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There really wasn't anything aboard the Viper worth dying for -- at least, as far as the rest of the crew was concerned. Damon, however, was dealing with the unpleasant realization that his datapads were still aboard the ship. They were all he had left of his mom and dad, and the fact that they were in the hands of a slimeball like Pavana was...upsetting. It was almost enough to send him tearing back to the ship in a mad attempt to take it back. Almost.

Spar and Ehyva Aligeri hadn't raised an idiot, however, regardless of his crew's current opinion of him. That left Damon with little to do aside from pacing back and forth while the Imperials set up their equipment. So far, he hadn't been able to come up with any kind of plan. The fact that Pavana had a network of defense systems in place to keep people from leaving the planet put a damper on his usual "steal a ship and run" ploy. There was also the fact that Pavana was scum, and leaving innocent people in his clutches didn't sit well with most of the crew.

Things were...complicated.

"Hey, captain," Mir said brightly, falling into step beside him. "How are you feeling?"

"What do you think?" Damon replied irritably. "Our ship is in the hands of a slimeball and my crew hates me."

"I meant physically," Mir replied. "But that works too." She lowered her voice. "I understand why we're working with the Empire, but this is the same Empire that tortured us and killed Tam's family. Of course the crew's going to be upset." She paused. "Aside from Proto. He's just confused."

Damon laughed shortly. "Poor droid picked a bad time to rejoin the galaxy." He glanced at her. "Are you still mad at me?"

"You infuriate me at least once a day."

"Thanks," Damon grimaced.

"However," Mir continued, "I know you're not doing it intentionally -- you're just clueless, and I've accepted that." She grinned at his outraged expression. "Which is why I wanted to let you know that no matter what you decide, I'll support you."

Damon's expression softened. "Thanks, Mir. That means a lot."

"Just...talk to Tam later, okay?" Mir said. "Deep down, I'm sure he knows why we're doing this, but it still upsets him. He needs to know you're still on his side."

"I will," Damon promised.

"Excuse me, Captain Caldera?" It was Stebs, the Imperial lieutenant. "Captain Errolt wants you and your crew to join him at the communications array."

"What is it?" Mir asked. Stebs shrugged.

"Pavana's going to make some sort of announcement. We think it has something to do with our escapades earlier today."

Fi awoke suddenly, startled by some dream-ghost that disappeared before she could remember what it was. Struggling to recognize her surroundings, she recalled that she was on a ship. Her ship. The Dawncaller.

Fi swung her legs out of the bed, the steel floor cold beneath her bare feet. Grabbing at a short bathrobe left behind by one of The Luminous Three, she wrapped it around herself and strode out into the lounge area. It was dim here, the ship's lights running in power-save mode. Fi crossed the lounge to the galley console and activated the water unit, selecting a near-scalding temperature. As the water warmed, she grabbed a handful of Inex Jonn's preferred leaves, scrunched them into a cup, and in short order had herself a nice cup of rich, aromatic Sakiyan tea. She took the steaming mug to the lounge table, where she sat for a time but, becoming unnerved by the empty seats around her, rose again and made for the vessel's cockpit. 

With hyperspace sparkling outside the cockpit glass, Fi sat in the pilot's chair, her chair, and looked out at the dazzling expanse. 

Eighteen hours to Mull station, she thought, my new home. While it was true that she could try to get her recording career going again, that would only attract Imperial attention. No, she thought, I'm gonna have to do this the hard way. She thought of Tam, and Damon, and Reil, but knew that again, like it or not, she was completely on her own.

There's got to be a few interesting people on Mull Station, she supposed. Guess I'll find out, soon enough.

Draining the last of her tea, Fi made for her quarters, and for bed, hoping it would provide at least a few more hours' peaceful rest.

The smoke began to clear, leaving Morec bathed in a dim red light coming from the emergency lights placed around the ship. He gazed up at the ceiling for a few moments before he sat up, his vision swimming as he did so. He took a moment to calm himself, and stood up gingerly. As he ran down his body, he found few injuries, most of them being minor cuts and bruises. The corridor around him was bathed in the same red light, the spots between lights enveloped in darkness. He made his way to the cockpit, which he found in disarray. Mara and Jyn were sitting there, typing at the console trying to get systems running again.

"So," Morec said, breaking the silence, "can anyone tell me what just happened?"

Neither of the two made a move, they both just kept working at the console. After a moment, Mara turned around. "Short version? We were hit by a missile. Long version? We were almost hit by a missile, but instead of a direct hit it detonated just south of our hull."

"What kind of damage are we looking at?" Morec asked.

"A good bit. Our port stabilizer's shot to hell, same with the port turbolaser turrets. Other than that, it's mostly cosmetic, but there're some pockets that got opened up to atmosphere. Long story short, we're not going anywhere for a while."

"What about the rest of the crew?"

"Fine. You were the worst hurt, but you were still breathing, so we took a chance."

Morec rolled his eyes at this, "Thanks, I guess I should be honored." As he turned away, he caught something on the peripheral of his senses...there were people outside the ship, coming their way. He paused for a moment, trying to gauge their intentions. He realized quickly after that they were not coming to help them. He turned back quickly and asked, "Where did we land?"

"In a valley," Mara returned. "Why?"

"Did we check the area?"

"No, we didn't have time...why?"

Morec paused for a beat, then said, "I've got a feeling we might have some company coming to join us."

At this Mara's head snapped around, while Jyn turned slowly to eye him. "I'm guessing we might want to check out the area then?" He asked, his eyebrows raised.

Morec met his eyes and said, "We might want to think about it."

Jyn held his gaze for another moment, then said, "Mara, you and Morec head out and check the area, see if there's anyone trying to crash our party. Don't do anything stupid though, I don't need you two getting killed out there."

Mara jumped up out of her seat, and the two of them ran down to the supply room. Morec grabbed his pack while Mara grabbed two rifles, both fully loaded and charged. "You ready to go?" she asked. Morec just nodded and hit the door release, sending the two of them out into the valley.

“Give it some more speed, Vee-Six.  There’s no use trying to appear honest when we’re delivering cargo to a military outfit,”  Tholme sat at the co-pilot station, giving V6 full flight control.  His eyes were glued to the sensors display, brought over to one of the panels via a repulsor-arm. 

V6 chattered an interrogative as he accelerated the Barloz’s steep descent into the atmosphere.  “Diomoi’s an old friend of mine.  He never much cared for civilian life, and he mentioned a commanding officer.  He must be working for this ‘Lord Pavana’ or the Imperials.  Either way, we’re going to have fire on our tails if we’re not careful.” 

V6 whistled an encouragement.  Tholme grinned, “Thanks for the vote of confidence.  Now, focus on your trajectory – you’re arcing too wide.”  The droid rotated his optical to face directly out of the cockpit once more, and he could feel the ship make a slight adjustment to course. 

From the cockpit view pane, Owara completely filled his sight.  The gently rolling planet was nothing new, nothing special.  Tholme didn’t even want to be here.  If it wasn’t for the possibility of putting his mind at ease, he’d have more readily resigned himself to a year’s debt than to risk his anonymity by involving himself with Diomoi’s petty brawls.  That soldier was always looking to kill something even when they were off active duty.  It was just plain unprofessional.

The ship communications monitor sparkled to life with an incoming call.  “Patch it through, Billee.”

The First Mate obeyed, and a voice broke out loud and impatient, “Welcome to Owara!  A starport nearest your location has landing coordinates for you.  Please, slow your ascent and identify yourself.”

Billee looked at Tholme and waited.  The Captain kept his eyes on the sensors, glancing now and then into the planet’s atmosphere beyond the cockpit.  “Sir?” Billie inquired.

“Say nothing.  We’re not going anywhere near a sanctioned landing site, and I don’t’ know what they’ll do if I decline their offer.  Perhaps they’ll just leave us alone.”

A few moments later the voice returned with an edge, “Unidentified vessel, you are using a transponder masker.  That is restricted equipment, here.  Escort craft is en route to intercept you and guide you to the nearest landing site.  Do not divert course or attempt hostile action.”

“Sithspit,” Tholme grimaced.  He whipped around to Billee, “They must have some hot machines, themselves, if they can see our cloak.  We’ll go dark - hit the short-range jammers.  Double the magnitude by power sharing with the fusion reactor.”

The First Mate started the sequence, and Tholme snapped the ship com up, “Zed, get to the quad turret and engage all approaching craft.  Three-Dee-Four, I need you up here at station,” He leaned aside to V6, “Punch it.”

If any on-looker from the surface of the planet, with any experience at all in the world of freighter capabilities happened to be watching as the Rogue Circuit broke the atmosphere of Owara, they would have seen a ship that should have been unbearably slow, ungraceful and falling apart at the seams.  They wouldn’t have expected the ship to buck and blaze across the sky, unleashing a torrent of laser bolts at a waiting planetary defense squadron. 

It swooped low, dipping along the ground-line and hopping up between low valleys.  The squadron broke and attempted what should have been a simple pincer attack, but in the time that they curled back to a parallel pattern the freighter had passed them and was gaining distance at a rate nearly unbelievable.  In short order, it swerved around a few rocky shelves and left all of them lost, confused, and humiliated in its wake.          

The Rogue Circuit cropped just above the tree line as it neared the designated landing site.  The coordinates that Diomoi gave set them down in a forest clearing just large enough for the freighter but with trees high enough to obstruct all visibility except for a direct overpass.  The sensors were silent as the landing gear extended – no nearby ships or vehicles.  The ship rocked gently as it settled onto the soft ground.  A long hiss from the stress compensation exhaust signaled a complete landing. 

 V6 warbled as Tholme rose from the co-pilot seat.  “You did fine, Vee-Six.  Keep working on those evasion patterns, though.  If not for our re-configurable power-draw, we wouldn’t have had the advantage of greater speed.”  The droid wheeled his head around to stare out the cockpit, grumbled to himself, and boisterously began his post-flight check.

 “Everybody, assemble.  We need a plan of action,” Tholme ordered into his com as he walked.  He quickly changed into some non-descript black fatigues.  Opening his closet, he stared at a thick arrangement of armor.  He hadn’t worn it in years – too many to number.  He ran his fingers along the magseals, and the multi-colored plates.  “Camo.  Green,” He said softly.  The armor quickly morphed color into an array of forest-specific camouflage.  “Arctic.  White.” It changed to a high-gloss white shade.  The Captain shook his head sadly and stood back to survey the armor as he closed the doors, “We’re not ready for that, yet.”   Somehow, the self-assurance didn’t quite comfort him.  However, he did grab a hold-out blaster and stuff it in the back of his waistband. 

 He returned to find the ship’s crew waiting him in the cargo bay.  V6 and Billee were speaking to each other in low whistles, doubtless more droid-to-droid training.  Billee was the pilot droid’s unofficial mentor.  Zed, the 501-security droid, stood with his arms folded glaring at the three pit droids.  They were having a three-way wrestling match, and every once in a while a foot or a leg would come too close to Zed and he’d disdainfully swat the poor unfortunate’s chasis half-way across the bay.  This elicited a jumble of threats and insults from the remaining pit crew until the wobbly third re-joined the action, and the process would begin anew.

 3-D4 sat next to the two medical droids and studied their game of dejyarik.  The 2-1B was the ship’s undebated champion, but the GH-7 was being adventurous.  She was trying the classic Rancor opening, used by Camesi in the Galactic Games of the Old Republic, but her opponent was completely in control.  3-D4 whispered his advice to the medical assistant droid.  She rolled her receptors and repulsored subtly further from him.

 Tholme walked into the midst of them and Billee announced him, “Captain on deck!”  The droid crew immediately ceased their activities and stood at attention.  “Thank you, Billee,” Tholme inclined his head as the First Mate saluted, “We are meeting with an armed group, and I don’t know which type.  They may be Imperial, or they may be criminal.  Doesn’t matter, though, because we’re just going to drop off this food shipment and take back to the skies as quickly as we came down,” Tholme paced around his crew as he spoke.

 “Do not take orders from anyone but me.  Is that understood?” The droids responded in synchronized affirmation.  Tholme nodded in approval and continued, “Billee I’d like you to see to the cargo dispatch.  Keep a close eye on those creations of yours – we can’t afford any incidents like the one on Sullust.  I will need to speak privately with Diomoi, so you will also be the delivery contact, as usual.”

 “Zed, you’re to keep near the cargo lift.  I want your blasters live and ready.  I know you’ve spent a lot of time in the combat simulator, but this is the real thing and you’ll be dealing with real humans.  No action without my orders.”

 “Vee-Six, remain at the helm.  Keep the Circuit powered down, but I want all but the most critical systems in stand-by mode, and keep a com line to me open at all times.”

 “Medical – return to regular duties unless otherwise ordered by me.”

 “Three-Dee-Four, you’re with me,” Tholme looked the assistant droid up and down.  The droid’s chasis was polished to a gleam, and the droid appeared to stand straighter as the Captain ordered him to his side.  With everything being said, Tholme hit the ramp depressor and was showered with hydrolic steam as he walked down the ramp. 

 At the bottom, Diomoi stood.  He was wearing sharp plainclothes, although they were padded thickly across the chest – assuredly extra protection.  Leaning lazily on one hip and smiling smugly, he motioned at the few hands behind him.  The men, all dressed of the same fashion, moved hoversleds quickly towards the middle-undercarriage of the freighter, where the cargo lift was descending.  Tholme noticed that they had strangely anxious expressions.  They kept scanning the surrounding area, looking for something.  Or on the lookout, Tholme thought. 

 “There he is!” Diomoi laughed as Tholme tossed a small bottle to him.  The soldier scanned the label and his eyes went wide, “Durosian synth-blend!  Not bad, old man.  You must have been saving this up for a while.” 

 “Let’s just get this over with,” Tholme muttered.

 Diomoi slipped the liquor into a pocket and looked Tholme over.  “You look horrible, Sarge.”

 Tholme started to reply, but Diomoi interrupted with a playful yet cold tone, “Easy now, easy.  We’ll need to speak with the Captain Errolt.  He’s a very….meticulous leader,” He added, making a more obvious show of assessing Tholme’s clothes. 

 Captain So balled his hands into fists and made an effort to calm his anger.  After the sleds were loaded with all the cargo, and his crew was safely on board the Rogue Circuit, he and 3-D4 followed Diomoi and his men through the brush, hoping that it wouldn’t be too long of a hike.