Even the most backwater of backwater worlds has something to offer the First Order. So it is for Solem and Taul, planets in the Outer Rim of nominal value on first glance. Taul, an acidic planet that kills almost everything it touches, has (according to our intelligence sources) been largely devoid of civilization since ancient times, when the Rebel Alliance had a base there. The First Order sent a scientific team there in recent months to investigate whether its harsh climes could be settled via terraforming, but the team has stopped reporting in. Before they went quiet the team reported that, while they had not encountered civilized life, they had encountered hostile creatures on the planet, including steel-eating spiders. Despite the horrors that await in the corrosive environment, First Order scientists suspect there is some redeeming value in the chemicals that make up the acid on the planet…
Meanwhile, in the neighboring system of Solem, the First Order has reached out for diplomatic contact with the natives and have been invited to a summit and to participate in war games. It is thought that the native Solem species are interested in determining the First Order’s strength before agreeing to join. While our diplomats work their magic, our military team can put on a show.
Upon arriving on the surface of Taul, our scouts were ambushed by an unknown group wearing breathing apparatuses that appeared to let them survive in the acidic environment. The scouts were ambushed and badly injured, but managed to escape, reporting that their attackers traveled by airboats that were decorated in neon and blasting loud, bass-heavy party music. Our best guess is that their breathing apparatuses are interacting badly with the acidic gas on the planet, resulting in a hallucinogenic substance. Your task is to uncover the nature of these rave-goers and, if necessary, eliminate them. Glowsticks have been provided in your duty packs.
First Order diplomats have been invited to parley with a clan of Solem’s natives, a species for which we have no record. They have expressed an interest in joining the First Order following the summit and war games with First Order forces.
Participate in wargames with Solem’s locals. They are technologically limited and lack more sophisticated equipment, but if First Order forces can best them in feats of strength and combat on equal terms, it will go a long way towards convincing them that they will be well looked-after in the First Order.
“Seals holding,” reported Lieutenant Ivy Dexter over the comlink. “Air quality outside is poor but interior sensors indicate seals are holding, at least at this altitude and concentration. We will continue to monitor on the way down.”
“Affirmative,” Captain Petrov responded from the bridge of the AT-ST deployment ship. “Keep an eye on it. T-minus three minutes to drop.”
If Lt. Dexter was concerned about the seals, she didn’t show it. Not to her AT-ST co-pilot or the other members of the crew. She keyed her comlink in the affirmative and mounted the ladder to the entry platform, then dropped down through the hatch of the landing pod and the AT-ST. She made herself comfortable in the pilot’s seat, beginning the pre-drop checklist. Forty five seconds later she keyed the comlink on again and said: “This is Dexter. Pre-launch complete. Please clear the drop pod for launch in two minutes.” She switched to the team channel. “Lids on and breathers going, gang,” she said. “Get in.”
The crew followed her up the ladder and into the pod, then into the AT-ST. The pod shuddered and shifted as it was prepared for launch, and a timer appeared on her helmet HUD, racing towards zero. “Strap in and brace,” said Dexter to her cabin crew. “Launch in thirty.” Dexter checked her crash webbing and her helmet seals and then, before she knew it, the HUD timer hit zero and the pod lurched. She watched the graphic on her control panel illustrating the pod’s journey to the planet. The thrusters maintained a safe speed -- just this side of G-force levels that would render them unconscious -- all the way down to the planet. They landed with a terrible clang! “Scout Walker Alpha has landed at coordinates 192-1138. Pod is throwing errors. Please confirm you’re receiving signals.”
“Affirmative,” said Petrov again. “Seals on the pod are showing deterioration. Can you open the pod?”
“Stand by,” said Dexter. She worked the machinery controls and the pod began to unfold, slowly. Then, as the machinery began to chug and struggle, the pod panels collapsed, melted from the bottom. “Yes, but the pod has fallen apart due to the acid we landed in. Moving forward in the walker now.” She piloted the AT-ST forward, and Dexter was encouraged by the scout walker being able to move forward, until the leg, too, collapsed, sending the ship lurching forward onto a swampy bank. “Hell,” she grunted. “Team, get the walker hatch open and get out of here. Command, we, uh, have a bit of a problem. The alloys used in our AT-AT are no match for the acid down here. We lost a leg and the rest of the walker is slowly dissolving into the acid. We’re going to leave the walker. Distress beacon going up now.”
“Understood,” said Petrov. “Stand by and try to stay out of the acid.”
“Copy that.”
In the distance, Dexter heard an odd noise. It sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. But whatever it is, it was coming closer. After a few seconds, the acid was trembling. “Get to cover,” she barked at her team. They dissolved into the brush on the small island as the sound got louder, and they drew their sidearms. It was only as the airboat came careening around the side of another island and into view that she realized what the sound was: a strong bass line for a banging rave song. The airboat was crewed by six people -- well, piloted by one with five others saving glowsticks around and dancing to the rhythm of the song. The airboat slowed to a halt against the island and the people onboard immediately began to chatter excitedly, gesturing at the AT-ST that was in the process of dissolving in the acid.
“Harmless scavengers,” said Dexter. She stood and raised her free hand, calling out. She was greeted with blasterfire. They weren’t very good shots; Dexter’s team took them out in short order. She studied the airboat; it seemed to be made of something impervious to the acid. “Command, I have an idea. Sending you a scan. We’ll commandeer this craft and proceed with the mission. Please inform other operations in the area that the scavengers aboard the airboats may be hostile.”
“Lieutenant Dexter,” said the Captain. “What is that god-awful noise?”
“It’s a mobile rave, Command. I can’t seem to find a way to turn it off…” Her voice trailed off. “Lewis, see whether you can find anything useful on those scavs. We’ll keep you posted, Command.”