The Legion’s Foil

Even now, as the Rebellion tightens the net around Ado Thorsh, the boot of the Empire was on the neck of billions of lifeforms across a million worlds. Sparks of resistance were blazing to life while others were being snuffed out…

Plok goes low, under the reach of AC-DC's comically short swipe, then he comes up strong from the deck, lifting the droid part-way off the ground before dumping it onto its side! Legs whirr as the bounty hunter lords over the power droid.

"Ti dappa meen cloto mef damda! Te zamtam abh gup peeno te duka!" the Rodian shouts. "Em kapa emm nippdoop ee emm -- emm khit!"

* We don't have time for this! The pirates are already at the base! You keep your knife in your -- your compartment!

"The pirates are what?!" AC-D3 exclaims from his upside-down vantage point. He had the Rodian just where he wanted him (or so he told himself) but he decided to call it off, on account of the mission.

"PQ, get me back up! Stop fooling around, Plok. We got a job to do!"

Once PQ helps get him back on his feet (a not-inconsiderable feat), he waddles to the scopes to see what the heck is going on with the Imperial base.

Hss'kas ignored the entirety of the altercation, sitting in his meditative pose and simply awaiting for their pilot to land their ship. "Dock," he murmured to no one in particular, as if willing the ship to more swiftly get to their destination.

C4PQ’s photoreceptors flickered with a mixture of frustration and disbelief as he turned to witness the chaos unfolding.

"Good heavens! Wiping? And now… brawling? I cannot imagine a more undignified spectacle."

He hurried to AC-D3’s side, his servos whirring as he bent down with a barely audible sigh of exasperation. "Really, AC-D3, must you always resort to theatrics? I understand your, er, vigorous stance on the sanctity of our circuits, but such behavior is hardly conducive to a productive working relationship with organic counterparts. Might I remind you that diplomacy is one of my primary functions, and this situation is decidedly undiplomatic!"

C4PQ braced himself and began the laborious process of righting AC-D3. "Plok, you might want to consider phrasing your inquiries with more... care. Suggesting a droid be wiped is akin to suggesting you have your memories erased and replaced. Can you even imagine the trauma? Oh, do hold still, AC-D3; you’re heavier than you look."

"Now, then," C4PQ said, brushing nonexistent dust from his chassis with a dignified air, "I suggest we focus on the matter at hand—the pirates. Oh dear, it seems the pirates have already reached the base. I suggest we land near the Outlaw Toledo and investigate the area. This could be dangerous. Who is piloting?"

All eyes fall on the delicate C4PQ when talk turns to who would pilot the Meridian Astra down to the hanger bay. With hands more suited to punching in a flight path than righting an overturned Gonk Droid, C4PQ is pressed into service and sets the ship off in the direction of the flickering hanger.

In the time it takes C4PQ to weave between the bits of moon rock floating in low orbit, the rest of the crew watch as the hanger bay shield flickers on and off at least half a dozen times. The atmosphere, in the hanger at least, would prove to be difficult to deal with.

The ship is brought in smooth, and C4PQ sets it down just beside the Outlaw Toledo. The ship is sleek and gold if not a little beat up. A sword is emblazoned across the side of the ship - the mark of the Sword Smugglers?

The hanger itself is huge. As the Astra extends its landing pads, you get a good look at the place. Besides the flickering static shield sucking the atmosphere out of the place at regular intervals, the hanger is a ruined mess of supply crates and worker droids.

Crushed bodies of droids misfortunate enough to have been put to work by the Empire lay all about the form of a tipped over Imperial T-4a. Ado Thorsh’s distress beacon made more sense, given that it would take a group effort to get the thing righted again.
Imperials Not Included…

C4PQ leaves the ship, closely following AC-D3

Knibbec can't help but laugh at the shenanigans between rodian and droid. He points a clawed hand and tee-hees. "I'm not old enough for my piloting license yet," Knib says matter-of-factly. "But we gotta do it quick. 'Crashing spaceships is no way to go through life', as my dad always said." Finally the tall droid is resigned to be a pilot and brings them into the hangar.

"Well I'll be a bantha's uncle, this place is screeeeewwwwed. Do you think it's safe? Looks like an adventure at least! Let's go!"

Hss'kas unfolded himself once their ship finally docked. What lay before his eyes in the hangar further confirmed that things were awry. Did the imperial shuttle land badly, or more likely, was it unable to take off despite the efforts of the worker droids? So far they had only witnessed destruction.

"Let us get to the bottom of this mystery." The Trandoshan headed towards the shuttle first.

One might expect AC-D3 to sulk a bit after losing a round with the Rodian in such a humiliating manner, but he's got a thick skin - literally. PQ gives him a mouthful, but that's just what a Protocol Droid does. He admits it's not the time and place to settle that acore - but that Rodian is on his shit list!

AC-D3 strides out into the cargo bay, enjoying the breeze of the air seeping out into space and goes to explore what's going on with those droids. "Hey, any of you operational?" he calls to the worker droid corpses, giving on a nudge with his toe for good measure.

Plok makes rude gestures behind the backs of both AC-D3 and C4PQ, wondering briefly about the need for the Rebellion to include rude and overly-sensitive droids in its ranks. The ship will need spare parts at some point, so there's... that.

As they come in for a landing, he busies himself with getting ready for the excursion by retrieving his stun-prod, his ray shield belt, and his pack. The one he's going to use on AC-DC if the droid gets mouthy and knifey again...

---

Plok leaves the ship last, closing the ramp and locking up as they move to investigate the thin-atmosphered bay, and the station beyond. The Lambda had seen better days, certainly...

Alliance High Command had clearly chosen their squad very carefully! The Rebels that made up the crew of the Meridian Astra were made of sterner stuff than the Imperials who had operated this moon base. Each of you is more than comfortable operating in a low-atmosphere environment and you adjust your breathing to account for the failing static shield.

Hss’kas and the two droids march over to the tipped over Imperial bird, and the scattered remains of the Imperial droids that had been working the hanger bay when whatever happened happened.

AC-D3 cuts through the silence of the huge room with his question. The only response the droid hears is the frazzled, electronic guttering of a quickly fading droid. Many tiny footsteps bring the gonk droid to the ruined body of a KX-Enforcement Droid, which continues to try and speak through its ruined vocal projector. Sparks shoot from the thing as it over exerts itself, and AC-D3 sees the power finally fade from the things eyes. The Meridian Astra had arrived just in time to witness the Imperial security droid’s final moment.

Hss’kas examines the keeled over Lambda. The paint had been scratched up in the fall, and the tip of the ship’s nose had been caved in on one side, but it looked like it could still fly! If he could get to the control panel, he could use some of the hanger’s machinery to get the Imperial space craft upright again! It would take the Jedi some time…

Speaking of control panels, C4-PQ investigates the north sector of the room, and the door that would surely lead further into the Imperial base. While the door seemed functional, there was a second console nearby that was sparking dangerously. On the monitor, the protocol droid can see the words:

Atmosphere: Critical
Did the deft-fingered droid want to spend time trying to repair the console and get the static shield back up and running? Or did C4-PQ want to make that the Empire’s problem… when they finally arrived?

Knibbec and Plok close up the Meridian Astra and take in the chaos of the scene around them. They watch from the base of the closing ramp as the others spread out and conduct their various investigations.

Something itches Plok’s brain as he stands there in that hanger bay. A sense honed by years of bounty hunting and pure instinct has him listening for something beneath or beyond the hum of the failing static shield. The sound of scrambling nails on rock.

Knibbec sees it then, just as the static shield blinks out of existence once more. Nails on rock become nails on strained imperial metal as Plok and Knibbec watch a large beast clamber from the moon rock and into the hanger bay just before the static shield fires back to life. It sizes up the tiny Knibbec with its four black eyes. In Plok’s estimation, the Jawa looks to be about the perfect sized meal for a Nexu such as this one. It makes a high pitched and angry growl, before slinking forward towards the snack sized rebel!

"Ooohh big kitty! Do you think it's friendly Plok? We could probably keep it for a pet if we know what it eats...There must be something around here that's usable!" Knib quickly scrounges around in the detritus of broken droids and spaceship parts.

Knibbec makes a rookie mistake, as he stoops down to root among the ruined droids for something that might serve as food for the Nexu.

Stooping as the young Jawa does activates the thing’s prey drive, and it sets off across the hanger at pace before pouncing for the small pile of brown cloth and the floating eyes within.

"Ah! Utinni!" Knib cries as he attempts to dodge out of the way!

C4PQ leaves the static shield blinking in and out, as it is, so the Empire will have its own problems when they arrive.

"Oh my!" - he quickly grabs his modified stun baton and moves to help Knibbec.