Well... ain't this a pickle...

[Galdaart]

He had been underground for ten hours. In a depression / cavern formed by the concussion missiles of his ship 'The Dux,' which now waited for him on the surface (if you could conceivably call it that) of this piece of space-rock hurtling through space at break-neck speed somewhere in the Bimmiel System, far enough from anything resembling civilization that the Dustie wasn't worried about unexpected visitors or brigands -- who would have been that insane?

But he was worried about making off the rock alive.

Ten hours was a stretch. Even for a vet like Sate. He was cutting as fast as he could, the plasma arc removing huge chunks of material from around the ore. He had started with a fine beam, and as more and more and more ore had been revealed, he had opened, and opened, and opened his aperture, until now, some seven hours later, he might as well have been using a DL-44 to excavate. But the ore was massive. The biggest he had ever seen. And so the sweat ran down his nose, his neck, his back. He worked with a ferocity he had rarely given over to work in the past. Rock 774-Theta (he had christened the debris himself, as far as he was aware no Diver had ever visited here before) was beginning to take on a do-or-die place in his mind, that fictional 'big score' that a Diver could retire on. They were never real, you always ended up scraping a living out of too much effort for too little gain. But this was real. a piece of ore the size of his thigh was protruding from the cavern wall, and if only he had the time, there was more of it where that came from.

He cursed himself as he worked, rock shards pinging off his helmet and face-shield as he hammered away at the rock face, itself tens of thousands of years old. If only he had loosed one more missile. Used a different grade of hi-ex... dug a little deeper... but no, he admonished himself... if he had, he'd have split the rock in two, created an unstable surface, and he'd be no further ahead.

Don't get greedy.

There had been a half dozen impacts in the last hour, and that was what caused him the most concern. Asteroids didn't have a fixed orbit. They moved chaotically, occasionally crashing into each-other, altering their trajectory and that of the larger, 'micro-planetoid' rocks they impacted as well. The biggest threat to safety on a Dive was impact damage from other 'roids. There's no atmo to absorb the shock of several thousand tonnes of rock crashing into the city-sized debris you were currently calling home, and twice in the last hour the impacts had been bad enough to fling Sate against the roof of the cavern, toss him around like a hydro-spanner in a toolbox.

The warning claxon from the sensors aboard the 'Dux' went off, indicating a 'roid on collision course. The ship was programmed to fend off the smallest rocks with shots from its auto-cannon, but the bigger pieces that went unaffected were troublesome, and could at any moment mean the unfortunate end of a Dive. There had been a few close calls during this excavation, but Sate kept telling himself it was worth the risk. This thigh-sized ore was his ticket out.

Don't get greedy.

The warning claxon changed tempo, and Sate's blood ran cold. He was out of time. Holstering the plasma torch, he opened a satchel at his side, and lifted a small device out. He looked appraisingly at the rock wall before him, shaking his head at the futility of his choice. He couldn't take it all. Making up his mind, he placed the shaped-charge at the base of the ore, dove behind a boulder, and pressed the firing sequence on his wrist-pad. The shock was enough to move the boulder, which came perilously close to pinning him against the far wall of the cavern. Sate scrambled away, just in time, and stood to see what the charge had accomplished. There it was. A chunk of Lignan the length of his leg, and a foot across at its widest. Hefting the massive ore, the Dustie affixed two straps around the vaguely cylindrical shape, and slung it across his back, the claxon still keening in his ear.

C'mon. C'mon. C'mon. Just another few seconds.

He retraced his steps from many hours previously, working his way as quickly as he could to the surface, arriving just in time to witness another 'roid, maybe 300' across, angling directly toward his Scimitar assault bomber. Sure, there were shields. The 'Dux' wore her share of dents and scrapes from minor impacts in the past... but this was something different. He uttered a silent scream, heard by nobody, as his ship, his home, was obliterated before his eyes. The explosion threw him at a terrifying velocity, and would have been enough to throw him completely clear of the 'roid, out into deep space, were it not for the safety cable piton driven deep into the surface. The cable played out from the auto-winch on his belt, found the end of its tether, and stopped abruptly enough to burst blood vessels in the Diver's eyes. Sate's head and right shoulder impacted something large and very dense, and all was blackness...

He awoke an unknown amount of time later, his head swimming, vision clearing... lying flat on his back, watching the chaos pattern of asteroids on their various courses, and beyond them, open space. He lay there for a few moments, letting it all wash over him. It was strangely beautiful. Eventually, he did what was necessary, and checked his O2 reading.

Damn... well that's a pickle...

Sate Sorenn dragged himself backward, toward a rock a few feet away, and propped himself up against it. He struggled with a host of straps and ruined gear that surrounded him, pulling free and tossing aside broken bits, until he freed the ore, still slung at his back, and brought it to rest at his side.

Well, at least we got a front-row seat for this view...

 

[Galdaart]

He considered doing something that could extend his life -- perhaps one of the compressed O2 cylinders from the Dux was intact (yeah, right) or maybe -- just maybe -- his second vac suit had survived, completely intact, and was just lying there, waiting for him to come swap the breath tank. He laughed out loud, dismissing the notions out of hand. His ship was gone. He was marooned on a 'roid the size of Pesktda, with an ore worth six figures, and **checking his readout** forty-nine minutes of air left. His shoulder and head hurt, and there was something wrong with his left leg though unless he took off the suit, it would be hard to tell what, exactly. And though he was strangely at ease with his fate, he was in no rush to decompress.

No, he had a great view, and a rock to prop himself up on. He'd go out in the manner of so many Dusties. Roach, Zev, Ar'tuur... there was no honour in his profession, but this was about as noble an end as one could hope for.

I mean, his suit carried (and he assumed it was functional, though it was buried somewhere in the helmet) the standard locator beacon, and anyone who just happened to be flying by could read the life sign, but the chances of that were... well, greater than 3720:1...

 

[Malia Afredane]

Mal was sitting in the pilot's seat, her knuckles white as she gripped Gracie's yoke. The Warden was too big to be entering an asteroid field and so it sat in space, a good distance away while Mal had taken her far more maneuverable 3-Z into the chaos of the asteroids, twisting around the flying debris and rocks. Kairon had insisted on going with her and right now, she was probably certain he regretted that choice, but there you have it.

In truth, it wasn't the locator beacon that grabbed the attention of the passing Grey Warden. The Dux had a proximity alarm that many divers had rigged in, but when the proximity hit a certain point which sped up the alarms for the diver, it sent a distress call automatically. That was what had pinged so loudly on the bridge of the Warden that Asmus had wrapped his jacket around his head. It ended abruptly when the ship had exploded but not before it was received by the Warden crew and a plot laid out to intercept. They had been running supplies to a couple mining outposts in the sector for a bit, and their last visit, Mal had learned a great deal about some of the expeditions out in the area.

Now, Mal had Kairon checking the sensors for signs of life and any locator beacons for diver suits. With any luck, the divers were still alive and not incinerated by the crashing rocks tumbling around in space.

[member="Sate Sorenn"] [member="Kairon Rees"]

 

[Kairon Rees]

Kairon's eyes were glues to the sensor read-outs. One eye was on the lifeform scannners, the other actively scanning for vessels. Witnesses the gradually expanding cloud of detritus from what had very recently been a real starship went some way towards assuaging his fears that this was an ambush. However, over a decade as a pirate gave Kairon hands-on experience of just how creative desperate pirates could be with their ambushes. It was why he had insisted on coming along with Mal, whilst he felt that the Warden was in safe hands with Jarrick in charge. The wily veteran had a good nose for trouble too.

"Got a signal but - rock coming in at bearing seventy six, three zero eight!" he called. Mal must have already had eyes on the proximity alerts because the ship violently swerved half way through his warning. They'd been working together long enough for Kairon to have faith in her ability at the helm, but he did wish she'd turn the inertial dampeners up a notch. "Right, the signal is bouncing off a lot of the chaff. I'm looking for a solid ping."

He swept the passive sensors around the ship. Within the computers various algorithms started sifting through the waveforms, looking for the pure version that hadn't been disrupted by bouncing off jagged rocks. He narrowed the opening to a smaller angle to try and cut out some of the interference from the primary signal being superimposed on the echoes. There were standards for these signals and any standard ship came equipped with the software to try and pick out the source.

"Got it. There's a lifeform there," Kairon said. His finger swiped across the screen and the co-ordinates were transferred from his display to her tactical readouts. He flicked three switches. He loved the feel of a good solid mechanical switch in a world of holo-displays and soft on-screen buttons. A broadcast was opened on a number of galactically recognised open channels.

"This is Kairon Rees. Our passenger transport was passing by the field. We're closing in on your position. Can you read us?" he called, then set the message to repeat periodically until a response was received. For pirates, passenger transports were a poor haul. Ransoming was delicate business and people rarely carried significant valuables.

[member="Malia Afredane"]
[member="Sate Sorenn"]

 

[Galdaart]

The transmission was static-filled and unintelligible at first. A few syllables, maybe. But the mere fact that there was a transmission of any sort was miraculous, and by the time it had cycled through twice more, the signal was clearer. That meant the ship was either getting closer, or they were boosting their comms, or both. Sate hadn't yet been able to make out the caller's ID, but he wasn't going to be picky, either. Coulda been a slaver transport, headed for the Spice Mines, and he would have jumped at the chance.

...'cause though it was rare for a 'Diver to live much of a life beyond a few years in this business, it was rarer still to survive being marooned and live to tell the tale. It was the stuff they wrote songs about.

Still, the asteroid field was no laughing matter -- this was cause for excitement, but he'd be holding off the cigars and bubbly until they were off the 'roid, and in open space. Too much could go wrong 'tween now and then.

"Yes, transport -- this is Sate Sorenn, I'm injured but alive, and damn happy to hear your voice. Keep safe out there, and I'll see you when you touch down."

 

[Malia Afredane]

A few flips and a dives around the debris and the Wicked Grace found her way to the asteroid where the transmission hailed from. Mal set her down easy, as close as she could get to the injured diver without setting the freighter right on top of the poor fella. She and Kairon argued over who was going out there, but ultimately they both ended up getting suits on and heading out the airlock to where the figure was leaning against a rock.

The color in his face wasn't looking too good, he was getting pale and his lips were turning blue. He was running out of air and fast. She reached down for his arm to help up.

"Can you stand, can you make it to the ship?"

She looked over at Kairon, worry in her face that they were going to be caught for time as a couple more chunks of rock showered down around them. There was no proximity alarm on Gracie. So Mal kept looking nervously around and checking the path of the detritus to make sure they would have a ship to make it out there with themselves.

[member="Sate Sorenn"] [member="Kairon Rees"]

 

[Galdaart]

The two suits that emerged from the old freighter needn't have waited long... Sate was already beginning to move when they arrived at his location. Malia was correct -- he had looked better, and though he desperately wanted to stand, make a good show of being the tough guy, and because he knew just how badly they needed to get moving, wanted nothing more than to meet them halfway once the transport had touched down... but he found he couldn't. The pain in his right shoulder was manageable, but any exertion made his head swim, he was weak to the point of nearly passing out, and when he tried, he found that the injured leg would not support any weight at all, and in fact hung at a sickeningly odd angle when he attempted to get up, and failed. So there he lay, waving at them from a dozen paces, and answered their calls when they were withing vocal range. His breath was short, and he talked in clipped, short bursts to conserve his O2.

"i'm pretty banged up. 'bout outta O2. But you help me stand -- I'll tap-dance the hell outta here."

They moved quickly, each grabbing his belt and hauling him to his feet, an arm around each shoulder. All of this resulted in some cries and grunts of pain from the Dustie, but Sate didn't complain. Helped out as much as he could. When Kairon went to strip away any non-essential gear, Sate stopped him when it came to the ore.

"No -- this comes along. It'll pay my way, and then some."

 

[Kairon Rees]

[member="Sate Sorenn"]
[member="Malia Afredane"]

The stranded spacer was pretty averaged size and build as far as Kairon could tell. Given the low gravity of the rock it wasn't too difficult for the pair of smugglers to maneuver him back towards the Wicked Grace. Unfortunately as they stepped aboard the freighter that was going to change rather rapidly and so Kairon had been quite keen to ditch the chunk of ore. When it came to his work, the one thing that Kairon took great pride in was appraising the value of goods. He knew which hubs attracted the best margins for an almost endless range of stolen goods and even legal cargo. Yet at his eyes passed across the ore he was unable to recognise it.

"What is it and how many kilos?" he asked curtly. They didn't have time to pause anyway, so he took a solid grip around the waist, hip to hip for support and to keep the spacer's broken leg off the ground, and started for the freighter. Those rocks he could make out in the darkness were starting to damage his calm. Risking their lives for a profit was essentially what smugglers did for a living, but it relied on some weighing up of the odds.

 

[Galdaart]

Sate understood the reasoning behind the question, understood why it was important to ask, and equally important to answer. But though he was ready and willing to turn over a percentage of the goods (on his own terms) he wasn't quite ready to be as forthcoming as Kairon wanted of him. He mulled over the question as they struggled quickly toward the old 3Z, which suddenly seemed a rather long way off. Two things happened right then that conspired to postpone the reply -- a shower of tiny meteorite particles, debris from another collision between two smaller 'roids not too far off, pelted them, threatening to obscure their path and threatened serious injury (or worse) should the particles puncture a suit or break a visor. The Dustie pressed a short series of buttons on his wrist gauntlet, extending a small but serviceable energy shield which he held out in front of the trio, fending off the worst of the rocklets like one would protect against rain with an umbrella.

Secondly, as they were double-timing it to the 'Grace, his left foot snagged on a rock and he cried out as the broken appendage twisted. Something crunched inside, and it felt like two gears grinding against each other. Soon after, his O2 level went critical, which was no doubt noticed by all, as all readouts on his armour began flashing red. He didn't have long.

"Maybe 20 kilos... Five, once it's cut and polished... I'll... I think we can.. I know..."

...and Sate Sorenn blacked out, going limp in their arms.

 

[Kairon Rees]

Kairon grunted as the man went limp. He started to slide to the floor between them. As quickly as he could manage in the bulky suit, he pivoted on his inner leg to stand in front of Sate.

Doubtless that broken leg was put under even greater stress as the pair of smugglers tried to haul his limp form back up. Too bad, Kairon supposed, better a long recovery than a short sharp ending on this rock.

In the low gravity it was easy enough to squat down, wrap Sate's arm around his neck and pick him up onto his back.

"Go go go!" Kairon called, before swearing under his breath. "I can manage twenty kilos extra when we hit the Grace's AG." There were some pretty dense ores out there, fortunately whatever he was carrying wouldn't drag him down in full G.

Unhindered Mal was able to stretch her legs. Even taking short steps Kairon was able to move more quickly than when they'd been trying to support the marooned spacer between them.

"Go prep her!" he shouted as he nearly stumbled over a crack in the ground. The warm glow of the freighter's interior lights looming ahead was a welcome sight.

 

[Malia Afredane]

Mal didn't need to be told twice, turning and running as quickly as she could up the ramp and into the airlock. Until Kairon was with her, she could not get out of the airlock but she helped him as much as she could until the ramp was closed and they were to shed their suits. It was less than a minute before she was free to sprint through the gangways of the 3-Z, slamming down into the seat of the cockpit, hitting switches and pulling back hard on the yoke as an asteroid barreled towards them.

"Hang on!" She screamed behind her. Hopefully, she wasn't going to hurt the fella anymore seriously than he already was.

Gracie spun away from the incoming collision, flipping over and dipping to avoid the largest rocks pummeling at them. The ship shuddered and rocked as a few hit the antique freighter. She headed for the nearest edge of the asteroid field and when she had finally found open space in front of her, she breathed an audible sigh of relief. She hit the thrusters and Gracie beelined for the Warden, radioing ahead that they were incoming with injured and to wake up the med droid. At least Sate could get his leg looked at while they made for a more civilized system.

The Wicked Grace touched down on the Grey Warden, and Mal headed to the back where the patient was, stopping first to lower the ramp so that Jarrick and Asmus could help carry the miner off and to the medbay on the Warden.

"Sensors are clear. I think he was out here alone. Is he awake?"

[member="Kairon Rees"] [member="Sate Sorenn"]

 

[Galdaart]

The spacer lay on the deck in the ancient 3Z, face up as the Smuggler Captain approached. Kairon was working on the miner's odd vac-suit, which was dented and sand-blasted with years of use and bodged with pieces scrounged from a hundred sources, until what remained took on the look of a metallic patchwork quilt. After a few agonizing moments trying to figure out where the releases for the helmet were, Kairon found them and disengaged the helmet from the neck collar. There was an audible hiss of faintly escaping air as fresh oxygen rushed into the near void that remained inside the helmet, and Kairon removed the unit to reveal Sate Sorenn beneath. His breath was shallow but there was no doubt -- he was alive and breathing on his own.

After a few moments, his eyes fluttered and opened, pale blue eyes staring blankly at the ceiling of the old freighter, before focusing on Kairon, and Malia beyond.

How long was I out?

Malia replies that it was only a matter of a couple minutes, due to Oxygen starvation, Sate nods slightly, still lying flat on his back and deadpans

Well, then I only killed a few thousand brain cells. weakly Good to go. Much obliged.

[member="Malia Afredane"] [member="Kairon Rees"]

 

[Kairon Rees]

[member="Malia Afredane"]
[member="Sate Sorenn"]

Kairon had taken Sate's glove off whilst he spoke and pricked the tip of his finger without warning. "Checking your blood," he said gruffly. Kairon was still trying to calm his nerves after the escape from the asteroid field. His hands had felt stiff and uncooperative as he'd fumbled with the catch on the helmet. When he found himself in tricky situations he tended to get a big hit of adrenaline. It was part of the reason he'd survived so long among the crew of a pirate ship through his adolescent years. It was part of the reason he'd been able to lose himself in carrying out horrific acts to survive.

"Your blood oxygen is low," he remarked, returning from the counter with a mask and small cylinder. "Have this for a bit," he instructed with a friendly nod.

"I'm afraid we're on a tight schedule friend, so you're going to be stuck with us for a short while. I'm Kairon by the way, that was me you heard over the comm," he said as he wiped his hands down with an antiseptic cloth.

 

[Galdaart]

Sate took in what Kairon had said, weighing the voice in the back of his head versus the phrases that jumped out from Kairon's speech: 'checking blood,' and 'tight schedule.' He gratefully took the cylinder of O2 from Kairon with the arm that wasn't hurting and breathed deep, looking from Malia to Kairon, and taking in his surroundings, a little more alert than a moment ago. When he spoke, his voice was slightly muddled by the presence of the oxygen mask.

I'm Sate. I appreciate the save... don't suppose you realize the kind of odds you beat by picking me up... I've never even heard of flying like that. Thank you -- indicating the pilot, and hoping to make her acquaintance.

He continued weighing the options, but decided it wasn't wise to tell them. There was no need. Not yet. As the colour drained back into his cheeks, a stabbing pain shot up his leg, into his abdomen as he tried to move. It was only then that he realized his left foot was angled such that his toes were facing the ground in a way that should have been impossible. Broken? Dislocated? Fireblast! Damn... that's sore. Don't s'ppose you have a med-bay on this antique, do you?

He took another half dozen hauls on the O2 can, and when he felt he had a good lungful, set it aside for a moment to check his 'cargo.' He had to crane his neck around to see where the ore lay, behind Malia a good few feet, where it had fallen when they boarded the ship. There she was, lying only a few paces out of his reach. He breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe this wouldn't all be for nothing, after all. He lay back on the deck, tension going out of his shoulders and back, and picked up the O2 canister again. Another few deep breaths, that's what he needed. They were safe for the moment. And if this crew's schedule was as tight as they claimed it to be, maybe they'd be safe awhile longer.

[member="Kairon Rees"] [member="Malia Afredane"]

 

[Kairon Rees]

[member="Sate Sorenn"]
[member="Malia Afredane"]

“We’ve just docked on our big freighter,” Kairon explained. “We’ve got a med bay and a droid – though I can only apologise for its bedside mannerisms.” Kairon looked down at the leg and the way the foot was oddly twisted. “Yes, Mal is fething outstanding at the helm,” he added in a distracted tone.

“Right then, options for you. We can get a repulsor sled down here if you want to get you up to the med bay, or I can just help you up if you can manage. Got some good painkillers here, but they will make you woozy. Up to you if you want them now, or when we get up there?”

 

[Galdaart]

I'll manage.

Pulling off his glove / grieves and disconnecting the wiring for the built-in comms and other systems, the Dustie reached up a hand for Kairon. Steadying himself was easier now that they were out of the asteroid field, and though the leg was sending stabbing pains every time he shuffle-stepped along with the larger, strongly-built man, he did indeed, manage. Leaving one ship and entering into the hangar of a larger ship was always of interest to Sate. It told a lot about what you were walking into. What the state of the vessel was, both condition and cleanliness, her cargo compliment, staff, smells, temperature, whether one could smell grease and fuel in the air, food smells... in those first few seconds you could tell a lot about a ship and her crew -- an approximate level of wealth, (some of) their business, whether they worked hard for a living... Sate never doubted the sights and sounds that he was met with when entering a new vessel.

The pain in his leg kept him sharp, as the adrenaline focused him, kept him alert. As they moved though Kairon's ship, Sate was mostly quiet, save for the occasional huffing or grunt of struggle. As they neared the med-bay, he broke the silence.

Any chance you have any Jedi connections, Kairon?

 

[Malia Afredane]

Mal hoisted the ore off the decking and carried it down the ramp into the Grey Warden's port cargo bay. She spied an empty hovercart so she set the big chuck of rock on the sled and dusted off her hands.

"That'll be there for you when you're ready for it."

She walked with Kairon as they hobbled towards the medbay, waving Asmus and Mai back to their stations as they peered out of the bridge. She would check in with them in a few minutes after she was certain that their new arrival was taken care of.

The Warden was clean, and well taken care of, the crew were not wearing uniforms, merely casual attire. Fairly relaxed, so they were not a corporate ship, nor were they a government one. Just a ragtag group of flyers bouncing around the 'verse.

"We've had a couple dealings with them here and there. I'm Captain Malia Afredane. You can call me Mal. We tend to run jobs for the Galactic Alliance, and some from the Syndicate, depending on what they are offering and who the slimball is. I am well and truly done with dealing with the damn Hutts. I prefer not endangering my crew, so the Warden runs legit jobs. No slaves, no drugs, no weapons unless it is an approved transfer through the government of the GA. I keep the little freighter for quick jaunts."

It wasn't strictly true, but Mal wasn't about to give the Warden's life story to a guy she picked up in an asteroid field.

[member="Sate Sorenn"] [member="Kairon Rees"]

 

[Kairon Rees]

[member="Sate Sorenn"] [member="Malia Afredane"]

Kairon was busy turning their cantankerous medical droid, DR-N0, on. The ageing machine slowly booted up, before its wide eyes opened and turned to the patient. The droid was comprised of a roughly humanoid upper body that was mounted to the wall. Its mount ran as a railing all the way around the room, giving the machine access to patients and supplies.

It swung about nearly knocking Kairon over to hover over Sate. “This looks a type 3 fracture. Have you been sedated? Does this hurt?” it asked as it roughly prodded his foot.

Kairon looked to Mal and exchanged and odd look with her. Why would the new comer bring up Jedi. “I don’t think you really need a Jedi healer for this,” Kairon said with a friendly smile.

 

[Galdaart]

The DR-series droid poked and prodded roughly, and aside from sharp intakes of breathe when things did, indeed hurt, and one occasion when the Dustie had to refrain from smacking the droid in its' dome, mostly, he kept his emotions in check. Which was a good thing, because Sate had the distinct impression that DR-N0 would continue whether he liked it or not. ...still, he'd been on the receiving end of harsher treatment in some even seedier establishments in the past...

Things were moving quickly. In a slightly meds-induced haze, he was attempting to keep everything straight. Malia. Kairon. Mal made a point of mentioning she likes to keep things above-board (which probably meant she was as dirty as they come -- a tidbit he'd remember for later.) The big ship was the 'Grey Warden.' Smaller vessel the 'Grace.' There were other crew, too. Sate had seen at least two.

Glancing back at his ankle, Sate saw the DR-series droid working fast. He took another inhalation from the portable O2 cannister, feeling stronger by the minute.

No, no... you misunderstand me, Kairon. The Jedi aren't for the healing--ow! Fireblast! --although it wouldn't be a bad idea to have a bedside manner subroutine added to this droi--ow! Mother Sun! ...no, the Jedi might be interested in my cargo. Told you I'd pay my way... that ore is about five kilos of raw Lignan, which is a whole lot of crystal once it's refined and polished. to DR Are you about done? Thought medlab droids were s'pposed to make you feel better, not--OW!

[member="Kairon Rees"] [member="Malia Afredane"]

 

[Malia Afredane]

"DR-N0 is bit old like the rest of the stuff on the Warden, he's not got a great bedside manner but I have had a hard time finding a medic for staff. Sorry about that. DR will get you stable and we'll put into Sullust. The Alliance has a Jedi outpost there. Whatever your rock is, they will probably pay. The Alliance has been pretty lucrative in other respects, can't imagine the Jedi would be stingy with something that is precious to them."

The only Jedi she'd met recently was the teenager who tagged along for blowing up that Sith ship a few month back, when the Quin had been damaged. Frankly, it seemed like a lifetime ago with the changes both on the ship and in galaxy lately.

She stepped over to the gurney and looked over his injuries. There was a set to her jaw that seemed uncomfortable to see the extent of his wounds but she kept it to herself, merely looking up from his leg to DR.

"How bad is it, Doc?"

[member="Kairon Rees"] [member="Sate Sorenn"]