Cold Storage

[Halajiin Rabeak]

The cold, grey hulk of the Rostelana drifted silently through space. Far from the shipping lanes or common routes, the light cruiser floated in silence. Her lights were dark, engines still, and not even her locator beacon pinged. The Rostelana was a dead ship, and from the scorched holes surrounding her engines, it was easy to see why.

For over one hundred years, she had floated along, her fusion reactors having died out long, long ago, as had any who had ever served as her crew. Pocked by weapons fire and metorites alike, her skin was blemished and broken, but inside many of her halls still held air untasted in over a century. Cargo floated freely about her hold, save for one item: a box strapped down to the floor. The blinking lights on its side were the only illumination left running within the whole ship, and the only sign of power that would register on a scanner. The box itself was large, taller than a man, and wider, but it was not a coffin.

After all, one doesn't put a living subject in a coffin.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

beep-beep-beep

"Uggh"

beep-beep-beep

"Go away..."

"Captain Raurrssatta?"

At a sound beyond just an electronic chime, the felinoid's blue eyes opened. Just enough time in bed to feel that he needed a lot more of it. He ached from fatigue, but he couldn't exactly hit the snooze button on his obligations. There was no such thing as a 'night shift' Captain.

"What."

Still, he could be perturbed. Right now the ship had better be on fire to warrant this.

"You said to let you know when we ran across a derelict ship to test our warhead launchers on. I found one for you."

A deep sigh. Not exactly life or death. Still, the new launchers hadn't been tested with live rounds, so it would be a good idea to do that. Sure, you could bullseye an asteroid, but a derelict ship was a more realistic expectation of what you'd be shooting at. Cirr had spent a fair amount of time fishing for space junk on Layla to know that. Plus deep down, it was fun blowing things up when nobody's life was on the line.

"jI'm on my way, Ensjign."

Five minutes to throw his duty uniform on and make sure his hair wasn't a mess, and he was on the bridge. Easing into his chair, he gave a glance at the floating rust bucket before them. His eyes opened a bit, and he gave a low whistle.

"That's not a shjip you see everryday. Prre Clone Warrs desjign. Ejitherr someone lost a famjily hejirrloom, orr thjis has been dead jin space forr a long tjime."

Ensign Saine chimed in.

"Three hundred fifty meters of durasteel, figured you'd be interested."

Captain Raurrssatta nodded.

"The hull damage asjide, the superrstrructurre jis rratherr jintact. jI bet she's even got some sealed comparrtments."

Sensing his Captain's curiosity, Saine ran an in-depth scan.

"Well, no life signs at least."

"No, jI don't jimagjine therre would be, jif thjis shjip's been out herre a whjile.

"No power either."

That settled it, then. No sense wasting time on a salvage mission without any better reason.

"Alrrjight then, lets ljight thjis old bjirrd up then. Gunnerry, load two prroton warrheads. Helm, take us to safe fjirrjing djistance."

Slowly, the Novgorod cruised over the top, on her way to turn about at 5,000 kilometers for a test salvo. Until...

"Captain, maybe I was wrong about power. I've got a reading."

Cirr arched an eyebrow.

"All stop."

Rising from his chair, he headed to his sensor officer's station, and looked it over.

"jIt's localjized, whateverr jit jis. Nothjing shjip wjide."

He glanced back to the viewer, and the battered ship still lazily listing before them.

"Stjill, that jit's stjill actjive when everrythjing else jis out? Prrobably jintended to last."

He mulled it over. This was probably a waste of time, but they were already in the middle of nowhere looking at space junk. He returned to his seat, and paged the fighter bay chief.

"Prrep the Comet forr launch. Team of fourr, wjith space sujits."

[Ben Merasska]

Ben whistled tuneless as he maneuvered the transport he'd been... well, not given, but loaned, perhaps, was a better word.

He was just happy to have gotten a ship to fly in the first place.

"Now, little Jedi-lady," he announced as the Skipper reverted to realspace. Before them was a cluster of debris, conglomerated around a large hulk of an old vessel of almost indeterminate make. "What do you make of this?"

He had spun in his seat the second the ship had come out of hyperspace, grinning and gesturing out the viewport.

"I'll tell you what to make of this: This is a cake mission. Easy, open salvage. Nothing else around, no real danger, just us and an empty old ship with parts."

Ben smiled and sighed happily, closing his eyes and for once, enjoying his life.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Before the shuttle team was ready to deploy, a ship cut through the ether into realspace.

"Captain, reading another ship entering realspace at three-three-four mark three-four-five."

Well, now aren't we popular? Cirr watched the ship as she swooped in, and grinned wryly.

"Someone wjith a motorr behjind them, that's forr surre. You know that shjip class?"

"Not particularly." Saine shrugged a little.

Cirr educated his junior officer. "WR-542. Everry bjit as fast as we arre. Makes me wonderr what brrjings them out thjis way."

He turned to the Gunny, and gestured at the viewscreen.

"Get a lock."

"For the torpedoes?"

Cirr made a face.

"No, no, no. Trractorr beam. Qujick, beforre they get too smarrt forr thejirr own good."

[Siyndacha Aerin]

"I'm not a Jedi yet... or did it go in one ear and out the other the last time I said so?"

The young woman with the white-blonde hair was glued to the viewport. Not literally but, well, you get the idea. Her mouth hung open a second over the glee and surprise of what she saw out that viewport and then snapped promptly shut when the strange spacer they'd sent to fetch her once again opened his mouth. But she couldn't really... well, yes she could.

"I'll tell you what to make of it, bean-butt..." She started, turning her bright eyes back to the derelict floating just so close you could almost touch it. She tapped on the viewport pane half as enthusiastically as she otherwise would for the simple fact alone that she couldn't touch it. "...that thing is over a hundred years old."

And she punctuated every word of her somewhat accurate assessment of the drifting vessel's age with emphases from her voice and harder taps on the viewport. She shot a look back at the pilot, a nearly mischevous smile creeping slowly over her lips.

"Can you imagine what the thing must be like inside?" Siyndacha Aerin posed the tip of her right index finger on her chin as if that required some thought. "Well, maybe you can't, but I have a fair idea aside from what's gotta be a deadly lack of air in there and... say, have you even checked for any..."

Out of what seemed like nowhere, the ship lurched, shoving her harder against the bulkhead than she'd ever hugged a cliff-face on any climbing trip with Ordon. She sucked in a breath and shot Ben a very pointed look.

"Whatintheforcedidyoudo?" She breathed out all too quickly and entirely too accusingly.

[Ben Merasska]

Ben actually fell out of the pilot's seat and onto the floor from the distinct sensation of being caught in a tractor beam.

"I did nothing!" he yelped from where he laid. A hand snaked up to controls and deftly turned the ship around and pushed them as fast as they could go... around the derelict, hoping to switch the target forcefully. And they were moving, meaning that the tractor beam had only just locked on, and had another on cycling in; they needed to move before that happened.

"It's a tractor beam," he said in an odd mixture of a sob and a dry heave, pulling himself up to pilot on his knees, his eyes peeking over the control panels and out the viewport. "They didn't even hail us! I just got this ship, I can't lose her now!"

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

"Quick, helm!"

Cirr could see it coming, but the problem with ships this big was that things like maneuvering took time, even for ones as nimble as his frigate. He felt the subtle inertia shift that told him exactly what the runabout pilot had done.

"They've cut us off, sir."

"Son of a bjitch, come about!"

The misfired tractor beam ripped a few hull plates off the cruiser from the glancing contact. It disengaged as Novgorod moved to maximize its clearance and get a better shot.

"Thjis pjilot's smarrt. Smugglerr smarrt."

[Ben Merasska]

Ben collapsed into his seat as he barely guided the Skipper from the deadly tractor beam jaws of the cruiser with shaking hands and a quivering bottom lip.

"Strap in, Not-yet-Jedi-lady," Ben said, doing the same. The cruiser moved further away and out, angling for another shot at him with the tractor beams. That cemented in his mind the conclusion that all spacers would have come to: these were pirates, looking to board and plunder whatever was aboard.

He waited until the cruiser was committed to an angle of attack and maneuvered once more to keep the ancient wreck between them and the very persistent cruiser.

"Oh hells, oh hells, oh hells," he repeated, almost mantra-like, while keeping his eyes fixed on the cruiser and its possible avenues of attack. The cruiser was fast, faster than he was expecting for a ship of that size. Unless it made a mistake, he wasn't going to have time needed by the navicomputer to plot a hyperspace jump before they would have the Skipper in its tractor beams once more.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

This was infantile. Bank starboard for a shot, and the portside projector gets cut off. Bank port, and the starboard gets interrupted. Cirr's patience for this had eroded the first time it happened. He had half a mind to blow the cruiser apart and deny the smuggler his hiding spot entirely.

"Malljin, open all channels. We'rre not chasjing thjis rrai'ko'kou arround that derrjiljict all day."

A few moments later, and the comms officer nodded.

"Open on all channels, Captain."

"Unjidentjifjied rrunabout, thjis jis the Alljiance Frrjigate Novgorrod. Cut engjines now orr we wjill scrramble fjighterrs and you wjill be fjirred upon."

[Siyndacha Aerin]

Despite feeling the urge to pick on Ben further (she honestly didn't know where it was coming from, but he reacted so well to everything!), Sindy obeyed out of the lack of inherent stupidity within herself and scooted over to the nearest passenger seat and buckled herself in.

"Hey, cotton-brain," she started again, once she was seated and secured, "did it ever occur to you anytime in the past few minutes that you could, oh, I don't know... maybe try talking to them instead of acting like a jawa trying to flee a krayt?"

She rolled her eyes. This guy was utterly absurd.

"It wouldn't kill you to hail them, would it? Maybe before..." The comm sparked to life and a strange accent filled the air, making Sindy laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. "... oh, guess someone is less of a chicken, huh? My bet's on the guy with the funny accent."

[Ben Merasska]

Ben jumped in his seat as the comm hissed out a hail from the frigate opposite them. He stared at the comm speaker and the controls for a moment as if they had suddenly begun spouting out words in some other language that Ben was unfamiliar with in the first place.

He grappled with himself mentally, sweat beading on his forehead until he looked at his passenger with the expression of a man holding on to the last lifeline he had left.

"You answer it," he said, nodding to the comm controls. "They're most likely lying to us about being Alliance. Pirates do that all the time."

He turned back to keep the frigate in his sight and make sure he was well position to fly away as fast as he could. His brow furrowed, and he turned back to his passenger.

"What's a chicken?"

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

A long sigh.

"Scrramble two fjighterrs. Let's not sjinge tajilfeatherrs yet, just flush them out."

Mallin passed the word to the flight deck. Within a minute, two A-Wing fighters dropped clear from Novgorod's ventral hull, and blazed ahead, their overpowered sublights closing distance with ease. Before long, they were close enough to fly by and have a pilot make hand signals that said in no uncertain terms they needed to cut their engines.

[Siyndacha Aerin]

"You, clearly."

Sindy sighed, sucked in her bottom lip and quickly released herself from the seat, and made no fuss about making her way over to the controls. She looked at Ben and just shook her head before turning her attention to the comm. She lightly cleared her throat before depressing the control to respond.

"Alliance Frigate Novgorod..." She started, "...if that is in fact who you are... this is the transport Skipper. I don't know who you are, but..."

She snerked. "...I think you've just about made my new friend Ben here pee himself. He's looking pretty shook up. Maybe you guys could cut him a little slack?"

She shot a look back at Ben and grinned, then seeing fighters drop into her view, giving a very clear signal. She mashed the comm button again.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding!"

[Ben Merasska]

"...I think you've just about made my new friend Ben here pee himself. He's looking pretty shook up. Maybe you guys could cut him a little slack?"

Ben's eyes widened and he slowly turned his head to face Siyn... Sin... Sindy.

'Why?' he mouthed, the most pathetic expression he'd ever managed on his face. And he was pretty sure she knew it wasn't about saying he'd pissed himself; rather, it was about saying his name. 'What did I ever do to you for you to do so horrible a thing to me?'

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

"Gold Three to Novgorod, we're not getting any response from the runabout. They're still continuing evasion. Permission to engage?"

Cirr stood for a moment watching the song and dance play out, still without a clear shot from the tractor beams. Something about this was...off. He wanted to know what, but he didn't have infinite patience.

"Come about forr warrnjing shots. Rremjind them we've got guns."

[Ben Merasska]

"Oh hells, oh hells, oh hells," Ben began chanting again. "Strap in!"

The two A-wings blasted past his ship, firing a couple warning shots. Ben, not entirely trusting his instinct that they were merely warning him to comply and not yet ready to fire on his pretty and very fast new ship, finally took control and grabbed the girl firmly around the waist and juked his ship first right, then left, and then down, desperately careful to stay clear of the tractor beams on the frigate.

"Hail them again," Ben said, letting Sindy go with an apologetic look. "Tell them that if they could try and not kill us, we'd be ever so grateful. They can use that old ship for whatever they want, we just need some parts."

[Siyndacha Aerin]

Sindy squeaked when Ben grabbed ahold of her and manouvered about once again. The hold was tenous but at least she wasn't being thrown against the bulkhead to go splat like a soft ball of play-dough.

"Alright..." She sighed. "...but you have got to learn to talk to people yourself, cluck-cluck."

Sindy pressed on the comm control again.

"Novgorod, my pilot kindly requests that you don't hurt his baby too much. He just got this ship and is unnaturally attached to it. He also would like to graciously invite you to do with the derelict as you please."

She looked at Ben, her thumb still keeping the channel open. Such a chicken.

"Better? I would have let him catch you. He seemed less likely to want to tear you to pieces in the first place. Maybe he really is Alliance." She mock-gasped. "A shocking idea, no?"

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirr's ears flicked in skewed angled, betraying his confusion at that awkward request. To meet on a derelict ship that more likely than not had no power or atmosphere or anything to facilitate a meeting? What were they getting at. This was almost too strange to be a deception.

The Captain glanced at Mallin and gestured to kill the audio momentarily. He needed a moment to confer.

"Sajine, fjind the closest thjing to habjitable space on that shjip, and pass the locatjion to the Comet."

A long sigh, and he headed for the lift.

"Let the hangarr chjief know jI'll be needjing a space sujit too. And sjignal the rrunabout wjith the meetjing coorrdjinates."

This was a bad idea. He just knew it. As he punched the controls for the elevator, he wondered why he didn't just stay asleep.

[Ben Merasska]

Ben had to admit the logic in her words, but then again, she was a Jedi... er, a Jedi-in-training that is, and Jedi were always very logical. And Ben was never the most logical person to begin with; he most often reacted to a new situation with caution and reserve (or cowardice and liberal use of hiding places).

"Maybe," he allowed. He was about to add something to effect of, 'But I was scared!', but the sudden transmission of coordinates of a deck on the ship cut him off. He read them, and twitched, a confused frown on his face.

"They want to meet us, I think," he said. Reviewing his situation, he sighed and undid the crash webbing of his seat while lining up the dorsal hatch to a matching one on the derelict. "Let's hope you're right and that they don't kill us mercilessly in any number of horrible ways in there. Get the vac suits ready."

[Siyndacha Aerin]

Sindy smiled.

"Finally. I figured we're all a little too old to be playing tag, anyway."

She brushed hair out of her eyes and headed aft to prep the vac suits, all the while becoming more and more satisfied that she would be getting to be inside the ancient vessel, which was ideally what she wanted in the first place. As she got the suits ready and started to get set into one herself, she thought of what might or might not be in there, in the drifter.

"Hey..." She called. "...at least once we're on the derelict, if they wanna off us, they won't have to blow up your precious new ship in the process. That's gotta count for something right?"

She was certain she heard him sound off some unsatisfactory response to her half-joking question, as he finished manouvering the Skipper into place and came by to suit himself up. The next few minutes passed with nary a word from either of them, surprisingly. Afterwords, there was little more to do but to board the derelict and either meet their fate, good or bad.

She was fairly certain it was good.

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On-board the Rostelana...

It was dark in there, which was her first observation upon stepping aboard. Flicking on her torch, she scanned the immediate area with it, looking primarily for any consoles. It couldn't hurt. She looked back at Ben, who was just behind her, motioning for him to go on ahead. 'After you', in effect. If she wasn't leading the way, she could focus more of her attentions on drinking in the details of the environment around her.