The Morellia Damotite Massacre

[Dunames Lopez]

Was Dunames becoming nothing more than a backup pilot for Star Tours? Of course, this Lanteeb-Ringo Vinda flight was her first flight as a Tofolk pilot, having piloted the other four classes in Star Tours service at some point, so she felt a little uncomfortable with the controls (but not the TCAS or GPWS) at first. After her last trip on Thakwaa, where she discovered that damotite was, in its inhaled form, an addictive drug for Thakwaash, she was called up on Lanteeb while the captain fell ill and couldn't do the return flight of the Beaches of the Dark Side cruise. She did bring the point that Sump, Lanteeb and Verkuyl were planets where logistic chains were bottlenecked by spaceport capacity during the summit. But what she didn't suspect at the time was that the next shipment was to be loaded mostly with damotite, while only 94 passengers were boarding the flight up to Ringo Vinda, which could all be seated in first class at no extra cost. In fact, the free upgrade lasted as long as Ringo Vinda: the ship was to stop on Ringo Vinda and pick up passengers to Morellia, the ship's final destination, while no damotite would be unloaded and no extra cargo was to be picked up other than the passengers' baggage.

"Merrily, how many containers of damotite are in there?"

"Here's the cargo manifest Mrs. Brisson left us before she hurreidly went to the hospital"

"Holy cow? 242 containers of damotite? All bound for Morellia? Had the Morellian Weapons Conglomerate been caught for insalubrity?"

Each container contained 55 tons of refined damotite apiece. The product manager of the Beaches of the Dark Side travel package series was scheduled to depart for Kothlis and then on to Glee Anselm and, from there, to Dubrillion, with Dulvoyinn now being out of the question. Dunames guessed that, with Victoria Brisson becoming sick, she would need to delay the release of other destinations in the Beaches of the Dark Side line of vacation packages. And she was noticeably absent from the Summit, too. For the first time in months, Dunames felt the need to shapeshift, doing so in a bathroom because she needed to take off clothing before she could undertake the process.

[member="Coci Heavenshield"] [member="Thurion Heavenshield"] [member="Valiens Nantaris"] [member="David Hoxt"] [member="Jansal Corego"] [member="The Harbinger"]

 

[Jansal Corego]

The room was small, but well kept, even carpeted; built beside an outlook leading into the personal hangers ringing the lower levels of the station's given sector. A few panels lined the walls, holographic displays brightly lit with rendered models of the locally parked starcrafts, in addition to a synthetic voice accommodation, buzzing out with the reminder that, yes, indeed, there were panels on the wall, likely inputted to entertain the more technologically inept. The room, originally, serviced as a district office for fuel regulation; calling on a few favors and flashing some credits, however, left it at Jansal's disposal for the duration of his time here. By the time he would be ready to depart, a tram would carry him to the vessel he was expected to take: one that would transport him directly to Morellia, where the operation would commence. Grimacing, he returned his fixation to the present - to the cases he now carried; three in total, cerillium-made, each lined with an internal filling of insulfoam molds which held the individual parts in place.

"Hanger 2-1B is home to Galactic Representative Molak's personal-"

Click. Jansal flicked off the panel and returned to work, mind buzzing with the all-so familiar process of the mission he was about to undertake; though the gravity of it all, the risks, the rewards, it was far beyond him, even then. The first case, which he opened on the desk - one formed of alabaster, imported from the distant reaches of Alanciar - flicked open at the touch of his thumb, pressed flat, exposed, along a thin, holographic scanner hidden beneath a small plastoid switch at the mouth of the valise; three magazines of high-strength durasteel, built to hold ten heavy-hitting slugs, custom made by way of an alternative employer. All he needed were the rounds - .50 caliber, caseless; it was one thing to smuggle the parts in - weapons weren't exactly a forbidden commodity thus far, though the amount he was looking to pack for the operation would have definitely raised suspicion - self-defense is one thing, an attack is another. And Jansal had a schedule to keep.

Before his arrival on Ringo Vinda he had organized the more discreet supplies to be sent ahead of him, getting to the very room where they had been concealed was the hard part. He tilted himself down - a difficult motion with the armor he wore, also custom-built, though by himself; rather, a modification upon his heirloom, his father's Mandalorian armor. Uv1-BEHD/MB Prototype armor, named for sophistication, built for upper body movement; his legs, on the other hand, felt strapped down to the floor. Not that it mattered, he was able to spot the boxes underneath, each plastoid composite, bright white; it unnerved him with the ease in which he found it, though he supposed if one hadn't known it was there, they would've been unlikely to stumble upon it. The fact it was still there provided enough relief from the suspense. Dragging them out, one by one, he unpinned the lid and began transferring the ammunition into the magazines before depositing them on his belt - open carry would lead to less suspicion, excess rounds could be deposited amongst the remaining baggage with little risk.

Snapping open the remaining cases, he set to work - both filled with disassembled parts for a singular weapon; though not overly complex in disassembly, the rifle was composed of both slugthrower and coilgun components - separating them had led security to assume they were individual weapons. Less attention that way, Jansal had assumed. Snapping on the barrel, readjusting the infrared rangefinder and smart optics, the weapon slowly hummed to life - painted pale and outfitted for effectiveness. He closed his eyes, silently thanking its manufacturer before slipping the weapon to his side; though large, at an angle the holster did the trick - leaving him walking about with his hand on its butt like some nu-sci-fi knight. Now for diagnostics: tuning onto a wrist mounted-computer, he left the system to run an automatic inventory check as he strolled about, mapping over his own armor visually for enemy imperfections or missing components, that might result in a fatal mistake during combat.

Checking: the rifle, completed with smart optics and infrared rangefinder for projectile precision; inertial dampener for velocity management and optional suppresor located on belt. Three magazines, ten rounds each; additional ammunition hidden in personal luggage. Armor check: operations seem to be fine, JT-12 jetpack equipped, magnetically fastened to back; whipcord thrower swapped for grapple spike - knee darts outfitted with a magazine, holding two each. A few more in belt, mounted in ammunition pouch. Magnoatomic adhesion soles, rebreather, and helmet-mounted back-up rangefinder, all equip. Helmet operations are all working perfectly. Armor diagnostics reveal no imperfections, protection is at a maximum. Anti-security blade? Jansal almost forgot that, skimming through his pockets until he fished it out, planting it on his belt; beyond this, he was set. Explosives would be provided post-descent. He tapped his finger on his rifle, glancing out to the hangars; was this really worth the risk? How many would die if he was successful?

He supposed it didn't matter, in the end. Life's fatal as it is, and if he didn't do it, someone else certainly would; only difference would be who was holding the credits.

[member="Dunames Lopez"]
[member="Coci Heavenshield"]
[member="Thurion Heavenshield"]
[member="Valiens Nantaris"]
[member="David Hoxt"]
[member="The Harbinger"]

 

[Kiran Arlos]

Morellia

Was focusing truly the key to this, or was there something more? Beads of sweat had formed across the brow of the young man as he leaned back against his feet from a kneeling position as he stood just on the outskirts part from the Enclave. Kiran glanced up towards the sky as rain drizzled against the land lightly, maybe it was just rain and not sweat he mused. Kiran glanced to either side of him as two rocks were placed on either side of him. This was the first step, or so he thought. He had felt it before, just after his arrival on Voss. The tug and pull towards one spectrum of the force, he wasn't sure what it mean exactly. He had felt something though, right after his arrival and he could see and feel what the Jedi could do. A test in several sort of ways, and he passed. What did that mean though, what did it mean to be a Jedi. Kiran had done wrong in his past but he felt that he was a good person...

No

Kiran knew that he was a good person, perhaps his deeds on Corellia proved otherwise, but he did them for the right reasons. But they were still wrong, sometimes people did the wrong things for the right reasons. Kiran wiped the sweat and rain with the back of his hand but it was pointless and which he wasn't even sure why he did it in the first place. He figured being out here, discipline was one thing, keep your mind focused on what was in front of you and try not to dwell on the past. And in that was his first issue, the more he tried to forget and just let it go it seemed like a continuous constant reminder that he would never forget that. A curse he wondered or could it be turned into something more.

Kiran closed his eyes as there was one thing that he had happened to get right, and that was reciting the Jedi code by heart. And during his travels among the Sanctums cloud as he attempted to dissect and discover what each phrase meant, not in general but to him. Kiran felt that it was telling him something else, in its own way. He wondered if it did this with others, and while it meant something different for him did it mean something different to the next person. The young man took a big deep breath and exhaled slowly closing his eyes in the process while recited the Jedi code again, and again.

There is no emotion, there is peace.​

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.​

There is no passion, there is serenity.​

There is no chaos, there is harmony.​

There is no death, there is the Force​

Kiran opened his eyes and took another breath as he pushed forward standing on his hands upside down feet in the air. The young man had been physically fit and acrobatic enough to due this, yet what came next was the hard part. Kiran took a deep breath again slowing his breathing down concentrating as the code ran through his mind over and over again. He could see the words, and he had to feel them as well. Kiran drew on another breath as he closed his eyes and focused his strength and energy. Time seemed to stop and it didn't seem like he was breathing at all, he could see them in the distance. He couldn't go, no matter what he had to stay behind.

The young man's lip trembled slightly as he opened his eyes and glanced to either side of him, the rocks were no longer on the ground, but in the air circling him as he had willed to happen. Kiran took a deep breath as they circled around once more as he stared at the ground for a few moments before his concentration broke and he fell back to his knees and in the position he was in earlier as the rocks fell to his side. The young man stood up and walked over to a single tree that was nearby as he took a seat leaning back against it.

What a day...

Luckily it wasn't thundering or lightning...

 

[Setzi Lunelle]

Setzi found herself on Morellia in Wild Space meeting with the Morellian Agricorps branch, and thus atoning for her former Sith sins of stealing an Agricorps ship, as well as other crimes of which the Agricorps knew nothing about, crimes of a more heinous nature that the padawan could not speak of and would not speak of, one that would likely land her with a jail sentence if she were connected to them.

And maybe you should turn yourself in, Setzi, thought the lightsided warrior. But self-preservation was a strong inclination, and the padawan knew that she’d be better off giving her time and expertise to Agricorps on a volunteer basis in order to make up for her checkered past.

She and Master Nthanda, a Morellian Jedi and the industrious leader of the branch, sat in a dry field, closely examining soil. Not a glamorous job by any means, Setzi was used to scrabbling around in the dirt as she’d grown up on a farm on Aduba-3, and in fact, within the Agricorps ranks where her Jedi career began. With a derpy white slash of sunscreen on her nose and a floppy sunhat on her head, she and Master Nthanda were attempting to answer the age-old question that plagued all agricultural worlds: Why are these crops not growing?

After an hour in the hot sun, Setzi finally stood, wiping her dirt covered hands on her cargo shorts and stomping dust off of her boots. “We’ve covered nutrients, soil, pests and weather conditions. There’s one element we haven’t looked into yet," she said.

“What’s that,” asked Master Nthanda.

“Water,” said the brunette padawan. “The soil is as dry as a bone, and I’d like to see how the irrigation system is set up.”

[member="Dunames Lopez"] [member="Jansal Corego"]

 

[Dunames Lopez]

By now Dunames didn't look like some human lady with a tiara anymore: she assumed another identity for her part of the flight, that of a Tofolk-class captain based out of Ringo Vinda, also flying for Star Tours. Until she was back on Ringo Vinda, or at least until she departed Morellia, she was a Jawa. Vak Kaleen to be exact. She was a little disgusted to look like a rat even though she borrowed a Jawa-sized flight suit afterward. And a little disoriented to be only slightly more than half her natural size. And a lot denser too: Polydroxols can become more and more dense as they shrank. In their natural forms, Polydroxols looked as if they were made out of molten metal, and had the density of such materials. Her standard form, that of a human with purple hair was how she could look good and be comfortable while still being her natural size.

"The worst in all that is that the Morellian Weapons Conglomerate has actually been caught for insalubrity: you wouldn't need 242 containers of damotite unless you were undertaking a large-scale cleaning operation" a passenger commented.

"And needed frequent cleaning: 242 containers of damotite can last the Morellian Weapons Conglomerate about a year" another passenger commented as the boarding procedure commenced for the flight to Morellia.

"Excuse me, but I believe that you were on Lanteeb to secure the purchase of damotite? May I please get you to your respective cabins?" Dunames responded while doing her best to hide the pain she endured in her Jawa form.

Due to the pain the shapeshifting inflicted on her, Dunames reached for the closest container of caf in the cockpit. What these first-class passengers don't realize is that part, or even the entire cargo of damotite, may well be used for much more sinister ends once it arrives on Morellia. With 166 passengers on today's Ringo Vinda-Morellia flight, which was normally served by a Neimoidian Yacht but, due to today's bulk cargo, was served by a Tofolk at gate 94, which was specifically fitted for a Tofolk-class ship, rather than the more common "commuter" gates.

"Attention please: there has been a gate change for Star Tours flight 1846. Star Tours flight 1846 for Morellia will now depart from gate 94" the spaceport's PA system blared.

[member="Jansal Corego"] [member="David Hoxt"] [member="The Harbinger"] [member="Thurion Heavenshield"] [member="Valiens Nantaris"] [member="Coci Heavenshield"] [member="Setzi Lunelle"]

 

[Jansal Corego]

"Attention please: there has been a gate change for Star Tours flight 1846. Star Tours flight 1846 for Morellia will now depart from gate 94."

Jansal took one final, longing glance around the small office; old, fallible, filled with a false pretense of antiquity to hide the mundane. Still, part of him longed for it - to take to it before he departed; he had no time, now, though. The gate change was farther away, and he'd have to leave now if he were to arrive on time; maybe it'd be a good thing, to be late, to miss it. He shook these doubts from his head, no time for that; he departed out the door, leaving the cases behind - the staff, who had so gladly accepted his credits, have designated themselves more than happy to make sure no one would stumble upon them. Not that it would matter, anyway; he would be long gone before then. He hadn't heard from any of his other associates, however; was he to undertake this alone? He dearly hoped not, but, regardless, he would do as designated; not so much out of greed as habit. He made one last check, reviewing his fake I.D., double-checking mission information, including damotite shipping information - he would pose as guard for the meantime, then departed. Not before he stepped out the door and took one final glance to the empty room, he felt a pang of remembrance, but nothing more; he had a job to finish first.

As the tram clicked and clacked its way around the station, screeching sparks exploding from electrified rails, sparking wildly, Jansal found himself alone in the cabin; the tram shifted slowly - an automated voice announcing its near arrival. "Tram 1286, approaching waystation blah blah blah," which was how the mercenary rendered it, "For gates eighty through one-hundred. Thank you for stopping at Ringo Vinda, your transporter, blah blah blah..." Dammit, here it went again; the internal monologue ticking away, blocking out the equally monotonous external soliloquy happily provided until the doors, at long last, finally slid open with an un-oiled screech of frictional resistance. Jansal related to that. He stepped out, shoving past a scrawny sullustan who blasted him with jibberish curses before slipping away; beyond that, it seemed oddly empty - people must've been busy elsewhere. Besides, it seemed most of the commercial ships were finishing up the boarding process. He quickly navigated himself to the left, nearly being run over by a plowing protocol droid - must've been modified, he didn't know they could run that fast.

He arrived at the infamous gate 94, a line still stretching some ways into the corridor, though it seemed to be shrinking quickly. He rolled his neck and positioned himself at the back, silvery armor shining ominously in the internal incandescence - that awfully familiar, greasy shimmering that could only come from a sleazy space station such as this. He looked like a Mandalorian, yes - however, key signs betrayed the reality; particularly a lack of emblem or discernible, symbolic color. Instead, he was wrapped up with layers of armor and straps; he looked like a walking bastion, an artillery-batted monument. He earned a few nervous glances from shadier patrons, waiting to board, but when he did not approach, nor cast them the slightest glance, they found themselves slightly more at ease. Within the course of a few minutes ('Damn, they work fast,' he noted), he found himself entering the ship; it felt tight, cramped in comparison to the station beyond - to be expected, certainly, but it hurt his mobility astoundingly. Worming his way inside, baggage strapped to his back via baffleweave duffel bag.

"Watch it!" shouted a nemoidian passenger, so delicately shoved aside by Jansal's girth as he made way.

He felt bottlenecked into an ambush, like he was about to suffer a severe case of PTSD; more likely to bring out a volatile rage than any fearful or platonic response. That's when he nearly collided with a little jawa, unbeknownst to him to truly be [member="Dunames Lopez"]. He stopped a moment, sizing up the critter before tapping a few fingers along his wrist, and introducing himself: "Captain? Molak Delraggo, at your service." He flashes a little holographic card (everything was all holographic and fancy nowadays), complete with all sorts of false information pertaining to the fictional character presented, including 'certified' affiliations to Ringo Vinda security and the Morellian Weapons Conglomerate; once you know the system, mused Jansal, it's just a matter about knowing the right people, then playing the game. "I've been hired by independent contractors to oversee transportation. The last shipment involving this much damotite got hijacked, likely to be sold as inhalants for species with the given physiologies, blah, blah, blah..." Oh great, now he was starting to sound like the voices; however, he figured it'd help his case - blasting off standardized introductions with such a drawl was likely to further support his story and given character.

"Short story: Bad things have happened, I'll make sure it arrives safe and sound with no hick-ups. Is it all here? The shipment, I mean."

[member="Setzi Lunelle"] [member="Kiran Arlos"] [member="David Hoxt"] [member="The Harbinger"] [member="Thurion Heavenshield"] [member="Valiens Nantaris"] [member="Coci Heavenshield"]

 

[Dunames Lopez]

"Utinni! I am Vak Kaleen, and I'm the captain for today's flight 1846"

After listening to the description, the Jawa, which was really Dunames having changed shapes, was furious. But how long would 3,300 tons of damotite last in Thakwaash hands? She only flew one shipment of damotite from Lanteeb before, for that amount. This flight carries four times as much. But, from what she knew about the manufacture of slugthrowers, she knew that slugthrowers needed to have clean bores when they are factory-fresh. This is where the damotite comes in as far as the Morellian Weapons Conglomerate is concerned. In her standard form, she could fight using either a MR-73 or a chaingun, or even an anti-tank rifle, but as a Jawa even a F-11D would be a long-barreled weapon. And this is precisely what she have in her pilot seat.

"Surely you can't be referring to... Thakwaash? Has the First Order military been involved in drug sales by now? That's the only thing I know about matching the description you gave! Dunames also flew a prototype TIE Reaver bomber in there before shipping in the damotite, along with hookahs"

"Thakwaash: I can't abide those foul creatures!" another passenger cursed in front of Vak.

"I can't possibly know about every single shipment of damotite Star Tours would be doing. The First Order umpee is doing one big hkeek nkulla to them and drugging them to no end, using damotite as a keeza"

Dunames blended in what few Jawaese words she could actually speak, hoping that no one would understand what she has to say. She didn't live on Ringo Vinda for that long, and cursed herself for having chosen the wrong species to morph into. If she chose to morph into a Gungan instead... she could speak and understand Gunganese just fine, but Morellia inhabitants hated Gungans more than they did Jawas for some unknown reason. That, even though Gungans in SSC space were mostly concentrated in the Aldanna mountain range of Ringo Vinda proper. Where there is no water, there are no Gungans or so they say.

[member="Jansal Corego"] [member="David Hoxt"] [member="The Harbinger"] [member="Thurion Heavenshield"] [member="Valiens Nantaris"] [member="Coci Heavenshield"] [member="Setzi Lunelle"] [member="Kiran Arlos"]

 

[Jansal Corego]

Good enough, he mused. It certainly eclipsed reasonable expectation of what was to follow, post-speaking out of his ass; then again, maybe practice truly did make perfect, and he was simply improving at it. He eyed the jawa intently before directing his gaze further into the vessel, breath heavily emitted from his helmet in wheezing squeaks; he blinked, was his re-breather on? He pulled up that little glass screen again, tapping vigorously into the surface as he spoke: "A pleasure, Vak. As for the First Order, well, it's none of my business to discern what they do with the ch- stuff. I'm simply here on contract - yes, less Thakwaash, the better." He smiled, though invisible, beneath the visor; nonetheless, he figured it would show in his voice. Who knew how perceptively empathetic jawas truly were - if only he was as strongly capable in pronunciation as he were comprehension; years on Tatooine would do that to a man, that he was certain. "It would be best not to look to deeply into the First Order's objective with the given cargo," he suggested, his voice solemn.

From that note, he remained on his toes, until he could discern the security of his mission: first, assessment of the cargo could commence, a wise decision to better employ a predetermined estimate of transportation - a fancy muse, which roughly translates into seeing the damotite and understanding the potential risks of transportation. Without the proper channels, or assistance, getting this to where it needs to be more difficult than not - the evident absence of any fellow employees said as much to him. He sighed, webbing his fingers together before flexing, emitting a solid crack before directing themselves back to their given places of habit - left hand on the butt of his rifle, fingers tapping against the metal exterior; his right hand on his hip, thumb hooking through his belt for support. In regards to the jawa, regulation seemed to bounce right off his (or her) tiny exterior like baster bolts off a ray shield. Once the captain was calmed, or relatively focused on his or her task, he could then and only then check on the cargo; perhaps he could have XOM scan the holonet, look into hiring additional talent to assist with the overall objective.

"Just get the shipment to Morellia, I can manage the rest of your worries pertaining to the damotite - once it's gone, it's gone; all you'll have is a hefty bag of credits to your name as a very delightful thank you." With that said, he directed his attention, once again elsewhere; "Captain, might I inspect the containers? Of damotite, naturally." He needed some privacy, to better prepare; having a jawa clinging to his ass like poodoo to a blanket would only distract him, further complicating a very volatile and intricate situation requiring his full attention. Reassurance was the first step, what next? He'd have to organize transportation, if not already provided - yes, that'd be a good first step; then, where there any mercenary companies on Morellia? If not, this would also be a good time to handle that business; he could contact XOM through an encrypted channel and organize for some vague contracts to go up through alternative channels, none that would ultimately be traced back to their plans here. Would he need permission? No, he figured. This was coming out of his own pocket, he was neither provided with or had he asked for additional resources for the operation - probably to minimalize the consequences on their part; he'd look like an independent, radicalized terrorist - hell, he hadn't even heard of the First Order until now.

Then, to taint the water supply - how the hell would he accomplish that? Unless an engineer popped out of the folds of the void post-arrival, he'd need to find one when he arrived and force him to show him exactly how to do it; now he was starting to internally implode, just how unprepared had he been sent in? To pull this off would require a damn miracle! Not to mention security, how would they get this much damotite past security? No, wait, wasn't this a transit point for the material? It would be in liquidated form, used as an industrial solvent - dammit, how do the pieces go together? It'd be easy to get them on the surface or, hell, unload them - but taking them past the spaceport, that might raise alarms if we were there to trade them - especially in that quantity, we couldn't excuse ourselves for usage or even selling them on the surface; the last thing Jansal wanted was to discover, in-process, a damotite regulation. If anything could throw a wrench into the plan, short of the Jedi catching on, that would be number two - number one being there wasn't any damotite in the first place or that it wasn't even a liquid - he didn't even know what damotite was! Just a textbook description, that's it, that's all he knew.

He'd need to smuggle them out, even without regulations or such bureaucratic nonsense (taxes, ugh), he'd need to make sure no record remained - again, another paper trail. The company which delivered it would then be jeopardized and they certainly kept records of the owner, the supposed First Order; hell, he even gave them a fake identity, but even that can have flaws, especially in his custom armor. If things went south, the next time he could walk within a few light years of SSC territory he might as well be pounding a drum, hollering, "Hey, look at me! I tried to kill hundreds of people!" Voila, next thing he'd now, he'd be caught with his pants down; it didn't matter if his pants were up to begin with, the Force was strange like that - for all he knew, they could toss him in a rancor den, lock the door, throw away the key. If this was going to go down, it sure as hell better go down right; smuggle the damotite out of customs, secure delivery to their water supply - would that even be well guarded? Good god, what had he gotten himself into. "So yeah," he said, post-internal panic attack. "Let's see the damotite."

[member="Dunames Lopez"] [member="Setzi Lunelle"] [member="Kiran Arlos"] [member="David Hoxt"] [member="The Harbinger"] [member="Thurion Heavenshield"] [member="Valiens Nantaris"] [member="Coci Heavenshield"]

 

[Connor Harrison]

Silver Sanctum Temple
VOSS

While Setzi could take care of herself, that much was clear, Connor had made a promise to her. To look after her. Not in the sense that she couldn't handle a blade or understand the Force, but for the fact she had been a Sith Lord and now was on the opposite side of things. She had been hurt, and needed to be repaired slowly.

There was training to be done, and Connor didn't expect to learn she had left not just the temple but also the planet itself. Learning that made him worry; had she decided to leave again without saying anything? Had the Kessel expedition left a sour taste in her mouth? Had he simply displeased her and left her without hope?

Standing outside the rear of the grounds, at the far edge of the external hangar looking out to the planet, the Rogue Master had his arms crossed and held a small device in his hand.

"Setzi, it's Connor, are you receiving this? Forgive me for being a worrier but you're not around Voss. Is everything ok? Get back to me when you hear this."

Or IF she ever got it.

He tapped the device on his chin, watching the bodies get on with business around him working on and prepping the ships and fighters.

[member="Setzi Lunelle"] | [member="Jansal Corego"] | [member="Dunames Lopez"] | [member="Kiran Arlos"] |

 

[Nina Heavenshield]

Following the bloody battle of Tháinbroek on Midvinter, the adopted child of the Heavenshield family had quietly settled back into her Jedi studies, spending her time equally honing her mind and body. While her brother had already been granted the rank of Jedi Knight at a very young age due to his already long list of heroics, Nina remained ever the serene and diligent padawan. She had no rush in achieving the same accolades as her brother, for she felt quite content in her current status.

This day, however, she'd been sent to the planet Morellia to aid the Agricorps branch set up there in monitoring the growth and fertility levels of an otherwise barren area. She was surprised to find she was not the only Jedi sent on this mission, as another padawan by the name of [member="Setzi Lunelle"] was already hard at work, the man piloting the shuttle had informed her. This suited Nina just fine, given her inability to speak conventionally and would rather not intrude upon the minds of others unless necessary. Besides, Jedi always put teamwork ahead of personal achievements, do they not?

As the shuttle she was on landed not far from where Setzi and another, older woman were busy inspecting the seemingly barren soil, Nina stepped off and planted both feet firmly in the ground before waving the pilot farewell. A silly thing to do, perhaps, but with her lack of speech gestures such as these were much easier to pull off than to, again, speak into unsuspecting minds. She approached the two Jedi and bowed respectfully. "Excuse me for interrupting, but you wouldn't happen to be Master Nthanda, by any chance? I've been sent from Voss to assist in your endeavours, however I can." Her words would find their way into both their minds, akin to a harmless prod to be let inside.

She then turned to the younger of the two women. "You must be Padawan Lunelle, yes? I'm Nina," she spoke before extending a somewhat timid hand. "Nina Heavenshield. I believe you've met the rest of my family?" She offered a youthful smile, if a bit cautious as she's never felt that comfortable around new faces.

[member="Jansal Corego"] | [member="Dunames Lopez"] | [member="Kiran Arlos"] | [member="Connor Harrison"]​

 

[Setzi Lunelle]

“You check the power boxes, and I’ll inspect the wells and pumps,” said Setzi to Master Nthanda, who went off with the Morellian farmer who owned the specific field they’d been assessing. Setzi peered around and made her way to the direction of the where she thought the well was, when a small commlink crackled from her pocket. It would convey all of the outward communications coming into The Pirate’s Foe. Picking it up, she heard Connor’s voice – always a nice part of her day to hear from Master Harrison – and listened.

“Well, if you consider a minor sunburn to be dangerous, then I suppose I might need rescuing,” she said with a soft laugh, and he’d know everything was just fine. “The Agricorps Branch of Morellia sends its regards to the Sanctum.”

Connor knew she was religiously involved with Agricorps before she was a Sith, and had an even more vested interest in the peace-keeping sect since her return. “Swing by if you’re not busy?” Setzi offered, though she really didn’t want to bother Harrison in the lowly business of Agricorps. Many Padawan with an aptitude for the Living Force went into the ranks of Agricorps when they could not excel in the skills that would make them into Jedi Masters. “Master Nthanda returns… I have to go but yes, I miss you,” she said quickly and signed off before the Morellian Jedi and a newcomer headed their way heard her whispers of sweet nothings to Master Harrison.

“Hi Nina,” said Setzi, shaking the young, blonde Padawan’s hand warmly, not batting an eye at the gentle telepathy displayed by the youth. “Yes, I’ve met your Father and you resemble him for sure.” She grinned widely, wiping a little of the sunscreen off of her nose with a handkerchief. “Master Nthanda and I are going to check out the well that feeds the water supply into this field. Come this way.”
They would trek to the far end of the field towards a small cluster of buildings. “The power boxes, supply… everything was in perfect shape,” said Master Nthanda. “All brand new, in fact.”

Opening the door to the building that housed the large well, Setzi said, “At least we can rule that out.” The Sanctum Padawan figured Nina, and maybe even Master Nthanda, wouldn’t know how to lead this next bit so she did a cursory inspection herself of the well. After poking around the pipes and valves with a flashlight, she said to the two: “All of the outlets, valves and frost plugs are, like the power boxes, brand new. But the pipes that lead into this well is in sore need of repair.”

“I believe that we need to head to the Morellian City Hall to effect change in that department,” the Morellian Jedi said, sounding a little disappointed. It would almost be easier to just deal with the farmers rather than the bureaucrats.

“Then let’s take a trip to City Hall. No time like the present,” said Setzi, smiling again at Nina. “That will get us out of the hot sun for awhile.”

[member="Connor Harrison"] [member="Nina Heavenshield"] [member="Jansal Corego"] [member="Dunames Lopez"] [member="Kiran Arlos"]

 

[Ria Misrani]

[member="Jansal Corego"] | [member="Dunames Lopez"] | [member="Kiran Arlos"] | [member="Connor Harrison"] | [member="Nina Heavenshield"]​

​

​

The Fire Order's Tip of the Flame​

​

Charlyra had been on her way home to Tygara from Kessel. As you can imagine she was glad to be rid of her robes, having a fresh clean set of robes on. She should have been home by now, but she wasn't. Instead, she detoured, to Morellia. She needed time to settle herself, Morellia reminded her of Chandrila. A place where farmers worked, a place where there could be peace. A place where she had received a mysterious note and normally, Charlyra would dismiss most of the spam she got on her holo, but this one stood out. M. Araano, and as far she could recall her parents had been Edwarles and Helieen Araano just a poor set of farmers who had a gifted child. This M. Araano said that they were family and she had forwarded a copy of the message to her masters [member="Siobhan Kerrigan"] and [member="Tempest"], noting that she'd be departing to Morellia instead of returning home to train on Tygara.

This planet was a Silvers' planet, she didn't want to press Siobhan on coming all the way from the Villa to a little place in the corner of the galaxy. She just wanted to make sure all her chips would work. "Be home soon," She started the holo, "heading to Morellia." Her eyes squint looking out the transparisteel of her transport. "Transports chit though." Tugging along the hood of her cloak. She was nervous, "I don't know who this M. Araano is. I don't remember any grandparents, and me dad was Edwarles and mum was Heileen, or Heilly I think." She shrugs, she hadn't seen her parents in twenty-six years. Having already shed her tears about it over Chandrila itself. "But then I never bothered look records up." A shrug, as she looks out the window again. "Well, it's not Kessel, by the way. I burned those robes."

"I think we're docking." She notes on her holomessage to her masters. "Anyway, just came to see what this M. Araano wants, be home soon like I said." Charlyra blew a kiss to her recipients. Turning to the guy behind her on the transport, "right, right here you go." She stepped out of the holo aboard the transport and adjusted her vestments. The transport would be docking shortly, and Charlyra took her seat, sitting down to relax herself as the pilot announced to keep seated as they docked.

Roughly two hours later, because people can't seem to understand time on Morellia, Charlyra emerged from the spaceport and checked in through customs. A raised brow from the guy scanning her with the wand, "you wanna keep scanning or do you want me to show you where to put that wand?" She was a little irritated from the two-hour delay. He rolled his eyes and let her pass through. Her eyes were assaulted by Morellia's bright light, she pulled her hood down and surveyed the spaceport for a moment or two. She hated speeders, she hated speeders, did this place have a thing called a Taxi? No... No it had bloody speeders. Too bad neither Sio nor Tempest were here to see the hilarity that was to ensue of Charlyra attempting to ride one of these blasted things...

 

[Dunames Lopez]

"It is a long-standing policy of Star Tours to allow one passenger at a time into the cargo hold for purposes such as this one"

The guy in some beskar'gam has now been sent on his way, while Vak (a.k.a. Dunames) got the preflight sequence commenced. Of course, with 166 passengers, at gate 94, it could be done a lot faster than if the entire space was devoted to passenger flights. Standard configuration on Tofolks ranged from 600 seats, either in Pullman-class, or with some mixture of bucket seats and cabins, to an all-economy 4,000-seater. Naturally the 4,000-seater is falling out of favor since all Coruscant flights have been put on hold, pending the outcome of Operation Blackout. After all the passengers have boarded and their baggage has been loaded, the docking ports closed and Vak could stow his F-11D beneath his seat. Dunames knew that he would use a F-11D inside his cockpit to defend against pirate raids if the flight was attacked by pirates. Today's configuration leads to 54 passengers in Pullman-class and 112 in economy class, all of which have holotrays.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard Star Tours flight 1846, with service to Morellia. This is Vak Kaleen, your captain. While we are making our final preflight preparations, please take a moment to review the safety announcement"

"Star Tours 1846, you're cleared for departure, contact departure on frequency seven-six-three"

Once the damotite - provided there would be going to be any damotite at all - has arrived on Morellia, Dunames has to return to her usual self: may the real Vak Kaleen get himself in trouble for this. The real Vak Kaleen has committed tax fraud, fencing and other deeds for which an arrest mandate has been issued; this is going to be the nail in his coffin, regardless of what happens. whether the operation succeeds or fails. Surely the real Vak Kaleen wouldn't mind to take the blame for Dunames' involvement in this genocidal scheme. But if there was a discrepancy between the cargo and what the scheme said it would, there would be a need to delay the departure. There was supposedly 242 containers of liquid refined damotite, no other cargo than the passengers' baggage.

"I'll go ahead and play some pre-flight music while we wait for the pre-flight sequence to end"

"Is that what Jawas use for elevator music?"

[member="Charlyra Araano"] [member="Setzi Lunelle"] [member="Nina Heavenshield"] [member="Connor Harrison"] [member="Jansal Corego"] [member="Kiran Arlos"]

 

[Jansal Corego]

Spoiler

[member="Dunames Lopez"] | [member="Charlyra Araano"] | [member="Setzi Lunelle"] | [member="Nina Heavenshield"] | [member="Connor Harrison"] | [member="Kiran Arlos"]

Two-hundred and forty-two containers of liquid refined damotite as described, each sealed within massive, bulky cargo containers tightly packed throughout the hold; Jansal pulled up the shipment information on his computer: Hedeek-class intermodel cargo containers, fifty-five tons of damotite - it seemed it was all in order; now, from what he could gather, he had to formulate a plan. Yes, the finances were aptly provided through a chain of third parties - neither side would feel any backlash from that end; however, without any due direction in the meantime, he felt it was time to put them to use. A few more vague finger-taps across the screen, a solemn "uh-huh," emitted by Jansal, then a ring finger, slowly risen, pressed firmly against the temple of his helmet filled the interior with a sudden buzz; a buzz quickly followed by an apparent snap as the receiving end responded in kind. A holographic display popped up over the visor, internally of course; one which depicted paragraphs of information departed upon him by his mysterious employer.

Jansal began to pace. Post-arrival, moving thirteen-thousand and so-forth tons of liquid refined damotite (he liked spelling that out in his head) would be next to impossible taking the distance between their space port destination and water supply; not only would they have to be covert, discreet, every possible instance of trouble should be properly accounted for. And once they are properly accounted for, all scenarios should be properly funneled into a scenario wherein Jansal would continuously hold the upper hand; that was integral for their success - should the Jedi ever catch wind, the fight would turn bloody, not to mention the overall objective would likely fail. They would simply have to cull the supply, and while the financial damage would be apparent, their job was to kill civilians - to incite terror. As much as that made Jansal sick to his stomach, he had to see it through; that much, the Mandalorians imprinted in him. However, they hadn't departed yet from the station; was XOM close enough to receive him on his comlink? He had hoped so, the droid was intelligent; they had planned to meet at the original gate but, pending its change, he hoped he had relocated appropriately.

Another tap on the temple opened the line, all Jansal had to do was wait for C4-XOM to accept it. Beep beep. It was like he was waiting in an elevator - though with the added stress, he imagined it more like an elevator with a 50/50 chance of dropping him in either Heaven or Hell, pending a roll of some unseen dice. Finally, there was a click: "Sir?" a voice rang out, one which spoke with an imperial lilt and a synthetic cadence that rung in Corego's ears like the voice of the angels themselves. "XOM?" he asked, mostly incredulous - he was certain bad luck would always haunt him - but, upon realizing the time such a conversation would waste, reintroducing themselves, he made certain to be blunt: "XOM, this isn't going to be enough. I need more resources." He paused to glance around, reinspecting the cargo containers, highlighted in bright red through his given display; an idea was beginning to play out in his head. "Sir," responded the droid, "We've discussed this on numerous occasions, there simply aren't enough resources to spare-"

"Listen to me, we didn't know, then, that my ass would be the only one on the line! Yes, armor; yes, a weapon! That's more than enough, but I need additional supplies sent to Morellia before we get there; more ammunition, more grenades, more explosives - the Fence, send in an order for more, top priority, offer to pay more than what he asks for speedy delivery. Otherwise, I might not make it out of this."

"Sir, if the risk is so high, simply back out."

"Not an option. What about the advertisements, any bites? Dammit, will I be seeing anyone else once I get there?"

"No, sir."

"Dig deeper into old contacts, and try to place some orders for assassin droids; I don't care how unreliable - if it shoots, buy it and make sure to get it to Morellia soon."

"Understood."

There, that might be of some help - he didn't like droids much, save for XOM, but having the extra firepower would help when poodoo hit the fan; besides, nothing beats cannon fodder in a fight. It'd just be a matter if he could find someone willing to sell and deliver - his droid could handle the transaction for him, certainly, but would they take advantage of him to double-cross them on the deal? Hell, what if it was sting operation? No time for that, he had to trust his friend to manage his half of the weight; he'd manage the other. There weren't many clear options that wouldn't provide an ample trail for any opposition to trail them, save for any that were excessively long term; he cursed the figure who had approached him for this - his pride had bought him the ticket for this, how the hell was he supposed to see it through? No, if he could secure multiple transports and scatter them, then provide a distraction . . . maybe, just maybe, that might work.

If ample attention were fixated upon the starport, external observation would likely be more lax; he could disperse the cargo from there at a steady rate - hell, that might work better than he though: this was a key point for damotite distribution; proper paperwork, in that time, could be forged, insinuating that the damotite would simply switch ships before continuing on its journey. However, if the situation at the starport was too volatile, either risking contamination, if such a thing was possible, of the liquid damotite, or too dangerous, would it be so unexpected for large quantities to be evacuated for preservation? All that remained was relocating them to a concealed site that wouldn't be exposed until it was too late, where they could be easily funneled and infiltrated into the water supply - hitherto hidden until the evidence was cleaned up and all involved were safely pulled back; that was wishful thinking to be sure, events like this always turned hairy at the end. However, he hoped, with this line of thought, he could hold the upper hand just long enough to complete his task. Long enough to sentence a good portion of the citizens of Morellia's capital city to their deaths.

Again, the thought made him cringe; maybe XOM was right, to back out. Then again, that wasn't an option now; the betrayed individual at his back, who knew enough to track him, incited far more fear than the Jedi at his front, if only for what little he knew about the mercenary - such loose ends left him feeling exposed.

 

[Dunames Lopez]

With C4-XOM having finally arrived inside the ship, the entire complement of droids was now accounted for. They could now depart the station without any further delay. Officially the cargo was registered in the name of the Morellian Weapons Conglomerate, which needed at least some access to a water supply to operate a slugthrower factory. And, now that the 166 passengers took up their positions, Vak estimated Star Tours would be paid half a million credits for shipping the damotite alone, which is half the revenue from a hypermatter shipment for something much less than half the mass of a hypermatter shipment. Hypermatter shipments brought Star Tours about a million credits in one go: the ships used for these would pay for themselves in fifteen runs or so. The real Vak would probably have been a better fit as an independent tramp freighter, rather than to fly for Star Tours...

"Roger, seven-six-three"

"The autopilot has been set, captain" Merrily, the WA-7 flight attendant unit, told Vak.

"Not even Lok Durd would be able to accomplish what we are about to do: he was one to weaponize damotite"

"Attention all passengers: you may not unlatch your safety belts until we have made the jump to hyperspace"

"Lightspeed to Morellia!"

On all Star Tours ships, the pilots' seats have a holotray; they're actually very similar to the economy-class seats, except they have different upholstery. The tray table is the very same holotray used on all classes: now Vak could sit back while the copilot would actually be distributing the meals and whatnot onboard. Once the jump to hyperspace is made, the 166 passengers don't feel as constrained anymore. And Merrily has put some background music, too.

[member="Charlyra Araano"] [member="Setzi Lunelle"] [member="Nina Heavenshield"] [member="Connor Harrison"] [member="Jansal Corego"] [member="Kiran Arlos"]

 

[Jansal Corego]

Spoiler

[member="Charlyra Araano"] | [member="Setzi Lunelle"] | [member="Nina Heavenshield"] | [member="Connor Harrison"] | [member="Kiran Arlos"] | [member="Dunames Lopez"]

Once the jump commenced, Jansal found himself able to roam about freely; an insurmountable benefit to one such as himself, as it led him and his deeply trusted companion to find privacy, distanced from his fellow passengers. By the time they had isolated themselves, just short of ducking away into whatever supply closets awaited them (rather, they had opted for an empty cabin - luckily, its inhabitant seemed to be elsewhere, perhaps using the bathroom or socializing), nervousness was eating away the mercenary. "So?" he inquired hastily. He was tapping his foot now, arms crossed too; a bad sign, he was clearly one to overthink, but it rarely showed itself in an overtly physical manner. It seems the steam of frustration was beginning to build up too much pressure. "Worry not, sir! I have done as you requested," chirped Xom. "Acting as a middle man, to maintain your secrecy-" yeah, Jansal had never obtained the droid legally; there wouldn't be any record, save for visual memory, that would lead to him being caught, at least he hoped - "I managed to secure an order with ArmaTech suppliers for equipment they already had in stock!"

"You're kidding," exhaled Jansal. It seemed like his luck was just finally beginning to turn around. "What did you purchase?"

"Everything I felt you would need, sir! I'm familiar to your offensive habits, if I do say so myself!" The droid swiveled about, perhaps some celebratory motion that Jansal was wholly unfamiliar with; the fixed joints probably forced the more old, intelligent ones to develop their own, strange habits of motion to display their emotions, he figured. Or maybe he was just overthinking again. "Particularly the ammunition - I knew you were stressed about fight the Jedi - well worry no more; they call it Dragon's Breath. ACS-601 slugs: their internal chemistry forced the round to combust upon firing, spraying the opponent with white hot shards of magnesium! Multiple rounds have been shipped to ensure fortifications in addition to suitable weaponry and equipment; a wrist-mounted ACS-207 Acidthrower with additional fluoroantimonic acid tanks, a new Sky-strike jetpack-" The droid, in its ranting, seemed to run out of breath just as easily as any living creature - perhaps that was simply a part of its programming, to better project empathetic behavoirs; perhaps Jansal imagined it, getting tired of listening to him talk. "Droids," he interrupted. "Did you get any?"

XOM nodded, though, with his stiff posture, it was more of a bow. "Four observer-model ACS-301 Moldular Probe Droids - we extend them around the perimeter and use them to predict enemy movements to better assert our defense."

"Took the words right out of my mouth. Give me the details: range and specs, I need to know how to utilize them."

"Upon retrieval post-landing the Fence will supply them with the control node to be held on your person. With this in-hand, you can give directions to them all at once; you'll have all at your disposal simultaneously - they can span one square kilometer in length and have a variety of scouting utilities that would be better described by our Fence during the meeting."

"Perfect, is that all?"

"Not in the least, sir; I have also taken liberty of drafting two ACS-302 Heavy Assault Droids, which were in-stock and are expected to ship just behind us - the Fence was kind enough to pick them up."

"And what would keep him from stealing them?" inquired Jansal.

"Well, he's afraid you'd kill him of course - besides, he'd make more money in the long-run working with us."

"Alright, specs?"

"Yes, sir; each is outfitted with Anvilskin Ceramic Composite Armor, one Quad Missile Launcher, one Viper 2 Grenade Launcher, advanced targeting and combat operation components..." There was that out-of-place pause again, like he was taking a breath. Now Jansal was sure he wasn't imagining it. "-and each is outfitted with unique weaponry. MI and MII, I've designated them; they will respond to such verbally and can be accessed via comlink. MI, for a right arm, has a Z-6 Rotary Cannon-"

"Wow."

"-and an arc caster for a left; MII, a ACS-203 Hellfire Autocannon and a T-21 Light Repeating Blaster."

"They also come with internal Starkillers?"

"No, but in addition, both are outfitted with a jump pack of a similar model to the one you purchased-"

"You mean you purchased," Jansal interrupted again, "speaking of which-"

"-repulsorlift boots, and, as an aethstetic note, I asked them to paint skulls on them."

"Skulls."

"Yes, sir, that is correct."

"And, XOM, remind me how much this all cost me, again?"

"Let's just say you better score your pay for this one, sir, unless you want to peddle death sticks for dug pimps for the rest of your days."

"Thanks, XOM."

 

[Kiran Arlos]

Morellia

Kiran giggled and smile slightly as he leaned his head back and felt quite relaxed at the current moment in time. Whistling a small tune to himself and he couldn't help but giggle again around the middle of it as he opened his eyes and reached for the canteen against the tree as well and took a small drink of water and thus poured some over his head slightly. Kiran jumped to his feet as he placed the canteen at his side and began his trek back towards the Enclave, the day was just getting started it seemed. Kiran thought perhaps he would help out the agricorps division here.

The young man heard whispers and such that they were having several issues, or one in particular. Kiran didn't pay to much attention to the details, but he knew he would figure out the gist of everything once he got back. It was still lightly sprinkling but that soon died down to almost nothing, as cloud cover overhead blocked out the sun for a moment sparing Kiran a few seconds out of the sun. Kiran glanced back to the tree for a moment which turned out to be his area of mediation he had found out. Coming out here on several occasions during his very brief time here. While the small gardens back at the enclave where nice as well, this suited him so much better.

[member="Jansal Corego"] [member="Dunames Lopez"] [member="Charlyra Araano"] [member="Setzi Lunelle"] [member="Nina Heavenshield"] [member="Connor Harrison"]

 

[Dunames Lopez]

"Once the damotite leaves the ship, I have no responsibility over what happens to it, understood? Star Tours' responsibility only extends until the cargo is unloaded planetside"

"Since you mentioned Lok Durd, captain, his plans were ultimately foiled when his henchwoman detonated bombs in self-sacrifice" a female graduate student in a yellow-orange dress told Vak.

"But how much damotite do that Lok Durd wannabe intends to use for himself? How far is the Morellian Weapons Conglomerate main factory from the water supply of the capital? Perhaps that Lok Durd wannabe is, or works, with a disgruntled MWC employee"

"I don't work with these scum"

With 166 passengers initially paying 200 credits or so for an economy-class ticket on a flight that was to last about five to six hours or so, it is not surprising that many of them took the opportunity to upgrade to first class for free, especially those who continued on from Lanteeb. Daisy Pammant, that female graduate student, was visibly happy to talk about Lok Durd and his relationship with damotite. To Vak's eyes, either she studied the representations of obesity in Neimoidian society or damotite during the Clone Wars. But he always pictured graduate students and, by extension, postdocs, as being poor people, almost starving in certain cases, but clearly she studied on another planet that paid better salaries to graduate students than Ringo Vinda or Lanteeb did. Or was she part of the plan?

"What does Lok Durd mean to you?"

"Lok Durd, the symbol of Neimoidian obesity. His tenure as a Confederate general was short-lived"

[member="Charlyra Araano"] [member="Setzi Lunelle"] [member="Nina Heavenshield"] [member="Connor Harrison"] [member="Jansal Corego"] [member="Kiran Arlos"]

 

[Jansal Corego]

Spoiler

[member="Dunames Lopez"] | @Charlyra Arrano | [member="Setzi Lunelle"] | [member="Nina Heavenshield"] | [member="Connor Harrison"] | [member="Kiran Arlos"] | [member="The Harbinger"]

"When we get to the station, I'll need you to meet the Fence and usher the supplies to a building adjacent to the water supply; I'll handle the mess here," said Jansal. "By the time you're underway we'll determine five safe houses for the damotite shipment - perhaps some warehouses up for rent, or empty apartment structures; credits up front, fifty-percent exceeding request to ensure silence - once the damotite is hidden we can ensure the plan progresses smoothly." The mercenary sighed - it seemed he'd eternally be stuck at a disadvantage; the only thing left was to make the most of it, he supposed. "Sir," interrupted XOM. "Extending the operation would increase the risk of discovery by the Jedi; if you can't finish the poisoning, people will begin to die from drinking, leaving a trail back to you before the mission is complete. I would highly suggest moving as quickly as possible." The protocol droid waltzed across the cabin floor, shuffling actually, to be more accurate; then, he spoke his mind:

"If we had more time to prepare, then we'd likely have opted for some scouting and research, fist - then, additionally some recruitment. That isn't an option. We move swift while they aren't expecting, then disperse; the droids will guard the facility, you guard the trucks - if we manage to buy additional mercenaries, we can use them to reinforce the lines of transport."

"How long will it take us to dump all of the damotite into the supply?"

"We won't have to dump all of it, sir."

There, a lightbulb went off in his head; or maybe, in this case, a little, florescent lightsaber - maybe blue, that was his favorite color. "What if we compromise some of the shipment?" thought Jansal aloud. "Get enough unloaded for a quick departure - like we said, we'd explain this was only going to jump ships, then bang; it looks like someone's sabotaging the load." He raises a finger gun to his companion, pulling the imaginary trigger, causing XOM to jump awkwardly and cry out; "Sir, what about the captain?" Jansal shook his head. "The captain doesn't have to know until after the fact - if we're tossing credits around like we have been already, then I suppose it wouldn't do any harm to promise more, only this time out of the employer's pocket. Maybe we could insist on those . . . ah, what was he talking about? The, er, Turkish?" He blinked. "Thakwaash, sir," responded the droid. The mercenary nodded. What a mess this was turning out to be. "So, we'll load the damotite than sabotage some of the cargo - something loud, but not dangerous; we'll make it look like an accident. From there, we'll move the damotite to avoid contagion or something - maybe further damage, if deliberate, and we'll transport it to the water supply where you'll meet us with the droids."

"Yes, sir."

"From there, the droids will secure the perimeter; probes will be set up in a single square kilometer around the area of operation to scout for any response teams - we'll maintain a steady stream of the damotite to the water supply under the guise of a material evac from the spaceport, which is presumed compromised, until the Jedi catch wind of the operation. Am I missing anything?"

"If they catch wind, you'll need to set up defenses."

"I'll plant explosives in adjacent buildings while we set up, they come in, we'll bring the city block crashing down on top of them; or hold them hostage - from there we can use them to buy time."

"What will stop them from purging the water supply if they catch wind? It'll be distributed, certainly, but they can alert against drinking once they understand what you intend."

"Then we'll need a distraction or find a way to jam their communications. I know a guy, let me see what I can do."

OOC - To whom it may concern:

Spoiler

After being notified by Thurion, it came to my attention I was being discourteous by posting in such quick succession, which was never my intention; to any who might have felt overwhelmed or excluded due to this behavior, I would like to apologize and pray it does not reflect at all upon my intention as a writer or on the quality of my person.

 

[Nico Ike Qarmast]

The force swirled around her as she was moving with it slowly. The locals she had worked with before and they were learning one one of the small ways how to use the force with contortion and inertia to add power to their bodies movements when Nico spun around with a quick flank. The humming of her saber gauntlets as the twin blades shimmered changing colors as needed with more interest on what was going on. She had been spending more time traveling around the galaxy helping or working to test out the new gears that were being made by her family. The flexible and lightweight meshed top she was wearing along with the robes of the same quality, her shorts were smaller then many worked with and heeled boots giving a small look over some of the dance moves. She worked with her padawan Lily to infiltrate some of the clubs when they were working undercover to gleam information before she breathed in the sensation of the force sensing some of the other jedi that were coming. She remained for a moment until moving out when she stretched a little deactivating the sabers and checking them. The other ones there were with her looking over a couple of the terminals from the facility Matsu had made to help produce equipment for them. "Now that was fun." She worked with a few more of them while they went off in the area leaving the small area leading up to the city hall with Nina and Setzi there.