Era of Rebellion - Navigation

DAY 93
Brandon Barnes, Andrew J. Fowler, Christopher Levy, and Michael Whittaker.
Zero years after the Battle of Yavin (35:5:10) in the Brentaal system: Brentaal IV, Gilded Thranta, New Beginning and in the Ringali nebula: Ringali Station.
Corporal Jason Athol, Commander Derek Atio, Sergeant Major Rake Carson, and Lieutenant Ohmer Wilton.

Commander Derek Atio had successfully traveled to the planet Brentaal IV to meet with Tong's Commandos carrying information of utmost urgency from sector command. The middle-aged pilot had touched down the Gilded Thranta in the wild terrain of the wastelands of the planet, and was resting lazily against the support pylon of the shuttle's ramp. The commander had noted that the Sigma-class shuttle had been operating at much greater effectiveness since the technician and the smuggler had enhanced the systems. The familiar uniform of the Alliance Fleet had been discarded, replaced with the common guise of a local spacer. The grease covered trousers hung tightly against his rather portly frame as the dust began to pick up, blowing against the loose bantha hide flight jacket that seemed to be growing tighter with each passing meal. The Tetan glared at his chronometer realizing that 'on time' seemed to mean different things to different people during a war.

Carson had been on time, as a matter of fact. Jace and Rake were both sitting against a rock when the shuttle touched down, and Carson glanced over to where Athol was typing furiously on a datapad. Carson had no idea, nor did he even attempt a guess at what Athol was doing. Carson, on the other hand, was wondering about why he was here. He had received a coded transmission, or rather a series of innocuous transmissions, that told him to meet Atio here and to make preparations for a trip, so here he sat. Of course, the transmission had left any other information that might possibly be pertinent conveniently absent, but that seemed to be the way things operated in this half ass rebellion.

As he thought he stared out at the terrain surrounding them. He was a little worried that the local Imperials might start patrolling the no-man's land outside the city given their activity of late, but so far it seemed that they were in the clear. He shielded his eyes as the engines of the shuttle kicked up dust, watching in awe as Atio managed to touch the vehicle down facing the wrong way. As soon as the engines powered down, he tapped Athol on the shoulder and kicked off of the boulder they had been leaning against, making his way up to the shuttle's ramp from the rear. As he approached Atio, he noticed he seemed to think he was early, glancing angrily at his chronometer and searching the landscape for the two commandos. Carson shook his head. "Atio, have you ever learned how to tell time, or were you always just fucking late?" Carson did not wait for a response. "Why the hell are we here, Derek?"

Placing the datapad back in its hidden pocket, Jason began following Carson over to shuttle. He was definitely not happy to be pulled away from this project he had been working on. "Couldn't you have waited a few more days for this, I do not like trying to transmit this project for a client while going through space. It complicates the encryption and tunneling I use."

Derek looked at the two commandos, but did not immediately reply to their concerns, as he hurried back aboard the Gilded Thranta, which he had yet to power down. "Alliance Intelligence has a task for you..." he replied as he reached the top of the ramp. "Get aboard quick. I don't want this power signature out here in the middle of nowhere long enough to be scanned or we'll all be eating Imperial rations before a hasty education," he said with a firm nod of his hand, as he motioned with his left hand to hurry them aboard. His right hand was already hovering over the button to raise the ramp, eager to get this operation underway.

Carson grunted as he shouldered his sea bag and started up the gangplank. "You're just full of useful information, aren't you?" He made his way aft to the passenger compartment and plopped his gear down on the deck. Carson hated spaceflight, in all honesty, but he dealt with it well enough. Sitting down in one of the seats provided, he tried his hardest to sleep for the flight. "Just get us where we got to go, Derek, and try not to kill us or make too hard a landing."

Stepping onboard, the only things he carried was the backpack and the datapad. Looking around, he was half tempted to ask Atio how the ship was performing since the maintenance, but stopped himself. Settling himself into the other chair opposite Carson, he would nod and settle into the usual nap. "Wake me if and when we get there."

As soon as the two commandos were aboard Derek slammed his fist down upon the controls that raised the ramp and then hurried on his way back to the pilot's seat. In the distance he could spot a pair of TIE/gt starfighters and his attention immediately moved to the repulsor controls. The small Sigma-class shuttle began to vibrate as it raised off the planet's surface, the three landing claws raising into the ship's aging hull as it began to accelerate into the upper atmosphere. As the atmosphere began to fade away the the blackness of space began to fill the viewport and the massive presence of the Star Destroyer Indefatigable began to come into view. "Hang on," he said to the two behind him, as he accelerated the thrusters to bring the shuttle up to its top cruising speed.

After some time the Gilded Thranta reached the perimeter of the Ringali Nebula and he took the opportunity to scan the location of the Imperial picket ships on patrol. As they entered the nebula the shuttle went dark and the shields, sensors, and energy weapons went offline. It took several hours inside the nebula as they traveled from nav point to nav point on an overly complicated course designed to hide the secret Rebel base. At long last the converted gas mining station came into view and the shuttle carefully made its way into the station's docking bay. With a final shake the old shuttle touched down, and Derek made his way back to the passenger compartment. "We're here!" he said loudly, attempting to wake up the two men who were attempting to sleep while he did all the piloting singlehandedly.

Carson jolted awake, or at least somewhat. He had never really slept well with Atio flying, anyway. Realizing they were there, he kicked the base of the seat that Athol was in. "Hey. We're here, Jace." Not waiting for Athol's answer, he grabbed his stuff and moved back to the ramp, where he slammed his fist against the shuttle controls in an attempt to open the gangplank. Artificial light streamed into the compartment as the hatch opened, and Carson's headache got infinitely worse. "You still haven't told me why we're here, Derek," he said, looking more than a little perturbed. He was short on coffee, these days, as their supply runs had been severely limited by their last little adventure.

He had already woken up before the kick was made, but grunted in assent as he stood. Following Carson and Atio, he was mildly curious why they had been dragged out here. "Yes, do tell. Why are we here in the middle of an explosion waiting to happen at the first weapon going off?"

Derek leaned against the bulkhead of the shuttle as he looked at the two commandos cautiously. "Now ... don't get too upset. I was worried that if I had told you before we took off you might not come," he began to explain, as he moved forward and took a seat so that he could speak to them on their level. "There's a new directive from Alliance Intelligence concerning Alderaanian prisoners of war. There's been an increased amount of Imperial defections from Alderaanian personnel since the planet's destruction and now we want to see if that can be translated into the prisoner population. Simply put ... we barely have enough personnel to operate this station ... let alone stand guard on a detention level all day," he explained slowly, as it became increasingly clear that he was beating around the bush. "Here on the station we have identified one prisoner we think might be able to be turned ... and that is why you are here..." he said, as he reached into his pocket and produced the datapad that contained the full biographic record and interrogation information compiled by Alliance Intelligence on Lieutenant Wilton. "I'm sure you remember him. Intel has decided that given his operational knowledge of the Oversector, familiarization with key personnel, and skills as an operator that it is essential an attempt be made to turn him using the destruction of Alderaan as leverage," he concluded, as he pulled out a holorecording of the destruction of Alderaan that was taken by General Rieekan on the nearby planet of Delaya and tossed it towards Corporal Athol. This damning evidence of the Imperial atrocity had been spreading throughout the galaxy turning public opinion in favor of the Alliance.

Carson took the bio and began looking it over. Outwardly, he showed no emotion, but inwardly he was seething. They wanted him to try to turn an Imperial Storm Commando that he had personally interrogated. And, if he remembered correctly, that interrogation had been one that had not exactly been polite. As he ran through the bio further, he came up with yet more information that made him take an opposing position. "This guy killed my family, you know." He tapped the holopad, indicating the operation in question. He could get over that, of course, given his own past, but it still struck him oddly. Hell, maybe he could use it to turn him. He lit a cigarra one handed as he finished reading the bio. "Alright, let's get this over with, I guess." He handed Athol the datapad. "Here. You might want to familiarize yourself with this. I'm gonna have to call you in there to prove to him that Alderaan was destroyed, and you're going to have to know him fairly well to prove the point. He's not going to be easy to turn." As he spoke, he was already walking towards the detention facility. This was his first time on the station, so he was literally following the signs.

Catching both of the pads, he would take a very thorough read of both and start committing the information to memory. "Rake, didn't you interrogate this guy about the time I joined you all, and after he committed the personal act against you?" Not much about his teammates was hidden at this point, only Tong had parts he had not cracked yet, and those were a matter of time. "I'll pull up some supporting documentation for this. I doubt he'll just accept it from this recording."

"Yeah. He shot me. Of course, now I know that he shot my family too, and they didn't fare nearly as well. Alright, I'll call you on the comm when I need you. Likewise, lemme know when you've got the data you need." Carson nodded to Jace and stepped off toward the door to the holding cell, punching a code into the keypad next to it. While he typed, he looked over to Atio. "Bring some coffee, two mugs. Need some for the prisoner too. And cigarras, and food." The door wooshed open and he stepped in, standing clear while it shut securely. He paused a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, and then searched the room for Lieutenant Wilton. "Ohmer. I believe you and I know one another." He flicked his cigarra off to the side.

Lieutenant Ohmer Wilton sat silently in the corner of his dim cell. It had been 93 days, twelve hours and ten minutes since his initial abduction, and there were no signs that his captivity was any closer to end. The Storm Commando had developed a routine during his months locked away ... his morning hours were spent on general fitness exercises, his afternoons on physical therapy activities for his knee, and his evenings mentally composing letters for his wife and daughter. Lunch and dinner were served at the usual intervals, and he slept a consistent eight hours a night. Nothing too extraordinary, though the routine kept him sane and healthy. Wilton knew his saga would end at some point, be it through his eventual execution, escape or rescue. Until then, he needed to occupy his time.

The sliding hiss of the door caught the Commando's attention ... it was not the typical time of day for lunch or dinner, and there had been very few other visitors. Wilton watched as the man stepped into the room, his familiar face instantly recognizable. His blood chilled as his mind recalled the torture associated with the man, and his next thought immediately began calculating ways to kill him. There were no suitable objects inside the cell, though he might be able to snap the man's neck before the guards arrived. Wilton's mind gradually transitioned back into rationality. Focusing his strength to calm his pounding heart, the Commando strained to show any outward side of emotion. He raised his voice, uttering only one word. "Rebel."

Carson smiled. "Yeah. I am. You seem testy, Ohmer. Seems like I made a lasting impression." He paused, smiling just a little wider. His eyes got an evil glint, and he locked them with Ohmer's. "How's the knee treating you, Wilton? I seem to remember you having an accident." He knew this guy wanted to kill him. He knew that if he pushed the right buttons he could make him emotional. Honestly, he wanted him to be that way. He needed him to get angry, get sad, get pissed off, get frustrated. He needed to get this guy off balance, and his Corellian nature was custom made for that kind of thing. Despite that, he still kept himself ready to kick this guy's ass into the next system. He did not show it, of course, but he kept his muscles taut, his balance centered, and his feet spread evenly and shoulder width apart, his left foot slightly farther back to provide the most stability and freedom of movement. Besides, this guy had been cooped up in this holding cell eating slop, and Carson had been out fighting the war. Honestly, he was probably in better shape than Wilton anyway.

The Commando did not offer any immediate reply, though Wilton slowly began rising to his feet. His actions were slow and deliberate, meant to indicate that no surprise moves were to spring forth. If this was going to be another interrogation, Wilton wanted the satisfaction of at least standing level with his captor. Folding his arms across his chest, the Imperial officer simply stared. His heart was still racing, his mind goading him to rush, tackle, hit, lash out. Pragmatism won the battle for the time being, and Wilton stood his ground. "I believe I fell on a knife a few months back. Clumsy me, I suppose Imperial training isn't what it used to be." The words were spoken with a rather calm tone, though the hint of anger was certainly apparent.

Carson pulled out the vibroblade that he had used to cut off Wilton's kneecap. "This the knife you fell on?" He tossed it towards the commando, letting it clank on the durasteel planking that they stood on, coming to rest almost between them. "Go ahead, Lieutenant. I know you're pissed off that a two bit rebel, an old dried up Imperial washout, and a failed smuggler who couldn't fly safely from one port to another managed to kick your ass, along with all your buddies mind you, and then make you tell all of the Empire's most trusted secrets. What kind of worthless hack would ever let that happen to them?" He paused, taking the time to light another cigarra, and then looked thoughtful. "Maybe you're right Ohmer. Maybe since I left, the Imperial training is pretty much shit. I know I sure as hell never got captured by a fuckup, and I'm a fuckup myself."

Wilton's eyes flickered for a moment, watching the vibroblade clatter upon the ground. Do it, his mind told him, go for the damn knife. Either you will kill him or he will end you, but at least you would die on your own terms. Taking a breath, Wilton refocused his gaze upon Carson and began slowly walking towards the man. The steps were again deliberate, delayed. This was not an attack, it was a confrontation. The Storm Commando stopped his approach two feet away from the Rebel ... Wilton's long hair and unshaven appearance conveyed an almost crazed look. "I have had three months in here to solidify my willpower, Rebel. Do keep talking, tell me how much of a failure I am, how much I have betrayed my cause and Empire." They were thoughts he had told himself every day since his capture ... hearing them from an interloper was nothing unexpected.

"Three months, huh?" Carson spoke the words quietly, rolling them around in his mouth as he thought about them. "Three months?" He spoke them slightly louder this time, but he did not wait for a response. "I've had six fucking years, you piece of shit, since you and your wolf pack murdered my family. I've had six long, hard years of roaming the galaxy trying to get shot, blown up, or killed in some other way. I even tried drinking myself to death. But then one day, somebody else gave me the opportunity to kill people like you, to get even for the things they did to me, and to redeem myself for the things I've done. And imagine my luck, my pleasure when one of the sorry fuck nuts that I apprehend is the same son of a bitch that killed my people." This time, he spat the words. "Frankly, I don't fucking care what the hell you've been through. I was sent in here with a duty that most people would consider difficult: To tell you that Alderaan was blown to hell and back by your beloved Emperor and his sorry ass cronies. But between you and me, I'm glad that you can enjoy the same fucking misery that I've had for years. I was told to come in here and try to offer you safe haven, offer you redemption, a chance to get even. I hope you turn it down." He locked eyes with Wilton again, and reached into the back of his trousers. He came out with a pistol, his silenced Adjudicator, and shoved the butt of it into Wilton's gut. "Take it, you son of a bitch. Go ahead. I dare you. Take it and try to blow my ass from here to oblivion, so that I can shove it up yours and pull the trigger until you fucking vomit. I want you to."

It was electrifying. To have the adrenaline flowing again, to have the potential of life and death at his had been far too long since the Storm Commando had experienced this feeling. Time almost seemed to slow as Carson's spittle fell upon him and the pistol was jammed into his chest. The slightest hint of a smirk appeared upon Wilton's face, and the Imperial took another step closer towards Carson. The pistol butt burned as it pressed against his abdomen, but Wilton surely did not care. ", I want you keep feeling that pain. Make it to seven, eight, nine years...because I surely know the families of my dead men feel the same, and the men who lost their families are no different than you." Wilton glanced down at the weapon before locking eyes again. "...and I will not give you the satisfaction of killing me in self defense." His voice was becoming louder, more agitated. The pent-up frustration and blame he carried was now being articulated in its truest form. He paused for a moment, his mind flickering to the Rebel's mention of Alderaan. He quickly dismissed it ... the Rebellion was no stranger to propaganda and deceit. "And surely you can do better than a pathetic claim like that."

If only Parka could see him now, Derek thought bitterly to himself as he pushed a large durasteel cart lined with coffee, Corellian ale, and various treats that he thought might make the discussion go more ... smoothly. A thin layer of sweat was beginning to form on his portly frame as he pushed the heavy cart up the ramp and towards the detention level. "No need to scan this one, boys. The only danger here is to me," he said to the guard at the security checkpoint, who was quite glad that he was not standing downwind of the commander. "Which cell?" he inquired as he looked around for the man, his sweaty palms struggling to grasp the handle of the cart as he pushed the rattling trays of food and beverages through the cell block, the squeaking wheels of the cart heralding his arrival. Without pausing to knock, he depressed the access panel and opened the door to the cell. To him, it appeared the Storm Commando had gotten hold of the weapon, and without thinking he immediately ducked down behind the cart to protect himself. "Weapon!" he yelled, as his bulging frame was barely obscured by the narrow cart.

The yell about a weapon caught his attention, and would force him inside the cell just in time to see the cowardly, cowering Atio. Upon entry, his own modified blaster pistol made its way to his right hand. "Atio, what are you going on about. Oh, that explains it." Now seeing the blaster pointed and how. "Carson, can't you go tens mins without getting yourself shot? Both of you, put it down and step apart." His voice was a bit amused, and cold.

Carson was not going to be the first one to step away. At first ignoring the words of his friend, he smiled at Wilton, nonverbally pleading for him to take the pistol, try to shoot him, but alas, his sense of duty pulled him away. He silently composed himself, putting the pistol back into its holster at the small of his back. "It's nothing. We were just having a friendly little chat. Isn't that right, Ohmer?" He looked over at Jace. "It seems he doesn't believe me about Alderaan. Doesn't believe me that he gets to experience the same torment that I do, that his retribution has come around, and that justice has finally been served at the ruthlessly efficient hands of his wonderful and omniscient Emperor."

Ohmer's glance flickered once again as the arriving Rebel commander shouted and ducked. A minor concern, Wilton thought, as he turned back towards Carson. The pressure on his chest was relieved as the Rebel reholstered the pistol, and the Storm Commando paused before taking a single step back from his captor. He still took no faith in the absurd claim that Alderaan, an entire planet, had somehow been destroyed ... it seemed almost foolish the the Rebels would try such an interrogation tactic. Having noticed the freshly brewed coffee upon the refreshment cart, the subtle smirk returned to Wilton's face. "Why don't you tell me more about this shocking news over a cup of caf? It is rather hard to take at once, after all..." The sarcasm in his voice was not particularly masked.

Derek felt like the situation was now in hand and slowly stood up from behind the cart and gently dusted himself off. "Well. Feel free to help yourself," he said, offering a polite smile as he readjusted his unkempt uniform and began to make his way down the corridor towards the security checkpoint. "I got everything under control..." he said, with a polite nod of his head to the security guard. "Don't worry," he said as he patted the guard on the back firmly and then walked back towards his quarters to have a much needed drink.

Shaking his head at the scene, he would reach over once Derek had left and pour two cups of the stuff, handing one to the prisoner and one to the trigger-happy Rake. "Sit down you two, and let's discuss this more rationally. You claim this news of Alderaan is propaganda, well, I can thoroughly disprove that for you." Handing over the original datapad, he would let the Storm Commando read it over, before handing over three more. "As you can see, this is the footage of the Imperial Death-Star removing the problem of Alderaan from the equation. The next pad has astronomical data showing the loss of the planet, which is now causing more problems throughout that system. Third ... we have the signed and verified, you can check this yourself, order from the Emperor to eliminate the planet." He would then let them both calm down and bit, and allow the Commando to digest the information.

The Commando glared as he accepted the coffee, contemplating the viability of splashing his captors with the scalding liquid. Deciding better of himself, Wilton took a sip before sitting back on the ground and receiving the datapads. The information seemed rather troubling, though the battle station pictured in the reports was clearly beyond the technical capabilities of any scientist or factory. Wilton glanced at the remaining pads before placing them down next to him, turning his attention back towards his two captors. "Your misinformation is nothing new, and I'm honestly surprised you'd try something as outlandish as this. What do you hope to gain exactly with doctored images and falsified reports?"

Carson took the datapad, but none of this was new information to him. He took a sip of coffee himself before speaking, and tossed the Commando a pack of smokes, albeit against his wishes. "Hey, shithead. We have everything from you that we could possibly get. It's been three months since your capture, and you were branded a traitor by the Empire. That much could be verified by your former cellmate, the logistics Captain. Frankly, I hope you fucking die, and I'm up here against my wishes. Tell me just why the hell I would come off planet to see a guy that I dislike, that I know hates my guts, and that we know for a fact has absolutely nothing useful to offer us, and try to convince him that his home planet is destroyed. I'm a lot of things, Wilton, but you should know I'm a professional. Why would I compromise my operation for what you're claiming amounts to a big, cruel, joke?" He dug in his pocket and pulled out a comlink. All of the imperial frequencies were disabled, and thanks to some special modifications by his technical buddy, it could not be tracked by the Imperials at all. "Here. Try to call your family. Go ahead."

Wilton took another sip, the hot coffee burning his tongue. He did not care, it was good to have some kind of feeling, some break in his routine. He listened intently to the Rebel's words ... Wilton admittedly agreed that a larger game was afoot, though he could not yet pinpoint the reason behind the deception campaign. The Commando eyed the comlink, and again his emotions began to take hold of him. He would certainly have loved the opportunity to speak with his darling wife and beautiful daughter, though pragmatism took hold once again. Another ruse, another lie. He stared at Carson. "Take me there. Shackle me, put me on a ship, let me punch in the nav coordinates, and take me there. Otherwise, leave me the hell alone." A dare, a challenge, one he did not think the Rebels would accept.

"Very well. Carson, I assume you want me to go find Atio and have the ship readied? If you prefer not to trust him, I can always pilot it myself. Do you want me staying behind, or going along for this ride?" Standing, he was already heading to the door, just waiting for go-ahead from Carson.

Rake looked at the Storm Commando. "We won't even shackle you. Granted, you'll be confined to quarters." He looked over at Jace. "Yeah, you'll go with us. Go find where Atio has run off to, and then get him to get a vessel ready to go. We leave in ten minutes." Carson picked up his vibrablade off of the floor and shoved it back into its sheath. He lit up another smoke off the butt of the old one, then snuffed out the dying cigarra with his boot. Grabbing their prisoner underneath the armpit with his right hand and taking his left arm with his left hand, gripping slightly above the wrist, he twisted the arm into the "Escort" position, applying pressure as needed to force the commando to move, and using his right thumb to push into the pressure point underneath his armpit. If the commando tried anything, Carson had several options. He could arm bar him, using leverage to slam his head into the bulkhead or the floor, snap his arm, or put him into a wristlock come-along, breaking his wrist. Alternatively, he could also put him into a rear naked choke relatively quickly, or rotate his arm behind his back to lock him up. Whichever way, he would have the advantage. He did not doubt that Wilton was familiar with this, but it would not help the man any. His options rapidly narrowed to compliance or pain. "Well. Let's get you ready to travel. You'll need clothes. Wouldn't do if we got stopped and here you sit in an unwashed uniform and completely unshaven. Once on the ship, we'll get you a shave and a haircut."

"Lucky me," muttered Wilton as he was maneuvered out of the cell by Carson. The Commando was in mild disbelief that the Rebels appeared to be acquiescing to his request, though he still assumed they would not risk taking him off the station. Wilton did hold a slight hope for the promised shave and haircut, as even small hygienic actions cold improve his morale. The Imperial officer allowed himself to be steered through the station corridors, offering no resistance to his captor.

Derek Atio was halfway into a bottle of Corellian Ale in the officer's lounge, wondering what the commando team was doing back in the detention level. He could feel his body beginning to warm from the effects of the alcohol and thought it might be a good idea to stop. However, Derek was never one for good ideas as he grasped hold of the ornate battle and poured himself another glass of the ale. It always took a dose of liquid courage to run the Imperial blockade of Brentaal IV.

Quickly walking around the station, Jason would eliminate hiding places for Derek one by one. Finally checking the Lounge, he spotted the now drinking pilot. "Derek, up and go, we have a field trip to take to Alderaan. We'll need a YZ instead of the shuttle for this one, so do get yourself to the bay ASAP. I'll make the necessary modifications to the IFF and transponders."

Derek looked up as he saw the commando enter the room, assuming they had failed in their attempt to convert Wilton and thus it was time to return them to Brentaal IV. For a minute he thought he had heard him wrong, but when he was sure he had correctly heard the word Alderaan a stream of Corellian Ale flew from his mouth onto the table as the shock came over him. "The Alderaan system?!" he said, as he rose up from his seat, sending the chair awkwardly flying to the ground beneath him. "Are you daft?" he asked as he walked closer towards the man. "That's restricted space. Do you realize how difficult that is going to be? There isn't a whole lot of reason for people to be traveling to a planet that doesn't exist anymore..." he said, as he shook his hand at the man, his attention immediately returning to the table to grab hold of the bottle of Corellian Ale. He would definitely be needing more of this to get through the trip.

"You really should learn to find another outlet than the drinking Derek. We will need you sober and able to react fast in this. Yes, I'm well aware of the issues with heading there, and I already have a sufficient cover story prepared. Helps to have a few science types who want to study the gravitational effects of a missing planet on a system." With the message delivered, he turned and walked out quickly to the bay. He would need a few minutes to make the necessary alterations once inside the YZ. "Rake, I'll be down in the command and control center making some modifications. If you need anything from the station, grab it now before we have to leave. This will be a few days trip." After a quick drink of water, Jason made his way down into the heart of the computers for the ship, and made the alterations.

"Alderaan..." Derek muttered to himself as he stood there for a long moment, clinging lovingly to the bottle of Corellian Ale. It took him a long while to come to terms with the fact and it felt like the commando unit was beginning to place him in greater danger then he was expecting. In the Outer Rim he had the protection of a Corellian Corvette, but here he was being asked to take a freighter into the shattered remains of Alderaan in Imperial restricted space. It was suffice to say he had a bad feeling about this. With that, he took one glass of the Corellian Ale and savored it for a moment, before heading down to the hangar bay to see how Athol was progressing with getting the YZ setup.

As Carson maneuvered the Imperial around the station, he spoke quietly to him. "For the record, Wilton, I still don't like you. I've got to be nice to you because somebody with more bars than me has decided that that's the right thing to do, but you're still scum in my book." To emphasize his point, he applied pressure to the man's arm. Rake got Jace's message and clicked the comlink in reply. He steered them toward the bay, and then guided them towards one of the YZ-775's. He paused for a moment to punch in the code, and the ramp came down. Putting some more forward pressure on the man's armpit, he steered him up the ramp and into the ship, where he closed the hatch behind them. He headed for one of the crew quarters, and let them in. Again, he sealed the door behind them. "There's a safety razor and some clippers in the drawer. Have at it, bud." He pushed the Storm Commando towards the middle of the room, and then settled up against the bulkhead. "Hope you don't mind if I stand here and watch over you. Wouldn't want to miss a chance to watch you cut your own throat and bleed out."

"I am developing a history of misadventures with blades," Wilton remarked dryly as he reached towards the drawer. He leaned over the desk as he began cutting his hair with no particular rhyme or reason ... once it was short enough he would smooth out the overall scope of his hair. The Commando attempted to keep all the clippings over the desk ... no sense in making a mess while a guest aboard the vessel. He occasionally glanced at Carson, with brief contemplation of stabbing the man in the eye, before continuing with his hair-cutting objective.

Derek Atio had sobered up slightly with the aid of some much needed coffee and stood in the hangar bay of the Ringali station looking at the hull of the modified YZ-775. He was doing his preflight check as he walked around the ship, looking over it more carefully than he had ever done in the past. Finally satisfied, he had walked to the ramp of the ship and climbed aboard. "Next stop ... Alderaan..." he said to Carson, Athol, and the captured commando Wilton in the back of the freighter. He moved himself into the cockpit and strapped himself in and begin to power up the ship. Let let out a tired sigh as he pulled back on the flight stick and he exited the hangar. "Handles well..." he yelled back to the commandos as his hand moved over the throttle to accelerate the ship through the complex series of navpoints that would lead them out of the nebula.

"Atio, I have the transponder signal encoded to make us appear to be a science vessel. I have an official contract I am working on from one of the research institutes on Coruscant. Need readings from the location that used to be Alderaan. Just keep your cool and fly, the Imperials won't bother us until we try and return. If you get questioned, read them anything they ask for from this." Placing a datapad with all the details one would require, Jason would make his way to the back to start working on more detailed contract data. He had gone in and made the modifications to the transponder while Derek had been sobering up, with Rake occupied tormenting Wilton, this would be a very interesting trip.

As they exited out of the nebula they came across the Imperial picket ships scanned the vessel and registered them as a science vessel. However, given the use of the nebula by Rebellion vessels they were carefully index the ship in their database. In the cockpit Derek let out a nervous sigh as they maneuvered dangerously close to a Nebulon-B frigate. Feeling quite nervously he raised his left hand and waved. "Hey ... just a science ship..." he said to no one, as he accelerated the ship at its top cruising speed towards the Perlemian Trade Route. Several moments later they were clear of Brenta's gravity and, using Wilton's navigation coordinates, his hand slid over the hyperdrive controls and sent the YZ-775 rapidly accelerating into hyperspace on the way to Alderaan.

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