We're Here for What's Ours, Attn: Beskar'ade

~~

Cor Ischoron hated turncoats. Those who professed to be part of something, then turned their back on it. The Epicanthix understood personal reasons-say, your boss ordered your to perform something immoral and you refused, turned traitor, and left. Maybe you found love and didn't want to go on with your past life anymore. Whatever the cause, Cor did not look favorably on those who quit.

The Mercenaries under the leadership of the past leader, a man unkown to Cor, were good men. Calling themselves the Rockspin mercs, they operated out of an asteroid field that floated along the hyperlane called the Hydan way, the only Hyperlane to span the entire galaxy. This made it easy for them to get to wherever they needed for a job, and also easy to track them, if one knew where to look for.

The new leader, an Anzanti name Barge, whom Captain Dondarrion had humorously described as a brainsucker, was a selfish little rat that immediately withdrew their support for the Alliance, breaking the deal his former leader had made with the Brass. Terrible business, that. Captain Dondarrion didn't want their service anymore. He just wanted their information on the bases, and all their copies, and failing that, they would all have to die.

A fitting job for Mandalorians, Cor reflected with a smirk. He was checking his armor for vaccuum integrity with a sweep-sensor in his glove. It wasn't much, but it kept him from being bored while the Alliance cruiser that carried the squadron's basilisk crawled through hyperspace.

The hangar was huge and had plenty of space and seperate bays, almost as big as a cruiser's hangar bay. But in the past week the squadron had made it their home. Equipment, spare parts, and droids lay about, seemingly at random, but having order and meaning to each individual pilot. The basilisks themselves came in many different sizes and colors but were evenly spaced at their separate bays, some being worked on, some powered down, and some having conversations with their pilots.

No matter how different they all were, each one of them had one thing in mind: this mission. Cor felt the slight flutter of the inertial dampeners and looked up as a voice said, "Exiting hyperspace. Solus'senaar to stations."

It was time. Cor was already in the pilot's seat of Dominator, and patted the side of his basilisk. "You ready, buddy?" He asked with a smirk, slipping on his helmet. Dominator growled through his external speakers, "More than you are, I've been itching for a fight."

Cor's smile was visible through his voice. "I could tell, trust me." He contacted Crowe, saying, "Big Daddy, this is Overload, ready for takeoff, waiting for the go-ahead." Two green acknowledgement lights flashed once in the corner of his HUD, signalling the other two wingmate's readiness. Dominator responded to the transmission by firing up the engines and hovering a meter off the bay floors.

Cor received a dirty look from a squadron mate walking by. He waved. Only four of them were chosen to fly out to the asteroid base-the others had to stay behind. The honor was to be only the four selected, unless things went south.

With Crowe in command, Cor didn't think it would.

Solus'senaar: Wing One

From the forward bridge of the Rampant Fortune, Crowe saw the asteroid field arrayed out before them the moment they exited hyperspace. Kilotons of rock rolling and shifting in space, silently dancing until they collided with earth-shattering force, breaking into even smaller hazards. And it only stretched off into eternity. In the vacuum, the dangers were hidden, muffled behind that blanket of silence. One wrong move, just one foot off course, and he and Marley could be crushed into atoms...

With only the barest knowledge of where the Rockspin base was, the man knew that the Beskar’ade were the best men for the job. There was a time when Crowe might’ve relished the challenge, the peril put before them, but that was more than six years ago. Yasala waited for him back on Rhen Var – he’d promised to bring her back an asteroid rock.

"Exiting hyperspace. Solus'senaar to stations."

The words crackled over the intercom, stirring the Mandalorian into action. With a nod to the ship’s captain, Crowe’s face disappeared behind his self-assembling buyce, sealing the suit with a brief flash of blue light, and a hiss. Turning on his heel, he started for the lifts, a blink of an eye sending a signal to Marley. There was a moment where the response box merely blinked and then,

> I’m ready, ner alor’ad.

He grinned in his helm, ignoring the high fluttering in his stomach as the lift sped down to the hangar level. “So formal, Marley. Putting on a show for the other buckets?”

> ...
> ...
> No.

And then the connection was cut. As Crowe rolled his eyes, the lift doors hissed aside and the man was presented with the Beskar’ade in all its glory, the massive war droids hulking over the heads of the pilots and specialists that attended them. Stepping from the lift, he was greeted with both pleasant waves and looks of disdain. The second did nothing to quell the pride that swelled in his heart, and to those, he only gave a cheeky nod. They’d chosen the team for this mission the proper Mandalorian way (fighting), and they’d lost. Tough.

Passing those droids under maintenance, he found Marley’s station, and with confidence borne from years of practice, he scaled the droid’s flank even as the great war machine shifted and stirred, disconnecting from his power couplings. Settling into the saddle, his armor hooking in with several heavy clicks, he opened his comm line just as Cor’s voice buzzed through his speakers.

"Big Daddy, this is Overload, ready for takeoff, waiting for the go-ahead."

The call sign never failed to make Crowe laugh. “Roger that, Overload. Let’s dance with the stars.”

A basilisk deploying from a hangar bay was vastly different from any sort of conventional starcraft. With Marley at the lead of the four-person formation, the great droid ambled towards the opening hangar door. Like a great animal considering a huge jump, he paused, testing the force field that held the atmosphere within the hangar. Then, with a coiling of highly calibrated machinery, the droid launched himself into space, the thrusters behind his huge wings roaring to life.

“The Rampant picked up abnormal heat signatures at these coordinates,” with a command to his HUD, Crowe sent the numbers to his wing, and continued, “Keep your weapons tied, we’re here to negotiate first, vape them second.” Setting the coordinates into his navicomputer, Crowe braced himself as Marley turned his nose towards a thick cluster of asteroid rocks.

Dominator, upon linking with the other three basilisks in the wing, turned on his cloud of air and boosted the engines. Had it not been for the inertial dampeners that covered Cor, he'd have been blown out of the saddle with the force of the droid's acceleration.

“Roger that, Overload. Let’s dance with the stars.”

Upon exiting the hangar bay, Dominator corkscrewed and slowed as he reached Marley's flight path. Cor whooped into his helmet, taking over manually. He settled into his wing position, to the right and behind Crowe, and the other two wingmates settled into position, one behind Crowe directly, slightly farther back, and the other to Crowe's left.

They resembled a rhombus, tight and controlled, perfect in precision and discipline. A nearby star of an uninhabited system, where the field was located, cast light onto the asteroid field, giving every asteroid a pale, ghostly blue light. The asteroid field was comprised of all kinds of asteroids, but in the faint light, Cor could not see the end of it. Just as well. That would make it somehow easier in his mind to find this base. Cor didn't like easy-less honor that way.

“The Rampant picked up abnormal heat signatures at these coordinates,” Crowe said.

The coordinates flashed on Cor's HUD, and the battle computer translated them and with an order from Cor, placed a NAV point some miles ahead of the Solus'senaar, right smack in the middle of a thick cluster of asteroids. They floated closer than others. Must be chummy with each other.

“Keep your weapons tied, we’re here to negotiate first, vape them second.” Cor could hear the man talking directly to him.

He smirked inside of his helmet. "But that's only half the fun, Big Daddy." In response, Dominator's weapons powered down.

"Dance with the stars" was the right term. As they entered the asteroid field, the squadron of basilisks didn't break formation even once as they seemed to flow like water over drifting asteroids. Dominator's sensors made it possible to draw up a flight path to get through unmolested, but Cor followed Crowe's lead, as usual. As they were smaller than the majority of starfighters, and had less mass, they had maneuverability unmatched by the starfighters of the same size. They dared go much closer to asteroids, corkscrew around them, skim past them, and Cor reached out and scraped his armored fingers against one as he passed it.

When Crowe turned, the Squadron turned with him. When Cor raised to avoid a drifting asteroid, the wingmate to his left lowered to give the formation the appearance of one cohesive unit. They quickly reached the asteroid cluster, and Crowe turned to the right to circle around what looked like the outside of it, flying along its perimeter. Cor scanned the cluster with Dominator's sensors, looking in particular for any traces of technology-or life.

“But that's only half the fun, Big Daddy.”

The man snickered, glancing first over at his clanmate before banking his flight path so that Marley’s shoulder bumped against Dominator. It should’ve been a concussive impact but so maneuverable were the basilisk that it was just the barest touch of beskar on beskar, a few flecks of paint drifting off into the void. “You’ll manage, Overload.”

The wing’s flow through the asteroid field was a breathless dance, the great masses of rock moving past soundlessly. Sometimes, it seemed as though Crowe could feel their passage, being a mere few feet away producing a frightening vibration in his chest. He was thankful for Marley’s shielding and the dampeners that kept him protected, even in the open cockpit.

As they moved through the cluster, the war droid's sensors constantly swept their blue-soaked surroundings, aided by those following him. Leaving some of the flying to Marley, Crowe similarly kept his eyes up and looking for anything suspicious. A brief flash of artificial light, exhaust ports, anything which told him that there was a base inside one of the rolling and tumbling behemoths.

Soon enough, however, it didn’t matter. An open channel suddenly buzzed to life inside of Crowe’s HUD, a thick feminine voice leaking through. “Identify yourselves.” Marley’s wingflaps spread wide with a buzz of gears, and then the droid swerved, Crowe working to lock onto the signal’s source. Skirting over the face of one gently rotating asteroid, the four basilisk finally crested the horizon of the rock to face their prize. One asteroid, the largest, seemingly nondescript save the cleverly hidden artificial constructions melted into the rock.

Closing the distance, Marley swerved upwards, landing struts extending to latch onto the base’s rocky surface. The sensation of a gravitational pull came over Crowe, and he shifted in the saddle, before lifting his hand to press the fingers to the side of his helm, projecting the transmission to his team.

“Aruetii, we’ve located your base. We’re here on peaceful terms. Will you let us parlay or will we have to obliterate you out of the sky?”

The Alliance sent Mandalorians, they were going to get some Mandalorian charm.

((How do the mercenaries respond? Will they be able to gain entrance to the base?))

((The woman isn't terribly impressed. "You say peaceful and obliterate in the same breath," she accuses. However... "Give me a moment."

A few minutes later, her voice is back. "Two may dock, two must stay without. If we sense hostilities from either, expect us to return the same in kind."

They are given coordinates for a hangar bay on the underside of the 'central' asteroid in the group.))

Crowe's playful bumping was sent into memory as they all locked in on the asteroid cluster. Dominator's sensors pinged the signal's source before the communication was sent, by way of the comm powering up on the station. The NAV point faded from view as the battle computer recognized them reaching their destination, and in the same moment, a transmission came in.

"Identify yourselves." A woman's voice said, filled with attention-demanding projected authority. Cor smirked, but stayed silent, against his impulse to make a snide remark via private channel. Dominator said, "I have 'em." Rapid blinking transferred Cor's helmet's vision to the slowly rotating large asteroid of the cluster. He activated the faint blue lights on his suit and brushed a bit of dust off his shoulder. Part of diplomacy was for the diplomat to look their absolute best, so as to give the diplomee no fault to find in anything but their arguments.

Cor suspected many faults would be found in theirs. The demand was simple. Give us the information we want, or we'll blow you so far out of existence that somewhere, your family members will all die of cardiac arrest. Frothing at the mouth. Shouting embarrassing secrets to those around. "Check my best friend's datapad for two twi'leks, one cup!" Cor liked to pretend that's what happened when he destroyed a starship in one hit. Just straight murdered them.

Crowe led the way into the asteroid cluster, and his squadron followed the two, basilisk and pilot. Marley had apparently found the central asteroid, too, as he landed directly on it. Cor followed suit, but the other two wingmates hovered above them in a back to back formation, so as to defend in case of treachery.

Cor, to Crowe's left, looked at the Ischoron. A hand raised up to press the side of his helmet and Crowe responded, “Aruetii, we’ve located your base. We’re here on peaceful terms. Will you let us parlay or will we have to obliterate you out of the sky?”

Cor could feel his adrenaline surge as his mind prepared for the battle. His weapons were powered down, but Dominator ran firing sequences for possible fighters streaming out of the hangars. Slightly above and to his right, two asteroids smashed together, silently sending flying chunks of debris to pelt off Dominator's shield. Cor paid it no mind, so focused was he on the awaited response from the comlink in his helmet. The answer came back as a dry remark. The authority was gone, replaced by a sarcastic tone dripping with the most biting of moods.

"You say peaceful and obliterate in the same breath," Cor's eyes rolled through his voice. "They're like the few gi'e I've spoken with. They just don't understand our unique brand of conversation."

"Give me a moment." Cor's earlier rush of endorphins faded away slowly, and his eyes narrowed. It would seem that they would be let aboard. He did not trust these men, who had shown before they were without honor. Dominator's tail could pierce the asteroid surface, along with the weapons. They could punch a hole so big that Cor could simply reach out and break something of the leader himself as he flew by silently, to pop like a cork in the vacuum. Dominator sensed his hand tightening on the control yokes and flared his wings in anticipation for a fight.

But it was not Cor's call.

"Two may dock, two must stay without. If we sense hostilities from either, expect us to return the same in kind." The woman said. Simple enough.

Crowe's orders were simple: Cor was with him and the other two were to patrol the exterior of the cluster of asteroids. Fair enough. Cor's salute the wingmates was returned as the two as they sped off together. Marley and Dominator lifted off the asteroid and slowly flew by the surface, within the gravitational pull affecting the area around the asteroid. As they reached the hangar, they latched onto the asteroid with their brawling claws and simply clawed their way into the hangar, coming through the magnetic field like two great beasts crawling up from the edge of a cliff. Cor glanced around suspiciously.

((What do they see? Does anyone greet them? Are they pretty?))

It's like any ordinary hangar run by mercenaries. A few shuttles in need of repairs are in one end of the hangar and a group of three fighters are being refuelled on the other, deck plate spotted with rust and oil spills. It has seen better days. There are a fair amount of Rockspin mercenaries hovering around. Some look displeased at the arrival of the Mandalorians, others curious, but they all look more than a little intimidated by the basilisk war droids.

There appears to be no welcoming party beyond the scattered mercs, all armed, all probably dangerous. A mechanic that was scared witless as he was conducting minor repairs on the mag field seems hesitantly approach them before they can proceed far into the hangar, out of earshot of any of the mercs.

"You- You're Alliance, right?" He asks, clearly nervous, as his eyes keep flicking over to the larger party of mercenaries. "You gotta- gotta help us, he's kriffin' insane, man." The spindly little man seems to gather some more courage.

"Some of us, we like workin' for the Alliance, y'know? But he's just- just," the mechanic struggled for words, before finally hissing out between his teeth, "He sucked out Garm's brain! Who does that?!"

They are not given time to get more details out of the mechanic, as he is sent packing by a yell across the room, new arrivals stalking towards the Mandalorians. None of them look happy, but none of them are visibly waving around any weapons. They've probably got peaceful intentions, for now.

"You say peaceful and obliterate in the same breath,"

With the comm still on, Crowe laughed, the sound rich and genuine. The aruetiise were so charming. Normally, Crowe would’ve left out the idle threat, but until further notice, the Rockspin mercs were the enemy. And in some small way, it was fun to mess with them.

"Give me a moment."

“Sure thing.” The pilot replied, with the tone of one who had just ordered something big at a drive-thru rather than demanded entrance to an enemy base. A bid to sound confident, even as nerves clutched at his throat. He would never say he was fearless, just that he knew when to hide it.

"They're like the few gi'e I've spoken with. They just don't understand our unique brand of conversation."

Another laugh and Crowe shook his head, turning his gaze away from the pockmarked surface of the asteroid to the two other basilisk who patrolled their airspace. “Doubt they ever will, either.” The two other members of the wing glided past, shadowing them from the blue light of the star, and then, as one fluid unit, flipped and turned. The expanse of stars beyond the rolling asteroids was a view without compare, and with a discrete, tilt of his head, Crowe took a few pictures on his HUD, stowing them away for Yasala.

A few minutes of idling, and then the comm sputtered back into connection. Crowe lifted his hand to touch against the side of his head again, the motion quick without external friction. "Two may dock, two must stay without. If we sense hostilities from either, expect us to return the same in kind."

“You got it.” And he cut the connection. A glance was thrown back at the patrolling half of the wing and then at Cor, before the man signaled to the other pilot. “Just you and me, Overload, we’re docking.” Other orders were sent to the rest of the wing, telling them to keep an eye on their airspace while they went in. Crowe waited for the green acknowledgement lights before Marley pushed off of the asteroid surface with a great heave and the thrusters behind his wings flared, pushing them towards their new coordinates.

The short distance was covered quickly before Marley returned to ground, great brawling claws digging back into the space rock. Debris flew away from the droid’s appendages as he tromped up and over the lip of the hangar bay, and Crowe’s ears popped as they reentered a contained atmosphere. The Mandalorian privately enjoyed the looks of shock that crossed the inhabitants' faces as the massive droids trundled in, beskar carapaces shining in the bright overhead lights.

When none came to greet them, Crowe disengaged from the war droid’s saddle and slid down his flank to land lightly on his feet. Eying the gathered mercenaries, he took a moment to lean back against Marley’s flank, making the threat he presented clear. And even when he wasn’t near Marley, he had the Rippers strapped to either thigh, one hand resting idly on the grip of one.

Finally, he caught the motion of someone moving towards them out of the corner of his eye and he glanced at the mechanic. It wasn’t the visage of someone in authority, and Crowe stilled in bemusement.

"You- You're Alliance, right?"

“More or less.” He murmured, voice tinny through the helm speakers. His eyes went between the mechanic and the mercenaries, following the frightened man’s gaze. He hoped this wasn’t a waste of time.

"You gotta- gotta help us, he's kriffin' insane, man... Some of us, we like workin' for the Alliance, y'know? But he's just- just... He sucked out Garm's brain! Who does that?!"

Both eyebrows flying up, Crowe watched the man scurry away, bewildered. That certainly explained why the Rockspin mercs switched loyalties so fast. And it certainly complicated the situation. The squadron leader switched to a private channel with Cor, tilting his head the way the man had run.

“Complicates things, yeah? I don’t think we’re going to get far with insanity, no matter how charming I am.”

Sighing, twisted away to wave down one of the merc, unseen lips pressed together in impatience. Finally, one relented and strolled over, massive rifle balanced on his shoulder. Crowe simply tilted his head at the man before gesturing at the portal leading further into the base.

“So, do we get to see your boss or what?”

Resistance was expected, but eventually, a woman whose voice Crowe recognized as their correspondent arrived, and snapped a quick order at both the mercenaries and the Mandalorians. Eager to get this over with, Crowe followed, glancing behind him only once to ensure that Cor stayed close at his back.

Cor's way of getting off of Dominator was a little more heavy than Crowe's. He had farther to slide and there were bumps, so he simply jumped down smoothly and landed with his knees bent. Crowe walked to stand in front of him then, and he stood up to his full height, above Crowe and most of the mercenaries. He looked around and spotted the small mercenary. Cor could smell the very familiar grease on his arms and suit.

He smirked slightly as the man relayed his piece of information. Well, that complicated things. Crowe's voice rang into his ears. “Complicates things, yeah? I don’t think we’re going to get far with insanity, no matter how charming I am.”

Cor almost slapped him on the shoulder, but knew that wouldn't be very professional. "Senaar'alor, you being charming is as painful to watch as the aliit'alor trying to lay an egg." He sniped, coolly scanning the environment as the mechanic who had spoken to them earlier picked up his tools and kept working. Dominator shifted slightly as a mercenary came too close in an attempt to get a better look, and the man flinched and scurried away.

"Dominator, warn us if they try anything, would you?" He asked. Dominator's gruff voice growled through to both the men, "I'll do more than that."

"That's all we ask, buddy." Cor said, the smirk evident in his voice. Crowe waved down a merc and asked him a question, which Cor didn't catch. He was too busy staring down another Mercenary who spit on the hangar deck in their direction. The axe on Cor's back was seeming awfully heavy, and he wanted it in his hands now.

Then more mercenaries showed up. "Heads up." Cor said, crossing his arms and puffing his chest out as he focused on the posse leading their way towards him. "Arutiise, and they look like a lot of fun." It was led by a zabrak woman, who bore the telltale crown of horns and lines on her face in a rigid, geometrical pattern. A large rifle rested in her hands and two pistols on either hip, butts facing forward. Her armor shined and her scowl burned in conjunction with the hard eyes.

"You'll want to come with us, Alliance." She said after ordering her men to get back to work and stop staring at the shiny armor of the newcomers. Cor didn't walk. He didn't strut. His arms down by his sides, he fell into perfect step behind Crowe. They were a team in every sense of the word, and these mercenaries needed to learn and respect that.

As they followed the posse, three fell in behind them with a tight military-like triangular formation, and two flanked their leader in mimicry of the men in the back. Cor gained a little respect for them at this. At least they weren't slouches.

His opinion changed as they entered the passageway they group had emerged from and he glanced to the right at an open door. His soldier's eyes took in every detail in the slight glance. It was a cantina, worthy for the worst dregs of the galaxy. The bartender droid was rusty and sparked with electricity once as it wiped down a cup, the bar top was streaked with dirt, the floor was rusted over, and the glasses were all dark and cloudy. What patrons were there had their heads slouched down, looking defeated. Flickering, dark lights barely illuminated the place.

As they turned right down a hallway, he glanced into another room. The barracks. They were in a similar state of disrepair, but the beds were all made up neatly and the lights seemed to be purposely dimmed. Two men were arm wrestling in the corner and the door to the refresher showed a clean, pristine environment.

Left down another passageway, and they turned into an open door after the Zabrak female and her entourage. Two of the guards behind them remained at the doorway, and the extra filed in behind them. "Have a seat. We will discuss your business here." The woman said.

Cor nodded and sat in a large recliner-style chair, meant for smaller beings but fitting him alright regardless. The room was lit by a soft white light, with a table in the middle of a bilateral arrangement of chairs and a couch. It was big enough to fit the motley group of humanoids, had a multicolored, expensive-looking plant in the corner, and a painting on the wall opposite the door. Cor was staring at it as the Zabrak and her posse left. A nice lake with a small, primitive rowboat, painted in excruciating detail in the autumn season of a forest world. It was signed "Barge" and the whole thing looked like the galaxy's finest artists had joined into one hand for a master's stroke. There was something off about this...Barge. The rest of the base was pretty much a dianoga's den, but this place was pristine and well-kept.

In fact, it looked untouched. Cor determined that the place, since the Anzanti's takeover, had been falling slowly into disrepair. Maybe. He had chosen the left side of the room, from the door. There were two seats on that side of the oval-shaped table, and a couch and two orbiting chairs on the other side of it. Cor looked at the conversation piece on the low-set table.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't see it as anything but a phallic piece of...whatever it was made of. He wanted to spin it around and get a different angle, but his eyes remained transfixed on it, mouth in a grimace, eyes squinted. He could tell it wasn't phallic, but fierfek, he couldn't see anything else besides the slight curve of the sloping tower, ridged at the top and curved into the base at the bottom.

"Crowe, do you-"

"Yep." Crowe said flatly.

Before Cor could remark on it, a man suddenly...appeared next to him. He didn't hear the man coming in. He didn't see him. He simply stepped next to him. Cor was trained enough not to let his surprise show, but it made his skin crawl. He stood and extended his hand. The man took it and remarked, "Pleased to see how strong men can still be found in the galaxy."

The wild gleam in them na's eye as he said that made goosebumps appear on his skin once more. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he suddenly recalled the stories of Anzati from the storyteller as a child. Not only did they suck the brains from a being's skull, they pulled the life energy from his soul. To be killed-as a Mandalorian-this way, was for your soul to be trapped forever between worlds, doomed never to pass into the afterlife, nor haunt the living. They had supernatural powers that were different from the force, and extraordinary strength and reflexes. It had taken the greatest legends of old to slay them.

Cor's feelings about the mission changed. He wanted to shoot them all down and and just be done with it.

Barge's cheeks were smooth, with a thick, neatly trimmed goatee surrounding the tight-lipped mouth. The teeth were bared in a rough imitation of a smile, more of a protruding of the pale lips than anything else. Pale skin made the high cheekbones appear more skull-like, and the eyes were shrunken into the back of the sockets. A long nose pointed straight at Cor. A mullet rested atop his head, dark brown in color, and shimmersilk, well-cut fashionable clothes marked wealth.

"Mandalorians, are you?" He asked, his voice sliding into Cor's ears like a greased eel. It was smooth, but not pleasant.

Cor nodded. "Yes. We're of the Ischoron clan. Our squadron serves the Alliance."

"A smart move." Barge said with a smirk. "Using the best warriors of the galaxy to enforce their will." He gestured for them to sit and sat in the middle of the couch opposite of them. He threw another gesture at the painting. "Do you like my work?" He asked expectantly.

Cor looked at Crowe slightly as they sat and said, "With all due respect, we're not here to discuss art."

"Senaar'alor, you being charming is as painful to watch as the aliit'alor trying to lay an egg."

Behind his mask, Crowe’s face became contemplative, eyes glassy, before his mouth twisted into a revolted grimace. “Stars,” He grunted, shaking his shoulders, “Thanks for that... horrifying image.”

Fortunately, distraction wasn’t far behind, and the Mandalorians fell into step behind the Zabrak. Crowe’s attention was similarly drawn to the disrepair about the base, noting the incongruous order of the soldiers’ personal spaces. It was almost squalor, and these men were trying to make the best of it. Despite himself, Crowe found his hostility turning to face Barge more than the Rockspins in general. These were good men, well trained, that was obvious.

The seating area was an abrupt change from the sordid surroundings of the rest of the base, and the man paused in the door way, scanning the room, warily. His nose wrinkled in distaste. Insanity was obvious in every corner; a bad leader squandering good resources so he could live in self-indulgence. A dark resentful feeling curled in the man’s gut.

"Have a seat. We will discuss your business here." He turned his eye on their Zabrak guide, and then nodded in acknowledgement but did not take a seat. Crossing his armored forearms across his chest, when the Zabrak left, he took up to leaning against the wall next the painting, across from his wingman as he sank into one of the recliners.

“Scratching up the brainsucker’s leather?” The man joked, though his voice was tight. “Take victory where you can get it, I suppose.”

Facing away from the painting, Crowe was treated to just a view of the coffee table piece, and though it went unseen behind his faceplate, his eyes were locked on the obscene object. In the waiting that followed, Crowe was left to wondering what the hell it was... An oddly mushroom? A mannequin head? Who was he kidding? It was a frakin’ alien penis sitting in the middle of the table. Frakin’ weird-ass aruetiise.

"Crowe, do you-"

He was glad he wasn’t the only one wondering, and Crowe could do nothing more but confirm the suspicions they both shared. Opening his mouth, the man was about to say more, but the shiver that trailed up his spine put him on alert. It was that restless feeling Crowe always got when something bad was about to happen. And it did.

The dark blur slid across the corner of Crowe’s vision, and then resolved before his eyes, standing next to Cor. The man started, hand going to rest on his pistol. He hadn’t even seen the man enter, and Crowe swallowed dryly. Anzati, vampires, brain suckers. He didn’t know much about them except for boogey-man stories that the clan elders told to the ade to keep them from wandering off into the dark. And to test their bravery. Weren’t they supposed to have tentacles?

"Pleased to see how strong men can still be found in the galaxy."

The voice slid into his mind, oily and saccharine. Crowe shuddered, and his grip tightened on the pistol, while he looked between Cor and Barge. The Anzati was assuming that Cor was the leader, since he was the one most at ease. Fine with Crowe, this could be worked to their advantage. Tense pleasantries were exchanged and Crowe remained silent throughout, watching the Anzati take a seat. The squadron leader remained standing, forcing himself back into the easy position with his arms crossed over his chest. It was a position of power, dominance, one he needed when he sensed a huge snag in the mission.

"Do you like my work?"

"With all due respect, we're not here to discuss art."

“Yep, with all respect due, we’re here for the Alliance intel you have, we’re not leaving without it.” Crowe said, his voice modulated through his helm speakers. They weren’t going to be taking their buy’ce off, not a chance. “Just a warning. If we’re compromised, our friends in the black will turn this entire base into rubble.”

They could very well die at the hands of this Anzati, and it would be regrettable to lose the rest of the Rockspins, but no way in hell was Crowe going to risk the rest of his team against the brainsucker.

((How effective is this persuasion? Will Barge give over the information peacefully?))

At Crowe's words, Barge lets out a bright little laugh, as if to say 'oh you're so cute', even accompanied by a little limp wristed hand wave. "Compromise you? I have no hostile intentions towards you or the Alliance, but I'm afraid giving you the information is not possible. Impossible, even." The Anzati rubbed absently at his goatee, as an evil villain presentation isn't complete without a pensive stroke of whatever bearded growth said villain has. "The information has been stored a very secure place, and I simply cannot procure it at this time."

He presses the comm button on a desk, calling in his men at arms. "But I'm a very busy man, I bid you farewell." Barge leaves before the two Mandalorians can do or say anything else, as quick to leave as he was to arrive. His bulked up security forces arrive moments before he leaves, the five of them just as impressive as the Mandalorians. None of them look inclined to exchange pleasantries, the leader of the pack sporting a vicious scar bisecting his face. Their weapons are not drawn, but they all look ready to defend themselves if attacked.

"Gentlemen," the leader says. They want you to leave, in case you didn't get the message.

"Compromise you? I have no hostile intentions towards you or the Alliance, but I'm afraid giving you the information is not possible. Impossible, even." This was accompanied by a dramatic stroking of his goatee. Cor had no idea that a walking legend could be so much like an arutiise holodrama. When the evil warlord is considering a deal and he strokes his goatee. Cor was reminded of the first one he'd ever seen a year ago, Of Trandoshans and Wookies. He was very confused by it.

The fact that it was impossible to give them the information brought many questions to Cor's mind, the main of them being, Why? Did they sell it? Did they dump it? Did he store it someplace that require multiple people to access? Cor was about to speak when the Azanti spoke up again, voice pushing on his ears like a lubricated hydrospanner. "The information has been stored a very secure place, and I simply cannot procure it at this time."

Well, he did store it. The question now was where-and why.

A quick movement to a comlink called in security. The five of them men assumed a clustered position near the door, three to the left and two to the right. Cor sized them all up. They all looked about as tough as a Mandalorian, although Cor knew that they were never as good as his vode.

"But I'm a very busy man, I bid you farewell." Barge got up and nodded to Cor, heading out before they could do or say anything. He turned left, Cor noted. During the extremely brief exchange, he had taken a relaxed, easy position, leaning back in the recliner, legs splayed out, left arm extended to his pistol, and the other arm lifted to where his hand hovered near his face. He did not move at first, instead pointing his faceless helmet in the mercenary's position.

The tension in the air between the mercenaries and the Mandalorians was so thick that Cor could smell the anxiety coming from them. After a second, the scarred one said, "Gentleman." They were all human.

Cor activated a private channel to the squad, so they could all hear. "Dominator. I'm gonna need you to cut off their escape. Crowe, I'm starting the fight. We need to get to Barge." He said tensely. Crowe's acknoledgement light flashed once. Adrenaline began pumping through Cor's system in preparation. Since Barge was not giving them the information as they had so politely asked, he would have to be...persuaded. That involved fighting a bloody path to him.

Cor's fist tightened as he said to no one, "Here goes." The speaker of the group saw this and Cor could see his body tense.

So the Mandalorian lowered his head and charged directly at the leftmost man on the left of the door, barreling into him at stomach level and slamming him into the wall, and lifting his legs from under him in the same motion to lead into a body slam.

~~

Dominator's comm flickered to life as he received Cor's request. "It will be done, ner vod." He said formally. He took a scan of the surrounding environment, ending with the walls. His photoreceptors flared up as the motion detectors shut off, and, paired with his sensors, they offered a 360 degree view of his environment.

In his immediate vision, he could see two Dianoga-class starships, a Theta-class shuttle, two YT-1300 freighters, and a Y-wing bomber class farthest away. A battle plan formed. Dominator's weapons fired up suddenly. A hum of power was heard by the nearest mercenaries. They would be dealt with. The repulsorlifts lifted him beyond the reach of any hand weapons or crude implements used like them. He aimed at the nearest ship, the transport ship, working a fireing solution. Firing.

A shatter missile impacted with its bridge. Dominator noted the emotion he was supposed to feel, satisfaction, and turned to the next target. The humanoids were firing at him with hand weapons now, the things pinging off his shield with no result. He fired the turbolasers located in his claws at the two YTs, noted the explosions, and resigned to holding the mercenaries off from getting to the other ships.

"Marley, I am descending on the mercenaries. Do not fire on me." He informed, matter-of-factly. He dropped and walked quicker than his bulk suggested towards the nearest group. They scattered. He snatched one up with a brawling claw and held him high, in view of all the others. Fired the cannon in his palm. The man burned to ash in a small flash of light and stained Dominator's paint job.

He amplified his voice projector. Spoke. "I do not wish to do that to all of you. I suggest you surrender."

((Does Cor's attempt at catching them off guard work? Does Dominator's intimidation work at making them all stop?))

They're trained soldiers, some maybe even ex-Fed, so their knee-jerk reaction is to retreat a few steps and open fire on the two Mandalorians, showing the true every-man-for-himself attitude of mercenaries as their shots even hit the man Cor tackled, who is struggling furiously, landing a heavy punch to Cor's helmet. Cor's energy shield fizzes in agitation as the blaster shots find their mark. They use the doorway as cover as they fire on the two Mandalorians, who really should be finding cover themselves.

It might work if they were listening, but Dominator's command for them to stop goes ignored as they just run for it. They've given the ships up as lost, streaming out of the hangar and into the narrow corridors where Dominator and Marley cannot hope to follow unless they feel like getting stuck. No doubt they're seeking our secondary hangars where other escape vehicles can be found, or maybe even hiding away in hope that the Mandalorians wont blow up the asteroid for what wrongs their leader has done towards the Alliance. None of them will feel particularly nice if they encounter Crowe or Cor in the hallways, and the asteroid is teeming with activity now.

Watching Barge’s wrist flop around brought an unseen grimace to Crowe’s face, but that was instantly forgotten. The man’s fingers clenched as he realized that the situation was spiraling into a complexity that he couldn’t hope to control now. Right out of his grasp. The Azanti got up from his seat, and Crowe took a step forward, helmet speakers blaring, “Hold it–”

But the man was set on his course. Both pistols were withdrawn from their holsters, with little effect on the Azanti, but it let Crowe prepare for the appearance of the mercenaries at the door. Taking up a defensive position with Cor, the man’s brain whirled over the information given. It was in a secure place, unable to be procured. It could be anywhere then, possibly not even on the station. They needed to get at at brainsucker, and make him talk. Fast.

Barge disappeared behind the wall of mercenaries, and Crowe flipped the safeties off both Rippers, head tilting towards Cor as he delivered his plan. A fine Mandalorian plan, yes. “Sounds fine.” He replied, flipping on his acknowledgement light. “You take care of them, I’ll go after Barge.”

Perhaps not the safest plan, but as things went, it wasn’t in Crowe’s control anyway. Cor charged and then the room was filled with blaster bolts. “Or maybe not.” He grunted as he dove behind the leather recliner, taking up the covered position. Popping up from behind the flimsy cover, he aimed several shots at the mercs firing on Cor, but when Cor’s shield’s began to fizzle and pop, he burst from cover, and dove at the nearest mercenary with a roar, swinging a heavy punch for the man’s head. Combined, they could dispatch the mercs quickly, and they’d go after Barge together. Safer that way.

~~

The order went unheard to Marley, but as Dominator’s weapons started charging up, the droid’s AI made an autonomous decision. The fight was starting, and he was ready. Scuttling forward, the Basilisk rose up onto its hind supports, brawling claws raised to sweep at the gathered mercenaries, his forward armaments roaring as they charged. The thick metal drove into soft organic flesh, scattering the smaller beings like dolls, and then the droid turned his head towards the nearest ship, discharging a blast that shook its chassis. With a rumble the ship went up in flames, exploding a fuel line near it and carrying the destruction to the ship next over.

The mercenaries began to retreat, and Marley shot forward, claws still grasping hungrily for death. He was thwarted by his size however, and while one claw drove itself into the narrow corridor, they closed only on air. Withdrawing, he ripped the door that started to close on his arm out of its berth, and then turned back around, towards the energy shield door that held the atmosphere in the hangar bay.

> Transmitting orders...
> Senaar 2, Senaar 4
> Locate any other escape routes from the asteroid.
> Use deadly force.
> Alert the Rampant Fortune.


((Are Crowe and Cor able to defeat the mercenaries? Can they chase down Barge? Are the other basilisks located outside of the asteroid able to find the secondary hanger bays?))

Cor and Crowe only manage to take down two of the men in their first volley, as a loud and obnoxious alarm sounds all over the asteroid base, the light turning a tinted red. They take down one more man, but the racket of metal on metal alert them to incoming reinforcements. Two Droideka roll out in the hall, unfolding two open up a powerful and continuous rate of fire on the two in the room. The remaining soldiers retreat back down the hall, in the direction Barge went. Crowe's recliner is blasted to pieces in short order.

The two Basilisk pilots outside in the vacuum of space only have time to prepare for hostile forces after they're given the alert. Barge has hit the alarm in the base, all fighters have launched, all but those in the primary hangar, but that hangar held more freighters than fighters. The Rampant Fortune is alerted, but their support is still some minutes away. Meanwhile, they have their hands full eliminating the enemy, with no opportunity to take out the secondary hangars that dot the asteroid. They've woken a nest of wasps, and none of them are particularly happy.