In Hyperspace, No One Can Hear You Scream

[BD-86]

"I need someone right now to explain to me what on my own ship I just stepped in before we get to Coruscant. Which, by the way, we'll be approaching soon, and therefore we need to get our karking story straight."

The telltale collection of chirps from the open access panel in the wall made it pretty easy to tell who was inside. Given this was how one got in to fix the sublight stabilizer (as well as the echoing sounds of huttese curses) made it pretty easy to guess who ELSE was inside.

As Sindren bemoaned the current state of his boot, as if on cue, BD-86 emerged dragging what looked like… a big clump of matted fur coated in wet sand? The little droid whistled along, turning to deposit the latest retrieval into the growing pile of disposables.

Instead of his carefully contained mound however, BD saw a familiar boot squarely in and on top of it. The droid slowly looked Sindren up and down, as if appraising the situation more thoroughly. After a moment’s pause, he suddenly let loose a quick, agitated-sounding string of beeps and whistles, slapping the wet, sandy clump of something directly on top of Sindren’s already soiled foot before petulantly retreating back into the wall.

[Mana Corrick]

"I need someone right now to explain to me what on my own ship I just stepped in before we get to Coruscant. Which, by the way, we'll be approaching soon, and therefore we need to get our karking story straight."

The telltale collection of chirps from the open access panel in the wall made it pretty easy to tell who was inside. Given this was how one got in to fix the sublight stabilizer (as well as the echoing sounds of huttese curses) made it pretty easy to guess who ELSE was inside.

Before long, a dirty mop of brown hair somehow containing a face pops out of the access panel just as a low hum echoes from the interior. "Jee gut bo kapa chuba, jango?" <Why are you yelling, old man?> Mana asks, pulling herself out of the wall just to lean against it, mucking up the bulkhead with her grease (and whatever other dirt she accumulated from crawling in the machinery).

"Chuba wanga. Bo shmi ta koo cho cho port." <Ship's fixed. At least until we make it to port> she reports, pushing off of the wall to snag a protein-flavored protein bar and digging into it ravenously.

[Tessia Sarn]

"Maybe a little?" There's an ironic twist to Kel's words, and to the little wrinkle of her nose, but that sympathy is still there to soften it.

Tessia sighs, pulling her cap off her head and twisting it in her hands. Her dark hair zigzags about her face in a riot of shaggy locks, "I knew it. I just... it's been a long job and..."

Her eyes dart away, not willing to make eye contact with Kel. "...and I'm ready to be home. I guess." It doesn't take the Force to know that wasn't what she'd orginally planned to say.

"I got…channelfish flavored protein bar, ormachek-flavored protein bar, and…" She pauses, wrinkling her nose at the label. "I guess protein-flavored protein bar? Oh, and a bunch of blue macarons!" she adds, brightening again. "But those, we're gonna split. I haven't had one of those in ages."

Tessia's been between scores often enough to know that you eat when the food's available, even if it's protein-flavored protein bar, so she pays attention, but..."Oh, macarons!" she breathes out, some life and excitement coming back to her eyes. She gestures to the table, taking a seat and encouraging Kel to do the same. "Yes please. I'll eat flavored protein bars, but not if you're going to offer me a share of blue macarons. You found those on the ship? I might have to change my opinion of the quality of on-board accommodations..."

That, of course, is when Captain Sinful (or something) shows up.

"...from excellent to absolutely top-tier, of course!" She beams, flopping her cap back on her head and blowing some of those stray strands out of her face with a puffed out lower lip.

"I need someone right now to explain to me what on my own ship I just stepped in before we get to Coruscant. Which, by the way, we'll be approaching soon, and therefore we need to get our karking story straight."

Coruscant. Home... of sorts. She's got a little squat of an apartment there, not anything most people would consider "home", but at least it's planetside and lacking in sand. Tessia isn't sure what the captain's talking about, but she's curious at what he might have stepped in. She rises from her seat a little way, craning her neck to see the floor. She wrinkles her nose and carefully sits back down in case the goo decides to attack anything that moves too fast.

"It wasn't me, whatever it was. But..."

Instead of his carefully contained mound however, BD saw a familiar boot squarely in and on top of it. The droid slowly looked Sindren up and down, as if appraising the situation more thoroughly. After a moment’s pause, he suddenly let loose a quick, agitated-sounding string of beeps and whistles, slapping the wet, sandy clump of something directly on top of Sindren’s already soiled foot before petulantly retreating back into the wall.

Before long, a dirty mop of brown hair somehow containing a face pops out of the access panel just as a low hum echoes from the interior. "Jee gut bo kapa chuba, jango?" <Why are you yelling, old man?> Mana asks, pulling herself out of the wall just to lean against it, mucking up the bulkhead with her grease (and whatever other dirt she accumulated from crawling in the machinery).

"Chuba wanga. Bo shmi ta koo cho cho port." <Ship's fixed. At least until we make it to port> she reports, pushing off of the wall to snag a protein-flavored protein bar and digging into it ravenously.

"...you might ask them?" she says sweetly, popping a bite of macaron in her mouth and chewing cheerfully. "Jusht a guesh" she adds, a couple of crumbs puffing from her full mouth.

[Sindren Lorn]

Sindren closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger while taking a deep breath before lifting his foot and shaking off whatever detritus the droid had just deposited on top of his boot.

There would be time later for conversations about how to properly dispose of shipboard trash, but more pressing matters needed attending.

"Anyway, like I said, we're quickly approaching Coruscant," he said, walking over to the table at which Kel and Tessia sat and grabbing the nearly empty tube of cookies. "We do need to get the remains of Flyyk stowed somewhere until we can claim the DNA-based bounty. We shouldn't have to worry about inspections at the level we're docking at, it's best not to risk it."

He shook the shiny silver foil container until one of the macarons tumbled into his hand. The aroma of cloudberry wafted up and Sindren breathed it in deeply, knowing that within a few hours he'd have nothing but the smell of oil, sweat, and tyranny clogging his sinuses. He popped the treat into his mouth whole and took a moment to simply enjoy the sugary tartness.

"Good find," he quietly said to Kel, favoring her with a conspiratorial wink before adjusting his posture to address everyone. "We'll be dropping out of hyperspace in about an hour and then we'll have about another hour of sublight - great job fixing whatever was karked Mana, by the way - til dock. Planetary police should be the only security at the docks, but they can sometimes be worse than standard Imperial security. Poorly trained zealots with a violent streak, for the most part. Love to show how much power they think they have, so stay quiet if they give you trouble. After that, we're all on to our next, yeah?"

Shaking the tube, a macaron fell into his hand and he walked over to offer it to Mana before bringing to his lips and tipping it up like a bottle so the final confection tumbled into his mouth.

[Kel Hannix]

Tessia sighs, pulling her cap off her head and twisting it in her hands. Her dark hair zigzags about her face in a riot of shaggy locks, "I knew it. I just... it's been a long job and..."

Her eyes dart away, not willing to make eye contact with Kel. "...and I'm ready to be home. I guess." It doesn't take the Force to know that wasn't what she'd orginally planned to say.

Kel holds Tessia's gaze for a beat longer, even after Tessia looks away. But she doesn't push, not this time. "Okay."

Tessia's been between scores often enough to know that you eat when the food's available, even if it's protein-flavored protein bar, so she pays attention, but..."Oh, macarons!" she breathes out, some life and excitement coming back to her eyes. She gestures to the table, taking a seat and encouraging Kel to do the same. "Yes please. I'll eat flavored protein bars, but not if you're going to offer me a share of blue macarons. You found those on the ship? I might have to change my opinion of the quality of on-board accommodations..."

A grin of happy relief spreads over Kel's face. Even if she hasn't gotten at the root of what's got Tessia so freaked out, she's at least helped a little. She'll take the win.

"I need someone right now to explain to me what on my own ship I just stepped in before we get to Coruscant. Which, by the way, we'll be approaching soon, and therefore we need to get our karking story straight."

"Whoa, I've got no idea what that is!" Kel can't help grimacing as she looks down at the glop, though, which she's sure isn't helping.

Instead of his carefully contained mound however, BD saw a familiar boot squarely in and on top of it. The droid slowly looked Sindren up and down, as if appraising the situation more thoroughly. After a moment’s pause, he suddenly let loose a quick, agitated-sounding string of beeps and whistles, slapping the wet, sandy clump of something directly on top of Sindren’s already soiled foot before petulantly retreating back into the wall.

"But, uh, now you've got more of it?" Probably helping even less. Not even with the hopeful grin Kel offers along with it.

He shook the shiny silver foil container until one of the macarons tumbled into his hand. The aroma of cloudberry wafted up and Sindren breathed it in deeply, knowing that within a few hours he'd have nothing but the smell of oil, sweat, and tyranny clogging his sinuses. He popped the treat into his mouth whole and took a moment to simply enjoy the sugary tartness.

Kel's breath catches briefly in a tension made instinctive by years of taking food that isn't hers. Of course she _knows_ the old man won't mind if she takes the extras - she's done it before, and she's pretty sure he knew then, too. But she still holds herself motionless, not daring one of those telltale crinkles from the extra protein bars in her pockets.

"Good find," he quietly said to Kel, favoring her with a conspiratorial wink before adjusting his posture to address everyone.

That's a win too. How often does the old man get to enjoy something? She's glad he's getting this change. Kel flashes a grin in return for the wink, and sprawls down into the chair next to Tessia, not bothering to hide the crinkling sound as she moves.

"We'll be dropping out of hyperspace in about an hour and then we'll have about another hour of sublight - great job fixing whatever was karked Mana, by the way - til dock. Planetary police should be the only security at the docks, but they can sometimes be worse than standard Imperial security. Poorly trained zealots with a violent streak, for the most part. Love to show how much power they think they have, so stay quiet if they give you trouble. After that, we're all on to our next, yeah?"

"Hard to tell the difference these days," Kel mutters. Planetary police answer to Imperial security, as far as she can tell - on the rare occasions when planetary police can even be found. Everything's Imperial; everything's far too dangerous for Kel to want to look closely enough to try to unravel the power dynamics. "I hope we can get through without saying anything."

[JediTigger]

The wise pilot exits hyperspace with plenty of room to spare on approach to Coruscant. Those with legitimate business, especially official Imperial business, make good use of the planetary guidance systems and controllers to take turns entering and exiting the crowded ports.

The Ember likely avoids such formalities like a Hutt avoids a salad.

The bonus is that Sindren has the entirety of the planet to choose from, scouting traffic and Imperial presence to select the best, most discreet approach to get to his destination and minus the red tape and fees that come with assistance. Countless ships naturally opt for darting into and out of atmosphere without notifying Coruscant officials, and more often than not the attitude is Don't come crying to us if something bad happens. It's a risk anyone landing below Level 1000 will take every single time.

When the sublight engines cut in, something coughs.

Not someone. Something. Onboard the ship. It's not the sort of sound one wants to hear from the sublight array.

Outside, six TIE fighters on patrol zip by klick away, and another civilian vessel - an older, bulkier freighter - issues a stream of epithets in a mix of Weequay and Trandoshan, apparently implying the screamingly fast flyby was no accident. The Ember's hull shudders, and everyone on board faces a rough jolt as the ship decelerates to half its usual sublight speed.

[Tessia Sarn]

As the ship snorts and sputters and lurches, Tessia reaches out to grab anything that might be nearby. Protein bar? Not helpful. Kel? A little more helpful, but Tessia's death grip on her arm can't feel particularly great. Table. Table doesn't move. Table is steady. Table is goooooood.

"Rancor's tits! What WAS that? Are we going to die? What's wrong with the ship?" she wails and presses herself back into her seat as hard as she can, eyes wide and afraid. She kicks her feet out to brace against whatever she can find.

She seems to realize suddenly that she's grabbing Kel harder than a person really should and releases her hold, snatching her hand back. "Sorry! Sorry, are you okay? I didn't mean to--"

[Sindren Lorn]

Satisfied everyone was on the same page, Sindren snagged a protien bar and made his way back to the cockpit where he washed it down with a small swig of abrax from a flask he kept tucked within one of the many inner pockets of his greatcoat. He closed his eyes and let the aquamarine liquor spread its warmth down his throat and into his stomach while he tried to mentally conjure up her image. She'd been so little and his memory was failing with age, but he was thankful that the echo of her sweet face was still there.

A sad smile pulled at the corners of his mouth and he let out a deep sigh, keeping his eyes closed and wishing he could keep looking at her little button nose a bit longer. The trance was broken by the softly insistent alarm indicating it was about time to drop out of hyperspace. He gripped the steering yoke in one hand and watched numbers count down on the navicomputer while resting his other hand on hyperdrive controls. In a smooth motion, Sindren levered the hyperdrive controls to take them back to sublight.

That's about the time several things all happened nearly simultaneously, none of which were helpful.

The Ember bucked and shuddered while he tried getting it back under control. That task would've been much easier had the ship not gotten caught in the ion wash of the TIE fighters that screamed by from seemingly nowhere, activating the shrieking collission warning klaxon. It took all of his self control not to power up the dorsal blaster turret and lance some eyeballs, but instead he took firmer hold of the controls just in time for an electric jolt from the yoke to arc through his body. After what felt like an eternity but was really less than a second, he was able to peel his fingers from the control stick and rub his eyes to clear whatever got into them to obscure his vision.

Sindren blinked a couple of times and realized his eyes were fine, it was the lights that had a problem.

"Rancor's tits! What WAS that? Are we going to die? What's wrong with the ship?" she wails and presses herself back into her seat as hard as she can, eyes wide and afraid. She kicks her feet out to brace against whatever she can find.

"Damn sublight systems crapped out," he shouted in response. "You'll be fine, it's just going to take a lot longer to make our docking bay."

Whisps of ozone hung in the air, tickling his sinuses. Sindren's first instinct was to give Mana a few choice words, but as he'd aged he'd come to realize sometimes the best thing to say is nothing. Instead he sat in the dark and stewed in silence for a few moments, wriggling his fingers until the feeling came back.

"Two hours to Coruscant," he barked to anyone within earshot. Assuming nothing else goes wrong, he added in his head.

[Mana Corrick]

"Good find," he quietly said to Kel, favoring her with a conspiratorial wink before adjusting his posture to address everyone. "We'll be dropping out of hyperspace in about an hour and then we'll have about another hour of sublight - great job fixing whatever was karked Mana, by the way - til dock. Planetary police should be the only security at the docks, but they can sometimes be worse than standard Imperial security. Poorly trained zealots with a violent streak, for the most part. Love to show how much power they think they have, so stay quiet if they give you trouble. After that, we're all on to our next, yeah?"

Shaking the tube, a macaron fell into his hand and he walked over to offer it to Mana before bringing to his lips and tipping it up like a bottle so the final confection tumbled into his mouth.

Mana's eyes narrow as she refuses the macaron that Sindel offers with a raised hand. Even if her eyes lingered on it for a little too long, she doesn't let herself have snacks. Sustenance and fuel. That's what her body needs. There's no guarantee that sweet treats will always be accessible, so she refuses to open up that avenue of potential loss.

"<It's a temp fix,>" she tells him in huttese. "<Just be careful with the old girl until we can get dockside and I can give her a thorough cleaning.>"

She doesn't linger, finishing her protein bar and crumpling the wrapper before tossing it in the garbage.

"<Imma get you a bucket our something to drag around, BD,>" she tells the droid as he keeps messing with the pile of wet sand and viscera in the hall. "<Or install a horn or something to beep whenever someone steps in your messes.>"

When the sublight engines cut in, something coughs.

Not someone. Something. Onboard the ship. It's not the sort of sound one wants to hear from the sublight array.

Outside, six TIE fighters on patrol zip by klick away, and another civilian vessel - an older, bulkier freighter - issues a stream of epithets in a mix of Weequay and Trandoshan, apparently implying the screamingly fast flyby was no accident. The Ember's hull shudders, and everyone on board faces a rough jolt as the ship decelerates to half its usual sublight speed.

Mana is already back in the access vents, crawling around doing basic maintenance. When the ship jolts, EVERYONE can hear her smack into something heavy, followed by a string of shouted Huttese curses that really makes one wonder just how colorful her vocabulary is.

"Damn sublight systems crapped out," he shouted in response. "You'll be fine, it's just going to take a lot longer to make our docking bay."

Whisps of ozone hung in the air, tickling his sinuses. Sindren's first instinct was to give Mana a few choice words, but as he'd aged he'd come to realize sometimes the best thing to say is nothing. Instead he sat in the dark and stewed in silence for a few moments, wriggling his fingers until the feeling came back.

"Two hours to Coruscant," he barked to anyone within earshot. Assuming nothing else goes wrong, he added in his head.

The sound of pounding metal erupts from the vent in the bridge and Mana pokes her head out, a shiny bruise on her forehead. "<I told you to be careful with her, Old Man!>" she barks at him, teeth gritted as she unfolds herself from the vent to check on system readouts, muttering to herself.

[BD-86]

The jolt of the ship sent BD tumbling forward, pin balling off a couple of panels before his foot caught the edge of a coil of cables. Almost simultaneously, an unpleasant impact noise accompanied by the sound of Mana's agitated cursing echoed through the ventilation. BD let out a low, descending warble as he pushed himself back upright, running a brief diagnostic on himself before rolling on. He wasn't too concerned about Mana; the audible cursing meant she was still operational, and BD's experience with the girl had given him the distinct impression that she operated on a binary set of states; in other words, anything short of being completely out of commission wasn't enough to hinder her, functionally speaking.

The two sort of had that in common, in a way.

As the murmurs of terse exchange and accusation blended into the ambient background noise of the ship, BD trotted onward, more by memory than sight, until he reached one of several telltale marked panels within the guts of the ship; one of Mana's many little stockpiles, conveniently located next to a system access port. BD's chest opened, a scomp link emerging and connecting with the port as the droid began pouring over the error codes, hazard signals, and various triggered failsafes.

It looked to be a destabilized regulator feeding inconsistent output into the sublight array. Visual confirmation would be necessary, but either way, the ion wash certainly hadn’t helped; it had pushed an already weak component past tolerance. Unfortunate, but nothing the right gearhead couldn't solve. Luckily just such a person was onboard. Withdrawing the scomp link, BD lightly bumped into the marked panel to his left, dislodging it slightly and revealing a tightly secured toolpack. His manipulator arm slipped in through the crack, rummaging for a moment before finding the tool he was looking for and pulling it free. Giving the panel a sharp little knock back into place, the little droid let out a steady, melodic series of whistles as he skittered back the way he'd come.

The droid emerged to the sound of one voice grumbling and another panicking. Prioritizing the former, BD trotted over to Mana, staring up at her as she read over the system readouts with her inefficient, human eyes. Not that such things were her fault; she couldn't be amazing at EVERYTHING after all. Bumping his head into her leg insistently, the droid emitted a muted facsimile of the klaxon from earlier as his holoprojector flickered to life, throwing up a clean schematic between them. One section pulsed red—tight, specific, not the whole system. Just the fault. He adjusted the display once, highlighting a secondary stress point branching off it.

Then he looked up at her, letting out a brief, pointed chirp and dropping a hydrospanner at her feet.