Log:New Republic: Tickets Please

With Black Squadron keeping the pack of ARCs busy, a boarding team races towards the ferryliner "Horizon" in order to engage with the hostiles aboard the freshly disabled ship. With hostages on board and potential enemy back-up waiting to be called from Pamarthe, it is a race against the clock to secure the ship, save the innocents, and neutralize the hostiles.

Tickets, Please

OOC Date: January 11, 2022
Location: Ferryboat Liner "Horizon", orbit over Pamarthe
Participants: Calista Alastair (GM), Ambrosia Greystorm, Narsai Ordo, Jax Greystorm, Qutha Buvu Pah, Ax, Erinn Laski

Phase one of the mission was a success, but not without its casualties. Aiding Black Squadron in their efforts to neutralize the pack of ARCs guarding the ferryliner 'Horizon', Red Squadron suffered a loss. The wreckage of Red Four floating as various sizes of debris in the orbit of Pamarthe forever entombed. Several enemy craft were destroyed and others, injured, limped back planetside. Now Black Squadron -- down a fighter, Black Eight, who was also nearly destroyed in the skirmish -- run a patrol to secure the orbit.

Simultaneously began Phase Two.

From the Pantheon launched the transport ship carrying the boarding party with Gold Squadron running defense and recon. Through expert maneuvering and the combined efforts of the three squadrons, a scan of the 'Horizon' was completed and sent to General Greystorm. A little over one hundred souls aboard: far less than anticipated and no indication on how many are hostile or innocent. The hyperdrive and thrusters of the Horizon disabled, it became unable to avoid the tractor beam of the Pantheon pulling the ferryliner away from Pamarthe: away from any potential backup planetside that may come as soon as any alarm signal could be sent.

With the ARCs engaged and the 'Horizon' made lame, the transport makes it safely to the hangar of the 'Horizon' where intel tells them some lifeforms are present. Waiting.

"We've got a limited window of time to work with," General Greystorm stands with a hand holding fast to a strap overhead by her seat, addressing the assembled strike force as the transport closes in on the stalled Horizon. "Gold Squadron'll watch out six from out there, but it's best we get this mess sorted before anymore bishwags think to join the party. Besh," a look goes to Corporal Fark Dru-krug - Duros demolition extraordinaire, "Your team's to escort Lt Laski to Engineering, make sure whoever's congregating down there doesn't do anything stupid. Initial scans didn't pick up any active, transmitting devices of the incendiary sort, but I wouldn't rule out the possibility. Once you've secured Engineering, standby for further instruction, in case we have a need to play..." a breath and glance to another Greystorm in their midst. "Not by the favored rulebook." In case she needs to cut air supply to any particular area of the ship they aren't able to subdue otherwise. Y'know. In case.

"Cresh, your job is to get eyes on the situation in the ball room and report back. Alpha..." Ambrosia's helmeted head goes on the swivel to regard this cluster of allies she's chosen to assist in storming the brain of this ship. "You're with me. Whoever's in charge of this hostage situation is likely holed up in the bridge, no doubt with assorted meat shields of the civilian sort, so discretion is advised when selecting targets. Provided they don't peacefully abide by opening the door when I knock." Her snort is audible through the comm. "First order of business..." the ship shudders as it ceases forward momentum and begins to lower onto tarmac. "We locate and identify the welcoming commitee that scans show is waiting just outside. Neutralize if need be. Everyone clear?"

Armored and armed as she was, Narsai might be known to plenty of the New Republic forces. Some she'd trained with, broke bread with and even fought beside in the battle of Exegol among others...but the Mandalorian armor still probably made her stand out a little.

Blasters strapped to her thigh and her close combat weapons either secured to the small of her back or her gauntlet, the Ordo woman's features were hidden behind the Beskar'gam T-visor, ready to spring into action.

The orders from Amber? They were straight-forward enough, Narsai nods her head wordlessly. Her helmet's IFF HUD activates, ready to tag hostiles and non-combatants to any who could recieve such data. Of course, even with that info all of the team would still have to use their judgement.

Jax had gathered his padawan, Qutha Buvu Pah, and Ax for the operation. The Corellian jedi stood among the boarding team. His saber in hand but the blade not yet extended. He was doing a form of standing mediation as he inhaled and exhaled, he centered himself as he drew the force to himself." His eyes open as he could feel his mother's eyes on him. He says quietly, "It won't become an issue that you have to do that." He says. Then he shrugs off his hooded outer robes. They would be a hinderance where he was going. "May the force be with us."

In his hooded attire, though he was wondering if he'd regret leaving the Coynite armor back on Chandrila, the Zelosian sits in his jumpseat with securing bar over his chest and his hands folded in his lap. Head down, eyes open but seeing nothing while Qutha prepares himself, that precious handful of seconds where he can make the attempt to let himself go and be directed with both his own agency and the will of the living force.

Deep breaths, lids half fallen over his gaze and a serenity seeping from him when he release that securement and rises to his feet, hilt of his stunsaber lifted from his hip and a nod is given from beneath the hood of his robes. No words just as yet, but his expression is a mixture of certainty and calm,

"All in clarity." Refreshing to not feel like he's bound for disaster for a change.

Ax had been a bit bored of late. Routine patrols with Saber Squadron have turned up little, and missions with the Order had been rather stale for him as well of late. When Jax offered a break to the monotony, Ax was all too eager to agree. The fact that it was helping out the Republic was a side benefit.

Ax listens as Amber speak, nodding his head in understanding. Standing near Jax, Ax's own attire was designed in the fashion of the Echani, to maximize mobility, therefore he had nothing to discard, and it shouldn't be a hindrance. For now, he remained silent, centering himself for the fun that was about to become.

The welcome wagon in the hangar is more of a minefield of tall supply crates and haphazardly-parked ships providing all manner of covers for anyone to pop out and yell 'Surprise!' Though in this case, the surprise may be a thrown grenade or a slug at terminal velocity. The hangar itself is small; meant only for food deliveries and the occasional small shuttle coming and going. Currently it is stuffed to the proverbial rafters by a pair of unmanned ARCs, loads of metal crate, and now the transporter whose landing ramp, when opened, crushes a container of dricklefruit.

It is silent in the hangar though recent scans confirmed lifeforms holed up there. Nothing but the idle creaking and settling of the ferryliner's hull to greet them.

Until a crackle of the intercoms fizzles to life. "Attention unidentified Republic transport. You are trespassing on Pamarthean property. Board your vessel and leave immediately or be met with justified aggression. I repeat: board your vessel and leave now. There will be no further warnings."

A click of the coms and all is silent again.

"Swell." Ambrosia toggles her HUD, waking up the visor's interior displays while the transport touches down but does not /power/ down. For now, the 'enemy trackin' reticule is absent, but it's just a matter of time, surely, before that thing's pinging all around. "Transport Two, maintain a safe distance until summoned in for hostage retrieval." In case they DO scuttle the ship, in the worst way. "Copy, General," the pilot's voice speaks into her left ear from afar and Amber nods.

The dricklefruit juices are still 'drickling' out from that squashed crate when the old battleaxe's boots land in the forming puddle. She is motionless for a moment, listening....eyes roaming....then motions behind her to those within. A 'C' is made with her left hand and then flattened palm dictating which direction fireteam 'Cresh' need move and then a 'B' and closed fist to indicate that Besh hangs tight for just a sec and preserve the 'nerds'/more aptly tech-minded souls while the meatheads flush out and handle any awaiting 'problems'.

The voice comes from on high and she silently shakes her head with a low "Keep on target" into comms. Taking a long stride aside to thump knuckles on Narsai's arm, she jabs an oversimplified point at the Mando's chest, then to a stack of crates about five meters ahead of their berthing place. Jax is similarily dictated, in a slightly different direction. As for herself, she starts creeping around the starboard flank of this mess. The woman's' ten days shy of the big 6-0, but she moves with the slinking, nimble grace of her prime when it comes to stalking her prey. The thrill of the hunt is enough to rejuvenate even her arthritic bones...what few organic bones actually remain.

The plan is easy to discern, easy to follow - spread out and surround the cancer that's taken root here, then be done with it and move on.

Compared to the robed figures moving in the shadows, Narsai's red and black armored form strides forwards purposefully, her hand tightening around her own hilt.

Ready to draw attention and trusting in both her skill and the Beskar she'd worked with her own hands, there's a soft exhale of breath from behind her T-Visor.

<"Come on then...">

Jax slips down the ramp of the Horizon and then off the side dropping into a shadow. He manipulates the force around him pulling a blanket of the force rendering himself invisible. He seems to be moving along in the direction he's ordered. His destination is the crates he's ordered to. His steps quickly as if guided through the force. He finds himself at the create and preparing him to go on the other side. He'll be quite the surprise to anyone in his vicinity.

When the container is crushed and that particular odor hits, it's a series of memories that have clearly been sent by the Dark Side with the intention of robbing him of his calm. Rob him of his senses and his will! How loathsome those memories, how absolutely the antithesis of all things good and right.

Slavery is born of the cursed reek.

Happiness is choked on the vile flavor.

Good will and charity are corrupted and cast in shadow by the fleshy meat beneath the horrid rind!

Curse you Dricklefruit. Thy true name be Enemy.

Qutha's lip briefly twitches in the wish to become a disgusted sneer for the now ruined, and good riddance for it, fruits while the blade of his stunsaber hisses to life, held ready to defend with if the need arises. When it does, really, lets not be blindly optimistic, mmm? That's a good lad.

A smirk crosses Ax's face as he moves up next to Narsai. "Can't let you have all the fun," he says in a soft tone as makes sure there's a couple meters between the two before snapping the hinged hilt of his lightsaber to full extension and igniting the twin dull silver blades. He wasn't armored with Beskar, but he had some tricks up his sleeves to deal with any incoming blaster fire that may take place. Besides, maybe the sight of the Echani and Mandalorian will draw attention away from the others, maybe even send any incoming fire back at their attackers should the situation arise.

As promised, there is no second warning. The ship-wide intercom remains blissfully silent and the hangar welcomes the newcomers with open arms and sticky dricklefruit juice. And by the smell of it, the dricklefruit has started to ferment filling the air with a small akin to an amateur distillery. The Republic 'n' Allies team fan out at the ready, seeking the first line of resistance promised them.

Like a good host, the interlopers of the 'Horizon' do not keep them waiting long. A grenade saaaaaaails over a pile of crates in the direction of the transport and the crew filing out of it and, as if on cue, those who have fortified themselves among the stacks and behind the crafts pop out from all directions to meet the team in kind.

Though trained special operations this group is not; guerrilla warfare losing out to the tactical prowess of Resistance veterans and thus they are a little slow on the draw.

What was sleeping is now awake, and verily at that! Enemies abound where once there were none and a grenade comes arcing into view...

"GRENADE!" the call goes out amid those still exiting the transport, and Cpl Dru-kug does his part aboard the transport by keeping his team and the Lt Laski/engineering team they are guarding AWAY from the hatch. One of the last to disembark with Cresh - a Pvt First Class Greesyn Greystorm, survivor of the halted war on Corellia - does HIS duty by advancing on the grenade like it's a ball for the kicking to at least spare the ship and some of his nearby comrades the worst of the carnage. Or lose his leg trying, y'know, whichever came first.

As for Ambrosia, she's just about to round the bend of her own stack when a figure profoggs up to take aim on the transport. There's half a heartbeat of shock on the enemy grunt's face when they realize there's a shape standing just to their left, and in the remainder of that heartbeat, their brain registers the fuzzy nearness of a Kashan XT-2 barrel leveling with the side of their skill.

Then it registers no more.

Ambrosia ducks back down and pops off another two shots at their neighbor, but the only damage done is to those crates. More ruptured produce!

If Echani and Mandalorian standing beside each other is strange, Narsai's beskar-forged hilt springing to her hand from inside her gauntlet was probably even weirder. But well, the lightsabers had come out, so subtle was well off the table.

She surges forwards, the singing purple plasma springing to life before she leaps among the raiders, her weapon cutting down three of the foes in quick aggressive slashes.

The force pulls back the veil it had wrapped around reality as Jax's blue saber blade emerges from it's hilt. He calls out, "Qutha! Telekinses!" Then he runs toward the three grunts closes to him his saber lashing out with quick slashes, stabs, and parrys. He took no delight in his work as he removed hands and limbs from people.

Grenade!

The sphere moving through the air is spotted by the Zelosian, and his normal instinct seems to be fully quelled by whatever it was that happened aboard the transport on their way has him focused, centered and the sight of Greesyn hustling for a sudden pruning of the Greystorm family tree.

Emerald eyes tracking the movement before Qutha's hand snaps out as though to wave a fly from his face and the weapon is hurtling onward, briefly rolling over the hull of the transport and then leaping through the magnetic containment shields. Headed into the void where it becomes a momentary star going nova in silence.

"Got it!" moving up alongside Ambrosia now with his saber at the ready still.

When the action starts, Ax moves at inhuman speed, his agility boosted by the force. The twin blades of his saber a blur as he's cutting through one enemy and moving straight onto another. Ax may not be a very good Jedi, but he's definitely got a penchant for combat, the force moving through his body, guiding his movements. A variant of form IV, or Ataru, Ax's combat style saw that the best defense was a good offense, and mowing down ones enemies before they could kill you or your allies might be worth something in the end.

Erinn Laski, as a non-combat specialist, was ordered to remain within the transport during initial contact. This order proved to be a wise one as, after a brief conversation, blaster fire and the sound of lightsabers penetrated the silence.

Laski's eyes widen when she hears it and, through force of habit, the young engineer slips her hand to her thigh holster and removes the EL-718 from where it been safely tucked away. The blaster makes a soft whine when she switches the safety off. It shudders in her palm as it primes itself to fire. She turns to look at Coporal Fark and the other members of Fireteam Besh while chaos erupts just outside the transport. A few members of the fireteam appear itchy to engage, but Laski has seen the jedi fight before, and knows just how formidable they are.

"Your orders are to stay in the transport, private," the young Lieutenant says to one, who has sprung from his seat and drawn his rifle. She holds her hand out in the universal 'stay' gesture.

"You'll only get in their way," she says.

Where is the ship-shattering kaboom? There was supposed to be a ship-shattering kaboom.

Somehow the grenade thrown in the direction of the New Republic team ends up flying itself out of the airlock barrier where it pops like an disappoint firecracker out in the vacuum of space. The explosive threat thoroughly taken care of, the organic threats still remains and by golly there are a lot of them. They seem to be popping from every nook and cranny they could find like the worst game of whack-a-mole.

But before they can fire a shot of their own, the Pamartheans who have taken control of this ferryliner are met with a swift response. Far more swift than they were expecting as lightsabers of all colours snap to life and the brick house that is General Greystorm is unleashing all unholy fury.

Several of their numbers fall in a heartbeat. Many dead before they hit the ground, others now missing crucial limbs that make further retaliation a statistical improbability. Those who remain see these odds and a collective, unspoken agreement is reached.

The remaining malcontents drop their weapons and raise their hands in surrender. The hangar is, in all manners of the term, secured. The security cameras above watching the entire ordeal unfold.

<<"Cresh...help Besh bind up the scraps here,">> those surrendering <<"then proceed on to designated zones.">> It'snot often they get to bring home a live one, let alone MULTIPLE live ones, so hey...Ambrosia'll take it. Er. Them.

And so it is that Cresh is very soon navigating the labyrinth as per their schematics toward the densely populated ballroom area, as plan dictated. Besh - possibly with the addition of a certain Ordo, now that Greystorm has witnessed the intimidation effect had on the welcoming committee - is safeguarding Lt Laski and her team to find a lift down, down, down into the bowels of engineering. And Alpha...Alpha is making a forward push through corridors in search of their own lift to go up, up, up to the Command Deck where the might lay siege to Bridge. <<"Keep on the lookout for security drones and cams as you do. Disable without betraying your position whenever possible. They know the inevitable kick to the teeth is coming, abut I rather we keep'em guessing on timing.">> The old rebel grumbles over comms.

Moved from offence to defense, but Narsai didn't mind. Aggressive as her fighting had been, she was a walking shield for the others to hide behind.

Turning gaze over the 'disarmed' foes Jax had struck, there's a little unseen quirk of her lips in throught between the Jedi's desire to disable and her own more 'warrior-culture' lethality, but then Ax had fallen into similar forms so perhaps it was more personal views.

Lowering her weapon the Mandalorian nods, gesturing for Erin to follow. It was easy to forget, but the younger of the Ordo siblings was an engineer herself from a very young age, perhaps she'd be able to lend a mind as much as a weapon to the task.

<"Good luck,"> she offers Alpha team, then she's on her way!

When the team of pirates give up, Jax lowers his saber blade to what looks like a lowered position. Those who are in the know would recongize it as a form III position. He offers the Manalorian a smile, "Either I believe they can still change towards the light and don't wish to robe them of that opiotn or I'm trying to drum up work for my wife making prostetics." Then he looks at Qutha, "Good work." Then he falls in line with the rest of the Aurek group. As the draw closer to their destination. The jedi pulls the force around him. "I can breech if you want me oto."

A brief bow of his head to Jax when he compliments in his direction; watching the teams splitting to their objectives and then the wounded gathered with the surrendered. Stunsaber disengaged and hands held before him with the hilt held between woven fingers. Walking with his eyes closed, a feat for those knowing Qutha's difficulty functioning when lack of light reduces him to utter blindness.

"I'm one with the Force and the Force is with me." murmured under his breath, repeated each time he exhales, as he quite literally lets the guidance of the fields of energy keep him in pace with Aurek group. That Jedha mantra fully rooted in the orchardist by now, whose footsteps carry him around debris, or worse in the ship that's been battered without and within now.

"Roger that," Ax says as he shuts down the blade on his saber as he moves to join Jax and Qutha with Amber. "War is war," Ax says with a shrug. "I'm more of the mindset of stop the fight in the most efficient way possible," he adds, glancing at Jax. "The downing of their allies in such an efficient manner is why they surrendered," Ax says, gesturing towards the group now being bound. "Good job, Qutha, you've got the right guy to train you. Definitely better at being a Jedi than I am, but I'm working on it." Ax grins a bit, then looks to Amber. "Ready when you are, General."

Erinn Laski in the middle of the pack through the hallways of the luxury liner. Protected in the front by Narsai and in the rear by the remainder of the demolitions team, Erinn Laski's pulling up the datapad and schematics of the ship they'd located during their initial intelligence gathering meeting. "Engineering is here. Hang a right," she says, rounding the corner, dropping down some stairs, the sound of boots on durasteel grated floors marching with purpose. When the team reaches main engineering, Erinn moves to the front of the group and inspects the closed door.

She gives a glance over towards Narsai and, if the jedi is looking, she'll see a touch of nervousness in the young engineer's eyes. Erinn Laski pulls on the door mechanism. A hydraulic hiss sees those doors spread open, revealing the main engineering room to the team of those looking to secure it.

-- The doors to the bridge are, expectantly, shut. All the doors Team Alpha have come across have been shut and no lifeforms spotted or detected. A true liminal space: eerie in how empty and abandoned it is where the halls and rooms should be filled with life, laughter, and perhaps a few poor decisions. As the team nears the bridge, Team Cresh's report comes through their private communications; blaster fire in the background.

<"General. We're in the ballroom. There are hostiles guarding a number of hostages."> For as dire as the report is, the voice on the other end is calm and collected. <"No civilian causalities to report."> The hostile casualties, though, will be another matter.

At the bridge, there is a calm before the storm. A building up of tension. This apex of the ship, no doubt a battle is expected. The doors slide open and numerous blasters open fire into the corridor.

-- Team Besh at Engineering are given the same, lonesome trek downwards. Empty banquet halls. Arcades with blank, silent screens and massage parlors dark and unoccupied. There's an unnatural staleness to the air the further they go into the ship's bowels an the Engineer's doors, Corporal Fark frowns. <"Detecting life beyond the--">

The doors fly open and erupt in a barrage of blaster fire.

<<"Before we breech, let's--">>

Aw frink, there's the door! She must've missed a cam somewhere. No time to swear about it, because there's a fiery storm blasting through the suddenly opened hatch and Ambrosia barely has enough time to flatten herself against the wall to avoid a critical hit.

Her left thigh burns something righteous, though, and the too-familiar stench of cooked self rises into the air. The growl of malcontent begins as a low static within the confines of her helmet, but soon the sound of irate Ice Queen Aderaane is alive, on comm. "ENOUGH!" she barks, broadcasting her voice to outside helmet with a roar akin to a menopausal momma bear on steroids.

"YOU MUDDLE-HEADED MORONS SERIOUSLY THINK YOU'RE GETTIN' OUT OF THIS LAME, LIFELESS RAFT ALIVE?? I WAS SLITTIN' THROATS FOR FAVORS T'CLEAR THE HYPERLANES OF YOUR ILK 'FORE I BET HALF YOU LOT WERE EVEN BORN! Y'REMEMBER THE NAME 'ZEBB'? SELF-MADE PIRATE KING WANTED IN 14 SYSTEMS? HASN'T MADE A SPLASH IN TWO YEARS NOW. Y'WANNA HAZARD A GUESS AT WHO PORTIONED OUT HIS PIECES TO THOSE FOURTEEN SYSTEMS? PUT DOWN YOUR TOYS AND MAYBE I DON'T PAINT THE BULKHEAD WITH YOUR BILE, YOU THIEVING SKRAGS! ONE.....TWO...."

Don't make Mom count to 'three'.

But they do. While half are indeed hesitating and nervously lowering their weapons to floor, others continue to fire.

"THREE! THAT'S IT!" and then the order to <<"Take'em out">> goes through the comm to Aurek team.

Lightsaber aside, Narsai wasn't a Jedi...but she wasn't a Sith either. The armored woman simply regarded herself as a Mandalorian, nothing more.

Learning to block blaster bolts with a lightsaber was very much a skill taught by 'Jetii', turning the body with Beskar to block was a practice young warriors of Ordo were taught at an early age. Both were put to somewhat terrifying effect as Narsai strode forwards purposefully, drawing fire and swatting aside the odd bolt that might hit her somewhere more vulnerable or one of her team.

Then she was among them, two more foes cut down swiftly while the third dived clear and out of the way of the harmonic singing violet plasma.

Jax there to take all the blaster shots aimed at him, his saber twirls in a blue shield as it spins around causeing blaster bolts striking it to deflect back into the room and harmlessly strike the ceiling and the floor leaving scorched marks around the bridge of the ship. Then he raises his saber at the Captain of the ship, "Surrender and end this. If not we will." Then when the Captain makes no attemt to end it, the blue bladed saber goes sailing through the air like a thrown spear. The blade zipping past the Captain missing him as it burries into the console behind him. Jax reaches out with the force and the saber back to him. "That was you're last warning."

"Learned skill is an extension of the teacher's talent. But thank you, Ax." head bowing and a somewhat abashed, even hunching his shoulders some as if it could help evade some of the compliment that he deflected towards Jax in the first place.

When the tense walk returns to chaotic action, the Zelosian's faith in the Force is tested again. A stabbing chill at his spine mingled with a pulling that his body moves with an into, moving on feeling and instinct. Stunsaber whirling when blaster bolts sing out in their direction, Qutha's eyes remain shut while he heeds the guidance; one of those blasts batted aside and sent into the ceiling while the second, woefully, slips past to strike the subject of his defense.

"Bother!" trying to keep up with Ambrosia in all of this mess, "Gah, bother and blow!"

And then Ambrosia is cursing and all it is that the plant man can do is gawp. Stars and garters, woman.

Jax throws his saber, trying to be all fancy, meanwhile, Ax just moves forward, the silver blades coming to life in a blur of motion as the Echani is cutting down one foe, then another. "I suggest surrender," he says in a calm voice, even though his movements were anything but calm, his saber a blur of twin blades, either unconcerned with retaliatory attacks, or trusting in his skills and the force to prevent him from getting killed. Seemed he was less in the mood to give warnings than Jax was. The two definitely had different combat styles, even though they'd trained together for years now.

The hydraulic doors hiss open and immediately blaster fire pours through. Erinn Laski, predictably, screams in shock and presses her body as tightly towards the hallway as she can squeeze it. Perhaps it's because she's pressed herself against the lip of the door, or perhaps it's because she got squished enough to the wall. Per-triple-haps, she is just intensely slippery. In either case, the blaster fire flings over her shoulder as she yelps and huffs against her blaster.

"Why are there always people in engineering?! Don't you know!" she turns, aims, fires. Misses, hilariously, mid-lecture.

"This equipment is very...!" she says, and fires again.

-ker-PEW!-

"DELICATE!" she huffs, watching her blaster fire -actually- hit someone, sending him collapsing backwards, injured.

"I got one!"

-- The bridge is a mess of hastily made fortifications. Some of the crates from the hangar have made their way up here as well as several chairs, mattresses, wheely carts, and one particularly nice Sabaac table set on its side. A pity now that it's forever ruined by bits of blood splatter and a corpse laying over the edge. Team Alpha rally quickly and surge into the fray; General Greystorm's BOOMING presence more than enough to shock nearly half of the room into frozen shock and awe. But mostly they are focused on not soiling themselves. The girl who managed to hit Battleaxe is quick to drop her blaster and kick it far, far away. Whoops.

Standing at the front of the bridge is a grizzled-looking man. The sort that definitely belongs at the helm of a sailing vessel than that of a space-faring cruise liner. He watches with aged, weathered eyes as his compatriots are cut down... literally. But there is speed in the old seadog's step as he lithely leans out of the way of a blue lightsaber whizzing past him and embedding into the control panel behind him.

"Stop!" His command voice breaks over the din and those who remain of his crew do, indeed, stop. Those who hadn't already abandoned their posts when the onslaught entered. He points over to the group as a whole, his face contorting in anger. "The New Republic does not need to stick their nose into Pamarthe affairs. You have! No! Right!"

-- Engineering is going much the same way but on a slightly smaller but no less deadly scale. Two are cut down before they can tell if they even hit anything. Another is incapacitated by a shot to his shoulder that spins him around and slams him into some DELICATE EQUIPMENT. A pair remains -- a set of twins who just look at each other then at the Mandalorian, the Republic back up, and the small girl will good aim.

Yeah. They don't like them odds much, either, and their weapons drop. Their hands go up. From behind the DELICATE EQUIPMENT a few heads sloooowly peer out; awash pale and eyes bloodshot and wide.

"Pl-please... don't shoot us. We're... we're part of Horizon's crew..."

"YOU DON'T SPEAK FOR PARMANTHE!" Ambrosia calls his bluff in a less than diplomatic fashion. "Explain to me..." she pushes slowly away from the wall and measures one carefully treaded step forward, testing the weight-bearing capacity of her blasted leg. Must not have hit bone, cause it's good! The pain is ignored, stuffed down into the furnance of ire, piss, and vinegar that salts her words to follow as one step becomes two, becomes three....she's slowly advancing back toward the door, gun raised but not firing, to look the old bastard square in the eye. Grizzled meets grizzled.

"Explain to US why it is you've attacked any ships attempting to answer the distress beacon, in that case, if you are so justifiably running an operation of legitimate business here...what the KARK do you want with a damn luxury...shiny piece o'drek like this, anyhow?"

<<"Engineering seems keen to surrender,">> Cpl Fark's voice buzzes over comms to Amber's ears where it circulates around and around on the temporary backburner with Cresh leader's.

A crooked smile forms coldly across Ambrosia's mug behind the visor. "I've just received word from Engine bay, Captain. You wanna wager how bad that news is, for you?"

Jax catches his saber and raises it in a protective stance. "The General is angry but she is attempting to be reasonable. I would let cooler heads prevail. It's time to speak your case and let us understand. This Civillian Vessel is registered with the New Republic. This is your chance to explain things. Let understand. I recommend you take her at her word and talk. The other way does not end well." Does Jax look enough like Amber that you can figure out that they're kin?

Mouth opening, shutting. Open.

Shut.

Qutha simply holds his peace, hands folding and his saber held in a ready position in case he needs to, once more, engage in a bout of plasma badminton. The others are handling the talk and much of what he's been thinking about the region would likely not be a help right now in the peace talks.

"You really should...." Ax begins, but just shakes his head. He takes a breath, his voice gaining a more authoritative tone, empowered by the force. "Lower your weapons, surrender is better than certain death. You'll get a chance to argue your case when there are no more threats to the hostages."

As he speaks, Ax gestures with his hand, maybe to draw attention from those gathered, a thin bead of sweat trickling down from his temple due to his sheer focus upon the use of the force. He was a fighter, a pilot, and a smuggler, not a diplomat. Using Jedi mind tricks was always a last resort thing, but given the circumstances.

Erinn Laski turns to point her blaster out from behind that narrow bit of cover she's smooshed herself into when she sees four palms turned towards her in the universal sign of surrender. She gives a glance to Narsai and, when the woman steps into the room, Erinn follows behind her in case there are any last minute tricks up anyone's sleeves.

"It's okay, we're here to help," the young engineer assures the hostages, though her eyes are already sweeping up and along the interior of main engineering. This old boat is... well. Old. Ancient, as far as Laski is considered, but its main engineering is similar enough that she can get a sense for it. As she regards its ion engines, her nose twitches. Something doesn't seem quite right with the anion exchange cartridges and heat exhaust vents. She squints at it and licks her lips.

"Hang on, something, mmmh," and then she shakes her head, "Scratch that. Old ion engines. Beautiful things, but inefficient." She exhales, and turns to survey the main powercore. Mercifully, the powercore itself, old as it may be, is straightforward. She moves towards the man she'd shot and squats down beside him. He's holding his wound and wincing in pain, and Erinn's reaching into her enginering bag to retrieve a bit of burn ointment. She brushes his hand away and spreads some onto the burned skin.

"Burn ointment. These coils get hot," she says, prompting a hiss of pain from the man. "That -hurts!-," he protests.

"Plug it," she says. She shoves the rest of that burn cream into his chest and lets him apply the rest himself. That jerk.

Her head tips and she presses down on her comlink.

<<"Engineering is clean. Looks like we were right -- not going for max casualties, or they would've rigged the ion engines to blow. Or they're just stupid. Could just be stupid.">> Erinn slips from the wounded man and lets him pick himself up from the floor. Her next attention is the hostages, who she approaches with her own arms up. <<"We've got hostages. Three of them. They look tired, but they all seem to be okay and unharmed.">> She continues her approach, disconnecting the comlink, unthreatening, gun holstered.

"It's okay. It's okay. You're safe. We're with the New Republic Military. My name's Erinn Laski," she says.

-- <"General."> Team Cresh once more still as calm as ever. <"The ballroom is secured. Counted fifteen hostiles dead. Another nine on the surrender and four injured. Hostages appear to be safe and unharmed. Maybe about fifty?"> The com clicks off a moment then back on. <"Forty?" Will sweep the other decks and await orders.">

Any good captain knows when the tides have turned and in this situation, the wind in his sails are gone. The boat has breached the reef and capsized. It's over. Leaning back against the console, large hands gripping the side until his knuckles turn white, Captain Caster Ennada hangs his head with a heavy sigh. Faded brown eyes -- one clouding over with a cataract -- glances over to his first mate currently dead and still tightly holding the blaster pistol in his hand.

"You have no right to interfere," is all he says quietly, slowly drawing his own pistol from its holster and tossing it defeatedly to the side. "But it doesn't matter now." He looks over his shoulder; out of the large window of the bridge to Pamarthe in the distance. Then he puts his hands on the back of his head and the other remaining hostiles begrudgingly follow suit.

Any talking will have to come later, it would appear.

-- Engineering is handily secured and no explosive surprise found. The hostages are quick to scatter, running out into the hall and one of them starts to cry. The trio of Pamartheans grouse about their capture but do not fight against it. They've not heard from the bridge in a while and that can mean only one thing.

The hostages are all tended to and granted some food found on board and rooms to stay in while the Republic sweep the ship and house the hostile captives in the kitchen currsnetly dubbed 'the Brig.' It will take some time to question all those aboard but more pressing matters come to a head when Erinn dwells into the computer's log.

There is absolutely a situation on Pamarthe. Their work is not done yet.