A Damsel Causing Distress

[Taataani Meorrrei]

The Idrica slipped through the ether, on a run between the Carshoulis Cluster and the Outer Rim. It was a pleasure yacht, rented out by a spacefaring company to ferry important clients from place to place. The crew of ten usually catered to a passenger complement equal to that number, though on this occasion, it was only six. Two Cizerack men, two Human men, one Zeltron man, and one woman. At the eye of the hurricane, it was Taataani Fai'sheea Igaarrai Meorrrei, matriarch of the Meorrrei pride and wealthy businesswoman. Before the ship had even left port, she'd insisted on firing two of the galley chefs, one for daring to assume to cater only for a traditional Cizeri spread, and another for not stocking Cizeri wines exclusively.

The two week pleasure cruise was stretching the crew to their breaking point. She'd insisted on using the ship's PA system to sing on, demanded that the crew participate with her in a morning calisthenics routine, and diverged between business and pleasure to the point as to which erase the line completely. She asked the ship's skipper to teach her how to fly a starship, gave quarters decoration advice to a young homesick deck-hand, then deflowered him in the unmopped steward's lavatory. She insisted on being greeted by the crew for morning wakeup in ascending order of height, at the end of which she was to be given a parfait of Ithorian songbird drowned in fragrant bearnaise, with a nectar apertif to start each day. At the end of the day, she would be thoroughly lubricated with wine and refreshment, and would challenge one random crew member to a mock wrestling contest, which she would win either by her own skill or by loudly protesting her case.

With a week into the trip, the crew was therefore nearly relieved when a seemingly lesser threat appeared, and a hostile ship dropped out of hyperspace, powered its weapons, and demanded that the yacht surrender and prepare to be boarded.

Taataani woke to the sound of nothing, or, less than what she'd heard before. A light sleeper, she sat up amidst a tangle of arms and legs in her large master bed, slinked away from her faithful retinue of husbands, and groped in the dark for her silk robe. Ears swiveled to hear as her gently-glowing blue eyes peered into the dark. She wasn't imagining it at all, the engines had stopped.

"What'ss gojing on now?"

Some of her companions stirred, which she sharply rebuked with a "shh!" Reaching to the counter again, she slipped on her glasses, reached down for her slippers, and opened the door to her quarters, padding softly down the hallway.

[Barton Henning]

In the cockpit of the hostile ship, Barton Henning narrowed his eyes at what he saw through the main view-port of the Knightfall. There had been no response to the communication they had fired out five minutes earlier, and the ship – somewhat larger than their own, and in a much greater state of repair – had yet to respond. It didn't look like the average Imperial ship, but these were the co-ordinates they had been given and the mission brief had said to expect the enemy to be utilising camouflage. The Knightfall's sensor readouts were equally confusing, though Henning put that down to the parts being years out of date.

“Hail them again, Ben.”

[Taataani Meorrrei]

The Idrica's Captain, a balding man named Vanzent, seemed to stiffen a little as the second hail came through. The ship seemed like the sort that outer rim riff-raff loved. Corellian, beat to hell, and no telling what was under the deck plating. Even if all they had was a pop gun, it out-gunned the Idrica, which carried no weapons of any sort.

Then, to make matters worse, Taataani Fai'sheea Igaarrai Meorrrei strolled onto the bridge as if she owned it.

"Missus Meorrrei, this situation is very delicate, please go back to your qua-"

Taa ignored the captain, fixating instead on the bridge's viewscreen as she walked ahead, tail swishing at the silken flank of her robe as she studied the situation.

"Whjy arre we sstopped? Who jiss thjiss?"

Captain Vanzent was less than useless, and her answer was given in the form of the repeated demand from the Corellian interloper. The Idrica was to surrender and prepare to be boarded.

Taataani's mouth went agape. How impudent! Some space scum crawled from the inky black to dare threaten a noble Cizeri Matron?

From her earlier bridge tutorials, Taa quickly found the comm station, strode to it purposefully, and pulled away the attendant's wheeled chair so that she could lean forward to the comm.

"How darre you thrreaten Taataani Fai'sheea Igaarrai Meorrrei, jI wjill have you know that everry crrewmemberr on thjiss sshjip jiss prreparred to fjight tooth and najil to defeat you. Even jif jit cosstss all of ourr ljivess, you wjill rrue thjiss day!"

She whirled around, sure as ever that she had spurred the Idrica's fighting spirit on.

"Captajin Vanzent, tarrget all lasserr bankss and warrheadss at the enemy and prreparre to fjirre!"

The blood had drained simultaneously from the faces of every single crewer on the bridge. The Captain yelled, his voice nearly cracking with high-pitched shock and rage.

"WHAT DID YO DO? WHAT WEAPONS? WE HAVE NO WEAPONS, WE ARE A PLEASURE YACHT!"

Taataani's moment of victorious rally was crushed. Her eyes widened and her ears drooped a little.

"jYou can't be sserrjiouss, not even one lasserr cannon?"

A junior officer excused himself from the bridge with a muttered "I'm gonna throw up".

[Lyanie Quez]

d'Lyanettea Meresco Quez cringed at the sound of the voice mewling somewhat shriekingly through the comm as she wandered into the cockpit area, the terminus of her walk from the engine room to see what had caused them to stop and what the hubbub was about. Yet, there was something strangely familiar about the voice. Not that she had heard that exact voice before, but something alike to it. The comm clicked off after the female's issuance of challenge and Lyanie wiggled a finger in her ear, as if to say that it had become congested.

"That accent, Chief? It sounded kinda like Cirr. You know, from the Layla?" She made a face at the itch that seemed to inside her ear and not accessible to scratching. Sighing after a moment, she gave up and dropped her hand, rubbing it against her coveralls, looking at the light mess of grease on it, then rubbing again. "I haven't met very many Cizerack, but that woman sure sounded like one."

That was about the extent of her commentary for the moment. Finally, Lyanie slipped her hands into the pockets of her coveralls, wondering what it was that the Rebellion wanted with a Cizerack, whether it was simply the wrong ship or even the wrong place. No, it wasn't the wrong place. They were exactly where they were meant to be. Though, that model of vessel looked very un-enemy-like. She decided to keep her observations to herself, as they probably weren't of any contributional importance. Instead, she tried to think of what little she knew about the Cizerack. Cirr seemed nice enough, but she knew one feline couldn't speak for an entire species.

[Barton Henning]

“Similar accent,” Barton agreed. Though they had shared parts and drinks with the crew of the Layla, Henning knew little of the Cizerack lieutenant's species. That one of their number was a (reluctant) ally to the Rebellion did not necessarily mean Cizerack-kind as a whole was friendly to the cause.

“We can't take any chances, not until we know for certain who we're dealing with.”

In times like these, Henning felt his training coming back to him. The Jedi of the Clone Wars era had been trained for war, and though he had gone on to shy away from the soldiers life, reuniting with his old temple class-mate Alex Cole had gone some way to reminding Barton what it was to be a leader of men.

“Ben, keep our weapons on target. Lyanie, with me.. time to ready the boarding shuttle.”

[Taataani Meorrrei]

Captain Vanzent, in the course of his frantic discourse with Madame Meorrei, ordered the matron to her quarters, ostensibly for her own protection since the attacking ship was already sending a shuttle en route to board them. Taataani protested that she would not be ordered anywhere, but instead retired to her suite of her own volition. She would not face hostile invaders in something so demeaning as a mere evening robe, so she went to change into whatever sort of attire would be better appropriate for an armed invasion.

It was all the time that the belleaguered Captain had to act, and he ordered the quarters sealed the moment she was inside. Perhaps the pirates could be negotiated with, but only if Madame Meorrei wasn't able to interrupt them with some bravado-laced invective. How the hell had she even thought they had weapons on the ship at all? Was the woman mad?

"Captain, I've got something."

Journeyman Pell, one of the junior crew on the ship, pulled the captain aside to look at the inventory manifest of the ship.

"Mrs. Meorrrei's entourage have a case aboard with four rail guns in it. They're single-bore, for game hunting, and not designed for defense, but we could break them out and use those as a stop-gap. It might be enough to fight them off."

Vanzent was sweating somewhat, snatching a handkerchief as he pressed it to his forehead.

"Hunting guns? What if these guys have something heavy and really nasty? We're screwed!"

Pell shook his head.

"If we don't resist, they'll get us for sure. I've seen how these pirates are, Cap. Real pieces of work."

The Captain seemed to be coming around.

"Alright alright. Go get the guns out. Do we have anything like an axe or something else?"

[Lyanie Quez]

"Aye, aye, Chief!" She answered, rather affirmatively as he came to and passed her, heading out of the cockpit and down one of only three directions that lead from the chamber. She made quick to follow, a bit of speed to her walk to catch up with his striding steps. Lyanie made quick work of it, catching up in only three mid-sized moments to Barton, who seemed half the time to be a man on a mission when his head wasn't... elsewhere.

"So, Chief..." She wasn't sure if he liked the appellation, but he'd never said much to it. Sometimes she just used his first name for variation. And she didn't want to seem too bothersome. "...what is it we... I mean, the Rebels, want with this ship? Or the woman (or whatever or whoever she is) on it? Are we sure it's even this ship we want? They said it'd be armed or something, right? And that model of ship, Chief... well, to be honest, she's far from it. Hardly even looks Imperial. Poor girl's got no teeth."

Lyanie frowned. Pleasure cruisers were pretty things, usually, but even some of them wished to defend from, one might suppose, raiders.

[Barton Henning]

“The brief said that we were to intercept an Imperial transport and commandeer it's cargo,” Barton began, walking as they talked. “No indication of the transport's maker or model from intel, only that it wouldn't be the average sort used by the Empire. Apparently they're trying to slip through the Outer Rim without attracting the kind of attention that a marked ship would warrant.”

The Knightfall's shuttle was a small thing, meant for emergency evacuations or ship-to-planet jaunts, not boarding enemy vessels. Barton hauled the access hatch open, the hinges groaning under the strain of movement, and peered inside sceptically. It had no weapons and was just large enough to seat two, three at a push. A storage locker lay against one of the cockpit bulkheads, and when he flipped the lid Barton found three blaster pistols inside. He picked one out, inspecting the energy cells. Half full... or half empty. He tossed another, this one fully-loaded to Lyanie.

“Put it on stun,” he said, as he holstered his blaster and swung into the pilot's chair. A few touches on the command console and the shuttle began to hum to life. As Lyanie slid into the co-pilot's chair, Barton gave her a weary glance. “If we're wrong, the bacta's on me.”

[Taataani Meorrrei]

The hunting rifles were commandeered from Mrs. Meorrei's personal stock and brought to the embark deck. It was only then that Captain Vanzent learned the terrible truth of it all.

"What do you mean no bullets?"

Pell, a bit sheepish, bit on his lower lip.

"I don't know. Maybe they were going to buy them at a lodge or something when they got wherever they were going."

The Captain held one of the ornate and polished guns, his knuckles white around the rear and foregrips.

"Everybody grab one and point it at the door. They don't know they aren't loaded."

Just about the entire assembled group at the airlock groaned at the thought. This wasn't the best idea they'd ever had before. Pell and two others grabbed the other guns. Another two people found a few things around the cargo bay that were heavy enough to swing at people.

The all stood around the airlock door, ready for the inevitable fight.

[Lyanie Quez]

"Thanks. Can't ever be too careful." She thanked Barton for the blaster. The words Daddy had said so many times when she was a little girl still sounded a bit funny coming out of her mouth. Some things just never die.

As she had slid into the co-pilot's chair, she finished securing the pistol to her person. It had been... a while since she had handled or even needed to handle a blaster pistol. She wasn't afraid to use them - Daddy had more than made sure of that, for the sake of having his precious daughter be able to protect herself around those unseemly engineers - but rarely had use for them. Her skill with engines and other mechanics and the like was such that she seemed to be able to barter on it with most anybody. She was glad to not need to do that anymore, even if she was silently not as happy to be under the umbrella of the Rebellion again. Beggars can't be choosers.

"Great." She said, only smiling halfway as she got as comfortable as she was ever going to get in the small craft (which was in decent shape, despite certainly having seen better days) when the shuttle thrummed alive. That always made her smile, no matter what, the power and sound of an engine. Her half-smile improved. Deep down, somewhere, she did feel a little nervous. "Deal, Chief. I'll hold you to it."

[Ben Merasska]

“Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me!”

Ben felt that he was in fine singing form today. The pleasure cruiser had finally stopped, he could see Lyanie and the Cap’n on their way in the Knightfall’s shuttle. He did as he was told, keeping the weapons (“Weapons? Oh! You mean the little shooting things we have on each side! I thought those were just decoration.”) locked onto the yacht. He didn’t much like being a pirate, but such was life.

It did, after all, give him an occasion to sing this song. Not only that, but now he was coming up with names for the crew of the Knightfall that were proper pirate names. So far he’d gotten the Cap’n well and good.

“Brown Barty Henning,” he said out loud. He grinned and nodded. That was a good one. He’d been stuck with whether to give the Cap’n the moniker of ‘Black Barty Henning’, but the Cap’n just didn’t fit black. So he went with a good neutral colour that pretty much fit him. As for Lyanie, she’d been a tough one to get. He’d finally decided the best was 'Bonnie', even though it wasn’t alliterative. It had a rhyme at the end, which worked, but alliteration was the way to go for pirate names.

“Bonnie Lyanie Quez,” he said and grinned again, though this one was less pronounced.

As for himself, that was another that was a bit of a ‘stickey-wicket’, or however it went. He’d finally set on either ‘Bootstrap’ or ‘Barking’. Bootstrap was an odd one, as he’d only heard it twice before in his life, but it sounded properly pirate-y. Barking was a nod to some guy who’d said he was ‘barking mad’ or something like that. But it also made him sound somewhat like a loud hound or pet, and not a very dangerous one; and while that fit him well, it wasn’t properly pirate-y. So he was leaning with Bootstrap.

“Bootstrap Ben Merasska,” he said finally, and nodded decisively. He flicked the comm on.

“Pleasure yacht,” he said in his best approximation of a gravelly, rough pirate’s voice, “be prepared, for Brown Barty and Bonnie Lyanie, terrors of the shipping lanes, are about t’ board ye! Don’t resist, and they’ll be merciful!”

He flicked the comm off, before thinking for a second and once more flicking it on.

"Yar!"

Once more he flicked the comm off, and sighed, leaning back in the pilot’s chair. There was a moment of thoughtful silence, and he nodded once more, and took a deep breath.

“AND REALLY BAD EGGS! Yo ho, yo ho, a piiiraaate’s liiiiife for meeeeeeeeeeee!”

[Taataani Meorrrei]

"All of jyou be qujiet!"

Taataani's authoritative outburst instantly quieted her fretting husbands as they buzzed around the master suite. She sat, annoyed, at the edge of the large and disheveled bed, a passably-impressive dress having been hastily drawn from wardrobe and assembled around her voluptuous matronly figure. Her tail lay along one side, slapping against the rumpled comforter audibly every few seconds as her Zeltron husband busied with the task of fixing her hair.

"Wherre'ss mjy drrjink? No, jI don't carre what jit jiss jusst brrjing jit."

Her impatient hand was met by a Cizeri husband bringing a slender glass of Jaii'frree, an aromatic Cizeri liqueur poured over cracked ice into bloodfruit nectar. She wasted no time in dividing the drink in half, tossing it down the pipe. She passed the glass back to her serving husband, wiped her mouth with her hand, burped slightly, then closed her eyes, breathing deeply in and out, in and out. When she spoke, it was now much more controlled.

"Mjy darrljingss, whateverr happenss, sstajy herre. jYou wjill not make me anjy happjierr bjy gettjing kjilled."

The assembled harem were primarily selected for their visual appeal and menial talents, not specifically for deep thinking. They were upset with her decision to not send them out to fight the invaders.

"jIf jI musst be a hosstage, jI wjill bearr mjy burrden wjith grrace."

[Barton Henning]

The stillness of the yacht during their approaching was unnerving. Worse than if they had opened fire. At least then, they would have know what to expect. Instead, as he nudged the docking gear into what (by his best guess) was the alien ships equivalent port, Barton felt increasingly blind. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge, said a voice from the past. Faintly, Henning nodded. Soon they would have the knowledge they needed.

There was clunks and whines as the shuttle and the yacht became securely moored together, the crew of each vessel now separated by only meters at the most. Barton pulled himself out of his safety webbing and moved towards the door that would now lead to the alien ship. He paused and without looking back, said - “I'll understand if you'd rather wait behind.” - then slammed a palm against the access panel. Behind the heavy metal hatch that stood in front of him, there was hissing at the atmospheric pressure stabilised...

[Taataani Meorrrei]

"You there! Not another step, pirate scumbags! We've got guns!"

Vansent inwardly cursed his very lame threat, hoping that it would be enough.

[Lyanie Quez]

"But I wouldn't understand the point of coming if I'm just going to sit here." She said, more to herself, as she too pulled free of the safety webbing and followed along behind Barton, her hands straining to resist the urge to look like she was ready to draw. The blaster remained holstered where she had placed it, but she was tense with a readiness that became harder to resist when the hatched opened and the yelling began. At that point, resisting the urge to dive out of the sight of all the hunting rifles came to about level with the urge to draw her weapon in kind. Instead, she merely stood to the side and just back of the Chief, glancing from the back of Henning's head, to the assembled crew of the ship they were supposed to be boarding.

It was then, and only then that something occurred to her and she felt a slightly nervous giggle well up in her throat, which she deftly passed off as a cough, cramming a fist to her mouth to stifle it. She thanked Daddy in a silent prayer for teaching her all about blasters and older forms of firearms in their many shapes and forms, not least of all how to use them. A girl's got to protect herself somehow, was the reasoning.

"You expect me to believe those fancy-lookin', shiny, overdone clubs are loaded?" She said, smirking. She was standing all in plain view now, looking surprisingly confident for the threat-by-numbers and brandished weapons that stood in front of her. She and Henning were two. They were more than two. Team Knightfall was outnumbered by more than two to one. Lyanie shook her head, as if disappointed.

"Come on, now. You ain't even holdin' 'em right." She gestured, somewhat lackadaisically in their direction. "How'dya expect me t'feel threatened?"

She glanced at Barton, then. "Do you feel threatened, Chief?" Then back at the crew men. "'Cause I sure don't."

[Barton Henning]

At first glance, the welcome wagon might have been intimidating – but even just a casual once-over of the armed crew seemed to suggest otherwise.

“Well.. could 'cause some nasty bruises if they threw 'em at us.”

With a blank expression, he looked to Lyanie out of the corner of his eye, then swung his gaze back to the crew of the yacht. He had his blaster drawn but aiming it almost seemed overkill.

“Who's in charge here?”

[Barton Henning]

double post - delete

[Taataani Meorrrei]

Captain Vanzent shakily eased his unloaded rifle to the ground, knowing that the bluff hadn't worked at all. The silver lining was that these pirates seemed at least civil enough not to kill them outright. He had to hope that mattered for something.

"I...I am."

He weakly held up a hand as he stepped forward from behind a little cover.

"...are you going to kill us?" He asked, wincing lamely.

[Barton Henning]

Henning's expression tightened, sharp eyes taking in the Captain's unfamiliar uniform and rank insignia.

“Who are you and what is your ship's purpose at these co-ordinates?”

[Taataani Meorrrei]

"I-I'm Captain Lyle Vanzent. We're a transport for VIP's and their entourages, that's all."

Purpose? Wouldn't a pirate be asking where the valuables were before asking anything else?