Raid on Aeten II: The Stygium Mines

[Hannibal Oryen]

@[member="Cronos Aegir"] | @[member="Jacques Cavill"] | @[member="Orion"] | @[member="Teroch Gra'tua "]| @[member="Dyllaefi Cridu"] | @[member="Kale Arkin"] | @[member="Alachei Mnemenos"]

Thankfully, Hannibal's helmet prevented his jaw from hitting the floor and making a sound. What was this lady on about? The lot of them would be lucky if they found ten tons of Stygium in general. These days, stygium was unbelievably difficult to suck out of Aeten. Any nutter who thought they were walking out of here with over a ton of stygium was in for a rude awakening once they entered the facility. Hannibal wasn't a nutter, of course. He would help the man for the generous pay and only demand a couple kilograms in return. That was all he really needed or wanted. Anything else was just trivial.

The woman might have been monotone in making her threat to the client, but it was still there and still very, very much obvious. Seemed to Hannibal she had gotten off somewhere on the corner of Ballsy Street and Flat-Out-Insane Avenue. A light frigate? Requisitioned? If this chick could go around requisitioning frigates, then she had no need to be doing mercenary work. That wasn't even to mention how conspicuous bringing a ship that size could be. If this raid was meant to be quick and decisive, a frigate was not going to be of much use. Even with the weird haircut, the client- now to be identified as Marcus -was giving off all sorts of "kill you silently and before you know what even happened" vibes. Whatever possessed her to threaten him, Hannibal did not want to be working with.

"Ey, listen, toots. Ain't any need to get excited." Hannibal angled his triocular gaze towards the silently raging woman, cybernetic eyes sizing her up. "You gotta be new to this mercenary business, 'cause threatenin' the man dispensin' the paycheck ain't gonna be doing you any favors. Play it smooth, dig? And don't go 'requisitioning' a ship too big for the op. The hell you flyin' a Y-Wing for if you can pull frigates?"

He gave a dismissive wave to the purple chick the moment she tendered her response, if she did indeed attempt to tender a response, and instead turned to look back at Marcus. "You can call me Steve."

 

[Teroch Gra'tua]

"Skills eh? I'm a sniper. That's All you need to know right now" Teroch said with a grin, no one could see t though since he was still wearing his helmet. He had no need for anything else other than the credits, so everyone else could have the stygium, he didn't need it other than tom sell it "so when do we start?" Teroch asked, hoping it would be soon.

@[member="Hannibal Oryen"]@[member="Cronos Aegir"]@[member="Alachei Mnemenos"]@[member="Kale Arkin"]@[member="Dyllaefi Cridu"]@Orion@Jacques Cavill@Mr. Ash

 

[Orion]

@[member="Cronos Aegir"]
He read her message. "I may. It depends if it is encrypted or not. I could just overload the system. . . Yes, Yes. I think that would work. Shut down the grid for a while, and they won't suspect a thing." Orion sounded hazy. He stayed quiet for a minute. He was in deep thought.

 

[Dyllaefi Cridu]

Generally, at least in Dyll's experience, the criminal underworld was surprisingly civil. Everyone involved knew that, since they lived as outlaws, they could expect no protection save what they made for themselves, and that meant their enterprises could tumble down like a house of cards if they made the wrong enemies. Thus successful crime bosses and smugglers who expected to be hired twice both tended to be polite right up to the moment they stabbed you in the back; no sense antagonizing a potential ally or employer.

Thus it was something of a mystery to Dyll that the dangerous characters all around him kept being vague and ominous toward the man who was offering them a princely sum for their help. None of his business, of course; the other rule of the underworld was don't go looking for trouble. And so he was shocked when the Mnenchi combined trouble and offense. The businessman in him had been halfway to offering her space on his ship to transport her goods, hoping to improve on the substantial amount he'd already be making.

But the menace of her cold voice and the flashing of those metallic eyes as she made her threats turned his enthusiasm into one great pile of nope. He wasn't sure what was going to happen here, but he dreaded it, taking one small, sliding step toward the door. If this erupted into some kind of violent sorcery contest, there would be nothing he could do but run; he wasn't much of a fighter against ordinary people, and he was pretty sure that either of the two in that room could squash him like a bug. He wasn't eager to have that happen.

But the man in the dark armor ("Steve," apparently, which seemed an awfully ordinary name when applied to his terrifying armor) did his best to calm things down, and Dyll had to commend him for that. As yet another nasty, lethal-looking character entered the back room, oblivious to the brewing conflict, Steve asked the question the smuggler had been wondering: why did the Mnenchi need any of them if she had so much pull? Why hadn't she knocked over the place herself? If she couldn't, what the hell kind of security did it have?!

Speaking slowly and as calmly as he could, Dyll ignored the potential battle (though he kept one eye on the exit and one foot in the door) and answered his employer's question. "Dyllaefi Cridu," he said. He almost always gave underworld types his real name, reserving aliases for customs, bounty hunters, and law enforcement, because he wanted employers and powerful people to know who he was; establishing a reputation as a competent smuggler who could take on big jobs was worth a lot in the long run.

@[member=Cronos Aegir]

 

[Arkyn Rane]

Well, I thought, taking a long drag from my spicestick, she certainly has balls. Ultrachrome balls, plated with tirdarium and cortosis weave. I helped myself to the refreshments and drinks, careful not to go too overboard. I didn't wanna make a fool of myself. I left that to the crazier folk; I got in enough trouble on my own, no use making it worse with a feller' like this shady 'Marcus' character.

We were joined by the ugliest cyborg I'd ever had the displeasure of laying eyes on -- he looked like he'd been shat out by a sarlacc, slurped up by a Hutt, vomited into a Verpine and then re-shat into a vat of radioactive waste. Pretty badass, actually. Anybody that ugly had to be good at his job.

"Yo, Mr. Ash, Stevie, Dyl', Marcus," I said, each name accompanied by a wave, "the name's Kale. Kale Arkin." I didn't feel comfortable dishing out advice on criminal conduct, not to the pretty pale psycho, anyway, so I kept my silence on that front. I was more concerned with the talking datapad. "Excuse me, Mr. Marcus... is that your datapad talking?"

@[member="Cronos Aegir"] @[member="Mr. Ash"] @[member="Hannibal Oryen"] @[member="Dyllaefi Cridu"] @[member="Orion"]​

 

[Malok]

Out of all the people in the room, there was but one the young Heir could have gone his entire life without meeting. That person was the frustratingly demanding woman who elevated her expected payment to ten tons of Stygium. As it stood, Jacques' opinion of the woman was very low and much in line with that "Steve" had said; one does not simply bite the hand dangling the paycheck. However, due to his tactful nature, the young Heir held his peace and simply replied to the inquiry posed by the "Boss".

"You may call me Asha."

@[member="Cronos Aegir"].

 

[Qhorin Solas]

Anger clouded my thoughts, but I didn't let it overtake my mind. I was no Sith... but neither was I a jedi. "You are under the delusion that I need you," I explained, voice calm and cutting. "I assure you, I don't." An extra Force-adept would certainly help, but she wasn't necessary. She had to realize that; so too did she have to realize that I was not a man to be trifled with, by anyone. I reached into the Force with an almost expert hand, my command of its energies fortified by cold anger, and summoned the same power I'd used on Kashyyk in my battle against the unknown master to collapse a Wookiee structure and throw a three-horned bantha. The crack in the screen glowed a brilliant blue in my mind's eye -- I poured power into the crack, saw hundreds upon thousands of spidery faults erupt along the entire device...

The datapad burst apart, reduced to little more than a fine dust. It settled across the table with the light, tinkling sound of falling sand -- with another application of the Force, I swept it aside, and finally deigned to look at this bold Mnenchei. "Don't ever threaten me again." The or else was understood.

The frigate she'd mentioned, however, could be used as a distraction. It was much to large for the op, but it could pull away a few planetary defense patrols. I looked back to the datapad. If I got you into the control station that powers the planet's defense grid, could you make a hole in it? I don't want to deactivate the whole thing -- just make a gap.

An eighth outlaw joined the meeting. This one, the force told me, was a robot, despite his apparent appearance as a hideously ugly cyborg. If he was as lethal as his very's suggested, his skills could be put to use as well. "Welcome, Mr. Ash. Please, take a seat."

The man who named himself as 'Steve' proved wise, grammar and vernacular notwithstanding. I hoped, for her sake, that the Mnenchei heeded his words. I understood it was hard to swallow your pride, but hubris had been the death of individuals far more powerful than she. However talented she was, she couldn't match me, and that wasn't my pride talking; it was fact.

"Indeed it is talking," I told Kale. "Orion is a very sophisticated program." Very sophisticated. Sophisticated enough for independent thoughts, at least. I wondered what sort of mind had made the virus. Or A.I., as it -- he -- claimed to be. "And you needn't refer to me as 'mister'," I told the young spicehead, "Marcus is fine.

"Mr. Ash and Kale will form one team. Steve and Asha will form another. Teroch will be our eyes outside the facility. Kale, your ship will be the 'getaway craft'; yours, Dyllaefi, will hold the Stygium. You," I said in an aside to the Mnenchei, "with your 'specialty', can join either team, if any of them are agreeable to working with you." And you, Orion, I typed into the datapad, will be with me.

"I have a friend on the 'inside' who will provide us the means to escape detection when we arrive on Aeten II, as well as open a hole in the security grid of the facility itself so that upon my signal, Mr. Ash can escort Kale to the loading bays." One of my datapads was occupied by Orion, but each of the others showcased the mining facility's blueprints on the sleek screens. I passed them around. It was a sprawling facility, and like most things Mandalorian, was unneccesarily fortified. "There, Kale will reprogram the labor droids to load the Stygium on Dyllaefi's ship. Steve and Asha will be our 'just in case' force; when security is inevitably re-instated, you two will provide a significant enough distraction to create a smokescreen for Dyllaefi to land his ship at the loading bay, and I will provide another so we can make our getaway." There were other particulars to discuss -- rendezvous coordinates, both for Kale's ship as well and for Dyllaefi to take the Stygium, but that was the gist of the plan.

"Any questions?"

@[member="Mr. Ash"] @[member="Alachei Mnemenos"] @[member="Dyllaefi Cridu"] @[member="Jacques Cavill"] @[member="Orion"] @[member="Hannibal Oryen"] @[member="Kale Arkin"] @[member="Teroch Gra'tua"]​

 

[Nyxie]

Alachei gradually built up in laughter as the dust of the former datapad she set afloat began to fall elegantly to the floor like glitter. "Well, my my" she said with feminine allure, "You're a hasty one, aren't you?" She smiled. She wasn't scared, but the ideal that he thought she felt needed amused her. Any well trained Jedi could turn glass to dust. She turned blood to crystalline. It wasn't about the measure of one's strength but of one's wisdom. Retaliation and reaction to belittlement only proved he had none, or perhaps that his ego was bigger than his restraint. What's more, he was quicker to react then to realize she was only probing them all for a rise, redirecting her feelings into productivity. The quiet scary types were always like that. It just proved she knew exactly how to pick them apart and identify where they stand amongst the rest.

Alachei knew not to rely too heavily on his opinions or feelings now. Ol' triclops seemed pretty dependable, a bit of a pacifist but simply protective of his interests at hand, and misleadingly dangerous in battle. One of the others, Asha, seemed legitimate, but she could practically smell the aura of distaste coming from him in regards to her demeanor. Everyone else was probably just as likely to soil their pants as they were to leave Aeten II with all their limbs in tact and two hundred thousand richer. Very interesting... she thought, But it will do....

"Not a question, but a statement. Oleander. And you've failed to mention a place for me, so I presume you're not too sure. If you are all really afraid of a little danger, I will draw their attention away and cut through their preliminary defenses instead of a forward assault. You and the... A.I. can do as you do, and I will rejoin you when they are crippled. Nothing further." Looking back on it, it was probably better to wait patiently, assemble a naval strike team and raid the installation then it was to hold a rag-tag smash-and-grab. Well, no risk, no reward, she figured. She was really in it for the ride, not the Stygium, and gaining new acquaintances to bolster the cause.

@All of you lovely people...

 

[Dyllaefi Cridu]

Asked if he had any questions, Dyll just shook his head. His part in the plan was simple enough.

He was glad, and a little smug, that he was flying the cargo out. Ship size wasn't nearly as important as pilot experience when it came to hot pickups, since getaway pilot was a harder job than flying the crew in; ideally, no one knew you were going to hit them when you inserted, but by the time you had to move the cargo everyone was after you. The fact that Dyll was more likely to be vaped was temporarily overshadowed by his pride that he'd been given a bigger vote of confidence than the stim-head kid with the bigger ship. It was petty, but satisfying.

He was probably reading way too much into that choice; given that their cargo was likely to be far smaller than the amount that would fill either ship, size probably only mattered in that there was more space for the ground crew to stretch their legs in transit on Kale's ship. And given that Kale had other jobs, like slicing the droids, the choice of Dyll to fly the cargo out was probably only because he wasn't otherwise occupied. So really it might be punishment for not being able to do anything but fly; it all depended how you looked at it. Only their employer knew for sure.

Dyll's eyes widened as his new boss turned the datapad into a heap of fine powder with nothing more than his bare hands; he'd guessed that the man might be a Force-user, but seeing the reality of it was something else entirely. Hearing the Mnenchi's response, he became even more baffled. She was clearly used to having everyone around her give in to whatever she demanded; to be fair, Dyll probably would have pretty quickly if she cornered him. He hoped she'd ask for a spot on Kale's ship and not his, but he sure as hell wouldn't say no if she asked him.

He hoped things were wrapping up here; he was eager to be out of this stuffy, overcrowded room and flying free, danger or no.

@[member=Cronos Aegir]

 

[Arkyn Rane]

Was this chick bi-polar or what? I knew I had issues, but she'd gone from cold and menacing to laughing and smiling at the turn of a phrase. "Nice save," I muttered, finishing off the deathstick with a nice, long drag; I didn't have anything to say about Marcus's display. What was there to say? 'Good job ruining a perfectly good datapad?' I knew how it was in the outlaw world -- you don't take death threats lightly, from anyone. I'd seen my fair share of bounty-hunters and smugglers fed to Sarlaccs by angry Hutts. Well, it was only two people, actually, but that was two to many in my opinion.

I smashed the butt into an appropriate receptacle, and took a long look at the blueprints -- as well as the labor droid schematics -- on the datapad before passing it along. I didn't mind being 'escorted' by Mr. Ash. Like I said, anybody with a face like that had to be good at his job. I tuned in to what the pretty pale person was saying right after she mentioned something about an 'Old Antler', or something like that. I didn't know how she meant to cut through Aeten II's defenses without a couple dozen starfighter squadrons and a Star Destroyer or two -- the Mandalorians were nothing if not paranoid -- but I liked her crazy. If she wasn't hot shavit, I'd be sorely disappointed.

"You can join my team," I told her. "Never hurts to have another gunhand at your side."

@[member="Alachei Mnemenos"]​

 

[Nyxie]

(((OOC: I just REALLLLLY want to get this out in the clear now, guys; I'm not purple. Just the eye glow. See my CS. Sorry, that is all. Thank you. :3)))

 

[Hannibal Oryen]

@[member="Jacques Cavill"]

Well, that settled it then. The chick with the purple eyes was both reckless and crazy. Cutting through preliminary defenses... What? Weren't they just sneaking in? Who did she think was calling the shots here anyway? Hannibal quickly reminded himself that it wasn't his problem. If boss-man Marcus had an issue, he'd handle it on his own time. Hannibal was getting paid to provide covering fire, apparently. Not continuously pay warnings to the bipolar. It sounded like an easy enough gig. Fun too- plenty of Mandalorians to shoot. But by this point in his career, Hannibal knew for a fact that nothing was ever easy. He was already debating the likelihood of this Marcus guy ditching any combination of the hired help behind.

Hannibal picked up his datapad and, aside from that action, did not appear to interact with it any more beyond that. Instead he interfaced with it directly, via the PsiCom 1260 Interface surgically implanted in his brain. He downloaded the pertinent information regarding the facility to the device's storage module. At any time, Hannibal could call up the relevant information and have it displayed on his field of vision via his Hi-Sense Cybernetic eyes. After a solid minute of what appeared to be Hannibal just staring at the datapad while numerous download operations suddenly appeared without visible prompt on the screen, he set the thing down and slid it back to the center of the table and looked over at Asha.

"Looks like it's you an' me, bucko." He said with a nod.

 

[Orion]

@[member="Cronos Aegir"]

"Yes Ma'am! This should be interesting." Orion said with pleasure. He didn't go out and risk his life much, but why not now? He didn't want any pay. The adventure was enough for him.
Was something wrong with him? He wasn't usually like this. He might be malfunctioning. But he didn't care.
"Actually, I do have a question. How will we communicate?"