[Novgorod] Mercy Mission

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Naboo

Stalking.


It was as natural to a Cizerack as breathing. Even with no military training at all, you knew the premise.

Always stay upwind.

Be mindful of your surroundings.

Watch for tells in your prey.

Mind your distance - too close and you spook your prey, too far and you're not in position to pounce.

Choose the easy kill.

Novgorod had been stalking her prey for six days. The star liner Gilded Dawn was a Naboo charter, and like her elegant contours would suggest, a product of artisanal Naboo shipbuilding. Nubian elements of sleek chrome metal played against rich hues and organic lines. She was as beautiful as she was spaceworthy, and not at all the kind of vessel that attracted military attention, but one that certainly drew eyes wherever she berthed.

Those berths had included stops through the Hydian Way and across the galactic disc's middle rim. They'd picked up her scent near Thyferra, and nearly lost it skirting along the Carshoulis Cluster before finding her once again near Mimban. Deep in Imperial Space and far from a friendly port, Novgorod shadowed the Gilded Dawn, patient and methodical, looking for the moment to make the kill.

"We'rre rrunnjing out of tjime."

Captain Raurrssatta stood on the bridge with his senior staff assembled among the bridge crew. The lights were dimmed, and a hologram of the Gilded Dawn filled the air between the assembled throng.

"We know frrom thejirr vectorrs and jinterrcepted communjicatjions that thejirr desstjinatjion jis Naboo. jIf that ljinerr makes planetfall, we have no chance at gettjing them."

Everyone aboard knew what was at stake. While the star liner's manifest listed a full compliment of passengers and luxury consumables, Cirrsseeto and his crew knew through Alliance Intelligence briefs that the Gilded Dawn was in actuality carrying a massive quantity of bacta in it's hold. With demands of the Galactic Civil War straining bacta supplies to the breaking point, finding a cache suddenly became one of the highest priorities of the Alliance.

The felinoid captain crossed his arms over his broad chest.

"Optijions?"

[John Glayde]

Glayde's jaw twitched in a moment of hesitation. All manner of options swam through his mind, but they were spewed forth by the part of his brain that had been crafted by the Imperial Academy.

It would be wrong to say that the former Storm Commando was trapped in the past. He was resourceful and adaptable enough to have moulded himself to his current situation. Every potential plan took into account the resources at his disposal, right down to the motley crew and their unorthodox assortment of skills and abilities.

What his instincts didn't take into account however were the unspoken Alliance objectives. Glayde could think of at least half a dozen strategies to disable and board the Gilded Dawn. Absolutely none of them however would leave the ship in a fit state to fly, and none of them factored in the crew's need to retrieve and abscond with the freighter's precious supply of bacta. As a member of the Stormtrooper Corps, and indeed as a member of SpecForce, Glayde had always been deployed in situations where collateral damage was to be expected, if not fully intended and embraced. This new existence, at times tantamount to piracy, was something that even the most resolute moral certainty had trouble getting Glayde to accept.

"Whether we cut through the hull or kick down the doors, getting troops onboard is the easy part," he offered with a shrug. "The crew of a ship like that won't give us too much of a fight."

"The hard part," he continued, "Is going to be getting the Dawn to stay still and silent long enough for us to do so."

He shot the Captain an almost pleading look. "I don't suppose we can just blow off her engines and comm for an Alliance freighter to come and collect the spoils, by any chance?"

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirrsseeto's head shook.

"We'rre too deep."

A starchart appeared adjacent, and the felinoid Captain ran a finger alongside a line that bisected their quadrant of the Middle Rim.

"Even though we'rre close to the hyperr lane, we're farr beyond the nearrest fleet to arrjive jin tjime. The Empjirre could musterr morre than enough forrce to turrn them back jin the meantjime.

jIt has to be us."

Glayde was dead-on the analysis though. You'd need time and resources to subdue a target that big, and they had little of either in any supply. If they disabled the comms, and if they disabled the engines, they were still sitting still for a long time. If a patrol happened upon them, hours could fizzle into minutes.

"We tarrget the comm clusterr fjirrst. Harrd salvo, we can catch them by surrprrjise."

"Them engines ain't gon' be half as easy, an' bollocks to leavin' 'em ship shape."

Cirr's eyes broke contact with the holo to meet Ledo Prent's hatchet face. However uncouth, the salty pirate was right, and bolstered Glayde's assessment. They weren't just going to be able to quick patch and slave rig the star liner. Too much time. Always too much.

Again he turned to Glayde.

"Smash and grrab. Take an assault team, boarrd her, forrce open the holds, and we sejize as much carrgo as we can."

He awaited his second's thoughts. Glayde was the point man, and Cirr had gotten far by trusting his instincts on the ground.

[Maren Dirge]

Maren had been on alert for hours as the Novgorod stalked the bacta-laden Gilded Dawn. She busied herself with tasks that could be stopped a moments notice, such a field stripping spare blasters one at a time. There was always the offhand chance that someone had overlooked something. Like most things in the Rebellion, the equipment was well worn but looked after.

She glanced at the the rest of the squad. They all stood on the edge of a precipice, waiting to jump, but didn't know when. A gentle frown creased her face. Yellow lights periodically blinked twice, three times, and then out again. Maren checked her own equipment again, especially the rebreather. She reviewed the known blueprints of the Gilded Dawn, and the likely locations of the bacta stores.

Ship boardings were always risky. There was the likely possibility of equipment failure that lead to an unplanned space walk. These were desperate measures. The Bacta market had destabilized due to unknown forces, and both the Empire and Alliance hoarded it aggressively. Maren contemplated the possibility of an unknown 3rd player. Perhaps her Captain’s relatives were at play. The Cizerack had been a rising economic power and large player of the Trade Federation, and had rebuilt themselves better than the banking clans. It did not line up with past behavior, so Maren questioned this possibility. The Hutts did not have the economic leverage, and the Corporate Sector was squarely in Miranda’s pocket by proxy of the Tagges.

Maren pushed those thoughts aside as she went over the blueprint holo.

[John Glayde]

Glayde considered his options; swept his eyes between the motley assortment of squadmates who'd assembled on the bridge. Each of them had their own strengths, weaknesses, quirks.

There was Maren: faultlessly competent, constantly thinking, always harbouring some secret or musing that was hoarded it was absolutely necessary to share. There was Onashi: not someone who Glayde was comfortable calling competent, but certainly reliable, certainly capable, and certainly the person who Glayde most begrudged earning his respect. There was Ledo: the father of some trusted friend of the Captain's whom Glayde had never met, arguably even uglier on the inside than he was on the outside, and yet undeniably the sort of person you wanted with you when things started hitting the fan. There was Sam: tough, gruff, alarmingly resourceful, and almost as quick with her fists as she was with her tongue. There was MARCUS: possibly the most sophisticated artificial intelligence Glayde had ever encountered, and yet effectively a pacifist by necessity of his programming restrictions.

And there was Mara. Captain Tallen. The shapeshifter. The hothead. The loose cannon, in more ways than one. His second in command; trusted, familiar. She was more than that too, to him and too the team; but today, she was only one thing that mattered.

She's leading this mission.

Glayde had been a great many things in his life. He'd always been a soldier for as long as he could remember; and for a long time he'd been a leader, on some of the most daring and complex missions the Empire and then the Alliance had to offer. But now he was something different; now he was a commander. A leader could always rely on superiors: someone else planned the plan, and Glayde made sure that his team followed through. Captain Raurrssatta was not that: he aimed the squad at targets, but it was Glayde who decided when to pull the trigger, and how. Cirrsseeto left Glayde to his own devices; trusted him to do what he'd been assigned to the Novgorod to do, even though he couldn't possibly have known Glayde long enough for the Major to earn that trust. If Glayde begrudged his respect for Onashi the most, he begrudged the Captain's earned respect the least. That kind of faith in the skills of others was something that Glayde's training and experience didn't allow.

That was something that needed to change.

"Tallen: take Onashi, Maren, and Ledo. Get suited and geared, and be ready in the launch bay. The Comet will fly you in close, but you'll have to make a vac-jump for the airlock. Once you breach you'll proceed to the cargo bay, secure it, and get control of the main hatch so we can shuttle in a retrieval team."

He shifted his glance to the Captain. "Got any crewmen I can borrow, sir? We've got two shuttles that we can stuff to the brim with bacta, but we'll need more bodies if we're going to haul the stuff out of there while under fire."

[MARCUS]

blarg delete this

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirr's curt nod gave his XO an affirmative. He turned, pointing to the MMU droid at his left.

"MARRCUS, you'rre on supporrt."

The droid barely moved in response, it's vox unit chirping in it's usual monotonous voice.

"Acknowledged."

The Captain tapped a commlink on the wall nearest him.

"Ljieutenant Altjink, Ljieutenant Quez, rreporrt to the brrjidge."

Cirrsseeto wouldn't abide failure, certainly not on account of an unanticipated systems foul-up that might be uncovered on the other ship.

The Captain looked back to Glayde, and returned his attention back to the holo.

"Take the engjineerrs. They'll worrk harrd, but morre jimporrtantly, worrk smarrt. They'll be able to handle load ljifterrs, grrav assjists, and get the frrejight out fast."

[John Glayde]

Glayde felt a twist in his stomach. Lieutenant Quez. If you didn't know that there was something going on between her and the Captain, you were either dumb, blind, or as terrible at understanding social interactions as MARCUS. Being willing to risk someone you cared about was commendable; but if Glayde hadn't been planning on guarding the retrieval team personally, he sure as hell was going to now.

"Thank you, Captain." It sounded redundant, and insufficient, but what more could be said?

The Major turned his attention elsewhere, seeking out Morgan Evanar from the assembled crowd. A frown furrowed his brow. "I don't suppose that magical software package of yours has anything in there for effectively and easily disabling the engines and communications of a Nubian transport, does it?"

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan shook his head.

"Engines, no. External comms, yes, internal, no. I've already prepped MARCUS with the prerequisites for the known comm packages and probable substitutes." Morgan explained. The internal comms were not wireless, but wired. Without a hardline they would not be able to jam them.

"They're going to have to disable the engines one of the old fashioned ways."

He had some theoreticals for jamming propulsion systems but they didn't have the equipment to do it, so it wasn't worth mentioning.

Since the freighter wasn't known to have highly advanced communication packages, he left MARCUS to run the device without his intuition. He was arguably more useful helping loading cargo, as muscle.