Rebel Dawn [Dorn Force]

[John Glayde]

Tur'enne entered first, carbine up and sweeping the dim-lit corridor. Glayde followed immediately, weapon sweeping high and low as his vision scanned for sensors, cameras, and unexpected security devices. He found one; mounted low, disguised as another kind of fitting, streaming some invisible beam across the corridor. The microphone in his mask picked up the silent notification aimed at Tur'enne; she nodded, hesitating for a moment to step carefully over the sensor's line of sight. Glayde did the same, feeling awkward as hell doing so, but the blessed alarm-free silence that filled the corridor was consolation enough.

Their chosen entrance had been a utility door that, after a hundred or so yards and a handful of corners eventually led to the kitchens that supplied the residential quarters in which their target resided. Before they got there however, a number of obstacles lay in their way; a few meters short of where the kitchen was supposed to be, a set of huge blast doors were closed so tight that they were practically a wall.

Glayde stepped up to the durasteel, and placed a hand against the metal; not that his gloved fingers could feel anything, of course. His eyes roamed around, drinking in the details. "Military grade," he said softly; no point in speaking at a normal volume if you had microphones and amplifiers and all manner of other electronic equipment to do the work for you. "Pretty much torn straight out of a derelict and grafted into the building." He gestured towards where the door met the walls. "You can see where they've had to replace those tiles after they cut the hole for this to go in."

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

Ingenious little bastards, aint they? The dim lighting made it obvious this wasn't a normal use hallway in the evenings, must it had enough to mark up to emergency standards and allow for the two Rebels two make it through without having to switch on any sort of tactical equipment. Charles was glad for that, something about laser sights and small flash lights mounted on fire arms you'd probably just end up using at close range always seemed rather silly to her. The lighting made it superb for moving around, dim enough to save the company some money, but bright enough to be able to see small obstacles. Minute details however...

Even the soft sound of the Major's voice caused a small cringe. There was no need for absolute silence, but frakking hell if she wasn't thrown off by it. He had the right idea though, even if he didn't know it. Using the strap on the carbine to cling it over her shoulder she used one free hand to tug off the glove of the other and placed it against the cool surface of the blast door. It wasn't overly textured, but not overly smooth either...which ruled out about a dozen various models in her mind. Next was letting her fingertips run over the tiny grooves where the pieces met, paying special attention to the feel of the edges, and more importantly, the shape where they all joined in the center.

It was a hard override of all sound reasoning in her mind that she managed to speak up, barely above a whisper but the comm system would bring it in clear enough.

"Weren't kidding. Looks like in exchange for their research Frohad got themselves some fancy Imp works. Last I saw one of these was in a frakkin bunker. Makes no sense..."

What the frak were these scientists working on? Her earlier impressions about them and their so-called innocence was wearing off in a big hurry and the greater impression that they were nothing but essentially paid prisoners was forming rapidly. A tiny spark of guilt threatened to creep up. They'd heard about the one wanting to defect, wanting to get out, did the rest share his feelings? Can't save them all... the thought was instantly, and accusingly followed by Leave no man behind. Bastards... maybe the others would have to unfortunately be test subjects for the stun setting regardless of her feelings on it. If nothing else it would give them something to fall back on later, might even save their lives. Better to be called a craven than a traitor and killed for it... Another argument: Better to die than serve the tyrants.

"Frink me..."

While more of an outward musing at the thoughts tumbling in her head, the words were just as directed at the wall in front of them. And even more so at the console controlling it.

"Military grade is putting it lightly, Major. Looks like they care more about the brains behind their equipment than the actual product. I can open it, but it's going to take time."

There was no point in waiting to hear a response, given her own appraisal. The panel itself wasn't going to be removed, and nothing was going to go easy. Taking out the combat blade she slowly began to pry off the keyboard, taking care to not put undue (and unexpected) stress on any of the internal components that could lock the entire door down.

[John Glayde]

Time was a comodity that they didn't have in abundance. Unfortunately, the same was true of second chances. Their perimeter breach had gone unnoticed, but if they were forced to retreat and attempt it again - try to access the facility from another direction, maybe - the odds of that repeating would decrease rapidly. And given what lay beyond these blast doors, draining their luck so early on seemed like a particularly bad plan.

Besides, knowing how paranoid these civilian contracter frakwits usually were, they'd probably installed blast doors like this on every kriffing access route. This was just as viable an access point as any of the others.

He bit back a sigh, eyes flicking across the walls and ceilings; his mind scrolled through his near-eidetic memory of the corridor they had traversed, searching for any access panels of ventelation hatches that might - for some reason - have gone unmarked on the security blueprints they had obtained. But there were none; not in this half of the complex. This side of the blast doors, they were in a single-storey, minimal security building, that relied on permeability to the outside for ventellation. On the inside, air scrubbers and recyclers filtered out the bad during those times that the facility was made airtight: wasn't enough to pressurise the place, but cleaned up the air pleanty, meaning that the Imperials could keep their pet scientists locked up nice and tight for as long as they wanted.

He sighed, and nodded reluctantly, turning his back to the blast doors and appropriating as much cover as he could muster. "Just get 'em open, Lieutenant," he muttered, rolling his shoulders underneath his infiltrator gear. "We've got all the time in the worlds."

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

Whatever smartass comment was lingering in response to Major this time around never made it past her thoughts as she went to work on the console. Tips of wires were being stripped, microchips moved, everything sorted and assessed and then finally reconnected. Charles tried to keep in mind just how long the process was taking, but when the majority of her thoughts were on getting the door open and keeping herself from getting electrocuted in the process, time seemed nothing more than an afterthought.

So it was that when two wires finally were tied together, a small amount of sparks occurred, and the door mechanics came to life and opened the blast doors, Charlotte honestly had no idea how long the procedure had taken her. There was a momentary semi-triumphant smirk that she was glad couldn't be seen.

"They should only have enough room to stick another one of these kriffing things in our way between us and those scientists. Should go faster next time but if they're stooping this low there's no telling what other sorts of damned surprises they have for us."

[John Glayde]

Glayde nodded, too busy waving his blaster around as he scoped the immediate vacinity beyond the blast doors to think of something to verbalise. Tur'enne's assessment was probably right, and that thought was unsettling; the thought of unseen surprises, rather than the fact that Tur'enne was right. Although, hearing a statement issued by the Lieutenant that had sufficiently little sarcasm and snark for a genuinely good thought to sneak in was a pretty rare occurance, and would under any other circumstances be worthy of celebration.

Right now though, all Glayde was bothered about was making it from here to the quarters where his information said their mark was located; preferably without being detected, shot at, gased, or exploded. There were probably more eventualities he hoped to avoid as well, but if they at least managed to avoid those few, he could go home happy. Or at least, less grumpy than he would otherwise.

"Alright," he stated simply, carefully stepping forward a few paces over the threshold of the blast doors. "Lets take it fast but careful; I have no desire to wound up dying today."

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

The rather humorous thought of taking home a jar of "chunky bits of the Major" had to be pushed aside again. There was a bit of a lament over the whole situation. Despite the normal need for utmost silence in most missions she'd undertaken in the past, Charles are her last unit had worked out a rather intricate set of hand gestures unique to them, the majority of which could translate into various insults and other quips that could often at least lighten the mood. They could be delivered, seen and responded to rather quickly while keeping some semblance of a professional situation.

Here, now, stuck with Glayde all Charles could do was force herself to just keep pushing the small loathing she had for the Major aside, without comment, and going through all the motions that would get them through this damned thing.

The blast doors proved to be the greatest obstacle they'd have to face for some time. Security cameras, a few sensors, and a small handful of guards on patrol were easily avoided or disabled and it wasn't until their current hallway came to a stop at a T-shaped junction that Charles came to a full halt. One of the break off hallways would lead rather immediately to the living area of the scientists, the other would lead off to their labs and other areas Charles had only quickly briefed herself on, only to familiarize herself with the 'worst case scenario' exit.

A deep breath was taken as she waited for the Major's next set of instructions. There was a growing annoyance at the fact that there was still a lot of the details regarding the mission that were a complete blank space to her. She was fully familiar with the whole 'need to know' status of most things, but it never quite sat right with her, moreso when there was only two of them and if something happened to the Major... well, there wasn't going to be anyone else to dodge the series of questions that might have some rather important answers.

[John Glayde]

Glayde's eyes flicked briefly closed, mind recharting the course through the network of corridors that he'd memorised from the blueprints. His momentary hesitation resolved in a satisfied nod. "This way," he said softly, gesturing down the left left half of the junction. He shifted his blaster slightly on his shoulder, barrel aimed a few casual degrees away from parallel with the ground.

Their progress was as swift as stealth would allow; the few remaining corners that separated them from their target disappeared in a matter of minutes. A short corridor loomed off to the right, a trio of doors spaced along each side, terminating in an ominous wall in the same drab gray as the rest of the building.

"Second on the left," Glayde instructed, positioning himself as a sentry at the corridor's maw. "Cut the alarm; bust the lock; don't open the door without me. We clear, El-Tee?"

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

A pity she couldn't bring herself to hassle the Major about that without me business. Charles couldn't help but smirk a bit at the thought that the scientist they were about to spring was probably some pretty little number and Glayde would get to play hero. The mischievous look in her eyes was probably the only thing giving away the line of thought that wasn't betrayed in her rather ridged "Yes, Sir."

Given the way the mission was going, the disarming of the alarm and disengaging the lock went smoothly, almost routinely so. Though it was once again brought to mind just how much it seemed the security was meant to keep the scientists in rather than keeping others out. Not that the system hadn't at least put up a good fight in the later.

A small series of lights near the panel switched from red to green and Charles raised a hand, giving the all-clear signal. If Glayde wanted the glory of being first to see who it was they were retrieving, he was welcome to it.

[John Glayde]

Glayde's stomach twisted into a tight coil as he waited, attention less on the contents of the corridor and more on the contents of the room behind than it perhaps should have been. The words Need To Know floated tauntingly through his consciousness, and he winced behind the relative anonymity of his mask. It was rapidly approaching the time when Tur'enne did need to; but now that it came down to it, his reluctance to leave her in the dark had inverted into reluctance to shead light on this particular mystery. Alliance Intelligence had it's reasons for ordering him to maintain the secret up 'til now; just as it had its reasons for sending the L.T. along in the first place. But now, at the wire, Glayde couldn't help but scowl at the thought of whichever desk-bound bureaucrat had elected to save himself some hastle by handing over this awkard revelation to him.

Seeing is believing, Glayde mused, as he silently aknowledged Charles' signal. He shifted his blaster's poise on his shoulder, becoming extremely dissatisfied with the comfort of absolutely everything about this situation. His nose wrinkled. She probably wouldn't believe me if I told her anyway.

Nodding a non-verbal to Tur'enne, Glayde swooped through the door the instant it shot open, eyes drinking in the details of the room in a few fractions of a second. Recognition matching faces to files from the briefing he'd recieved, he aimed the muzzle of his blaster at one of the bunks, the weapon set to stun spitting out azure rings towards their mark's slumbering room-mate. He counted ten, blaster sweeping the room; waited for the his of hatchways or the blare of alarms that would suggest they'd been overheard or otherwise detected. None came, but the momentary relief did nothing to uncoil the tension in his muscles.

His attention swept around, shifting to where the remaining conscious figure lay: half-dressed but mostly concealed - fortunately - by his bedsheets. Fingers retreated from Glayde's blaster, and clawed at the mask covering his jaw, tearing away the tech that would no doubt dehumanizing and intimidating to the scientist they had come for. "The Rebellion sent us," he stated, matter-of-factly. "You need to come with us."

[Alexander Tur'enne]

A set of muscles contorted beneath the man's forehead, tugging at the eyebrows and surrounding skin. He blinked, trying to clear away the sleep and daze from which he had been startled by the sudden burst-entrance of his visitors.

Suddenly conscious of his appearence for no adequately explainable reason, Alex scrabbled around him for the shirt he had discarded what must have only been a few hours earlier, relishing in the momentary distraction that the simplistic task offered. It provided him with a blessed relief from the panic and doubt that would slam into him again as soon as he realised: Oh gods; I'm defecting to the Rebel Alliance. I'm going to get shot and killed.

He found the shirt, crumpled into a non-descript ball and shoved down beside his pillow. Unfurling it and taking a little longer than normal to ensure that the care label was aligned with his spine and not his chest, he tugged it over his head and down his body, wriggling a little as the subtly elasticated fabric snagged and rolled up underneath itself because of his still-seated pose.

Finally in a state where he felt moderately presentable - though, he realised with a wince, in a few moments he would vacate his bunk and reveal his sans legwear status - he turned his attention to the Rebels, and to the one who spoke in particular: the other, much shorter one didn't seem of any real interest at this point, busy standing sentry at the entrance. Finding his voice, he muttered an introduction - "Xander Tur'enne," - followed by a momentary wince as he realised that, obviously, his would-be rescuers knew damn-well who he was. He decided to cover his blunder with a dash of sarcasm. "It's about time you guys showed up."

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

The hallway was scoured, her eyes having long ago adjusted to the dimmer lighting that the compound used in the evening hours, she had been completely focused, all to aware of the fact that everyone had been going almost too smoothly. Charles heard as the Major first incapacitated the poor sap who was staying behind and his voice followed. Whatever tension was being caused by even the slightest noise created on his part was suddenly shattered after a small pause and their target muttered his name.

It was a strange sensation, to suddenly feel like every unit of blood in your entire body turned to ice. There was anger instantly focused on Glayde for not telling her something that compromised her for the mission in the first place, mad at whoever gave the order for him to select her among the Dorn group to accompany him, but mostly mad at herself.

After all, when she had first joined the Alliance, the situation had been less than picture perfect. When she had been informed that the local resistance movement of Corellia had taken the liberty of telling family members that their loved ones had been involved in an operation that had gone to utter chaos resulting in an entire squad being wiped out (She was sure they'd put it in a nicer way, but the truth was sometimes too simple)... they asked her if she wanted to contact her parents, let them know she had survived... Charles had refused. She could remember the look her new CO with the 5th had given her at the time, but no questions had been asked. That had all gone down almost four years ago...

A glance was cast back into the room, her eyes narrowed and first coming to fall on Glayde, letting him have the first hit from the glare she felt only partially conveyed all she was feeling at the moment. That same cold stare came to rest on Xander for only an instant before she turned back to the hall, fighting whatever 'stupid frinked up female banthashit' tears were trying to surface.

"Yeah? Well it's about time you figured out what side to be on, too." Her comfort zone had been broken already, so the snide comment left her easily.

The day Alderaan had been destroyed was the day her life had changed, she had left school and joined a local militia determined to do what she could to make sure such a thing never happened to her beloved Corellia, or any other planet for that matter. There had been full intention on eventually joining up with the Rebels proper, the whole group had the same idea. She had spent only a short while explaining it to her father who completely disapproved, said it was Alderaan's fight, said she would better serve Corellia in CorSec or something else prestigious, not some small group that was already labeled as terrorists. The conversation with her older brother, however, had lasted much longer. Charlotte had spent hours trying to convince Xander to go with her and his overly calm echoing of what their father had said now glaringly stood out to her all over again.

[John Glayde]

Family reunions: somehow, as bad as reuniting with your own relatives could be, it was still a hell of a lot more awkward watching someone else go through that kind of ordeal. Glayde surpressed a cringe, squashing his emotions into a tightly contained ball which he planned to deliver via fist into the face of whichever desk-riding analyst had lumbered him with this damn mission.

He took a step forward, interposing himself between the two siblings, or half-siblings, or foster siblings, or whatever the hell the proper term for the duo was; admittedly, he'd glazed over that section of the report as best he could out of respect for the privacy of his Lieutenant, so hadn't paid too much attention to the specifics. In any case, he breached their shared line of sight, throwing an appropriate glance at both of them in turn.

"Much as I'd love to leave you to this wonderous family reunion," he stated, with an edge in his tone to forstall any kind of process, "The fact remains that we're loitering around in a secure facility, and the odds of our incursion being discovered are steadily increasing." His eyes turned stern, but appologetic as he directed his gaze squarely at the female of the two Tur'enne's. "I'm sorry; it was classified. I would have told you if I could." His tone softened momentarily, but he could tell in an instant that his rushed appology was far from sufficient; he'd make a more concerted effort as soon as they made it back to the ship.

He let his voice return to its military and professional timbre, barking instructions at the siblings to spur them into action. "L.T - the next set of security doors down that corridor leads through to the main barracks. Scramble the lock, bypass the activation protocols, or whatever the hell you call that magic touch of yours; just make sure it won't open. It'll probably buy us a minute or two at best, but -" He glanced back towards Alexander, wincing at the total lack of apparent preparation in the scientist's choice of attire. "- It looks like we'll need a little extra time while your brother slips into something a little more practical."

[Alexander Tur'enne]

Xander glanced down at his pale and uncovered legs; the glare that he threw back was laced with venom, accompanied with a tight-lipped smile that would have threatened physical harm to Glayde had the scientist not looked completely incapable of delivering it.

As his sister disappeared through the doorway in a form of compliance that to Xander's trained eye looked particularly reluctant, he suddenly found himself half-naked and alone with a man whose name he didn't even know. Well, alone was a slight exaggeration - his bunkmate was unconscious on the far side of the room, just as he had been the last time Xander had been secretly visited by a man in the middle of the night. This time though, it had been a stun blast rather than alcohol that was responsible for the depth of Mikhail's slumber, and - to Xander's slight disappointment - the trousers that his Rebel visitor wore were considerably less assless.

Xander's apparent hesitation seemed to have earned him a scowl of frustration from the Rebel; abandoning his vantage point by the door, he strode swiftly across Xander's disappointingly small quarters, and ripped open the wardrobe. A few rushed scrabblings later, an assortment of clothes had been tossed in his direction, with little or no attention paid by the soldier. Xander held up a particularly dissonant combination of legwear and coat, quirking an eyebrow in the Rebel's direction. "These pants with this jacket? Do you have no comprehension of fashion at all?"

The Rebel's eyes narrowed, almost impreceptably. "Do you have no comprehension of the fact that I'm holding a gun?" The Rebel gestured with the weapon for emphasis but, surrendering in the interests of haste, plucked an alternative, more neutrally coloured jacket from the wardrobe, and slung it in Xander's direction.

Catching the garment, Xander hesitated for a moment while he weighed up the Rebel's case. "Your point is well-made," he concluded and, without further protest, preceeded to tug on the various pieces of attire. Unable to halt the perpetual motion machine of his jaw for long however, words began to tumble forth from his lips again after only mere minutes. "So, do you have a name?"

The look that the Rebel responded with was best interpreted as Of course I have a name, you feckless moron, with perhaps a dash of doubt over whether or not they'd actually blundered in the wrong room by mistake, and were in fact liberating a member of the janitorial staff rather than one of Corellia's leading weapons scientists. Eventually however, the Rebel managed to vocalise a token response. "Glayde," was all he offered.

Xander wrestled with a shoe that was particularly reluctant to accomodate his foot on this particular occasion. "That a first name or a last name?" he asked, between grunts of effort, as he tugged the laces looser in the hopes of easing his task. Rather than wait for an immediate answer however, his verbal waterfall continued to spew forth speach. "I read this novel once - a pretty famous one, actually; a romance crime thriller, about this Detective on Coruscant called Glayde Wesson. You kinda remind me of the picture on the cover. Well, except for the fact that you're wearing commando clothes, rather than a pinstripe suit, trenchcoat, and hat. But aside from that, totally the same."

He looked up as he tugged on the laces, seeking out the Rebel's face. Narrowed eyes from Glayde looked back. "Gun," he stated, simply.

Xander winced. "Right. I'll shut up, then."

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

There was nothing she could do but follow orders and continue through the motions, despite whatever tumult her mind was in. There was still shock, anger, though combined with a bit of disappointment. Sure they hadn't been on the best of terms when she had last seen her older brother, but would it have killed the bastard to at least have mumbled a 'Hi, glad to see you aren't dead.'?

Not that she had exactly asked what he had been up to for the last four years, but she was pretty damn sure there wasn't a grave stone somewhere with his name on it. If her family had even bothered with that. Neither of her parents exactly had been thrilled with her career choice and she was pretty sure somewhere in the screaming that went down that day her father had cursed the fact she was even born. Ah... good times.

It took a few deep breaths to knock the thoughts from her head and refocus. She could take the time to 'catch up' with her 'dearest' brother later. Maybe with some luck, and a decent amount of alcohol, she could invite Glayde to the party. At least then she wouldn't feel guilty and slugging the both of them and could damn the repercussions.

For now she had another door to deal with. At least this one she didn't have to worry about opening so much as making sure it would do the exact opposite. Part of her thought to just blast the control panel, it would have been the surefire way. Though all that noise was probably bad for the whole 'trying to get the hell out of there' concept. She opted for simply tugging out some wires that actually made the key panels work. No code, no open-says-me, it'd do.

[Alexander Tur'enne]

"There," Alex said eventually, holding his arms out to show off his outfit. "How do I look?"

Glayde's response was a violent grab at the front of his shirt, haulling him across the room and throwing him out in the corridor. Under any other circumstances, Tur'enne would have been excited at the prospect, though convention usually had men throwing him into his room rather than out; but the sharp glare that accompanied the deportation forstalled those thoughts from forming in his head.

A firm hand in the centre of his back spurred him into motion down the corridor for the first few strides, until Glayde seemed satisfied that Xander had recieved the message, and could manage to keep walking on his own. Guns were waved around in front of them, snapped this way and that to sweep the corridors in the immediate area to check that they were clear. Xander was reminded of the holoshows he'd watched as a child; Republic Rangers in particular. He allowed himself to dwell on how awesome it had been going through school and sharing a first name with the venerated Red Ranger. Hell: it had served to boost his coolness factor even through his early twenties, thanks to spending his university education surrounded mostly by classes filled with guys that were equally immature as him.

"Stay close to your sister," Glayde instructed, with a helpful push towards the other Rebel.

Alex almost dismissed the statement without paying any attention to it, until his eyes fell on said other Rebel. Admittedly, he hadn't paid all that much attention to her, what with being female and all; though the thought that With that mask, she looks kinda like Charlotte, had briefly registered in the back of his mind, but he'd paid no real attention to it. She'd probably got her killed by now; and surely if she'd come all the way out here to 'rescue' him, she'd have actually identified herself. Taken her mask off. Called him names. Something.

Or she could have just made some bitchy comment about deciding what side you're on. That's the kind of thing that Charles would do.

A Death Star main reactor exploded in Xander's gut, the blast wave vapourising his insides. Charlotte was still alive; she was here; and she -

Oh, man, Xander scolded, inside his mind. I am the worst brother. Ever.

He strayed a step closer, advancing cautiously to where his sister knelt, working. What should he do? Run over and hug her? Brush it off like it was nothing? Stay clear, since past experience suggested that she'd lamp him in the face for some reason or other before too long? Hesitation left him hoverring in the centre of the corridor. Big mistake.

Everything happened at once. With a sharp hiss the doors that Charlotte was working to to seal snapped open, the minimal emergency lighting casting an eerie sillhouette over the two Stormtroopers that stood framed within it. Glayde unleashed some kind of a shout, one of his gloved paws once again shoving Xander in the back. This time it propelled him forward at some pace, staggering towards the corridor wall, barely dodging the blaster bolt that tore through the air where he'd just been. Blaster already raised, Glayde snapped off a twin shot of his own, effortlessly catching the 'trooper centre mass and felling him to the ground. Charles' response was less clean, but equally effective; springing to her feet, a blade materialised in her hands, and dove up beneath the second Stormtrooper's helmet, slumping his corpse-filled armour to the ground.

The adjective 'stunned' best described Xander's reaction, though a slight spark of 'awesome!' swam around in the background. His thoughts mutated swiftly however as the blaster dropped from Glayde's fingers, clattering to the deck a few fractions of a second before his knees buckled and sent his body tumbled after it, an ominous and still-smoking tear in his gut.

Xander's mouth, acting without conscious instruction, summed up his thoughts perfectly: "Oh. Frak me."

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

It never failed, there was always a rush that would go through her system, a spike of adrenaline when one of the boys in white could be taken down her way: either laid out after a single shot from far enough away she'd be gone before they could even think of looking for her, or alternately, nice and up close and personal before they knew you were there. The second method she had been taught by her squad when she joined the Alliance and she honestly couldn't say which method she preferred.

Either way, it was done and she felt more alive than she had the entire mission, senses completely heightened. So when the blaster slipped from the Major's hands she immediately knew something was wrong before her brother even got the chance to think about speaking.

The movement to kneel at Glayde's side was swift, picking up his Blaster and slinging the strap for it over her shoulder in the process, placing it on the arm opposite of her own. The wound was bad, real bad. If only they'd given her a few more seconds that stupid door wouldn't have budged.

"Never a kriffing medic around when you need one." She ignored the mumbles of the half conscious Major that seemed to equate out to some half-assed order for her to leave him there and get Alex and herself out of there.

The newly acquired blaster was shoved into Xander's hands as she stood back up. "Here, if you think you can manage it... shoot anything that even thinks about coming through that door. I'm going to do what I can for him and then all of us are getting the frak out of here. Like chaos I'm earning a field promotion today."

[Alexander Tur'enne]

Xander stared down at the blaster in his hands, confusion painted across his face. "I don't- I-" He caught himself, the subconscious voice in his head taking on a scathing tone. You design guns for a living. Of course you know how the damn thing works. Just aim at the door and squeeze the -

Inspirating sparking in his mind, Xander's muscles sprung into motion before he even had the opportunity to act. Tossing the blaster over his shoulder, just as Charlotte had done, he crouched and snatched up two somethings that his uncanny holographic memory had spotted on Glayde's uniform the moment he'd entered his bunk room. At a sprint he dove through the doorway, slapping the small metallic - and thankfully magnetic metal block onto the controls off to one side. Backstepping through, he grabbed at the control box that Charlotte had torn apart, jiggled with a few of the components, and resealed the hatch. Another two steps back and he retrieved the second object he'd collected; selecting the appropriate channel on the comlink he sent out a spike. A dull thud sounded on the far side of the door; for good measure, he slipped the blaster off his shoulder, aimed it, and sent a few bolts of crimson onto the controls this side as well, for good measure.

Turning back towards where Charlotte was busy hunched over Glayde, he met her gaze and threw a shrug in explanation of his actions. "I've been planning my imaginary break-out from this place a lot longer than you have," he offered.

With a frown, he fiddled awkwardly with the blaster; silences like this were bad enough under normal circumstances, but when you threw in a shot guy, and a sister you hadn't seen in years -

"So," he tried, keeping his tone as light as he could. "Long time no see. How's things?"

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

Ok... that was marginally impressive. Though Xander always had been better at tinkering with things that she was. He had once taken a radio apart and put it back together only to receive signals from planets Charles didn't even know existed. Though whatever slight resentment she had for her brother at that moment kept any sort of compliment on the job from forming.

...Well that and the fact she was slightly occupied with applying a field bandage on the Major. A small vial of bacta spray had been in her medkit, it wasn't much but it would keep everything situated until she could get him back to a proper facility. At least he'd drifted off into the land of the unconscious, the small kit she had on her person was sorely missing any sort of painkiller.

"Well, I'm not dead." It had been far easier to say than 'Been better, been a whole druk-load worse. You know, joined the Rebellion, have killed a frinkton of people, Though Glayde may not be able to say the same right now though so shut up and let's get moving. Though what she did say managed to somehow hold the bite of the longer train of thought.

A small shake of her head came as she looked back at the Major. "I'm not going to be able to do this. I'm not strong enough... and the way back isn't exactly a walk through a field of ladalum, either." Her eyes almost rolled at what she was about to suggest. "You think you can carry him?"

[Alexander Tur'enne]

Sure, his mind shot back, his voice mercifully neglecting to repeat the sentiments. After all those times mocking my scrawny man-muscles while we were growing up, and now you want me to carry a body for you?

Seriousness interrupted his thought processes; now was hardly the time for sarcastic quips. Though his first aid training was somewhat pitiful, he did have eyes, and he was able to see that the situation was grim. The tension in Charlotte's voice was evidence enough; she'd never have so readily amitted her own ability if the situation weren't incredibly grave.

His eyes evaluated the field dressing she'd applied; it looked sturdy enough, and it'd have to be. Eyes closed to summon and channel whatever reserves of adrenaline his body had pumped into his system. Dropping to a knee, he placed his shoulder into position just below Glayde's rib-cage and, moving carefully to avoid antagonising the wound, grabbed Glayde's arm and heaved him upwards. It took a staggered step to find his balance, the Major draped over his shoulder.

A mischevious thought flashed through his mind as his hand rose to steady the Rebel, hand landing towards the top of one of his legs. A scathing from his conscience replied, and he slid it reluctantly a few inches further down. "Okay," he announced, turning carefully towards Charles. "Lets go."

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

She nodded once, readying her blaster and looked down the hallway once and then back at the door that Alexander had managed to seal. The control panel looked pretty successfully ruined, but the amount of noise they had made when the Stormtroopers had come through the door had been far more than she was comfortable with. They'd been in one place for far too long.

Seeing as how her brother was unarmed and carrying the wounded Major, Charles took point. With any luck, their dispatching of the two Storm Troopers hadn't set off any sort of deadman alarms. It seemed a bit too sophisticated just for a weapons facility, but then again most of the security they had run in to and the fact they locked up their employees was a bit over the top to begin with.

The hallways seemed empty enough as she began leading the way back outside the way they came, and while most may have found that a blessing, it was constantly nagging at her sensibilities. If Glayde hadn't gotten injured she would say it was about time their luck ran out.