. "Is Sergeant Glayde; TX-1011."

He didn't bother to gesture behind him; that he was referring to his unfamiliar companion went without saying.

"He'll be taking over as your new NCO. This is your last chance, gentlemen. One last extension of the Empire's patience. Either Sergeant Glayde finds some way to hone you into passably competent soldiers; or you will find yourself with your walking papers. And for some of you -"

His attention shifted to TB-0210 in particular.

"- that walk will be straight to the nearest detention facility, to make up for time unserved. I suggest you don't allow that to happen."

[TB-0210]

Jaden felt the Commander's gaze upon him like a blinding light in his eyes. The urge to recoil away was overwhelming, but his body refused to respond, standing there unflinching as Tahmores stared into his soul. He felt his joints and muscles tense and lock, his arms refusing to move even a micron despite his straining efforts. A chill danced it's way across every inch of his skin; were it not for the sight before his eyes, Jaden might have thought he had been frozen in carbonite.

The knot of tension in his chest, the point of impact from Amos' efforts to wake him that had lingered ever since, began to collapse in on itself, transforming into a void that seemed to suck Jaden's thoughts, and energy, and will towards it. For a moment he wanted to buckle, wanted to fold in on himself, disappearing into that maw of nothingness. A single, solitary thought broke free, blasted into his mind like the photon stream from a black hole.

I'm not supposed to be here.

[Ethan Tahmores]

A flicker of a smile curled at the corner of Commander Tahmores' mouth, a seeming reaction to the words that Jaden Luka had not spoken aloud.

"That's something we can agree on," he uttered in a deep, soft voice that dripped with ominous intent. His eyes peered deeper into Jaden, searching for something, far more going on behind his gaze than the mere interest of an Imperial Commander. He drew closer, to where his gaze filled the entirety of Luka's vision, an intrusion into the trooper's personal space that left his skin crawling; something underscored as more words tumbled from the Commander's mouth. "But it's too late, Jaden Luka. There is no escape for you now."

An instant later, the intensity had shattered. Tahmores was suddenly back in the centre of the room, regarding all of his disappointments with equal disinterest. He seemed to teeter on the edge of a sigh, but held it at bay, squaring his shoulders and turning to his companion instead.

"They're all yours, Sergeant," he muttered, feet beginning to slowly propel himself on an escape trajectory from the barracks. "Good luck."

[TB-0210]

As Tahmores tore his gaze away, it was like a knife being pulled from a wound: a brief moment of relief, followed by the creeping chill of blood loss slowly seeping into the surroundings. A strange pinch against his neck, and a wave of calm began to slowly migrate it's way across his body, his tensed muscles relaxing; but at the same time finding themselves struggling to keep his body upright. A faint tremble crept it's way into the arms that Jaden finally found himself capable of moving; it took all the concentration he could muster to keep himself still standing, rather than collapsing onto the bunk behind him.

It took a few moments for Jaden to realise what was happening; to notice that the attention of their new Sergeant had settled upon him. His eyes were as sharp and keen as the Commander's had been, but the sentiment behind them was different. Softer was the wrong adjective, but it was close; riding the cusp between curious and concerned, but without straying too far into either. What was it Tahmores had said his name was? Glade? Glaive? His serial number had begun with TX, and that alone spoke volumes: special operations; or at least special training. Jaden began to wonder what specialisms this Sergeant had experienced, and what had transpired to lumber him upon their sleepy little cakewalk of an assignment. Naboo was hardly the kind of planet that demanded the attention of the Empire's elite. Was this just some unfortunate rung on the ladder, some box that needed to be checked off before the Sergeant could progress to better things? Or had he too fallen from grace? Did he belong here with the rest of them more than it seemed at first glance?

The sudden realisation dawned that the Sergeant had been speaking to him, but Jaden's mind was still too addled and aching to comprehend at a regular pace.

"Uh, Luka, sir. Tango Bravo Zero Twenny-One Zero."

[TX-1011]

A smile crept around in the background of Glayde's expression, but practised propriety kept it at bay and stopped it coming to the fore.

"Sir is for officers, Mister Luka."

Unlike the Commander's tone, Sergeant Glayde's betrayed no sense of superiority. He spoke more like a teacher, imparting useful advice as an aside; a benign correction, without all the usual trappings that usually graced the voice of a senior soldier. Yet, there was something in the way of it fully advancing all the way to sounding friendly; some barrier, some degree of restraint, like a kath puppy on a chain trying to bound enthusiastically over to a new arrival, but not managing to make it more than half-way across the lawn. He seemed to hear that same tone in his own voice; his next words softened further, making a concerted effort to reinforce the lack of criticism they contained.

"If you find yourself slipping, just back-pedal your way into Sarge, and you'll be fine."

The faint flicker of warmth, the glimmer of Corell behind the clouds rather than the full summer's day of a genuine smile, lingered for just a moment longer before it vanished under the weight of a furrowed brow. Glayde's eyes took in the features of the man before him: the pale skin, the sluggish pupils, the slight exhausted slouch. He could guess at the cause easily enough; sympathy made itself readily available, and with Luka's apparent youth it seemed a safe bet that he wasn't all that accustomed to this sort of aftermath. Yet, that sympathy counted for nothing in the grand scheme. This wasn't some retail job where you could comm in sick at the first sign of an upset stomach: this was the Stormtrooper Corps; you could be missing an arm, and you'd still be expected to return to duty as soon as the medics were done bandaging you up.

"We're due out on patrol in forty minutes," Glayde explained quietly, the faintest whiff of apology sneaking into one or two of the words. "That gives you just enough time to grab your gear and swing by the infirmary for a stim shot. We'll meet you at the speeder pool."

[TB-0210]

Embarrassment mixed with gratitude into an awkward blend. Jaden finally felt a little of the chill begin to subside as that embarrassment component began to crawl it's way warmly towards his skin. Part of him tried to resort to the excuse that the Sergeant was special ops, trained to pick up on the subtleties of a target's health, for use as a potential vulnerability. The rest of him protested the foolishness of that thought, pointing out that he almost certainly looked like reconstituted bantha shit right about now.

He certainly felt it. What the hell had he been drinking last night? How had he managed to consume enough to feel this bad, and yet somehow still be a half-way functioning human being, rather than comatose on a med bed?

Thank you, was the response that leapt readily to mind; but it probably wasn't the right reaction for the situation. "Will do, s-" he tried instead, catching himself before the syllable completed. "- Sarge."

[TX-1011]

A curt nod was all the acknowledgement that Glayde offered, before turning away to face the rest of the barracks.

"As for the rest of you," he began, his voice taking on a new tone entirely: louder, and confident, but also somewhat playful in the way that it peaked and troughed; a voice that would have sounded at home coming from the lips of the drill sergeant in a military holo-drama. He squared his shoulders and straightened his spine, hooking his gloved thumbs under the arm holes of his armoured chest piece.

"Suit up, and boot up. There's scouting to be done."


* * *

[Regan Altink]

Something has attached itself to Luka-Commander.

Whatever Tink had expected when the synthesised voice of the Novgorod's resident automaton had uttered those words, the sight before him hadn't even made an appearance on the list. The figure in front of him was allegedly Commander Luka, though he'd have to take his helmet's heads-up display for that: the SpaceOps suits that Luka's team were wearing were too blank and featureless to tell one officer from another without some sort of digital aid. Though the alleged Commander's feet were still firmly planted against the deck thanks to the suit's magnetics, the rest of him had gone limp, arms drifting slightly in the airless void, like a corpse with duracrete tied to it's ankles tossed overboard by Black Sun and left to sink to the bottom of the river.

And then there was the something - some sort of organism, though of what type, Tink couldn't even begin to guess. The main mass of it had latched on to the chest of Luka's suit, and if the scans were anything to go by, had driven some sort of stinger or mouthpiece or protrusion clean through the suit's armour plating and into Luka's chest cavity. Anything more than that was beyond Tink's capabilities, both in terms of knowledge and equipment. They'd need to get the Commander underneath a medical scanner to ascertain anything further; and therein lay the problem.

Tink let out a small sigh, trying to squint at the parasite while at the same time maintaining a safe distance. Some might have described it as a cowardly distance; to those people, Tink would have pointed out how bloody insane this situation was. Sure, the rest of the reconnaissance team had formed a perimeter and were aiming their guns at anywhere another one of these creatures might have been lurking, but when it came to alien creatures that could puncture your space suit and put you in an apparent coma, caution definitely seemed to be the order of the day.

"I am nae a biologist," he commented, glancing down at the readouts on his scanner again, "But from an engineerin' standpoint, the Commander isnae in immediate danger. The creature has released some sort a' secretion that's formed a pressure seal around the impact wound, and the suit's power cells and life support've still got a decent charge left. We willnae start runnin' in tae those kind a' problems for at least a few more hours."

He grimaced, and for a moment was somewhat glad that none of the other officers intermittently glancing in his direction as he reported in to the Captain could see the kinds of expressions he was pulling.

"As for the Commander himself... I just donnae know, Captain. The biometrics readout from the suit says he's still alive in there. We had a wee bit of a scare when we brought main power online: the creature seemed tae react, and we had tae trigger a sedative release from the suit's internal medkit, but since then he seems tae have stabilised; at least, as best as we can tell. We willnae be able to know more until we get him tae the infirmary. And even then -"

He trailed off, knowing full well the kind of situation that had just settled itself on his shoulders. It wasn't a situation report that Captain Quez was looking for: it was an analysis; an evaluation from the ranking officer on the scene. Is Luka a lost cause? Can be be safely moved? Should he be safely moved? Tiny glimpses of the fate that had befallen the crew of this vessel were starting to settle into place, and it didn't look good. They'd rigged up enough power to bring the overhead lights online, though they'd wisely left the environmental controls alone; it had quickly become apparent that one of the two drifting corpses in this room had befallen the same fate that Commander Luka was currently suffering. Making the situation a little more grim, the other had apparently succumbed to a self-inflicted blaster wound to the right temple. If Tink had to guess, the crew had tried to flush the creature off the ship through a hull breach of their own making, but it had somehow managed to make it's way into this room, seal the blast doors, and leave the crew to die slowly as the ship's entire atmosphere slowly vented. How it had achieved that while wrapped around a crewman's chest, Tink had no idea; but it was one hell of a worrisome notion.

Tink's jaw clenched, steeling himself to say what he knew he needed to say.

"I am nae sure it's wise tae let this creature aboard, Captain. We're startin' tae understand what it was capable of over on this ship; I donnae want to see the same fate befallin' our own."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Every time Cirrsseeto sent an away party on a mission, he felt incrementally more useless. The artificial right leg might as well be a chain lashing him to this spot. Nevermind the fact that he hated zero-gee walks more than anything in this cold, dark galaxy. If it was simply a choice between the vertigo, nausea, and the sound of his own quickening breaths in a helmet full of close air versus remaining on the bridge like an invalid, Captain Quez would heartily swallow his own distaste.

The viewscreen was filled with the visual telemetry piggybacked from MARCUS's portable module and the partition the droid network inhabited aboard Novgorod. The module jockeyed for position to offer the clearest view possible, but all it managed was to create more questions than it answered. Some kind of parasitic organism that may be doing what exactly? Incubating in a host? Overriding their agency to control them like a marionette? Regan Altink was hardly what one could call a medical material witness, but considering the bizarre turn of events that were unfolding, it would be foolish to think that the fate of this ship weren't tied in some direct way to this creature.

"Doctorr, what am jI lookjing at?"

[Doctor Oodenplatz]

"That's the sixty-four thousand credit question."

Doctor Oodenplatz leaned a little closer to the viewscreen, as if that might somehow give him a better view from the fixed vantage. The Quarren's face tentacles curled and slacked in slow unison as he narrowed his eyes.

"I'm afraid most of my knowledge of xenobiology begins and ends with baseline humanoids, and a few notable odds and ends. Whatever this creature is, it doesn't seem to be adversely affected by hard vacuum."

The Quarren's tentacles fanned out slightly in thought.

"There are a few species that come to mind that share this ability, but I've never heard of any that exhibit seemingly parasitic behavior on terrestrial organisms."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

The answer dissatisfied the Captain deeply, and he sneered as he shifted weight between his real foot and his synthetic one.

"jI'm not takjing a zoology exam, Doc. Clearrly whateverr jit jis, jit's a thrreat to my fjirrst offjicerr. Now you'rre telljing me you don't know jif jit's a thrreat to the rrest of us."

Cirr sucked a sharp breath in between his teeth, then let it out in a slow draw. His blue eyes panned back to meet the Quarren.

"Sjimple math forr me. Arre you trrajined forr zerro gee?"

[Doctor Oodenplatz]

The Quarren's face tentacles quivered as he took a half-step back.

"What, me?"

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

"Yeah. You. Wjith me."

Cirr jerked a thumb toward the lift, making it clear the good doctor was coming with him. As his pointed expression concealed from the Quarren's worried eyes with a heel turn, the Cizerack couldn't help a fleeting smile of schadenfreude.

"Don't worrry. Everrythjing's fjine as long as you don't look down."

It felt too good to throw that bullshit line from his instructors back at someone else, and Cirrsseeto had to will the looping wag in his tail back down into a disinterested sway as they stepped into the lift. Keying for deck four, the Captain removed his commstick while giving Oodenplatz a cryptic wink.

"Marrcus. jI want yourr bjipedal unjit to meet us jin the hangarr."

[MARCUS]

The response came as crisp and concise as always.

"Acknowledged."

The Electronic Warfare terinal of Novgorod routed its processes and activated the Lupine MMU unit tethered into its hive consciousness. With a whirring of cooling fans, the droid started to life, unfolding from a space-saving fetal position in the cargo hold where it was tethered to a power supply. Quickly disconnecting, MARCUS wasted little time in making for the hangar, arriving only a moment after Captain Quez and Doctor Oodenplatz emerged from the ship's lift.

"Ready for orders, Captain."

The single ocular of the MMU focused on Cirrsseeto and dimmed a fraction as it optimized its focus.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

There was something strangely soothing in MARCUS's directness. Some might consider it brusque or rude, but Cirrsseeto had always figured the droid was good at heart - for a droid, that was. Plus he said precisely what he meant, and that was the most refreshing thing in the galaxy at times.

Cirr glanced to the Quarren, then back to MARCUS.

"It's the good doctorr's fjirrst space walk. Get hjim sujited for EVA, and...chaperrone hjim overr to the derreljict."

Captain Quez quarter-pivoted to face Oodenplatz.

"jIf we can't brrjing Commanderr Luka to the jinfjirrmarry, we'rre brrjingjing the jinfjirrmarry to Commanderr Luka. Any quesstjions?"

Oodenplatz's tentacles still quavered, but he shook his head nonetheless. Cirr clapped a reassuring hand on the Quarren's shoulders, causing him to startle slightly.

"Get jit done. jI'm countjing on you. The Commanderr's countjing on you."