Valpo Pavan
Character
It was a Lambda-class T-4a shuttle, the kind of transport shuttle used to carry troops or officers of the Empire during the reign of Emperor Palpatine. It was not some cheap replica either, knocked off by some Toydarian or some other less-than-reputable species to complete some poor collector's antique Galactic Empire memorabilia slowly collecting dust in some forgotten bunker deep within the Inner Rim! No, this puppy was the real thing, dug up by our greasy rodian pilot here, Baljoba-something-or-other, and refurbished. A roughly EIGHT-HUNDRED year-old piece of junk, "repaired" by some bootleg technician who does not seem to know the difference between a hyperdrive and a jawa. By the time the ion engine coughed to life with a jolt and the shuttle shakily ascended into the atmosphere, Valpo had largely accepted that it would be unlikely he would ever touch ground again.
They were heading deeper into the Core, Valpo so he could join one faction or another to fight, Baljoba-whatever because Valpo had pointed a rifle at his head and told him to do so. However, the moment Valpo laid his eyes upon the derelict vessel, he soon regretted his decision. The radiator heat sinks were clogged with centuries of dirt and dust, the power cells for the shield (the ORIGINAL power cells, mind you) were so burnt out they had fused into the aligning metal, and the cockpit, oh may the Force be with us, the cockpit was one-hundred-percent trashed. The gunner station had been completed removed, splayed wires stretched out like hands, pleading for the sweet relief of death, corpses of a centuries-worth of rodents decomposed in heaps along the perimeter of the engineering station, and the pilot's station had been seemingly beaten back by a hammer to accommodate the ship's extra-hefty new owner.
If there was any unforgivable sin to the entirety of this journey, however, it would be the "custom" surround sound established in the main cabin. No matter how many times Valpo threatened him, no matter how many warning shots were fired into the vast and vacant passenger cabin, no matter how much he screamed, nothing would stop Baljoba-blah from blasting Figrin D'an and the Modal Nodes. As the hours began to slip away, and Valpo in and out of consciousness, that single song slowly echoed from the crusty speakers, and the sounds of kloo horns and fanfars became slowly more and more distant. Then, there was nothing.
They were heading deeper into the Core, Valpo so he could join one faction or another to fight, Baljoba-whatever because Valpo had pointed a rifle at his head and told him to do so. However, the moment Valpo laid his eyes upon the derelict vessel, he soon regretted his decision. The radiator heat sinks were clogged with centuries of dirt and dust, the power cells for the shield (the ORIGINAL power cells, mind you) were so burnt out they had fused into the aligning metal, and the cockpit, oh may the Force be with us, the cockpit was one-hundred-percent trashed. The gunner station had been completed removed, splayed wires stretched out like hands, pleading for the sweet relief of death, corpses of a centuries-worth of rodents decomposed in heaps along the perimeter of the engineering station, and the pilot's station had been seemingly beaten back by a hammer to accommodate the ship's extra-hefty new owner.
If there was any unforgivable sin to the entirety of this journey, however, it would be the "custom" surround sound established in the main cabin. No matter how many times Valpo threatened him, no matter how many warning shots were fired into the vast and vacant passenger cabin, no matter how much he screamed, nothing would stop Baljoba-blah from blasting Figrin D'an and the Modal Nodes. As the hours began to slip away, and Valpo in and out of consciousness, that single song slowly echoed from the crusty speakers, and the sounds of kloo horns and fanfars became slowly more and more distant. Then, there was nothing.