Dile Congor
The Engineer is Engi-here
Location: Doan, a Pyke Syndicate outpost a few dozen kilcks west of the capital.
Objective: Defend the outpost.
In normal circumstances, wearing his pressure suit was an uncomfortable (albeit necessary and useful) affair for Dile Congor. But today, it made him the most comfortable person on the dingy little outpost that served as his current worksite. While he enjoyed the luxury of a vacuum seal and air filtration system, everyone else had to deal with the indignity of choking through the dust cloud that had decided to stubbornly cling to the area. The outpost’s Pyke Guards were able to make do by tightening their standard issue masks to their faces, but most of Dile’s fellow “independent contractors” (i.e. mercenaries) were looking thoroughly miserable. But as annoying as it was, their biggest problem was not the dust, but rather the insurgents that it could be concealing.
As Dile understood it, the Pykes had occupied Doan around half a decade ago and had been squeezing its mines and miners dry ever since. Now, the miners had had enough and were beginning to mount a more organized insurgency against the Syndicate. This particular outpost was in their crosshairs, and so Dile and a few other contractors had been brought in to bolster its defenses. (Dile was there to install better defense systems, while most of the others seemed to be more simple hired guns.)
It also seemed that the insurgents also had outside help of some kind, but the briefing Dile had been given was frustratingly vague on what exactly this “outside help” was. For his part, Dile would be siding with the faction that would:
1. Pay him better.
2. Actually win.
3. Let him field test his defensive emplacements.
At the moment, Dile was on lunch break after a long morning of setting up his signature SG-68s at strategic points throughout the interior and exterior of the outpost. He sat with some of his fellow freelancers playing a half-hearted game of sabaac.
“Sssso…” started a wiry Trandoshan sitting directly across from Dile. “…you think thosssse rockssssplitterssss will have the gutssss to attack ussss?”
“Eh, maybe. Maybe not. If they don’t, these Pykes better not stiff us. I’ve gotten too much dust up my gills to go home without somethin’ to show for it.” replied a crusty Mon Calamari to Dile’s right.
“And they better not stiff us if they do show up.” said a clearly displeased Pantoran on Dile’s left. “Looking around us, I’m definitely not seeing the Syndicate’s best and brightest.” he continued, lowering his voice. “When the blaster bolts start to fly, I’ve got a bad feeling that it’s us who’ll be doing most of the work.”
“Well, that might be so.” said Dile in his distinctive, vocabulator-translated voice . “But really, [fzzzt] I welcome the opportunity. It ain’t every day that I get the chance to be my employers’ golden ticket to victory and give my defense systems a good old [fzzzt] field test.”
Not but a few seconds after Dile said this, the outpost’s alarm system blared to life. A static-heavy voice on the intercom followed up, stating “Attention all personnel. Report to battle stations. We are under attack from insurgents.”
Dile wasted no time in standing up and heading for the staircase leading up to the battlements. It seemed he would be getting his field test sooner than he expected.
Objective: Defend the outpost.
In normal circumstances, wearing his pressure suit was an uncomfortable (albeit necessary and useful) affair for Dile Congor. But today, it made him the most comfortable person on the dingy little outpost that served as his current worksite. While he enjoyed the luxury of a vacuum seal and air filtration system, everyone else had to deal with the indignity of choking through the dust cloud that had decided to stubbornly cling to the area. The outpost’s Pyke Guards were able to make do by tightening their standard issue masks to their faces, but most of Dile’s fellow “independent contractors” (i.e. mercenaries) were looking thoroughly miserable. But as annoying as it was, their biggest problem was not the dust, but rather the insurgents that it could be concealing.
As Dile understood it, the Pykes had occupied Doan around half a decade ago and had been squeezing its mines and miners dry ever since. Now, the miners had had enough and were beginning to mount a more organized insurgency against the Syndicate. This particular outpost was in their crosshairs, and so Dile and a few other contractors had been brought in to bolster its defenses. (Dile was there to install better defense systems, while most of the others seemed to be more simple hired guns.)
It also seemed that the insurgents also had outside help of some kind, but the briefing Dile had been given was frustratingly vague on what exactly this “outside help” was. For his part, Dile would be siding with the faction that would:
1. Pay him better.
2. Actually win.
3. Let him field test his defensive emplacements.
At the moment, Dile was on lunch break after a long morning of setting up his signature SG-68s at strategic points throughout the interior and exterior of the outpost. He sat with some of his fellow freelancers playing a half-hearted game of sabaac.
“Sssso…” started a wiry Trandoshan sitting directly across from Dile. “…you think thosssse rockssssplitterssss will have the gutssss to attack ussss?”
“Eh, maybe. Maybe not. If they don’t, these Pykes better not stiff us. I’ve gotten too much dust up my gills to go home without somethin’ to show for it.” replied a crusty Mon Calamari to Dile’s right.
“And they better not stiff us if they do show up.” said a clearly displeased Pantoran on Dile’s left. “Looking around us, I’m definitely not seeing the Syndicate’s best and brightest.” he continued, lowering his voice. “When the blaster bolts start to fly, I’ve got a bad feeling that it’s us who’ll be doing most of the work.”
“Well, that might be so.” said Dile in his distinctive, vocabulator-translated voice . “But really, [fzzzt] I welcome the opportunity. It ain’t every day that I get the chance to be my employers’ golden ticket to victory and give my defense systems a good old [fzzzt] field test.”
Not but a few seconds after Dile said this, the outpost’s alarm system blared to life. A static-heavy voice on the intercom followed up, stating “Attention all personnel. Report to battle stations. We are under attack from insurgents.”
Dile wasted no time in standing up and heading for the staircase leading up to the battlements. It seemed he would be getting his field test sooner than he expected.