Begin Log: Harassment 2

ADM Tyrell “Spokes” Borran

He had skipped the briefing completely this time. Greedo’s grand plans never seemed to factor in the “flesh and blood” thing. As Spokes strolled through the medical bay taking stock of how many young men and women were recuperating from injuries both great and small. He gave a word of encouragement or praise to each of them who was awake, but he stopped in front of a bacta tank that had a young pilot immersed inside it. That poor kid would need at least two more days in the tank before he would be pulled out and then told that his wingmate hadn’t come back alive. That pilot had done her best to take the heat off this one. And she had been almost entirely successful. But it had cost her own life to do so. It had been necessary for both pilots to eject. …except that her fighter had been so damaged the eject mechanism hadn’t triggered, and her fighter had exploded with her inside.

Spokes discovered he was rubbing the button that released the door that hid his blaster is a compartment built into his chair. Something was going to happen. He wasn’t sure what. But it probably wouldn’t be good.

He left the medical bay in a sour mood, and swung around a corner in the passageway. He clipped some poor bugger in the ankles, wishing against all odds that it might be the General. The person fell sprawled across Spokes’ lap, and he realized that, against all those odds, he had indeed a lap full of a very surprised and sputtering Rodian. Spokes pressed a forearm across the back of Greedo’s neck, and quickly grabbed up Greedo’s wrist with his right hand bringing that hand fully up behind Greedo’s skull, holding it there with his left hand, making it impossible for him to squirm away. He pressed the button to expose his blaster, grabbed that up and pressed the business end into Greedo’s ear. Greedo hadn’t entirely stopped struggling, but knew it wasn’t likely he would escape.

“SHOOT! DAMN YOU!!”

“I have something you need to hear,” Spokes spoke softly bent over close to Greedo’s ear. “And now that I’m sure you’re listening, I’m going to say it.”

“Ssspeak or ssshoot,” Greedo hissed through clenched teeth. “I don’t care which.”

“You will not send these young men and women out to die without facing the consequences of your decisions by viewing them in MedOps from here on.”

“They knew the risks when they joined,” Greedo started to respond, but Spokes pressed down heavily, pressing Greedo’s throat into Spokes’ leg, the atrophied muscles of which hardly added any padding over the bones. Greedo’s labored breath slowed and rasped. “Coward!” He was hardly able to spit out.

“That really was not a request, General,” Spokes said softly. “Yes. They new the risks, but the people we’re up against trying to kill them are doing well enough on their own – they don’t need you making the odds against our people even higher.”

Greedo rasped something unintelligible.

“You have authority over tactical decisions. …for now. But this is the order I’m giving you, and make no mistake, General, as the Admiral in command of this ship, I’ll have you shot on sight and thrown out an airlock the first time you disobey it.” He let up slightly on Greedo’s throat, but pulled slightly higher on the captured wrist. Another epithet was spat. “Do I make myself clear, General…?”

“Yessss.” Greedo spat.

“First. You will take conservation of personnel resources into your calculations from here on. Your agenda will go nowhere if you’ve got no one to accomplish it. And secondly… you will regularly visit the personnel confined to MedOps because of attempting to win your impossible missions, and at the very least pretend that you care about the ones you send out to die. Thirdly, you will not take your anger with me out on Admiral Efrata-Landis, as he has no idea we’ve had this little talk. Do I make my self very clear, General?”

“Yesss.”

Spokes let loose the pressure on Greedo, shoved him up and sent himself rolling backward down the passageway, all in one single smooth motion. The blaster resting easily in his lap.

Greedo stood, rubbing his throat and shoulder. “Watch your back, Admiral.”

“Watch yourself, General. I am in command of this ship, and you’ve made enough enemies already,” Spokes countered. “Those were my orders, and you’ll do well not to forget them.”

Greedo turned abruptly back around the corner and left. Spokes watched that corner warily and continued to roll slowly backwards until his momentum was gently stopped and he was rolling forward once more. There was only one person that was likely to take that liberty.

“How much did you see?”

“I witnessed most of it, but declined to make my presence known, as that would likely have driven Greedo into doing something… unfortunate,” Castor said softly.

“Ah,” Spokes said, imitating Castor’s usual noncommittal response.

“Where to? Bridge, Bar…?” Castor asked.

“Hmm… Bridge, I guess.” Spokes conceded. “Got important stuff to do. So do you. I’ll take me from here. You, git.”

“Yessir.” Castor gave Spokes a small shove, and went down a side corridor.

Spokes rolled himself toward the nearest turbolift.

*****


Hermus Dogan

Hermus Dogan was sitting alone at a corner table in the Bar & Grill, lost in his thoughts. He’d flown quite a few missions in a short span of time since his return to the Rebel Squadrons, some much harder than others. Tackling a minefield with an unshielded TIE Interceptor was perhaps the toughest mission he’d been in so far. Dogan liked shields. While they couldn’t be relied on alone, shields added significantly to a pilot’s expected life span in a fight. A stray shot hitting your starfighter would merely sap some shield strength instead of taking out a key system at the wrong time. …or vaping you entirely.

“May I join you, sir?”

Dogan looked up from his fruit juice to find another pilot sitting at his table. How long had the pilot been there? Dogan didn’t notice him walk up to the table or sit across from him. He puzzled over that for a moment before catching himself. What did the pilot just say? Dogan spun the last few moments around in his head, seeking the answer. There it was! The pilot wanted to sit with him. Dogan recovered from his confusion and sought a reply.

“Eh, sure, I don’t mind. Go ahead.” A hasty reply, but Dogan hoped the pilot wouldn’t notice.

The pilot didn’t say anything else, but pulled something out of his pocket and held it under the table where Dogan couldn’t see. After a moment he thought he heard the quiet shuffling of cards. A Pazaak deck, perhaps. While the pilot was occupied, Dogan had the opportunity to actually examine him. He had the six-pointed star rank marker of a second lieutenant. A rookie, then. The name tag on the pilot’s uniform said ‘Jarik Nyine’. He was still focused on his Pazaak deck, so Dogan went back to his thoughts.

“Excuse me, sir?”

Dogan looked up from his drink to find the pilot looking at him. “Yeah, what is it? By the way, I’m Dogan, but my call sign is ‘Annihilator’ if you prefer.”

Nyine was quiet a moment before continuing. “Well eh... sir. I was just wondering if all missions we’re assigned are so difficult.” The pilot looked a bit unsure of himself.

Dogan nodded. “Sure they are. Having troubles, rookie? This is the Rebel Squadrons, not some tourist patrol in the Core.”

“I see.” Nyine paused for a moment before continuing. “How do you do it, if I may ask, sir? I mean, going out there, being so relaxed and coming back with so many kills after a mission.”

Dogan considered. “Experience. I’ve seen my fair share of combat in and out of the Rebel Squadrons for a long time. After a while you learn to either use your fear or shove it to the back of your mind so you can focus on your task.” He leaned forward. “Are you having trouble keeping the Imps off your back during missions? If so, just remember that you don’t need to vape ‘em all, unless the mission calls for it.”

Nyine nodded. “It’s just a little hard to deal with the objectives when TIEs are on my tail, especially TIE Advanced. I try to vape them, but it’s difficult when you’re in a slower starfighter.”

Dogan took a long drink before answering. “Well, you’ve got a Pazaak deck there, right? In Pazaak, what’s more important: to win every round straight, or to win the game?”

Nyine looked puzzled. “To win the game, sir. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, you’re having trouble with the better Imperial TIEs. Why don’t you just focus on completing your mission instead of trying to be the best? Stop worrying so much about vaping the TIEs in your way and go for the mission objectives. That’s what’s important.”

The second lieutenant slowly nodded. “Focus on the objective... sounds easy. That’s all?”

“That’s all.” Dogan smiled. “Often times you can complete the mission in short order, especially recon missions. Don’t let the TIEs slow you down if you don’t have to fight them. I do this as well, but always try to vape as many of them as I can while I’m there.” A voice sounded over the intercom, calling pilots to the briefing room. Jarik Nyine’s name was in the list. “Seems you’re going to fly again, rookie. Good luck out there.”

Nyine jumped to his feet and saluted. “Thank you, sir, for the tip. I’ll do my best!” He turned and jogged out of the Bar & Grill.

Dogan chuckled at Nyine’s rush and turned back to his drink. “Just come back alive, rookie.”

*****

Damon Lightwind

-= CRS: Odin, Med Ops=-

Some hours after his latest Bata dunk Damon awoke groggily. He was feeling the familiar sense of confusion and disorientation he’d felt before. It took him a moment or two to get his bearings. “Where am I?” He looked around a bit once his vision cleared he chuckled and thought. “Oh. Yah. My home away from home….Med Ops.” He gathered there was not much going on at the moment due to the lack of activity. …but that was a little odd. He’d never actually experienced that before on this ship. If it was not for some medical equipment sounds and staff waking by once in a while, it’d be completely quiet. …almost ghost town like. …in MedOps. …on the Odin. That’s a good change, he thought.

Damon decided to make judiciously slow movements, and only go as far as his muscles would allow without too much pain. “Yep. Still hurts.” He gathered the ailments of the others weren’t too serious, judging by the lack of hurry-up, as it were, by the staff which he was use to seeing in the past.

A moment later the female MedTech that had been working with him came over. “Greetings Captain. Good to see you’re awake! How are you feeling?”

Damon said with a chuckle, “Happy to be able to breathe, at least. Not sure about anything else. Haven’t tried to move much yet.”

“Ahh… Still a little disorientated. Understandable, given how long you where dunked this time,” she said.

“How long was I in this time?” Damon asked curiously.

“Four years,” She said with a straight face. “We’re on a Tulurian frigate, under Hegemony authorization.”

Damon’s left eyebrow raised.

She laughed. “No. Only fourteen hours. We tried something a little different to see if we could help get you a little more healed up.”

“Ah.” Damon made a sour face, starting to feel like a lab test rodent again.

“We figured by adjusting the levels of the concentration of bacta you were getting we could achieve better results.”

Damon interrupted, “Been there. Done that. Epic Fail.”

The MedTech pursed her mouth sardonically, and sat looking at him. …waiting.

“I get the feeling there’s an epiphany on it’s way.”

“Possibly. If you’ll be so kind as to allow me to continue…”

“I apologize. Please do.”

“You’re correct in that each time it was attempted it failed. However… After further review of your medical records we found in each case they increased the concentration of bacta.”

Damon still wasn’t impressed. Old News.

“Well… Once we noticed that, we tried *decreasing* the concentration, and keep you in longer. And that did produced better results.”

“How do you figure better. I still can’t take a deep breath,” and quickly realized he may have been a little abrupt. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. I’m just tired of disappointment and feeling like a lab school test case everyone thinks they can solve.”

“Understood. We all try to solve unusual cases, but a very large number of us all use the same, or similar diagnostics programs – much like the pit crews – but prognosis are only as good as those who programmed the system. Since all conditions haven’t been found and solved, the diagnostics systems can be flawed.
“I understand you’re a rare diagnostician in the starfighter repair group, so you know what I mean. Dr Othoth, the Ithorian in charge of MedOps here, is much like you in that regard. She trusts the normal diagnostics, but she also encourages us all to think for ourselves, and occasionally gets us together as a Think Tank on yet unsolved conditions to generate ideas. Different people have different thought processes, and sometimes answers come from unexpected places. Medical facilities only including droids can be quite effective, but inductive logic isn’t exactly a prominent attribute in them. The same goes for the top of the bell curve of people. However. Dr. Ototh is close to the high end of the curve and is dedicated to getting all of us there, as well.
“So. While we’re likely to study curiosities, we’re also dedicated to finding the answers. We may be on the right track to figuring out yours.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard it put that way before. And thank you for all your efforts!”

“That’s what we do here. Of course, we try harder when those questions involve the people who are charged with keeping this ship in one piece,” she smiled.

“So what’s your conclusion on my case?”

The MedTech glanced down at her datapad. “Well, my assessment so far shows that your time in the tank did help somewhat more than in past attempts. It may be that we need to only find the right balance between dilution level and time, and if so we should be able to heal you completely when necessary in the future.
“However. Until then, unfortunately, you’ll have to mostly heal on your own as before. …if you’ll just stay put and give it a chance.”

Damon nodded, “I still have my doubts, but at least I know I’m in good hands. …maybe you could just sedate me?”

“If I have to, I will. But I think right now I’m just going to confine you here.” She dropped her datapad into her front pocket. “And on that note, I’m going to order lunch in. What can I tell them you want?”

Jarik Nyine

Jarik was having a bad day, that was for sure. The past day he completed a mission without achieving too much on his own. Just two kills... he started to understand why Rebel Squadrons had a reputation in the main fleet of the New Republic and why were they able to hold the remains of the Empire in this sector all by themselves.

Being honest with himself… maybe he wasn’t as good a pilot as he thought. Only two kills this time... but piloting a Tie Interceptor was not helping either. Maybe he was over complicating things and was just trying too hard and just needed to relax, he decided. So he got up from the bed and got dressed with his new uniform and got a pazaak’s deck that he slipped into one of the pockets. “Who knows, maybe I can even find a player.” The deck made him feel that at least something familiar was with him. His R2 unit and his A-Wing were under inspection at that moment and he could not get close to them. …and he couldn’t take them to the Bar & Grill anyway.

He walked out his quarters and headed towards the cantina. At least that place looked familiar, but all the cantinas look familiar in those ships, they’re a standard prefab module. A lot of stern faces looked at him. “Just me. Just trying to fit in,” he thought while he looked around the place for a welcoming face.

Sitting in a corner he saw another pilot taking a drink, and looking at his uniform he noticed that he was not far from his rank. Maybe he would be a good one to approach. Carefully, Jarik went to that table. “May I join you, Sir?” asked Jarik politely.

The First Lieutenant raised his sight from the drink to Jarik. It seems that he was lost somewhere else in his thoughts. “Eh, sure, I don’t mind, go ahead”, he answered.

Taking a seat on the other side of the table, Jarik took his pazaak’s deck and mixed the cards under the table. When he got confident enough he addressed the other officer. “Excuse me, Sir?” he asked.

The First Lieutenant looked up again. “Yeah, what’s it? By the way, I’m Dogan, but everyone around here call me ‘Annihilator’” he replied.

“Well, eh... Sir. I was just wondering if all missions we get assigned are so difficult.” Jarik was not sure if addressing another officer about his concerns was correct, but he needed to give it a shot.

“Sure they are, having troubles, rookie? This is Rebel Squadrons, not a tourist patrol on the Core Worlds.” Dogan replied.

“I see... how do you do it, if may I ask, Sir? I mean, going out there, been so relaxed and come back with so many kills after a mission,” Jarik was really curious about this ‘Annihilator’ guy, and at least he was kind of friendly.

“Well, you got a pazaak’s deck down there, right?” He made a little motion to point with his chin. A curious gesture. “In pazaak what is more important, to win all the rounds straight or just to win the game?”

Jarik looked puzzled for a moment. “To win the game, Sir. What does that have to do with my question?”

Dogan smiled. “Then why don’t you focus just on completing your mission instead trying to be the best? Maybe you’ll do it if you stop worrying about it and you center yourself more on getting the objectives accomplished.”

Jarik got the point and nodded slowly. “Focus on the objective... sounds easy. That is all?”

“That is all,” Dogan replied, and tilted his head listening to the pilots called for briefing. “Seems that you’re going to fly again, rookie. Good luck out there.” He waved a sem-salute.

“One thing to remember, though,” he added before Jarik got a step away. “Admiral Efrata-Landis?”

“Yes?”

“Best there ever was. He wrote the ComTacs, flew them hundreds of times, and won them hundreds of times before he released them. He’s got more hours in real combat than most of the folks on board have lived so far. Talk to him if you want real tactical advice.”

“Right. Thanks.” Jarik saluted the First Lieutenant, and said quickly as he was turning to go.. “Thank you Sir! I’ll do my best.”

Running to the briefing room, he listened to a rather short list of instructions. Looked like a very straightforward mission, but he was determined to concentrate on the goals this time.

This time he was flying an X-Wing, a more comfortable fighter for him. He jumped into hyperspace and checked the sensors. Several fighters were deployed, as well as a minefield and who knows what else. But he had his goals in mind, nothing else.

Lowering his shields to boost his X-Wing engines, he turned his craft’s weapon systems to torpedos and shot as soon as possible at the freighter that was one of his targets. Without waiting for a confirmed impact, he inmediately turned his target computer on the commsat.

Mines started firing, and the TIEs were catching up. The strong shields of the X-Wing, even being discharged to boost the engines, were able to stand a few hits. And that bought enough time for Jarik to get within range of the sat. As he shot the comsat he noticed that the shields were completely depleted.

“Dammit! Goals completed! Let’s get out of here!” he said out loud turning his craft and avoiding all the firepower that was directed at him as best as he could.

Out of the minefield, he turned shields at maximum and transfered all the laser power remaining on his craft to reinforce them. As he started the hyperspace sequence, he had second thoughts about his chances of getting out alive. But the X-Wing jumped into hyperspace when the TIEs started damaging the hull of the ship.

Dealing with the adrenaline rush, Jarik leaned back on his cockpit’s seat and breathed deeply. “I’ll have to buy Dogan a drink. If I had focused on those TIEs, I’d have never made it,” he thought, and settled in for the short flight back to the Odin.

*****

Mia StormChaser

Arriving in the briefing station on board the Odin, Mia still had to admire the sheer attention to design detail the Calamari put into even their combat Star Cruiser’s. If she didn’t know better, the comfortable (if rather aquatic) fixtures and multiple crystal clear viewpoints seemed more suited to a pleasure boat rather then to a grim engine of total war.

Mia was surprised however, when apart from her briefing officer (a staff officer she didn’t recognize) the briefing room remained empty of any other pilots.

Noticing her entry into the briefing room, it’s lone occupant called across. ‘Lieutenant.’ The Sullustan staff officer greeted her promptly as she crossed the room quickly and stood to attention in front of him. ‘I’m Colonel Sund, please sit.’ Colonel Sund said, beckoning Mia to a nearby seat at the front of the briefing area. ‘After your successful contribution to the destruction of some of the Star Hammer project supplies recently, I’m pleased to say you have been selected to continue our harassment campaign.’ Colonel Sund continued, almost without pause.

‘Looking forward to it Sir.’ Mia replied, trying not stare at Sund’s impressive facial jowls, which she remembered suddenly were called ‘dewflaps’. Stifling a smile, Mia forced herself to concentrate on what Colonel Sund was saying.

‘Hmmm. You might not be so eager when I explain that because of shortages, you will be out there on your own this time. While the mission is simple enough; just destroy an unarmed freighter laying a comsat and head back home, the opposition is going to tough.’ The Colonel continued.

‘What am I facing Sir?’ Mia asked quickly, all thoughts of dewflaps now rapidly forgotten.

‘Early reports suggest a supporting frigate, but your main concern will be a very heavy starfighter defence, and possibly also a mine field.’

‘Thanks for the warning Sir. I’d best get too it.’ Mia replied, trying to sound much more confidant then she felt.

‘Good luck Lieutenant.’ Colonel Sund saluted, adding in parting ‘The astrogation co-ordinates have already been uploaded into your R4 droid.’

-----

‘Emperor’s black bones!’ cursed Mia as she saw yet another wave of TIE Interceptors designated Opal launched from the frigate guarding the comsat. How many was that, fifteen? She had lost count, and it was taking all her piloting skills just to defeat the thankfully small wing of TIE Advanced that had also been launched as she entered the combat zone.

Luckily, one of her primary objectives she had been able to achieve quickly. She noticed that the freighter she had come to destroy was making a hasty retreat, which she had put a smart stop to with her complete supply of concussion missiles. But she couldn’t get near that damn comsat until she had taken out this shield of starfighters….

-----

Resisting the urge to punch the air in the limited space of her combat when the last TIE exploded, Mia still gave out a shout of triumph. Up until now she had never been dog-fighting for so long, against so many odds, and survived.

The mines had been tough, but by studying her in flight map, Mia had managed to plot the best path to destroy them in several runs, and with only minimal damage to her craft. By chance also, during one of her mine runs, a lucky long shot had taken out the comsat, and with this last TIE consigned to history, all of her mission objectives had been met.

Eyeing up the surviving frigate, whose directed fire still spewed at her craft, despite the WildCard Two being out of range, Mia was tempted to try and damage the remaining vessal. Cursing herself for a fool, Mia soon changed her mind though, and turned about. She had been very lucky, best not try her luck even more.

‘It’s time to head home Warhog. Good work.’ Mia said, unable to stop the fatigue in her voice coming through the comlink.

It might have been her imagination, but Mia was sure her droid sounded as relieved, and as tired as she was.

*****

Brig Dolaree

On board the Odin, LCL Brig Dolaree prepared to fly another mission. After getting suited up, Brig reported to the briefing room and found he had been assigned to fly an X-wing for this mission. The orders were to hit a soon to be Imperial communications installation. A freighter designated Opaline G1 was setting up a satellite relay network. There was a minefield and two Nebulon Frigates set up to provide area defense as construction of the relay network began. Before Brig and the rest of the pilots set out to hit the site, they were informed there would be heavy opposition. Multiple Tie/I and Tie/A were reported to be in the area.

After the briefing, the Greys set out and went into hyperspace to their targets. Upon arriving on station, he found himself alone with no other Alliance fighters present. Can’t wait forever thought Brig, and he set out to go after his objectives. He immediately targeted the Satellite and fired one proton torpedo to take it out. Brig then went for the freighter, closing to launch distance and sending his remaining torpedoes to take it out. Brig then concentrated on getting closer to the fleet to go after the minefield and the rest of the ships.

He had to be careful, and slowly worked his way closer, concentrating on the fighters going after his X-Wing, after damaging several fighters, they quickly turned around and headed back to the frigates. Before Brig could bring his lasers to finish them off, he had to respond to other attacking fighters; his fighter was starting to take a beating. A choice had to be made, stay and die or make an escape to fight another day. It wasn’t much of a problem to decide.

-----

Upon landing on the Odin, the pilots assembled for a debriefing. Overall, Harassment II was a successful set of missions. “I really need to start spending a lot more time in the simulator.” Brig decided to head down to the Bar and Grill, and buy a few rounds for the rest of the pilots who flew the mission. And hopefully pick up some pointers for these off situations he seemed to be having in some of his missions.

===========

End Log

Mission 3.15 ‑ Ram on Loan

Castor stood, beginning to look as if he was getting back to being his formerly animated self. He started to speak before all the Greys had filed in, and well before all were seated. He heard remarks about some of the Cadets being missing::

“I need Grey Flight 1 to scramble in about a minute and a half ‑ we’ve got an Imperial Star Destroyer which has just entered the area. The Ram’s Head 2 is going to be here quite shortly, and it is imperative that it rendezvous with us. Our B‑Wings are still under repair, so the few Y‑Wings that are left are what you get. Coordinates on where to catch up with the Odin are being fed to your R2 units. Remember, we want that Star Destroyer if at all possible. I’ll meet you all back here for the debrief. Now, GIT!!”

Four of the Grey pilots jumped to their feet, and pilots, both Grey and Cadet, fell over themselves to get out of the way. After the sound of pounding flight boots faded, Castor continued. “I want Grey Flights 2 and 3 on standby in X‑Wings. Flight Control is sending word to Flight 1, as we speak, that the Ram’s Head 2 is coming in, and it’s being escorted by a Flight of X‑Wings manned by our absent Cadets.

“Yes, that’s why they’re not here, and yes, I heard the questions regarding them. I’ll see EVERYone back here when this is over ‑ I’ve got some information for you in the debrief. Dismissed!!”

-----

The battle ensued. A few of the Cadet and Grey pilots had to be recovered by the Rescue and Salvage Team, but everyone made it back on board safely. After the few non‑serious wounds were seen to, Castor met all the Grey and Cadet pilots in the Bar’n’Grill. It had long been custom for all the combat pilots to meet there after any mission ‑ whether they flew or not ‑ to collect their thoughts and await debrief. Befitting (and in respect of) this custom the rest of the crew always avoided the B’n’G for the rest of the evening. Once all combat pilots were present, the doors normally closed, not to open again until the pilots dispersed. This being the case, when the doors started to slide open, most heads, and complete attention, immediately turned toward them ‑ the room became suddenly still, and tension filled the air.

Castor started talking even before he’d fully entered, and some of the pilots slumped to lay their upper torsos on the tables. “At ease,” Castor said, expecting some of the newer Cadets to jump to their feet and pretend to be statues. …which they did. He got up into and sat on the top of the back of the nearest chair with his feet on the seat. From this elevated position, he began.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. I just figured it would be easier for me to come to you, than the other way around.
“Flight One! Congratulations! Excellent work!
“Now, if everyone will relax, I’ll tell you what I didn’t have time to before.”

At this point, Qixx, who’s feet never, even slightly, began to twitch from their spot on the table he sat at (with his back to the wall ‑ old habits die hard) called out, “Hey, Boss Man! If I relax any more, I’m gonna be dead!”

Dagon called out from a few tables away, “Yo, Qixx! I thought you already WERE dead! I was about to go through your pockets lookin’ for loose change!”

As the following laughter died down, including Castor’s, he continued, “General Greedo believes that he has the coordinates of the main force of the armada belonging to those who are in charge of the Star Hammer project. His familiarity with Imperial procedure has prompted him to request the use of the Ram’s Head 2, which he has received.
“As you may, or may not, know, the Ram’s Head 2 is one of the first Corvette’s developed by the Alliance using the super‑shield technology which we…” He made air quotes. “…borrowed… from the Emperor sometime shortly before the first Death star was destroyed. The General, knowing the Imperial mind lock in regimentation, anticipates that the Ram’s Head 2 will be extremely useful in the very near future.
“In any case, largely due to your diligence, we have already gained two names; Opaline Celestra, and Emerald Stellarin. The General believes these are two members of Palpatine’s personal force, the Emperor’s Hand. If this is so, and I have no reason whatsoever to doubt his memory, then the Star Hammer project was likely initiated and funded by Palpatine himself. Since Palpatine’s death, we are assuming that the project has been subsidized by whatever means available. Knowing Kedrin, and the company he’s been keeping lately, we assume that slavery has carried much of the funding load.
“We also have found, from notations in the computers we have captured, standing orders to eliminate all hindrances to the project. From this we infer that research is behind schedule, and over budget. We draw the further conclusion that we are going to become the center of attention for Opaline and Emerald ‑ and then they’ll have us right where we want them. Up close and personal.
“So, now we have a pretty good idea of Who? (Palpatine, by way of the two members of the Emperor’s Hand), fairly scary idea of What? (the Star Hammer ‑ a Doom’s Day weapon of such incredible strength that it can destroy a star without entering the system) , a concept of How? (a research station dedicated to the building of this weapon), a fairly solid idea of Why? (because Palpatine was, and his followers are, insane ‑ no rational mind could conceive an idea such as snuffing an entire solar system just to eradicate a relatively few people who strongly disagree with a moral cast) ‑ the only critical question that remains is Where? There after, the only question that matters for us is When? ‑ and I assure you, the When will be far too soon.
“That’s the story.
“I’m glad you all made it back safely. I get no indication from the General that our services will be required for at least the next 36, or so, hours.” He climb down from his perch on the back of the chair.
“Gentle persons, I bid you good evening.” Castor stood and threw the small crowd an easy salute, turned and quietly left.

Shortly after the doors closed the bar became quite busy - Dagon and Qixx Dragoon traded scowls. A quick look passed quickly between the all members of Grey, as if it were an item thrown from one to the next, each in turn, as if each instinctively knew the location of the next in line. None of the Cadets seemed to notice when each Grey pilot started drinking the same drink as the person sitting next to them. Nor did they notice when that Grey pilot switch his mostly full glass for the Cadets mostly empty one. After a time, none noticed when the Grey pilots started to trickle out, one by one, but all of a sudden the Cadets were left alone. One of them remembered Qixx muttering, early on, something to the effect of…”Thirty six.... maybe... just in case...”