ORCtoberfest 851 - Dominion of Asop Hex

[Stephanie Swail]

Well. Here they are. Time to get this show on the road.

There's Doctor Strang. He's good. I'm glad he's here. And Marita. She's good too. This will be ok.

Breathe. It's all ok. This is the end of your old life and first of your new. Get a grip Steph. This. Is. Fine.

You know it will hurt. You know it will change you forever. You know....oh, what do I know. I shouldn't even BE here.

No. I should. It's my duty to the Force and the galaxy to serve the Light. Serve the Republic. Serve them. Serve them.

What's that...what....no. No no no....not now....help me....help me.....LET ME OUT....IT'S THE SITH....!!

Wow. What a dream. Not had one of those for a while. Ok. Get up.

Yes. Get up. Long day ahead. Training. Reading. Running. Studying. Ohhhh but the bed is comfy. Come on, lazy.

Get up.

One more minute? Yeah....one more. Maybe two. Ugh, come on. UP!

What's that noise anyway? Sounds like....beeping? What the....? Why am I beeping....? WHAT?!

Stephanie let out a scream as she sat bolt up right on the bed. A dream within a dream within a....whatever state this was.

Where was she? Her brown hair was stuck to her face from the cold sweat, and her clothes lay neatly at the foot of her bed. It was only looking down to see why she was cold did she gasp and pull the sheets up, eyes wide with concern and annoyance. This was NOT the Silver Temple. This was NOT Voss.

Her eyes looked around. It was a little room and she was wearing a bracelet that was monitoring her heart-rate via a monitor on the wall. She was fine, however. No injury, no headache - well, maybe a little - but she was fine.

Where....oh no....was she a prisoner by the Sith? Did they capture her on Mirial after all? Was she....dreaming?

No. This wasn't a dream. She could hear music from afar. Music.

Where the hell was she?

"HELLO?"

All she could do was call out.

 

[Bryce Bantam]

***Ping!***

Bryce ducked slightly as the miss fired blaster bolt struck only a meter or so over his head. Looking over at Elaine in disbelief he was about to say some smart mouthed comment like “point that end at those you don’t like” when he saw Elaine go running off holding her mouth.

“The bathroom is the other….” Was all he was able to get out before he heard his blond companion begin emptying the contents of her stomach upon the deck of the cabin.

Wasn’t the first time someone had gotten sick in front of him, wouldn’t be the last either with this group he figured as he continued to disrobe and change into the dead officers uniform. Sadly the dead office was a fair bit shorter than Bryce. Pants were short, boots tight as a feth, but surprisingly he must have liked his uniform shirts big as though the sleeves were short barely covering his forearms, the rest seemed to fit “ok”. With the jacket draped over his shoulder he walked over to Elaine and placed his hand on her shoulder comfortingly.

“We have all been there kid, may want to pick some of the uniforms on the left, seems you mostly missed them.” Bryce said giving her a rye smile.

After some gentle pasts on the back he left her to finish up and moved on to the main living room of the cabin. The main suit was like all the other rooms in it was pretty sparsely furnished. Walking in a flashing terminal immediately got his attention and making his way over to hit he saw a beautiful site. Still plugged into the terminal was his beloved force tool. It looks like he either had or was trying to hack into the ship's systems at some point but had been distracted by other events. Either way he had a way to get at least a little more info on what might have happened.

As he set to work “Sady” who had been observing this whole time rolled up next to him.

“Finally getting back to work you lazy piece of bantha poodoo.” she beeped in binary before plugging in her self to help.

“Love you too you old rust bucket.” Bryce replied as he set to the task of finding out what the feth had happen…

[member="Elaine Thul"]

 

[Micah tol Powl]

The men and women of the First Order Stormtrooper Corps are the finest soldiers known to man. Trained from birth, they are a dedicated fighting force of precision professionals capable of delivering lethal, decisive, and strategic effects to the enemy at the time and place of the Supreme Leader's choosing. These are their stories...

NOW
LOCATION UNKNOWN
#GAMORREANSTRIPCLUB

"Oh, this is not good..."

Skidding to a halt, the corporal's bare feet slid roughly across durasteel deck plating. Military flight deck markings outlined docking bays that had seemingly transformed into a strip mall. But it was clear that it was some kind of hangar bay.

...this was a ship?

"Three?"

The teen spun around. A young woman about his age was standing there, hands on her hips and a look that suggested she was half expecting to have found him like that.

EOD-1143 was of Atrisian heritage, a direct descendant of the Atrisian Corps of the first Galactic Empire's Army. She was a combat engineer, or sapper. She liked to play with fire and commonly referred to her casual bomb-making hobby as 'cooking something up.'

She was the kind of person who'd walk up to you and say: Hold my beer and watch this. Which was about when you wanted to start running.

Callsign: Chef.

Like him, she wasn't originally part of the 319th Military Police Battalion. She was a strap-hanger, assigned to a combat engineer unit but drilling with Bravo Company because she accompanied them in the field as their sapper. If something was in their way, if they hit a wall or door they couldn't blast through, she cleared the way.

Right now she looked like the steampunk remix of some Rebel Alliance or Resistance guerrilla fighter. A large wrench was slung over her shoulder, the kind of spanner that star drive propulsion engineers used to torque down the main thrusters on a star destroyer so it looked more like a war maul than it did a torque wrench.

"That's a good look for you," Chef deadpanned dryly. The remark immediately caused the young corporal to turn bright red, as he fumbled awkwardly with covering himself with his hands.

The attempt at modesty was short lived, as she un-slung a blaster carbine from her other shoulder and chucked it at him. Catching the weapon, the teen fumbled with it in his arms a moment. He was kinda at a complete loss what was happening right now. "Uh, what's with the..."

Chef was on the move, and motioning for him to get his arse in gear. "Come on! We can see if we can find something for you to wear on the way," the Atrisian snapped back at him.

With a sigh, the young corporal slung the blaster up against his shoulder as he hurried along after the woman. And the Army goes rolling along. "On the way to..?"

"Bust out Clutch and Doc."

Not what he'd expected. Granted, he wasn't sure what he'd expected, but of all the people that he'd be busting out of the stockade... those two were the least likely candidates. If anything, Clutch and Doc were usually the ones rescuing them from the stockade. "Say what again?"

Casting a look back over her shoulder, "You don't remember?"

"Not a whole not, no."

"That seems to be the same for everyone," Chef offered. Not exactly enlightening, but somewhat comforting if no one else really remembered much either. "But I think Snake's friends are Coalition," the woman added a moment later. Pausing, she turned and led the pair into a storage locker of some kind. The place looked like it had been ransacked pretty bad. Storage units overturned and crap spilled out on the floor.

"...sooooo..." Three began, shuffling through the junk at his feet. There was a dirty tarp here. He could fashion that into a toga maybe? "...this is a Coalition ship?"

"This is a Dominion ship."

That statement hung in the air a moment.

Dropping the tarp, the corporal blinked several times as his mind tried to process that. "...why are we on a Dominion ship again?"

He knew he was going to regret asking that as soon as he'd said it.

"We stole it."

Yep. There was that regret. "...this doesn't sound like its getting any better," the corporal opined aloud.

From where she'd been rummaging through a box, the engineer suddenly lit up with the kind of mischievous, Cheshire grin that sent shivers up Three's spin. He expected some blocks of C-4 to come up in the woman's hands, as visions of time-delay fuses danced in her eyes.

Reality was actually much, much worse.

"This is TOTALLY getting better," Chef blurted gleefully, holding out what she'd found for him to wear.

"..."

Three was not amused. About any of this.

True, he was taking a hit to his dignity right now. But there were embarrassments he was prepared to tolerate if necessary. And what she offered was a bridge too far. "I'll stay naked."

The sapper tossed the suit back over her shoulder. "Suit yourself," the engineer remarked, with a lackadaisical shrug. "I won't be complaining... but, Snake's not likely to have left the brig lightly defended..."

Snake's not likely to have... "Wait, what?" the corporal remarked. Maybe it was the hangover. He was totally not following this conversation at all. "We're busting out Clutch and Doc... from Snake?"

Holding out her arms, the Atrisian indicated the ship around them and said, "Welcome to the micro-nation of Bumfethistan!"

The teen blinked. "..."

In his alcohol-addled brain, a dim bulb was slowly starting to illuminate. It was crazy. It was so crazy, this kind of plot wouldn't have passed on one of those bad fan-fiction boards on the HoloNet. Because this was reality, and reality was stranger than fiction.

And so were the stormtroopers he hung out with. Very, very, very strange. "He didn't." To be honest, Three didn't even know why he said that. He could see it. He could totally see it. Feth, he was surprised it had taken Snake this long to do something this stupid.

"Grand General-Admiral Snakefist, Supreme Grand High Poobah Commander of Bumfethistan."

With his free hand, the corporal reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"When Clutch and Doc tried to get him to sober up, he had them arrested for treason..."

Three covered his face with his hand.

"...assault on a superior grand high poobah..."

He was shaking his head.

"...and conduct unbecoming a scoundrel and a nerf herder."

Pitching his head forward, the young corporal gave a sigh. Removing the hand from his face, the teen extended his arm toward the sapper.

"Gimme the suit."

 

[Janick Beauchamp]

"I fail to see how accounting could somehow help me figure out where I fit in the morale problem: it will only tell me where the impact is. However, it's possible that the right business communications skills can inspire crewmembers, and knowing what qualifies as hygiene and motivators could also help figure out what I can do" Janick told the purser while handing back the Kebyc copy, while still wearing underwear.

"Janick, you're too gorgeous to be true. You're right: your role in the morale problem is priceless, beyond any contribution to the ship's futures portfolio" the purser answered back.

"You might realize I'm a part-time futures trader, but does the ledger allow one to trace back who made the transaction?" Janick asked, increasingly annoyed.

"Of course it does, Jane. You will learn very quickly that an entity's ledger, if used without qualification, usually refers to the general ledger"

"I feel that you've been exploiting me for your crewmembers' ends, even though it's priceless. At another time we should discuss the whole morale issue"

Unless the morale issue can be resolved with just a few minutes of face-to-face exposure for his crewmembers with me in this condition, she thought, while the yeomen were taking turns looking at various parts of Janick's near-naked body, whose face began to go back to its alkaline status, that is, to blush, and, with it, her headaches increased, to the point where she had to get Griet to close the door, once again, and finally realize that, despite her face being beet-red, she now had enough mental functionality to contemplate using Detoxify Poison on herself, in an attempt to cleanse the remnant traces of alcohol in her body. Back on Zonju V she had only enough mental functionality left to cleanse part of it, while she couldn't do the whole shebang back then, leading to the hangover she has now. But better that hangover than dead; for this reason, she will be grateful for Detoxify Poison so long as she can use it. And once she got started, the headaches start to fade once the Force-power takes effect.

Spoiler: Verdict fighter complement

60 Alakaha elite fighters

 

[Dahlia]

Despite the fact that Dahlia had no idea what this man’s name or story was, she went along with him into the casino bar. He seemed fairly comfortable with her, as he let his arm drape around her shoulders. The two had a seat in a private booth, and there were soon drinks set out before them. The scent of the alcohol alone was enough to nearly make her lose her cool. She suppressed a shudder, and threw on a dazzling smile.

“So,” The suited man started. “Where did you run off to last night? I thought we were having a good time.”

Dahlia pulled a small compact from her purse and began to touch up her lipstick. She would let her companion wonder in silence for a moment or two more… mostly because she hadn’t a clue herself.

“Oh, you know…” Her shoulders rose into a small shrug, “Something came up.”

Indeed something had come up. Now, to figure out just what that was… Behind her dark glasses, her gaze grew far away. A slim index finger rose and tapped gently against her chin. Normally, she was very attentive to her male companions, but she was uncharacteristically out of sorts. It was unnerving to say the least.

“What’s wrong, Dolly? You’re not thinking about… him, are you?”

Setting her glasses atop her head, she narrowed her eyes at the man sitting next to her.

“Who?” She asked in a nonchalant tone.

“The dark-haired man, he came to speak with you last night, just before you ran off.”

Dahlia perked a brow. Well, well… she’d found another piece to the puzzle. But she still didn’t have enough pieces to put together just yet.

 

[Eun]

Eun cocked his head, lilac eyes playing across the man’s features. He lay there like another tribal tattoo you saw marring the body of a passerby: worth a handful of creds, easily inked on, and just as easily lasered off when the wearer grew bored of false machismo, leaving only the memory and scar of regret, if even remembered.

Gaze passing between the woman, who seemed incapable of registeing the existence of another, and the man. Another path Eun had already walked down. How droll. He’d hoped for something interesting.

Sighing, Eun turned away.

“Ah yes, that must have been it,” and closed the door behind him.

[member="Lina Renning"] [member="Oran Shule"]

 

[Janick Beauchamp]

"That's more like it, Jane. You look less and less hung over now, are you?"

"I'm still having a little headache, but it's much more manageable now"

"The whole hangover business reminds me of those long days in the Jedi Temple on Yutan studying mining engineering, and all the goodness that comes with it, which, by all Jedi standards of the day, was considered a very advanced topic. Obviously most of the Jedi were studying far less advanced stuff such as algebra, chemistry, physics, geology and I had to tutor Jedi in those topics"

"Griet, surely you realized that there are some limitations. The more theoretical aspects of mining engineering I know you understand just fine. But, are you sure you didn't take some sort of distance learning courses?"

"The Republican bureaucracy, being what it is, insisted on us taking this many credits for advancement, on top of any combat achievements. As war went on, the requirements were relaxed. I made it as far as colonel under the old GR starfighter regime, having 3 squadrons under my command. I learned what I could about mining engineering without actually doing any lab-based activities, and constantly doing coursework on a non-degree basis can be a nightmare if you ever contemplate life after the military, because you can only serve for so long unless you make it as a flag-level officer or are a desk jockey. Even if you plan on returning to the brick-and-mortar campus to finish a degree, it's not obvious; in my case, that would have meant the University of Yutan. For example, if, at the start of the next academic year, I wanted to enroll, say, in mining engineering, I'd have no idea whatsoever how I'd go around completing the degree, assuming all the credits would even transfer in the first place"

To be frank, the ORC does tend to make life easier compared to the GR Griet once served: no mandatory retirement age, one can leave the military at any time once a tour of duty ends with a honorable discharge provided one has a clean disciplinary record. Janick, on the other hand, would only begin to understand what would it mean to her to learn business communication, organizational behavior and accounting, so she began cracking open the business communication textbook, reading what she could from it.

Spoiler: Verdict fighter complement

60 Alakaha elite fighters

 

[Elaine Thul]

[member="Bryce Bantam"]

He was nice about her pourfar, as she did not like being sick. She was never been sick before unless ill, so this was embarrassing. She heard what he said about the uniforms, so she took one that looked like it fit. She then head to bathroom to clean up, and get changed. The uniform was ill fitting, especially seeing she was use to tailor fitted clothes. She then looked at the dress she was wearing, she decide she keep it, might be fun one day. She then put the blaster, in a holster. She still felt groggy where she returned to Bryce, and she was still embarrassed for throwing up in front of him, he may have seen it before, but she had not done it before, and this made her feel self conscious. Stupid she knew, but it did not her feeling so. She saw him talking to a computer, he must have gotten some info from it. She asked in sheepish voice, Okay what do you know? She blinked a bit as her headache spiked a little.

 

[Micah tol Powl]

The men and women of the First Order Stormtrooper Corps are the finest soldiers known to man. Trained from birth, they are a dedicated fighting force of precision professionals capable of delivering lethal, decisive, and strategic effects to the enemy at the time and place of the Supreme Leader's choosing. These are their stories...

THE MICRONATION OF BUMFETHISTAN
DOMINION WARSHIP IN ORBIT OF ASOP
#DUDEWHERESMYSHIP?

"...and conduct unbecoming a scoundrel and a nerf herder."

Pitching his head forward, the young corporal gave a sigh. This was just the kind of day where you wanted to wake up and realize it was all a bad dream. Removing the hand from his face, the teen extended his arm toward the sapper.

"Gimme the suit."

[ My Backpacks Got Jets ]​

They were prepared for stormtroopers.

They were prepared for rebel guerrilla fighters.

But ninety kilograms of raw cluck cluck ass kicking power supported by Xena, Steampunk Combat Engineer? Nope. Ain't nobody saw that coming.

The tibana gas mixed with the smoke from Chef's improvised flash-bang, obscuring his vision as the teen leapt into the prison section like a juggernaut. With Chef providing cover fire from behind, the young corporal moved down the field like it was the grav-ball field back home. He left the precision shooting to the combat engineer. The blaster carbine leveled at his waist, he fired off short bursts intended as suppression fire.

The boy's inhuman human strength displayed itself as he jumped the first two guards. A kick to the chest sending the first man flying backward. The second tried to grab onto his left arm and seemed quite confused when his attempt at twisting it was met with durasteel resistance. A flex of his cybernetic servos and the second man was taken up into the air for a brief second, before being slammed hard on the deck a moment later.

A third injected himself with a combat vibroblade in hand. Swift, broad sweeps caused Three to dance backward, weaving left and then right to avoid the strikes. Raising his blaster rifle like a club, the storm-chicken-trooper came up to hit the the underside of the man's elbow, throwing off his position and balance. Taking the blaster carbine in one hand, the corporal brought it around to slam across the side of the man's head, taking him down.

Cradling the rifle, the young trooper quickly realized the grip was off now.

He'd snapped the frame.

Casting the broken blaster aside, the teen moved down to the prison cells. Going from cell to cell until he'd arrived at one occupied by two familiar looking faces.

He stood aside while Chef worked the lock. Which, just meant blasting the door controls apart. But, when that less-than-delicate work was done, the pair stood in the doorway to the cell and motioned for their compatriots to get a move on.

Clutch and Doc, of course, caught sight of the rather large Mandalorian Fowl and began snickering.

"Aren't you a little tall for a chicken?" Clutch asked.

"Shut up."

They had a Supreme Drunk Leader to overthrow.

 

[Janick Beauchamp]

"The you view. One has to be mindful to answer what's in it for the receiver? in a concise manner and to ensure that it's not about the sender" Janick told Griet, while putting away the Tagge after having read Chapter 1, and also having out the Palfa away before even reading the Tagge.

"I suppose business communication can help you avoid faux pas when implementing solutions to morale problems but it's more a case of you don't do it and you screwed up, and you do it will not improve things, Jane. To summarize what little I knew about morale problems until today: work conditions are not the end of the story"

Janick's first reading of Palfa's Motivators and Hygiene Factors' first chapter revealed the following: morale can be broken down into two components, the eponymous motivators and hygiene factors. Handle the hygiene factors poorly and you have a morale problem on your hands (e.g. fringe benefits, relationships between management, red tape) but handle them well and all you are getting is an absence of insatisfaction. Sure that book is intended for a civilian audience, but in the military its implementation is another thing entirely, assuming all-volunteer forces such as the ORC's. She began to ponder which one is the more relevant: however, in the starfighter corps, pondering which action to take is often difficult to do. In theory, one could use decorations and commendations for recognizing one's achievements, but, in practice, its use to that end is usually restricted to those who actually fight. Which leaves her with how to provide growth opportunities, because the level of responsibility of each position is very difficult for one unit to change on its own. Admittedly, in a starfighter corps, the pilots and flight controllers are those whose contributions are greatest... and the hangar personnel's work onboard any given attack craft-carrying ship is often under-appreciated unless the doctrine of the faction operating the ship often calls for carrier tactics.

"Let's start by examining what can be changed among the hangar personnel of the Verdict because this is where our power lies. Each division will have division-specific solutions to a morale problem"

"Are you talking about hygiene or motivators?"

"Motivators. What opportunity for growth is there for the other crewmembers? I'm responsible for the 5 squadrons onboard the Verdict and also the hangar personnel. I know the job the hangar personnel does is merciless. They deserve an opportunity for growth. I know the main thing I could do is to offer piloting lessons, but other than piloting lessons for those petty officers who are edging close to promotion..."

"Don't forget the Peter principle: while it's important to foster growth opportunities, you have to tailor them to those who can actually take advantage of these opportunities, or else you may end up having people that are incompetent in a new role"

"How about (re-)framing the significance of hangar personnel's work to the ORC's combat performance in space? I can't touch the scope of responsibility or accountability, nor the scope of the work itself"

Spoiler: Verdict fighter complement

60 Alakaha elite fighters

 

[Bryce Bantam]

"Still working on it..." Bryce said to Elaine.

She also had worked her way into an ill fitting uniform. Now neither of them would pass a formal inspection but to slip past a few folks in the halls as they made an escape would be totally doable, well he hoped at least.

The system was good but rudimentary, it seems much like the interior the computer system were not totally complete before leaving dry doc. In fact the ship didn't even have an official name, only a construction number. Ship logs were incomplete, no crew manifest or command staff. From best he could tell this ship was taken right from the construction yard to Asop.


"Elaine, think we may have stolen this bird, computer is telling me it was never commissioned. Think we should check this out, let's take a walk around, see if that story holds true. But be on guard, if I'm wrong we could be walking into a trap of sorts..."

[member="Elaine Thul"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Lina Renning"]

Lina.

Shule tasted the name on his tongue and could find nothing of familiarity through those syllables. It only once more hit home for him that there was something strange about this lack of memory. It suggested more than simple drinks, it suggested something... mysterious. For once Shule did not seem to mind.

Yes, they had touched his mind and messed with it.

They (whoever they were) would pay for that. Presumably with their lives or something else that was equally of value. But right now Oran wondered how they did it and the purpose behind it.

"I was also there to celebrate." Shule finally said. "Which... might not be a large coincidence, because it was a bar." There were many reasons why one would visit an establishment like that, but celebration was quite certainly one of the main things that you would find there. "I think it would be wise to go downstairs... see where we are."

The strange man earlier made him think this was some kind of hotel, perhaps there would be footage of the previous night?

 

[Sanya Val Lerium]

[member="Vaudin Miir"] ※ [member="Natassia Traxen"]

Sanya's face began to turn red. She was somewhat puzzled and embarrassed. "I.. urrm.. Don't know what to say to that." She said with a stutter and quietness all the while her head was been caressed. Although unlike that man this woman's appearance wasn't as offensive to the eyes. Actually it was desirable, maybe that was the drink still playing on her mind, maybe.

The cuffs came open, something she could really have done at the time. It just wasn't a top priority. Cuffs normally mean she was in trouble with orc or some garbage gorverment. The type ran by the credits but tells everyone this is whats right. The woman stood up noticing both of them was taller. Even though the man had barely covers his appendage she still couldn't look him in the eye.

Her hand would gently rub her wrist as if to massaged the pain away. The cool breeze would wash over her again making hairs stand up and her tail more fuzzy. Cold was something she was not good with. That was the same for any croa. You'd not find one on a ice world by choice and even if someone did they'd be suited up carrying a portable heater. "Let's just get a few things out the way first. Where am I? Where are my normal clothes and why in kriffing hell have you not gone to find some pants yet sleemo?" She said to the man in such way was an order. Yet her tone contradicted it by been quiet and soft. She couldn't bare to speak loudly as her throat felt like nails had been jammed down it.

She'd look to the woman with no recollection who she was. Although familiar at the same time. It was possible they had met during the time she cannot remember yet. "May you explain to me what you mean by I'm yours? I don't quite remember you but you look familiar. Just a hunch but I feel like you may know something I'm yet to remember just yet."

 

[NT-6922]

Natassia suddenly realized that, although she was wearing a top and a jacket, she did not wear anything else at all. Shrugging at her nudity, she simply arranged her leather jacket in order for it to reach down and cover her up slightly. She liked the feeling of [member="Sanya Val Swift"] 's hair under her fingers, and she especially enjoyed her current lack of headache, given the circumstances. She barely raised an eyebrow as [member="Vaudin Miir"] rid her partner of her cuffs, reluctantly removing her hand from the cat-like humanoid and pointing a finger at the man.
"Jedi or Sith?" she asked nonchalantly.

Not that she cared that much. It was all the same to her - if they used the Force, they were the type of people she'd need to keep an eye on at any given time. How could she trust to turn her back on someone that could zap her with lightning or strangle her from six meters away?
Pinching her nose, she waved her hand at him, pointing at the room he came from. "My lady's right. Can't you, like, put some pants on?"
She was completely aware of her hypocrisy, but didn't care much. She had other matters to attend to, especially when she felt her companion shiver under the cool breeze. Taking her jacket off, she wrapped it around her and gave her a kiss on the cheek, a smile on her face.

"I have no idea how I got here in the first place either - and I don't know what "here" even is. All I can remember is you and I, in that room back there. Your clothes aren't there, though, and neither are mine. I'm just wearing borrowed stuff, I guess."
Gazing at the other woman tenderly, she brushed her hand against her cheek, before turning back around and looking at the rooms around them.
"You're cold. I say we get you something warmer."

 

[Janick Beauchamp]

"You, or I, could always say: Without you, it would be impossible for the ORC fighter pilots to do their work, in front of the hangar personnel, but that would further reinforce that their role in a fight is subservient to the aircrew's"

"I could always make copies of the AARs available directly to the hangar crews, but who, among the ordnance technicians or the fueling technicians, would read through those AARs?"

"Wait, Jane: ordnance handling or refueling is not like administrative work, where natural units of work are more of an issue, where people are often made to arbitrarily stop working at arbitrary times, while it would be best to let them do their jobs at their own pace, and stop at points where it makes sense to do so"

"Then there is not much job enrichment that can be done"

And no job enlargement either. Job enlargement usually consists of tacking on more responsibilities - usually those crewmembers who crave more responsibilities are transferred to smaller ships if they aren't ripe for promotion, or, if they prove competent and promotions are within range, promoted. In peacetime, promotions usually have a time-in-rank component, while at war, the process does not include time-in-rank, with the result that the hangar personnel chief for one squadron's hangar on a Darr Itah and its executive officer are usually the only commissioned officers onboard the hangar. So any advancement usually involves flight school, unless they are unable to pilot. Yet Griet, Janick continued to discuss, as productively as they could given their rudimentary knowledge of organizational behavior, ways to keep morale while underway. Already that fighter pilots and hangar personnel were having pretty great times onboard, alongside personnel involved in fire control, the same could not be said of the galleys, yeomen, medical and engineering crews.

Spoiler: Verdict fighter complement

60 Alakaha elite fighters

 

[Elaine Thul]

She listened to [member="Bryce Bantam"], as she rubbed her temple, in some vain attempt to relief the headache, it was not going to work. She then realised what he said, they had stolen the ship, wait she could not even fly a ship let alone steal one. She had to ask, Are you sure we did? She then followed him out the room they where in, the place did seem deserted. She kept that blaster in her hand, and stay behind him to his right hand side. She did this as anyone did come out would shoot him first, and if she turned to fire behind her. He would see her easier, as she turned to face them. She was nervous, the idea she did piracy was just absurd to say the least. Their had to be another reason, as she did not have skills to do this, then again maybe he did, and did it to impress her, she had no idea what happened yesterday. She also starting to wish she had some sort of sunglasses, as the artificial light was hurting her, just at top of eyes. To help alleviate this pain, she kept closing them. She was also still feeling squishy, and what did she drink to make this happen. To be honest she just wanted to lie down for few hours more, and she would feel better.

 

[Bryce Bantam]

Bryce tried to walk as calmly as possible, looking to display an air of confidence fitting the uniform he wore. Elaine was obviously new to this and green as feth. She was standing behind him her nervous domineer and pistol skill, or lack thereof being his main concern.

“Elaine, got gotta relax, holster that shooter and walk natural. If we are behind enemy lines we need to be able to bluff our way out of this. That single holdout vs a well trained crew is not going to do poodoo to help.”

Hoping his advice would be taken, Bryce began to hear music playing in the distance. Bryce turned to Elaine saying. “Listen, let's checkout where that is coming from. Now like I said be cool, no sudden moves, no rash reactions, ok?”

As the two moved on the music continued to grow louder till they seemed to be very close to it, just a Bryce was about to turn a corner he hear a voice call out “Hello?”

It seemed to be coming from a closed door. Behind it was a force signature, one that seemed to be aligned with the light side. Bryce knocked on the door trying to announce his presence before saying. “Hello to you too, the door seems to be locked from the inside, can you open it?”

[member="Stephanie Swail"]
[member="Elaine Thul"]

 

[Stephanie Swail]

Her voice rang out in the quiet room. Nothing. The beep-beep-beep of her heart monitor. Wide eyes looked around for signs some response or lif -

A voice.

A VOICE.

Stephanie gasped and looked to the door.

"HELLO?!"

She slid off the bunk almost at once, sheets wrapped around her as she ran and tapped on the door. Locked? From...the inside? How? She didn't come in and lock the door....what?

Stepping back with a frown, Stephanie didn't trust this voice, or possibly the one inside her head. Her eyes narrowed and she looked to the side of the door frame, and there indeed was a keypad illuminated red. Tentativly, her fingers reached out and pushed the large red bar which turned to green almost at once.

The door slid sideways with a psssh-sssh and revealed two figures. A man and woman she didn't recognise. With a gasp, her fist clenched the sheet and she stepped back.

"Oh! Excuse me....who are you and where the hell am I? Please. Tell me. Tell me now."

Her voice was laced with fear but she tried to maintain her dignity...as much as she could keep right now!

[member="Bryce Bantam"] | [member="Elaine Thul"]

 

[Janick Beauchamp]

"The book mentions intrinsic and extrinsic motivation. The one thing I like about the whole online education, or even hybrid education whenever possible, beyond schedule flexibility, is that my interactions with grade grubbers are limited at best"

"Griet, oh Griet, hygiene is about extrinsic motivation, and true motivation is intrinsic, and I suppose grade-grubbing is about extrinsic motivation"

"You bet! Grade grubbers are motivated by the grades more so than by the learning. For whom learning is inconsequential. Now, to the extent grades are extrinsic motivators, the closest equivalents in the workplace would be the personnel evaluations. Sometimes managers dangle rewards such as bonuses, such as stock-options, or bonus points on personnel evaluations, to get employees to do X job better, or sometimes at all"

At other times, certain managers tend to make a set of rewards contingent on other rewards, such as making end-of-year bonuses contingent on scoring that high on the yearly evaluation, which I call higher-order rewards, in this case, second-order, Janick thought, while Griet was touching a topic that made her uncomfortable about her pre-Directive 12 life. The numerous attempts made by grade grubbers in class to leech off her or even to sabotage her work - and probably Griet, if she was in person on campus on Yutan. Now I understand why Griet is grateful for distance learning: she must have been exposed to the grade grubbers before she was even a pilot in the first place, be it in a Jedi temple or among the secular system, maybe even have a traumatic experience, but I do not think it's proper to ask about those at this time, she pursued her thought line while triggered by the words grade grubbers. Clearly Griet was also doing the very same readings at the same time, and understanding the text on some level, and Janick, too.

Spoiler: Verdict fighter complement

60 Alakaha elite fighters

 

[Micah tol Powl]

The men and women of the First Order Stormtrooper Corps are the finest soldiers known to man. Trained from birth, they are a dedicated fighting force of precision professionals capable of delivering lethal, decisive, and strategic effects to the enemy at the time and place of the Supreme Leader's choosing. These are their stories...

THE MICRONATION OF BUMFETHISTAN
DOMINION WARSHIP IN ORBIT OF ASOP
#CHICKENTHEFETT

Short of the three guys who'd been paid to guard the brig with a 24-case of Pabst Blue Ribbon, there didn't appear to be a whole of minions in the service to the Supreme Allied Grand High Poobah of Bumfethistan.

Those who did support the authoritarian regime of the Snakefist seemed either drunk and/or high, which explained a lot. It also didn't do much to improve the public image of the Coalition as more than a bunch of folks getting drunk in the Outer Rim.

In the case, the loyal followers of the Kaiser Snake that were either mid-binge or coming down off the high seemed willing to dime out where da fuhrer was hiding out for something to snack on. A couple of credits fed into the vending machine for a bag of cheese-doodles and the four stormtroopers were on their way to go see the wonderful wizard of whatever fresh hell this was supposed to be.

Snake'alor the Obnoxious was a progressive monarch.

In lieu of the traditional throne or even a lazy boy recliner, he opted to reign from top of the keg stand he was performing with the aid of a Twi'lek who might have been the bouncer for the club Three had been in earlier, alongside a dude in a t-shirt that read: Property of Reena University Athletics Department. Yeah. Even from across the room, Three could tell that guy was a total douche.

The sight and arrival of the rag-tag band of stormtrooper extras for the casting call of the next Survivor reality-holo series caused the inverted Snakefist to lose his grip. Probably on more than just the side handles of the keg.

As his frat house support staff sloppily moved to catch him and help him down, the mighty Grand High Poobah slumped down against the keg with foaming spittle coming down the side of his face from where he'd spilled beer from the tap when less-than-gracefully making his dismount. "The hell are you supposed to be?" he called out, staring down at the large, yellow bellied Chicken Fett standing there.

Helped to his feet, the drunken trio that represented the three branches of government for the micronation of Bumfethistan staggered forward as though about to feth them up. Sneering, staggering, and barely able to stand, Snakefist jabbed a finger toward the costumed Three and blurted out, "Mandalorian fried chicken?"

Rearing back, the young corporal let out a loud, "CA-CAW!" Leveling the blaster, the teen squeezed off a single shot.

Snake and company ducked, even as the shot sailed wide over their heads.

The blaster bolt slammed into the keg, unleashing a torrent of pressurized Pabst Blue Ribbon that struck Snake square in the back. Propelled forward, the leader of Bumfethistan hit the deck in a slip-and-slide of head foam and pale lager, as he washed up at the feet of the four decidedly less-than-happy stormtroopers.

And so ended the reign of the first Grand HIgh Poobah of the Micronation of Bumfethistan.

...now, how the Hutt were getting back to Dosuun?

[ fini ]​