Aurelia is pretty sure she's close...there's just that connection there and it should be good. She slides a lose connector into the replacement board, keeping the wire there with a very careful twist and a carefully placed glob of fast-acting sealant. She squirms her way out of the access tube, wanting her head nowhere near the hypderdrive when it warms up, keying the room's inter-ship communications panel. "Try it now."
With the battle down to one lonely little TIE Fighter for the moment, Jorm fires up the Navi-Computer and begins preparing the ship for the jump to lightspeed.
He checks his sensors to make sure that there aren't any more ships incoming and opens Vandal Squadron's comm frequency. "Rusty Dagger, this is Nerf Herder [Jorm's Non-Number callsign]. What's your status?"
While waiting for a reply, he calls to Dutch "Sir, we appear to be down to one TIE Fighter for the moment. Might I suggest a microjump out of the system and a subsequent course change."
"Sending coordinates now for a regrouping point. See you out-system."
Arnae sends the micro-jump coordinates in a burst transmission, then pulls back the lever that hopefully will send the Rusty Dagger into a blue tunnel of safety.
The stars turn to streaks and the Rusty Dagger leaps into hyperspace.
As for the last TIE fighter, it's hard to tell who exactly gets the kill - Eritram, Jorm, and Calsera all raze the Imperial fighter with a storm of weapons fire from which there is no escape. With the reinforcements out of the way, but the possibility of enemy capital ship support likely, the Sith Eater turns its torpedoes on the Imperial garrison just as the timed explosives sequested in the base go off.
The rest of the Imperial reinforcements are too late; only a slowly spreading debris field remains of the garrison.
---
The Quasar-Fire carrier Sword of Alderaan is the home of the 8th, 11th, and 12th Wings of the Alliance Combined Action Group. The majority of its roughly triangular-shaped body is hangar space for the odd assortment of Imperial, Rebel, and "deniable" spacecraft the special forces teams use in their missions. Its habitable areas are constantly in need of repairs after one late-night excursion or another, and nowhere sees the most renovation than 303A13 - 3rd deck, block 3A, room 13 - the common area for the ACAG "soldiers". Dutch is finishing up the report on the mission over some drinks, while Jorm, Arnae, and the others are enjoying their free time. One of Aurelia's gifts to the Sword of Alderaan was a makeshift still, and the engine degreaser produced by the machine caught on with the crew. Bo "Four Star" Orlans, a member of 8th Wing and somewhat of a dabbler in the culinary arts, took on the significant responsibility of coming up with a variety of ways to serve the moonshine. He sits behind the polished hullplating that serves as the bar, fiddling with chemical flavoring amongst a row of shotglasses.
In the opposite corner, other ACAG teams are throwing vibroblades into a suit of stormtrooper armor painted in multicolored targets and fastened to the wall. Others still drink by themselves or take their libations and head elsewhere on the ship.
Jorm is sitting at the table with the others and is nursing what is quite possibly the only non-alcoholic drink at the table, in the room, or on the base.
Jorm has three non-drink related tasks in front of him. First, he is helping Dutch fill out the reports and surreptitiously spell-checking the ones Dutch completes solo. He is also reviewing the latest ship rotation schedule for the groups stationed on Sword of Alderaan. Finally, he has a copy of The Trials of Ulic Qel-Droma that he is about a third of the way through.
(Edited by Aihal the Silent at 7:38 pm on June 12, 2005)
Arnae's tossing knives with the other ACAG teams after having ordered his "usual" from Four Star: a mug of ice-cold water from the ship's purified tap. He tells others when they ask that he swore off the sauce after the battle at Gulgo the Hutt's--not the exact truth, but the precise details are altogether embarassing. Luckily, he managed to buy Aurelia's silence on the matter.
Arnae's a decent hand, but no marksman. Most of his throws end up missing the targets and thunk-ing into nonvital areas. At least he's not the one who made the worst throw yet and bounced it off the armor. The blood still hasn't come out of the carpet.
Dutch finishes up the last report and tosses his datapad aside, pouring a double-shot of the local hooch.
"You know, Orlans could improve the quality of this rot-gut by wrapping a bit of duct insulation around the copper cooling. Not bad though. I've had worse."
He stands up with his drink, mingling with his men and getting a pulse on the current morale.
Cat celebrates in her usual style: one drink per kill. She figures she got three, so that's how many are lined up in front of her. At this point, two are already empty.
Eritram mouths off in her direction, and she turns an appraising look on him. "My aim was off?! Ha! I bagged three, including their ace! You musta been halucinatin' out there."
Calsera pauses to consider for just a second. "Sure, why the hell not. I'll go a couple rounds with you," she says, downing the third drink.
"We wouldn't?" Calsera replies with a smirk. "Aw... You're no fun."
Accepting the knives with a bow, Cat turns and studies the target for several long moments. She selects three targets on the manikin: head, heart and groin. With three flicks of her wrist, she fires the knives at her selected targets.
Aurelia enters the bar a short time later, having wanted to make sure that the Dagger's hyperdrive was actually happy with its modifications. She sits down after taking a glass of...one of the latest attempts to mix it with some sort of fruit. She sits down next to Arnae, wiping a smudge of grease from her face to her hand, and in turn from her hand to her battered coveralls.
As Aurelia sits down, Jorm looks up from his datapad which contains one of Dutch's reports -- Only one 'O' in obliterate -- and says "How's the hyperdrive on the Dagger?"
Maybe it's the pressure, but Calsera's throws don't match the perfect bullseyes she envisioned before flinging the knives. She hits, but they're not dead center. Eritram, capitalizing on the opportunity, throws his three knives at once. Cal's ears burn as she sees the noble hit head, heart, and groin with near-pinpoint accuracy, eliciting some whistles from the onlookers.
"You're not gonna take that from him, are ya?" asks "Wildman" Rhom, the self-professed "craziest Ithorian to ever exist".
"I smell a bet!" shouts Dak Marco - small framed for a special operations member, Dak was systems officer for 12th Wing and nearly Jorm's equal when it came to multitasking. He was also a born gambler.
A small crowd gathers around Calsera and Eritram and credits, trinkets, and the odd Imperial-issue blaster pistol or other trophies start to pass around.
"Don't let that arrogant bantha herder show you up!"
"That's how you throw knives! I got 20 that says he'll do that again!"
"I'll beat both of ya!" That was Rog Mixon, a leathery son of Tatooine. The betting switches gears again.
"Alright. Looks like we've got ourselves a challenge." says Dutch, cracking a smile.
"Just so there's no question as to who bet what, I'll take charge of the stakes. Jorm, stop spellchecking those reports and get over here! I need someone to take down the wagers."
"What, you don't trust me, Dutch?" Dak asks. It's hard to tell if he's genuinely hurt or if he's being a smartass. "Jorm's good when he's got a console in front of him, but I'm a goddamn Jedi Master when it comes to bets."
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