Senate Guard
Tattered and torn by a wave of mechanical failures, the heavy transport cruiser Corynorhinus is barely keeping even the air recycling systems operational.
Although otherwise the 41.8 meters (~137 feet) long Gozanti-class model is quite defensible due to its well-fortified hull bracing and the fact that it is armed with formidable weaponry, currently the ship is little more than a floating coffin on a collision course with the planet Rodia. Shields and weapons systems are out and control of the ship is lost. It should be a few days before we burn up in the planet’s atmosphere, but then there is the problem with the injured, as well as a lack of sustenance.
- …This has been the co-pilot, Gorth’alon speaking. Signing off. – Said the incredibly deep and raspy voice on the comms.
Click. The emergency request is aired on every available frequency. All the passengers can do now is wait.
- You know this is really dangerous, right? It’s not just the good guys that could pick up on this. – Asked Motozuma, the Dug pilot of the stolen ship. Like many on this ship, he is mostly afraid of the unknown, and rightly so. As slaves, we have been deliberately kept in the dark regarding the goings-on of the galaxy.
His fur tinted by the muted but frantically flashing emergency lights of the cockpit and sitting on the ground next to the pilot is the spearhead of the revolt and the ever calm hulking beast, Gorth’alon.
- What other systems are left? – He asked.
- We can still hail ships that are close by. – Motozuma ponders a bit and looks up at the ominous planet looming ahead. – All that’s left is powering the cargo bay’s ventilation. Oh and yeah, we have no emergency pods on this thing.
- Can we operate the cargo bay’s loading ramp? – The Yuzzem asks. – Well, no. – Arrives the answer without hesitation.
- How many people can this thing carry officially?
After fumbling about in the central computer, the Dug quickly finds an answer. – It says here it’s twelve.
- Then we are moving everyone out of the cargo hold and onto the bridge. We are shutting down cargo ventilation. Would that free up enough power to operate the cargo doors and the platform?
For the first time since they have been talking, Motozuma stops, spins around with his chair and looks into the pitch black eyes of his friend skulking in the corner. The Dug has always caught onto things quickly.
- I see what you’re doing... Yes, this could work. It won’t free up enough juice to power up the ship’s shields, but for opening cargo doors, it should be enough. – Motozuma hobbles out of his chair and onto his hands. – I still hope we’ll be towed to safety, but if some bantha herder wants to return us to the sender, we’ll flush the bastard if we can get them to board.
- We didn’t come all this way to give up now. You monitor the readings. I go relocate the injured.
So begins the journey of the fragile crew of the commercial cruiser Corynorhinus. The odds are still stacked devastatingly against them, yet the passion for survival still burns within the hearts of the forsaken gladiators.
Although otherwise the 41.8 meters (~137 feet) long Gozanti-class model is quite defensible due to its well-fortified hull bracing and the fact that it is armed with formidable weaponry, currently the ship is little more than a floating coffin on a collision course with the planet Rodia. Shields and weapons systems are out and control of the ship is lost. It should be a few days before we burn up in the planet’s atmosphere, but then there is the problem with the injured, as well as a lack of sustenance.
- …This has been the co-pilot, Gorth’alon speaking. Signing off. – Said the incredibly deep and raspy voice on the comms.
Click. The emergency request is aired on every available frequency. All the passengers can do now is wait.
- You know this is really dangerous, right? It’s not just the good guys that could pick up on this. – Asked Motozuma, the Dug pilot of the stolen ship. Like many on this ship, he is mostly afraid of the unknown, and rightly so. As slaves, we have been deliberately kept in the dark regarding the goings-on of the galaxy.
His fur tinted by the muted but frantically flashing emergency lights of the cockpit and sitting on the ground next to the pilot is the spearhead of the revolt and the ever calm hulking beast, Gorth’alon.
- What other systems are left? – He asked.
- We can still hail ships that are close by. – Motozuma ponders a bit and looks up at the ominous planet looming ahead. – All that’s left is powering the cargo bay’s ventilation. Oh and yeah, we have no emergency pods on this thing.
- Can we operate the cargo bay’s loading ramp? – The Yuzzem asks. – Well, no. – Arrives the answer without hesitation.
- How many people can this thing carry officially?
After fumbling about in the central computer, the Dug quickly finds an answer. – It says here it’s twelve.
- Then we are moving everyone out of the cargo hold and onto the bridge. We are shutting down cargo ventilation. Would that free up enough power to operate the cargo doors and the platform?
For the first time since they have been talking, Motozuma stops, spins around with his chair and looks into the pitch black eyes of his friend skulking in the corner. The Dug has always caught onto things quickly.
- I see what you’re doing... Yes, this could work. It won’t free up enough juice to power up the ship’s shields, but for opening cargo doors, it should be enough. – Motozuma hobbles out of his chair and onto his hands. – I still hope we’ll be towed to safety, but if some bantha herder wants to return us to the sender, we’ll flush the bastard if we can get them to board.
- We didn’t come all this way to give up now. You monitor the readings. I go relocate the injured.
So begins the journey of the fragile crew of the commercial cruiser Corynorhinus. The odds are still stacked devastatingly against them, yet the passion for survival still burns within the hearts of the forsaken gladiators.
Only time will tell what Fate has in store for them.
*Edit: 24/09/2021 Retconned Apatros. Thanks for understanding!
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