Log:Tatooine: Command &amp; Commerce

It's high noon over Mos Espa when the cargo transfer in Docking Bay 07 begins. Droids and laborers alike are busy transporting sealed crates and other cargo from a pair of hover trucks into the cargo hold of a waiting light freighter. During this transfer of goods security has been heightened. Two elements of the security team are currently operation; one team is street-side outside the docking bay and the other team is currently acting as sentries on the interior of the sand-covered floor of the docking bay. It has been quiet so far. Save for the overseer who shouts instructions in Huttese to lifeforms and droids alike to make absolutely certain that the transfer of cargo moves swiftly and without incident.

The open air structure itself and the light freighter offer some shade against the twin suns blazing overhead. On account of the open roof sometimes the kiss of a breeze may be felt. All has gone well and peaceful thus far. That is until one of the security team calls through the comm channel set aside for the cargo transfer's sentries. Thankfully he speaks in Basic, rather than Huttese, "Something's going on. A pair of speeder trucks are approaching the hangar bay."

Those outside the hangar bay can confirm that a pair of tarp-covered speeder trucks have pulled away from the main spaceport landing field and onto the sandy tracks that lead to the various private hangars that line that well worn stretch of sand.

In Cartel regalia, Trip may have been more easily carried, weighing /maybe/ thirty pounds. However, in the power armor custom-fit to his modest size, it doubled his weight and increased his survivability. Riding upon Commander Hadrix's back, cresting one shoulder like an organic shoulder launcher, the Lagomorph serves as a second pair of eyes and a devil upon the Mandalorian's shoulder. "An anomaly if ever there were one. Are these to be our foemen?" Asks the well spoken Kushiban, Captain Trip. He draws his sword (a knife) from his worn fanny pack.

Security work. It pays.

Walking his slow patrol with the lagobackpack seated on him, Hadrix Kora had his flame rifle held low, helmet down and quietly wishing he could raise it for a little to have a cigarra. It was the weapon in hand that brought the urge, really... used it one too many times as a lighter in the past.

The alert turns his head, slightly, more to speak to Trip than anything, helmet vocalizers distorting the aristocrat's Coruscanti lilt more than his perpetual growl, <"If it's going to be an interesting day, maybe?"> turning on the ball of his foot and adjusting the angle of his otherwise slow amble.

Brother Bizz's ship is being loaded with the cargo. It's a big ugly salvage vessel with a rodent painted on the side. Bizz himself is dressed in his robes, fanning himself and having a refreshing bottle of fermented dewback sweat. "Oh this heat! By the FORCE, I think I shall wilt. But the Yatooni Boska is refreshing." He sniffs the air. "Trucks? Nobody would dare! The daimyo of Tatween has granted me his protection."

Amal had spent most of the day in the estwhile shade of the hangar. She moved no cargo and assisted in neither offloading or onloading. She stimply stood and waited, the weapon normally hidden beneath the duster in a sheath along her back held at low ready. She had been hired to protect, and so, she did. She did not lose sight of what was going on outside though, and her attention shifted to the exterior when word came of an unexpected arrival.

Narsai Ordo

If one wanted security and firepower, it was hard to go past Mandalorians...and veteran Mandalorians even more so. Certainly it had been a while since Narsai had worked for the hutts but it was a means to stretch some legs and earn some credits.

With her blaster pistols resting at her hips and her Beskad against the small of her back, Narsai walked beside Hadrix, tilting her head at the communication.

<<"Well, we didn't really want to spend all this time staring at an open desert, did we?">>

Some days it feels like most of Vorcassh's time is spent watching over cargo in one form or another. However, it pays well, and has job perks. Including the dental plan he sliced up. He just keeps poking at the coded manifests to mentally compare them to what should be what. The heavily modified angular head of the Ubese armor turns eye lens attention towards the approach. At least he doesn't have to worry about being the trusted lieutenant today. Others are here for such purpose.

What he does do, however, is start tapping on one of his wrist mounted PAC-20's trying to pull up the surveillance systems. Again. Tap tap angry tap. He makes a mental note to just order additional supplies for such a purpose. Later. A blast of binary from over his shoulder from his Seeker. <"I've noticed">, the grumbling loses some menace due to the vocoder translation and scrambling. He looks up from his current task to speak up and raise a small point of order. <"No negotiations. Yet, if we start shooting before they shoot first, Lord Borgol is likely to be annoyed."> There is an armor hidden eye-twitch at the title Bizz has chosen however.

Terek Rosol

Credits are credits. The dark armored cathar was more than happy to accept more of Lord Borgol's credits in exchange for some more work. The Mandalorian had taken the job, and found himself standing near the edge of the hangar, looking out over the sands. He is always reminded of how much he doesn't really care for this planet as he watches the mirages dance on the dunes from the heat.

When word comes in over the comms that there's some kind of trucks headed their way, he frowns inside of his helmet, <"Taking position."> He chimes in, turning to look over at Narsai a ways away at the comment, <"I'll have you know I was enjoying the mirage of the blue milk stand on Batuu, thank you.">

Roktuka will do most anything for the credits these days. The large furry animal doesn't /love/ this planet, but then again, it does have some nice places to sunbathe.. and some times that sand really gets into the hair folicles, in a /good/ way. The gigantic feline stands with his rifle and his fairly basic armor, purple gaze slowly scanning the area. He's probably considered on the lower end of the employment hierarchy around here..

There's a tense ripple that seems to pass through many of the sentient lifeforms in and around the docking bay when the call comes across the team comm channel. It isn't a physical thing, nor is it felt by everyone. If one were to have a bad feeling; now seems a good time to have one. The speeder trucks continue down the sandy pathway toward the docking bay. As it draws ever closer, many of the Cartel gunmen begin to tense. It's only a matter of time before someone does something stupid.

The speeder trucks continue on their way. One of them wheezes and whines as it trundles along; likely in need of repairs. The pair driver and passenger of each of the passing speeder trucks are clearly rubber-necking with clear wonder at the sight of so much security standing guard outside the docking bay. One of them is even rather slack-jawed by the spectacle. Never the less the pair of speeder trucks continue on their way, huffing and puffing along as they choke their way through Tatooine's dust and sand.

When so many turn their attention to the speeder trucks; that seems to be the signal for the assault to begin. A swift light transport flying low is above the docking bay in nearly an instant as it rushes in from the open desert and across the plateaus of Mos Espa. Above the open air docking bay the transport shifts to repulsorlifts and a pair of bay doors on both the port and starboard sides of the transport already opened: begin to spill long lengths of rope from within. While many of the Cartel's security seem at a loss how to respond in those first few heartbeats, there are some among the Cartel and mercenaries alike who aren't so given to indecisiveness.

Whether they are mercenaries, pirates, thieves, or something else entirely? They begin rappelling under fire down those ropes into the hangar bay, their own slung blasters further announcing their presence. Some make it to the sandy hangar floor; some others do not. A few even land atop the awaiting light freighter of Brother Bizz, likely intent on using it for cover and concealment or something even more treacherous.

"DAK-RAKKUN'S NUTS, they are behind us. T'was a bleeding distraction!" Laments Captain Trip as he's drawn to the noise of the repulsorlift engines having switched to VTOL, his ears even orienting to the sound. "We must protect our cargo.. Commander.. would you be so kind as to help me close the distance?"

Those landing upon the ground level of the hangar bay did not expect the sound of heavy metal hitting the duracrete hangar pad. The weight seemed indicative of a heavy warrior, something terrifying or intimidating, but what they get instead is a hero-landed Kushiban straightening to his laughable height, the sound of micro-mechanisms of its power-armor whirring as it locked in place and he pointed his sword toward them.

"I daresay you have arrived at the wrong hangar. Lay down your arms and abandon your intent, or pirates will tell tales of the horrific things that transpired in this hangar bay IF one of you are fortunate enough to survive..."

What is seen of the Kushiban's fur begins to change from white to black.

because of course this was the day. And this was the planet. And this was the job. Amal's attention snapped to the ship moving in to hover and deliver the real enemy into their midst. Well, they had chosen this end. Amal, who already knew her own moved in to engage those who had managed to get back to the ground, which was, in point of fact, precisely what she had been paid and continued to be paid to do. Two slashes of her sword finished one of the opponents, the Echani somehow managing not to stain her clothes with blood. Yet.

Head raising when the roar of engines become the wail of repulsor systems, there is a slight flare in the red glow behind his visor and the armored man begins tallying while forming his response.

<"Too much talk, Tripp...">

An idea springs to mind and one can practically feel the grin that crosses the features beneath the Mandalorian Iron helmet of the midnight purple armor that the kushiban has dropped off of in most dramatic fashion. Letting the lagomorph gain slight distance while taking a pair of steps back himself.

<"Brace yourself, Captain.">

When the big man suddenly surges, plasma rifle gripped in his right hand and the left grabbing hold of a 'service' grip normally meant for hanging the miniaturized power suit from clamps for maintenance. Whirling around clockwise as he tucks his arm back - a short sweet moment where Hadrix and Trip's eyes may just meet for a 'yes, I'm doing this' share of glances (even if one's eyes and face are concealed). Then Al'Verde Kora, on the full turn of his shot-putting spin flings the heavily armored creature at a Nikto, with frightening accuracy angled or the poor sot's face.

Bizz's sedge hat falls off as he looks up. "Hey, those rascals are on top of my ship! Somebody get them off there before they damage my communications mast! It is expensive !" He carefully places his bottle of Yatooni Boska on a crate and raises his bow, drawing back an energized arrow with the charging string. He fires but misses. The arrow goes streaking with a THUUUUUUUUUM out of the open-air docking bay, arcing like a comet to fall somewhere in Mos Espa. Probably in an orphanage or somewhere tragic.

<"See?"> Even the scrambled vocoder carries a touch of an 'I told you so' tone as the speeder trucks move along. After all, there was something to see here. Yet they chose wisely. No moisture farmers or whatever shot up today. However, the same cannot be said for their own group as suddenly it's raining men! Worse. Blaster bolts. <"I hate the weather on this planet."> Is about all Vorcassh can come up with while he reflexively fires.

The DL-44 speaks for the Mazijik Kajidic twice, with killer punctuation. Time to find some place that has a little more cover for the taking, he checks his shielding reflexively in the process. <"No. Respect."> The vocoder does little to hide his irritation and annoyance at the intrusion, which will cause delays, which causes logistics issues, which causes...

Narsai Ordo

The excitement begins and Narsai draws her blaster, unleashing a bolt of plasma from her Mandolorian-built handcannon!

Unfortunately? No lethal luck just yet for the Ordo girl as she moves to join the chaos.

The docking bay swiftly erupts into a state of competing chaos. The attackers landing among the workers and droids begin firing, spreading out swiftly to try to seek out some form of cover or otherwise create positions of advantage for themselves among the docking bay's defenders. Meanwhile the defenders begin making their own moves within the chaos; launching into their own offensive, seeking out means of cover, or some other tactic that particular defender elects to deploy.

There's an exchange of blaster fire and even a few stun rings blopping throughout the hangar bay as both sides make an attempt to subdue the other; whether that is permanently or temporarily.

A Kushiban, Trip, goes streaking through the docking bay as he's hurled into the suddenly horror-struck Nikto by the Hadrix the Mandalorian. Nearly the moment a pair of boots touch the ground, Amal Jha is already upon their wearer with vicious slashes of her blade; while there's a bloody mess, none of it has the misfortune of landing upon her. Meanwhile Bizz might have reduced the orphan problems of Tatooine by one in his bid to stop a bunch of hoodlums defacing his ship.

The team of attackers begin to lay down cover fire for their compatriots while dock workers and droids begin to scatter in all directions or in some cases simply dive to the sandy floor of the docking bay in an effort to avoid being harmed amidst the rampant crossfire. While some begin to lay down cover fire, three others among the ground team make a push for the cargo baby ramp in a bid to invade the ship and presumably reach some of the cargo while their compatriots provide them defense through fire.

Vorcassh is able to burn down one of the attackers with a pair of well-placed shots. Narsai Ordo's able to keep one of their heads down for a moment at the very least with a pair of shots that send her target diving into hiding temporarily. Meanwhle the Togorian known as Roktuka seems to be in a battle all his own as he and one of the attackers seem to be using the same large piece of cover to blap shots at one another.

The almost 10 foot tall feline with purple eyes, frowns, as a feline would. His ears fold slowly backward, his eyes narrow, whiskers fold back against his muzzle and his gleaming white fangs are put on display. The massive furry alien even hisses audiably at the ship up above. His rifle lifts instantly, with great familiarity, up toward the transport first, then his sight follows the dropping figures, until they are down on the ground. That is when he opens fire, squeezing off two shots in rapid succession, while he begins padding backward, toward some crates he had noted nearby. His large, thick tail snakes out, reaching as though it were a finger probing for space behind him as he walks, so he can keep his full attention on his shooting in the process. He doesn't speak, becuase there's no need, he's just here to follow instructions and collect a paycheck, the combat is just a happy bit of excitement..

The Nikto chose death the moment he attempted to harm Captain Trip. He tried to stab, but the Kushiban was far more dangerous than his demeanor let on. His knife, razor sharp and serrated, cut the sentient's wrist in a parry to disarm them. It succeeded, and Trip danced between his legs, weaving through their stance to cut upon the back of one foot to loosen a tendon.

The pain that erupted from the Nikto manifested with a scream, and they fell to a knee, unable to support their weight. Trip used the bent leg as a step up, moving higher and cutting a deep gash across the throat before kicking off the leg to land, skidding, across the sand as his foeman fell, gurgling upon his own blood. "Violence, then. KILL THEM ALL!" He commanded, swinging his knife to rid the stained blade of its hue of blood.

Boots on the ground, the kushiban hurled into the face of the enemy, Hadrix starts forward with the old flame rifle raised. HUD bracketing the closest of the assailants that don't require him to be airborne, just yet, the choke is quickly dropped to nil with a press of a selector slide.

<<"Nar'ika, Terek, trident.">> switching to comms with his fellow Mandalorians, aiming to be the rightmost fork of his suggested attack movement, a spiraling stream of liquified fire erupting from the nozzle of the weapon to coil in air and fall about the shoulders and torso of one of the attacking forces.

Not looking to the effects of the weapon the iridescent flames now adding to the heat of Tatooine noon in the docking bay.

Bizz just can't get a good shot at the rascals on top of the VISCACHA. He shoulders his bow and, despite being old and fat, starts climbing up the size of the GS-100 salvage ship. "Son of Xer! All these people with rocket backpacks but I have to climb!" He glances back down at his bottle of alcoholic Yatooni Boska sitting on a crate. It seems intact, so it will be his reward later. That sweet, sweet dewback sweat. He grabs a baton from his belt and clamps it between his teeth.

With the assault fully underway, the direction was clear enough, and the Echani continued in motion, moving away from those who were scattering to keep up surpressing fire and charged towards the trip who were making their way into the ship. Truth be told, she was not even certain what the cargo was. That was not in the job description. But, it was not for the taking, and that was. One of the three fell to a vicious strike that openned their back down to the bone, the back swing catching a second and laying him open along the side. And in all of this, she said not a word.

Terek Rosol

The chaos that erupts when the aerial attackers arrive catches Terek a bit off guard, and as things start to pop off, he does manage to catch sight of the guys that have made their way into the ship proper. He lights up his jetpack, and sails upwards through the air, pulling a loop.

As soon as his loop is finished, he's on target with the ship's ramp, cutting his jetpack as he sails inside, twisting and flying between the two, landing with a roll and coming back up to his feet, as he plugs both of them with his W-35, before rising back up to his feet, shaking his head a bit, <"Two tangos down.">

Absolute chaos, some semi-controlled. There is firing in multiple directions, including at his own head. Instinctual bobbing and weaving himself slightly out of habit is what it took to not take a blaster bolt to the helmet today. Vorcassh has to blink away the after image of a bolt that passed too close for comfort out of his vision. Only one place to go, up the ramp, there's cargo to protect. It'll be worse if they just steal the blasted ship. He's not being a hero, he's being practical. He finds his helmets lenses tinting a touch as Amal breaks out that whip of hers again. He leaves the wounded one to her, shifting his left hand to fire a reflexive shot that zips by narrowly. A flick of the wrist has the follow up shot slamming home to great effect, but not enough to kill. <"Maybe we leave one for the Lords interrogation?">

Just after he's gotten his shots off on a target, one hit, one miss, said target turns and shoots him right /back/. The huge feline emits a growl as the blaster bolt fries through his armor and he shifts instantly, his posture changing as he lunges behind that stack of crates and into cover.

Narsai Ordo

Another shot missed and Narsai frown, drawing closer to the assault with a little glance at her blaster pistol. Had it really been so long since she'd wielded the weapon? Well, she'd simply have to wait till they closed to melee...or maybe it just wasn't the Ordo woman's day.

The assault team begins to fall. At first it's a slow affair, but swiftly that progression gains momentum and soon there are only a handful of survivors left that have been largely cut off from one another. While one of the assailants had began screaming when he was set aflame, those same screams are swiftly cut off and after only a few meandering and panicked steps the mercenary drops heavily to the sand without further sound.

The interior of the ship becomes a zone of swift retribution and reprisal. Amal Jha and Vorcassh pursue the three who had made for the cargo bay. One of the pair is blasted down and another cut down. Finally the remaining injured are put down by Terek Rosol as he comes roaring into the cargo bay.

While Roktuka wisely seeks a better form of cover for his large self, the one he had been engaged in a gun battle with breaks away and begins making his way for the rappelling lines and takes a pot shot at the Ubese called Vorcassh. Brother Bizz makes steady work of the rungs affixed to the side of the Viscacha. Soon enough he stands atop the dorsal section of the GS-100 Salvager with three of the attackers staring at him with vague bewilderment. For a moment they seem hesitant to fire at him with their stun bolts. This is only exacerbated by the fact that the light transport overhead shifts off its repulsorlifts and begins to swiftly move away from its position overlooking the docking bay; abandoning its recently disgorged cargo of blaster-armed mercenaries.

Realizing that they've been abandoned this could result in most surrendering and hoping for mercy. These three seem to know who and what they're up against, which only seems to make them fight harder. Though if the Jedi had encountered riflemen with the accuracy of these three some three-quarters of a century ago? The galaxy would likely be an entirely different place.

"Time to reconsider!" Captain Trip calls out, stepping out into the open and spotting those remaining. "Depending upon the mercy my companions are eager to give, you may find yourself breathing if you only abandon your weapons and this violence. Persist, and you will find only steel!" The Kushiban stays where he is, waiting to see what the response will be.

Lifting up on his pack jets, Hadrix takes a moment to survey as Trip makes his offer of quarter to the remaining assailants. Spying the trio with Bizz and swinging his course around to where Brother Bizz is finding himself with one third of a potential fighting force. Jets cutting so that he lands with hobnailed boots ringing with the particular dull -clang- of Beskar on Durasteel, knees bending to absorb the impact and looming to his full height.

<"You can go peacefully, or you can go screaming.">

Nozzle of his flame rifle lifted, pilot light casting its glow across the helmet of the Mandalorian facing the trio, now standing at the Ugnaut's side. Head tilting to one side as though asking the one still with some fight in them to give him reason to act on his threat.

Bizz finally gets to the last rung of the ship's ladder, sweating like gumpta on Mustafar. He peeks over the topside and three SHOOOM SHOOOM SHOOOM stunning blasts fly over his head. He ducks. Then two of them seem more peaceable, and Hadrix flies in to convince the last holdout to surrender. "Broggle my hssiss lizards! You rascals! Drop the blasters! You are messing with the daimyo of Tatween!" He zaps one with his crackling stun prod, letting him know who is the Boss Nass of this docking bay.

"I believe there are still a few left on the ground for Lord Borgol." Indeed, as the echani caught movement out of the corner of her eye, she pivoted, seemingly oblivious to the carnage around her, in the hangar, possibly on the top of the ship. She was many things, but skilled with that level of vision she was not. "I believe I see one now." And then she was off, providing some evidence, in a manner of speaking as to why no armor was better than, well, armor, as she moved with the swiftness for which her people were known. As she moved, she flicked her wrist, the rapier snaking out into its whip form, as she cast it towards the fleeing would be thief, the plasma charged weapon wrapping around their legs. A sharp draw of her arm brought them down.

The idea of leaving one alive within the ship is rendered moot by a Cathar Bounty Hunter. <"I should just start disintegrating things."> Vorcassh mulls, but the job is not done. There's interesting noises from up above, and more outside. A sharp nod towards Amal. <"Just don't negotiate."> Semantics to the Ubese. <"Interrogate and torture on the other hand are highly recommended."> Outside there's some whippy sounds, which frees up Vorcassh to do a rapid inventory and damage check? not to mention poke around a little inside the ships cavernous hold. Out of idle curiosity of course. Nothing else.

Roktuka gets behind his cover, he peeks out, quickly, not long enough to get a shot off, just to keep an eye out for what's going on, and to see if anyone's doing anything like throwing grenades in his direction. His ears are perked up and they cant this way and that, swiveling to detect all the random sounds of combat.

His tail is lashing in frustration and he checks his carbine, before he peeks up over cover to scan for targets, noting that the ones on the ground and in his sight seem to be down or subdued in other ways..

Terek Rosol

With the two guys taken down on the ship, Terek grabs both of them by the legs and hauls them back down to the base of the ramp, <"I think any of them that managed to survive would rather we killed them."> Terek says, thinking back to the Devaronian he had just turned into Brogol a few rotations prior.