Desert Dunes, Desert Tunes

[Mint]

Location: Desert Wasteland, Tattooine​

​

Mint really had not thought this through. His glowing yellow eyes watched the two ships ascend into the horizon, leaving him stranded in the wreckage of some long forgotten ship that was buried and unburied at the whims of the desert winds. He would awkwardly look behind him at the wreck of his dune hopper, smoldering and already starting to get buried as the sands began to pick up once again. Worst things had happened, what was he going to do about it?

He would jog over to the speeder, tearing off some of the metal polls and netting to create a makeshift sleigh. On this sleigh he'd pile on any supplies he could, and begin dragging them inside the abandoned ship. The ship itself was falling apart, sparks going off occasionally as back up generators powered what ever they could, as they had been doing for who knows how long. He would make his way down a long hallway, and turn into a mostly empty room which appeared to have once been a clinic. Dumping his supplies, he'd pry open some of the metallic cabinets, pocketing what ever pills or medicines he could find, before rubbing at his temples.

Salvation! He'd spot the intercom, still dimply illuminated. He would waddle over, opening up the device and connecting it to the main communications device, which seemed to be barely active, and sending out a pre-recorded SOS message to anyone and anything that could hear it.

"This is captain Olmak of the freighter Big Bantha, we are need of assistance, reward for anyone who saves us." the message would play. If Mint actually knew how to slice into it and get at the coding maybe he could've sent his own message, but hopefully this would do... If he did send his own message? What would it be? Probably simple, something like.. Is anyone out there?

 

[Ruek Tast]

A RZ-1 A-wing interceptor hummed over the dunes of Tattooine. The Outer Rim was the most familiar belt of space, even in the shattered future Ruek and Tast found themselves in. It was a comfort to find Tattooine so unchanged. Even this far out in time, no one bothered with developing this ball of sand. A message shuddered over the comm:

"This is captain Olmak of the freighter Big Bantha, we are need of assistance, reward for anyone who saves us."

Ruek lowered the volume of the signal and kept steady the interceptor's course. A cool sensation breezed into her mind. Tast. She spoke before he could form a word, "No."

She could hear an amused sigh, "Rue... at least see what they need." She raised a hand in protest, "We aren't here to get friendly. Massiffs. Massiff chitin is all I'm after, which means it's all you're after too. No." Tast rummaged about their shared mental space, flipping through the files in their temporal lobe. Ah, there it was. Ruek groaned then slumped in the pilot's seat as the memory reel played. A much younger Ruek, snowy Jelucan mountains, a small caravan of second wave colonists with a sick Muunyak. She was hesitant, cradling a rifle while standing off in the clefts of rugged rock and watching the inexperienced colonists struggle with their beast. It was at Tast's gentle urging that she help them and, after a few rounds of pros and cons, the reserved adolescent lent a hand to the newcomers. It proved fruitful, as they awarded her with thick happabore leather. It sold well at market.

"Good times?" Ruek responds with a grumble. "Save us" could mean--"
"Anything."
"Ooor giving a helping hand. Maybe replacing some panels! Uh, helping with a converter?" Ruek's silence was deafening. Tast let her stew a few minutes. "What if that was us out there?"

The interceptor continued to crest the dunes ahead. With a wide arch the A-wing whirred off it's plotted path, a wave of sand cascading down as the ship rerouted toward the source of the broadcast.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Location: Desert Wasteland, Tattooine
Wearing: Armor | The Forgemaster's Ring | Ring of Stasis | Sofitor
Wielding: 7 Nozhi Blades | 2 Czerka knives | 1 Nastirci Combat Knives | Clarion | Copero's Wail | Fire and Smoke (lightsabers) | Combat Gauntlets | 2 TOTT-001 Arc Light Blaster | 2 Dissuader K-30 Pistols with Glitter Bullets
Tags: [member="Mint"] [member="Ruek Tast "].

She should not have been there. By all rights, she had no business being there, in the heart of Confederate space, so close to their capital. Under normal circumstances, she really wouldn't have thought to step into that part of the galaxy at all, even after having taken the long detour of flying around and through Coalition space instead. If the Ministry of Secret was still as good as it had been back when she was part of it, they would know.

Now, it wasn't necessarily a problem that they'd know. The main problem was that she didn't know what the reaction would be. Would they try to go after their cheapest meat shield? Would they even care? Would she be left alone and free to release the sense of dread and worry she had every time she was in this space? Today was not a good day to find out.

Still, here she was on Tatooine. A whiff of something, a dream, had demanded her presence there. Something that had to do with the roots of her family, that had been strong enough that she had taken some time off from her Agents of Chaos activity and away from the Scintilla to come and pursue it. She'd taken one of the newer ships, one she knew wasn't on any form of registry, and had arrived. With her was a small makeshift comm device with which she tried to pick up random frequencies. It wasn't anything like the fancy stuff she was used to working with, but somehow-

"We are need of assistance, reward for anyone who saves us."

Scherezade grumped. She wasn't really in the business of saving others just for the sake of it. Especially when by the name of their ship, they were locals, and Tatooine locals were hard as nuts when you wanted to move them to get something done off-planet. Still, there were coordinates here. Was she meant to treat them as a sign, that this is where her stupid dream was trying to lead her? She wasn't really sure. Distractions were a-plenty, almost anywhere. And she also was unaware of others (such as @Ruek Tast) who were making their way there. It was so strange, to be on Tatooin and yet have so little information available to her.

"I have a bad feeling about this," she muttered under her breath, and re-ignited her speeder. She was gonna meet the distressed people and figure chit out from there.

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

Location: Desert Wasteland, Tatooine
Wearing: Expensive Threads | HoloLink | Lightsaber
In Orbit: CDS Bellerophon | CDRS-42891
Planetside: K-9L2 (Bodyguard)

[ lapti nek ]​

​

Sor-Jan could always find a reason to visit Tatooine.

[member="Danger Arceneau"] had substantial business investments on the planet, which in turn made Tatooine attractive for its ports. The Arceneau Trade Company had successfully transformed a once backwater nowhere into a rather lucrative hub of commerce.

The proximity and association with the government of the Confederate Vicelord was actually a boon. Corellia Digital had a number of business dealings with the Confederacy, allowing the company executive to effectively kill two birds with one business trip. The shareholders would feel that the company was showing proper respect toward its potential client base in the Confederacy, while taking advantage of Tatooine's Huttese culture as an opportunity to handle some currency exchanges that were difficult to arrange from Corellia or Laekia.

As Confederate space tended to be more secure than was normal elsewhere, the young Anzati had forgone the usual protocol of travel via one of the company star destroyers. Instead, one of the company frigate's orbited the desert world. A Sentinel class explorer, the company's response to aging fleet MC42 Ruisto-class that the company had procured from the Levantine Astronautical Academy a decade prior.

Despite appearances, the youngling was one of the richest individuals in the galaxy. Add the fact that he had come with several million in bank notes for exchange into peggats and it was easy to understand why even a former Jedi Master would travel with an entourage. Even now, there was an almost comical contrast between the diminutive Anzati and the KX-series bodyguard that towered over him like an iron giant.

The exchange had been completed earlier in the day. The droids had just finished the task of loading the peggats onto one of the company shuttles, the transport vanishing beyond the clouds as the tow-headed youth watched from the guardrails along the side of the sail barge. Dulla the Hutt always managed to keep things lively when on Tatooine, and this occasion seemed no different than the last.

The currency having been exchanged, now the problem was in gauging how much longer to remain. It would be rude to depart immediately, as the Hutt had extended an offer to enjoy the entertainment. But one didn't want to linger too long and risk appearing overly friendly.

Even still, while the band wasn't the worst that Sor-Jan had heard in this galaxy, it definitely was not to his taste. So when his HoloLink vibrated, it was a rather welcomed excuse to depart.

The company had arranged an airspeeder for use on the planet. In keeping with the CEO's preferences, the rental was a XJ-6 high performance model. After departing Dulla's sail barge, Sor-Jan had thought to visit the market at Mos Eisley -- but a distress signal in the wastes of Tatooine was definitely more interesting.

With the KX bodyguard at the wheel, the boy tapped his HoloLink as the pair started toward the source of the transmission.

[member="Scherezade deWinter"] | [member="Ruek Tast "] | [member="Mint"]​

 

[Mint]

Mint would shuffle awkwardly around the room. Waiting. The most despicable activity that mortals had ever been cursed with. His hand would duck behind his hood to scratch at where steel attached to flesh, his cybernetic enhancements always itched... maybe he should have that looked at? He couldn't just do nothing, it was incredibly boring. Heading back to his things he'd grab his stun gun, hoisting it over his shoulder as he would march into the hall.

One of his glowing yellow eyes would blink out for a split second before being replaced by a glowing blue light, which would soon emanate several blue beams, scanning the hallway and feeding back a variety of information back to his mind. Damages to the ship, value of visible parts, air contaminants, all valuable information easily accessed by the scanner as it lit up the hallway he walked down. It had taken him years to get used to such a vast and steady amount of information flowing directly to his brain, yet now he barely was phased by it, really only paying any attention to it when calling up data he had interest in. Brushing his hand along the wall, he would wonder just how long this ship had been here, it was certainly old, hundreds of years probably, what had kept the scavengers away?

"Old Confederacy Ship?" He'd muse to himself, his high pitched voice echoing off the walls and throughout the ship. Soon his suspicions would be affirmed as he would open up one of the cargo holds to find a couple dozen deactivated, rusted, and inoperable B1 battle droids. Perhaps fleeing from Geonosis when the jedi attacked? Clone battle ship shot it down? Maybe it was just struck by pirates when delivering B1s from the factories on Geonosis? It certainly had something to do with Geonosis, especially with how close it was...

Mint would spend the next couple of hours roaming the ship, finding more b1s, a couple b2s, but not signs of any that had ever been active, and definitely no signs of a crew. His clan would certainly have to return, try to get as many of these droids in operating condition. An easy work force, re-purpose what was once for war to build? Or just sell them to some pirate looking for a quick army. Yet, all of his ideas would soon come to a halt when his scanner detected DNA. Krayt Dragon. Mint would shuffle up to the pile of dung sitting in one of the halls, fresh too. It was still here? Was it stalking him?

[member="Sor-Jan Xantha"] [member="Scherezade deWinter"] [member="Ruek Tast"]

 

[Ruek Tast]

As the interceptor closed in to the broadcast's location the decrepit ship came into view. Ruek slowed their speed by a fraction as they glided down the last dune in the way of their destination. She felt Tast extend his reach toward the decaying monolith to poke and prod the exterior of the crash. She could almost, almost feel the sensation of pitted and sand-worn metal on her finger tips. She stretched her gloved hands over the controls and proceeded a short distance before shutting down the engines.

She sits. Waits.

Ten minutes pass and she feels Tast pooling back in her head again. She wets her lips but stays silent, wanting Tast to acknowledge his mistake.
"Well someone had to activate the SOS."
Ruek slaps off her gloves to better rub her hands. Knuckles had grown stiff during their journey. "Did ya sense anyone?"
A delayed response, "Whoever activated the message must be further inside. Since we're already here..."

With a reserved sigh she leans over the controls to open the hatch and it rises with a hydraulic hiss. "An old CIS ship. Ancient, at this point. Crashed here before we were born, before the jump. We will search it but only to satisfy you. Waste of time." Ruek slides down the side of the A-wing and grabs her usual load-out. A personalized sniper rifle, a vibroaxe and slugpistol, the bandolier with all its goodies, and a few miscellaneous items make their way on her person. She puts on her gloves again then grabs her green and orange helmet. The helmet seals around her throat and a blue holographic HUD blips across her visor.

The interceptor's hatch clamps shut as Ruek treads toward the old freighter. Rifle cradled in her arms she slips in between broken panels and twisted frame, finding herself walking down a mangled corridor.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Location: Desert Wasteland, Tattooine
Wearing: Armor | The Forgemaster's Ring | Ring of Stasis | Sofitor
Wielding: 7 Nozhi Blades | 2 Czerka knives | 1 Nastirci Combat Knives | Clarion | Copero's Wail | Fire and Smoke (lightsabers) | Combat Gauntlets | 2 TOTT-001 Arc Light Blaster | 2 Dissuader K-30 Pistols with Glitter Bullets
Tags: [member="Mint"] [member="Ruek Tast "][member="Sor-Jan Xantha"]

Scherezade's knowledge of ships wasn't great. Tobe more precise, it was nearly nonexistent. She knew how to operate a ship's AI and thanks to a tutor, knew how to manually navigate a ship, but that was more or less it. When it came to designs, or tech info, or any of that, her knowledge was mostly summed up as This is pretty, I like it or This is ugly, but if it functions I'll take it.

And as such, when the old Confederacy ship came into view, nothing moved on the Sithling's face, since she did not recognize it for what it was, and thus, did not take a U turn and let somebody entirely different handle it.

Parking her vehicle by one of the entrances, she stared at the big lump of metals. There was someone alive inside, she could sense as such, but she wasn't entirely certain how much life or where exactly it was.

With a careless shrug, she entered. Inside was, as one would expect, completely dark. Sighing, she muttered the words to the one single spell that she'd created during her training with the Mandragora; "Give me a sound and give me the night, let me see it all tonight." The small ding sound sounded in her head, and suddenly the inside of the ship all came into beautiful view, everything colored in shades of pinks and purples and a touch of blues. Still, Scherezade took a mental note to find a way to do the same without a witch spell. Those days were long over for her, and would remain over until the day she came to destroy or liberate (or both) Dathomir.

Scherezade could see what was there, but not the person – or people – she was sensing. Thanks to the distress call, her mental image was of a human. Or humanoid. Or near human. Certainly not anything resembling a Jawa.

"Hello?" she called out loud, taking another step or two in, "Got your distress call! If you're a big scary people eating monster you should still show yourself!"