"Yes, Sir," says Jorm as he turns to leave. "And Sir, thank you."
Still slightly in shock, Jorm heads down to 303A13, where he guesses that the Vandals will be drinking to Dutch's memory. Instead of going directly over to the team, he orders a double of the engine de-greaser that passes for booze and downs it. When the bartender offers him another, he turns it down and goes looking for Vandals.
Mandall watches Jorm's approach, then slides a cool one up to him as he sits down.
"How'd it go?"
Mandall's basically gone from pissed off to maudlin in the time it took Jorm to make the report; right now, blaming anyone isn't high on his priorities.
"Well," says Jorm, gladly accepting the drink, "Let's see. Captain Kolit wants a full report from everyone involved in the mission. He wants a full report on the ship Aurelia and I are planning on building, which has been added to our list of official duties. We're getting a new team member named Tynam Ridemis, who is not to end up in the Medical Bay. And we've been assigned a new commander."
Jorm looks at his glass and finds that it is empty.
Tynam Ridemis was used to the lush fields and glorious cities of Naboo his whole life. The past month, however, he only set foot on a planet's surface twice. The Alliance kept moving him from unit to unit as commanders discovered that the blond kid from Theed was too smart to get killed doing "normal" soldiering... or piloting... or engineering. He was too damn smart for his own good, so eventually Ty found himself on the equally lush but slightly wetter planet of Mon Calamari for two days, where he quite enjoyed the lack of anything to do but swim and pilot skimmers around a few atolls.
Alliance Combined Action Group, 11th Wing. It certainly didn't sound like any other unit he'd been in, and he'd never heard of them, so why was everyone else around him suddenly having a minor case of hero worship?
Before too long, Ty's shuttled up to the Quasar-Fire carrier Sword of Alderaan. It's an ugly ship lacking in personality, maneuverability, and defensive measures. Through the shuttle viewscreens, he can make out a suit of carbon-scored Stormtrooper armor lashed to the bow - a grisly cherry on a lumbering near-obsolete sundae. The shuttle floats into the cavernous hangar (the Quasar-Fires are pretty much just a flying flight deck) and Crewman Tynam Ridemis looks at the datapad with his unit assignment once more.
The datapad flickers with updated information and beeps an alert.
Alliance Combined Action Group, 11th Wing. CO Lt. Jorm Taban.
Ty's shouted over to the crew chief, who shouts him up to deck 3, where he's shouted into block 3A and then shouted again into suite 13 - the door of which is emblazoned with the Alliance phoenix set inside an ancient black bomb, fuse sputtering away. Ty's not shouted anywhere else, so he figures he's in the right spot.
There are a few round tables in the main room clustered around a bar made from hull plating. A very broken makeshift still lies in pieces behind the bar, but several footlockers of ice and booze make up for it. Another empty Stormtrooper uniform is bolted to the wall, red concentric circles on forehead, heart, and groin. The wall and armor are covered in deep knife wounds. A narrow corridor past the bar leads to crew quarters. Other than that, there's nary a handful of people to liven up the surroundings. No bartender, broken still, just some boxes of booze, which are quickly being emptied. It looks like it's seen better days.
(From the perspective of those who wish to be in 303A13)
The doors slide open to admit a young blond man in a crisp Naval uniform (the black vest and blue shirt look), carrying his bag and white helmet in one hand, checking a datapad with the other. He looks around the room, taking the various details in with a droidlike efficiency.
Fresh Meat.
(edit: I forgot to describe the current emptiness of the place)
Following Mandall's gaze, Jorm fixes on the new arrival and a certain dreadful certainty washes over him. "Sweet Merciful Crap! He came in here dressed like that?"
Jorm signals the barkeeper for two more drinks. "Mandall, can you run intereference for me so I can get to him before the others do?"
As he enters, Ty notices a female Cathar sitting quietly next to the suit of Stormtrooper armor. With one hand, she's nursing a cold one, while with the other she repeatedly - if seemingly absently - stabs the suit in the indicated areas with an assault knife.
She doesn't look very happy, and seems to take little notice of the new arrival. Like all of her feline race, she is covered with short, soft, golden-tan fur from the top of her head to the tip of her tail. Her green eyes sparkle wetly as her dirty, silvery-grey hair hangs about her face.
Apparently, she didn't hit the showers on her way here...
What Ty sees as Mandall drags him toward the bar is quite possibly the most boring looking individual in the known galaxy. Jorm is a human male with almost no distinguising characteristics. Average height and weight. Brown hair. Brown eyes. He's wearing a standard issue flight suit that is rumpled and smudged. The flight suit is currently sweat stained.
"Crewman Ridemis?" asks Jorm, extending his hand in greeting as Ty approaches the bar. "I'm Jorm Taban. Will you join me for a drink?"
An intimidating battle droid sits in the corner of the bay, adjusting the servos which open his onboard forearm blasters. While tweeking the port covers, the machine turns its head to Ty.
[color=red:ebed177965]Scanning...
Threat assessment processing...
Waste of tibana gas reserves...[/color]
"Well, that depends. What do you have? As to joining you, I'd be happy too. By the way, what happened in here? It looks like somebody blew up a recycling droid in the middle of the room and no one wants to clean it up." Ty catches a slow glint in the corner, and his attention changes with the rapid nature only possible with extreme Attension Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. "Sithspit! What is that thing? It looks like a Wookie interface droid. Kind of." His attension returns to Jorm, and he notices the extended hand. "Ummm, sorry. Crewman Tynam Ridemis, reporting for duty, sir!" He comes to attension with the last word.
"Well, that depends. What do you have? As to joining you, I'd be happy too. By the way, what happened in here? It looks like somebody blew up a recycling droid in the middle of the room and no one wants to clean it up." Ty catches a slow glint in the corner, and his attention changes with the rapid nature only possible with extreme Attension Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. "Sithspit! What is that thing? It looks like a Wookie interface droid. Kind of." His attension returns to Jorm, and he notices the extended hand. "Ummm, sorry. Crewman Tynam Ridemis, reporting for duty, sir!" He comes to attension with the last word.
Jorm shakes his head in dismay ever so slightly. "At ease, crewman. Have a seat and I'll answer your questions." Jorm pauses to take a drink. "That 'thing' over in the corner is MDK-911. He seems to be some type of protocol droid retrofitted for combat duty. He just recently joined our group--much like you--so we don't know too much about him. Our best guess is that if he likes you, he'll let you call him Murdock and if he doesn't like you, he'll probably shoot you in the face."
"This lounge was recently the scene of a wake for some of our fallen comrades. Sad, Angry, Drunken fighter pilots do not usually clean up after themselves. As for the drinks -- right now all we have in stock is beer. Normally we have some home brew, but the still recently received some combat injuries."
"Now, why don't you tell us a little bit about yourself, like how you got assigned to Vandal Squadron. Oh, don't call me 'sir'."
Murdock removes the tool from his forearm, the servos whirring with a satifying sound as the blastermount retracts. Standing up, the droid marches over to Ty.
"You are new, so you shall be in the same situation as I am."
"Umm, right. I joined up just before Endor, but commander after commander got fed up with me for some reason, and I just got shuffled away from my last squadron. I have experience with small ships, but I'm better with transports and shuttles than fighters. I'm pretty good in debris or asteroid fields, or places where tight manuevering is a must. As to your drink situation, I just might be able to help. May I see the still?"
"Umm, right. I joined up just before Endor, but commander after commander got fed up with me for some reason, and I just got shuffled away from my last squadron. I have experience with small ships, but I'm better with transports and shuttles than fighters. I'm pretty good in debris or asteroid fields, or places where tight manuevering is a must. As to your drink situation, I just might be able to help. May I see the still?"
"Sure," says Jorm. "Most of its over there," he continues, pointing at the remains of the still. "Of course, some of it is over there and there and there."
"Umm, right. I joined up just before Endor, but commander after commander got fed up with me for some reason, and I just got shuffled away from my last squadron. I have experience with small ships, but I'm better with transports and shuttles than fighters. I'm pretty good in debris or asteroid fields, or places where tight manuevering is a must. As to your drink situation, I just might be able to help. May I see the still?"
"Then you are an outcast, which given the your current situation, makes you fodder for the masses. If you do not wish someone to insure your safety, then I will seek other activities." retracting his hand, walking away and picking up a beercan from one of the coolers.
In an offbeat moment, Murdock rips off the can's top pouring the contents into an auxillary port near where his collarbone would be. The can empty, Murdock crushes it on his armor plating and chucks it into a refuse bin.
Before anyone can respond. Murdock scans the room with his red eyes.
"My internal components have been retrofitted to be cooled and powered by alternative resources...one of which is beer."
Aihal the Silent
Gatac
Admiral Duck Sauce
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