Open Space and Asteroid Field

Indy told him? Who was Indy? Indy was the ship. How could the ship tell him anything? But there'd also been that incident with my wrist console, and the map to his workshop. Maybe there was something more going on here than I realized --- some sort of artificial intelligence. My brother has built a few of those, but he'd never taken the concept beyond a single room. Intriguing, and potentially very useful, given my other problems that needed to be saved. I made a mental note to come back to that concept when we were done with the datacard. I needed certain people located.

I nodded patiently as the geek informed me that he could break it in an hour, wondering if expressing some scepticism about his abilities might motivate him to open it even faster. I was on a tight schedule, and I didn't like the sound of Dante's last report at all.


He'd gotten away with the sweet talk up until now, but my patience was running awfully thin after the events on the Skip and the reports of incoming warships, and I really didn't have time to waste matching wits with a dork who needed to focus on one specific job, and get it done, so I could leave. Almost by reflex rather than any conscious decision, I pulled my left hand back, quick as a flash, and swatted at the side of Oz's face with the flat of my palm, hard enough to knock him off-balance if he didn't brace himself.

I waited, arms once again folded, for the small man to recover himself, before responding icily. "If you're quite through, work first, then play. I'm in a hurry, and I want to see if you're really any good at ---" I stopped short in surprise as Seros burst into the workshop, voice raised. Was the situation with our "visitors" getting worse? He seemed strangely desperate, in contrast to Dante's earlier collected urgency, and I had no reason not to assume that his request for a fighter came from a need to fend off an oncoming attack.

The site of Oz being injured as per a local wasn't anything new to Seros, but Liya, he knew, wasn't the type to bother maming anyone like Oz. Whatever Oz might have said to her, he probably had it coming. And even as slightly curious as to why Oz' speech was slurred, no doubt due to powerful anesthetics, Seros wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know the reason for Oz' need of them. He sighed as he looked at his blubbering compatriot, leaning impatiently against his duffle. "...What m'I gonna do wit' you, mate?"

But then...what Oz said next was quite possibly..the 'worst' thing that Seros could have been told:


His brow furrowed downward, narrowing his gaze towards Oz (..not 'at' him, if that makes sense).
Ships available? Check. Bad motivator in the Nubian? Noted. ...Having to wait until 'after' a hyperspace jump, because of..'what' again? This wasn't happening. ...Was it?

Seros leaned forward with a stern quizzical chocked to an inflected off-center glance. ".....Come again?"

The one word and name that alleviated all curiosity was all Seros had to discern amidst Oz' plugged retort.

Dante.

By the Force, what the hell had he gotten him and his unsuspecting friend into? However, the more he thought about how things had transpired, the more he realized Dante wasn't necessarily the one to blame.

Seros was. It was a hasty, desperate decision made under dire circumstances. He gave Fel, the leader of numerous people aboard multiple ships, Oz' coordinates, and 'then' promptly found out that at least one of the passengers, much less the crew's present client, was clinically insane...if not worse.

Hands still on his hips, introspect running on high as always, Seros let his shoulders slump out of their tense state. Head chocked back, eyes raising to the distant steal beams running along the lofty ceiling of the arm's interior, he sighed long and deep, ignoring the exchange between Liya and Oz. He only figured it was concerning the encryption Liya had inquired of Seros back when they were still in warp on their way there.

His hand firmly gripped the velcro strap handle of the duffel, dragging it across the table til it fell dead weight to dangle at his shins. He trudged off towards the ships on which he arrived, back in the first section of the arm, surmising what he could, would, or should say in his encounter with Dante, should he still be there...

---

Upon arriving under the Loronar transport, Seros noticed a few changes in the topography of the floor about halfway between the ships and the main port's entrance.

..Were those scoring marks? Blackened, charred blemishes along the sheeny hangar floor that he was almost positive weren't there before. Walking past the ships to observe more astutely, he saw there was a fresh carbonized scar along a pylon extending out from the large studs running along the inner wall of the arm. Dormant vulture droid fighters dangled from the rafters high above. Wasn't hard to add up. Something went down, and he hoped and wished Kaali wasn't involved. She had cloaked her presence to him, for all he knew. She could have been on board or in proximity, despite the unlikelihood. The carbon scoring spread across a decent surface area across the hangar floor. It wasn't just a few targets for the droids. It must have been at least a dozen and a half. Maybe more.

He didn't bother assessing anymore. The answers to all his questions lay with Dante, and if there was a lockdown, he was still on board the Indy.
Seros made his way back into the Loronar, keeping his wits about him, numbing himself to as much emotion as he could before engaging such an erratic enigma. He came about in the main corridor connecting the larger interior length of the ship, and saw Jace standing near the opposite side of the deck, alone as far as he could tell, not being able to see past the bends of the walls to the main lounge and cabins.

"Jace!" he called out to him as he walked closer. "...You seen Dante around anywhere?" but just as he stepped past the lounge's threshold, out the corner of his peripheral, Seros caught a dark figure sitting at the round table and couch. He looked to see a pale faced man, dark hair, well kempt. Brown jacket and what could have been mistaken for military issue garments underneath, and that supposition was only enforced by the fact that the man was cleaning a slug thrower, its pieces placed about the tabletop before him. The man, no doubt hearing Seros' call to Jace across the room, had a smirk displayed that implied all too much.

No blue mask or makeup. Golden follicles done away with. But the jawline remained familiar enough.

Refusing to relieve Dante of his gaze, Seros relieved Jace of his need to answer. "....Nevermind."

Approaching the nearest end of the couch, he quietly plopped his full duffelbag atop the plush seat, indicating he had no inclination of sitting down as he peered down at Dante. Was that smugness, or apathy? Seros couldn't decide, nor did he really care.

He broke silence soon enough, his hands finding their way back onto his hips.
"...Lock down, 'eh mate?"

...No answer. Dante scraped the last bit of carbon off the inside the chamber rail with the small bristle brush, and picked up the spring guide with his half-dirty rag, leaning back leisurely, looking up at Seros, unphased...in a deliberate manner to let Seros know he was unphased.

His brow lowered and words seeped out between his tightening lips. "..What happened in the hangar? I'll only ask once..."
Seros also took mental note of Jace in the near vicinity...

Get to the bridge, help out with preparations. Get to the bridge, help out with preparations.
Daniel thought over and over again as he ran through the ship to toward the cockpit, the repetition of thoughts wasn't necessary for remembering what to do, it was simply to keep his focus on what he needed to do as opposed to why he needed to do it. He had to keep his fear in check until this was all over and just hope for the best outcome, of course part his mind he was also trying to work out the statistical probability that they could survive an attack like Jace had said while the other part was trying to ignore the first part entirely, it was a practice he wasn't familiar with but one that he was sure he would come to rely on should they, or rather he, survive what was coming.

When he made it to the lift he moved anxiously about the enclosure as it traveled upward to the bridge level, he watched the numbers change and then slid through the doors as they opened and ran through the hall and the lounge, passing Dante and another man he did not know in the process without even noticing they were there because his entire focus was on preparing the ship...

And now he was on the bridge, in the cockpit, alone and taking in the various buttons, knobs, meters, and gizmos as he tried to sort out what to do next. And he. was. completely. lost. Nothing on looked even vaguely familiar to him, in fact this was the first time he had even been inside of a cockpit, that he remembered clearly anyway. There was the time right after Coruscant, but he was in shock at the time and really had no idea where he was.

He paced around the room looking at all of the panels, without a clue of where to begin making preparations. But wait, preparations for what exactly? He had no idea what he was even preparing for now that he got a good look outside the viewport, they were in some sort of hangar so apparently he had missed quite a bit while he was locked in his closet trying to unlock some of the mysteries of the Eye of Ono Kli. He suddenly felt this overwhelming anxiety as he realized just how out of place he truly was among the stars, even so far as becoming weak in the knees and falling into one of the chairs. What was he to do? It was now more than ever that he realized just how much he didn't belong here and he knew somehow that he would die out here, if not today then sometime along the way to finding a relic that he has only theorized about. What if it didn't exist? What if he dies out here for nothing? He'd be a complete laughing stock in the archaeological community.

He leaned forward and cupped his head in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. I can't do this. They were all right, I'm going to fail and for what? An old piece of metal that might not even exist... He sat back and rubbed his fingers through his hair, and then down over his face until the first thing that came into view was the galaxy map on one of the consoles. He paused and narrowed his eyes, then tilted his head slightly to the right and leaned forward. "Interesting..." He quickly got out his new notebook and flipped through the pages, stopping about halfway through and looking back and forth between the map and his journal. And soon his eyes brighten up as he has his epiphany. "incredible." He beings to jot down notes in his journal once again, his confidence seemingly restored by a mere coincidence.

Seros was gone before I could do much more than shoot him an exasperated stare that embodied all the frustration that Oz was causing me. But he scarcely noticed. Instead, his attention was taken up with Oz's mention of the lockdown. It took me a moment to realize that the Jedi didn't already know what was going on outside. I belatedly held up my hand to stop him, but he was already gone, not realizing that I could have answered some of his questions. Maybe it would be just as well if he went and got the straight story from Dante himself. After all, someone really ought to go check what was happening back at the ship. I wasn't sure I entirely trusted Dante's version of events, especially the part about Jace. And I still wondered if he was he actually trying to keep me away for another hour, or if he was just being informative? There were too many questions, and not enough answers.


But the persistent Oz could not be ignored for long. "Of course you'll be paid, that's only fair. I'm in a hurry, so I'll give you two hundred credits --- maybe more if the information ends up being useful to me." Surely I could have bargained for a cheaper rate, but I owed Kim a debt, and she was worth the expense. I pressed my lips together as I watched him dab his bloody nose. I hadn't really intended to draw blood, but I hoped the little man had learned an appropriate lesson from my reaction. "Keep your head tilted forward a little bit, you don't want the blood running into your brain. And it might stop a little quicker if you pinch the nostrils together." The matter of fact comment so soon after causing the damage would probably seem odd, but my focus was all business. 

I uncrossed and recrossed my arms as I fell silent. The less conversation between us, the better, it seemed. The same could be said of my brother, but for very different reasons. Lio hated to talk, and suffered greatly from stuttering and other impediments, whereas Oz apparently had no trouble whatsoever speaking his mind or his fantasies. He certainly formed an interesting contrast to Lio --- they were quite similar in appearance and mannerisms, but Lio would have died rather than flirt with a girl. Just having a strange woman in his workshop was enough to utterly paralyze him. It was on Lio's account that I usually expected to do all the talking when interacting with a geek like Arshak or Oz, but this small man in front of me was shattering my narrow stereotype. And I wasn't sure I liked it.

Oz stared at Liya with a stunned look on his face, entirely unable to hear the bits about how to hold his nose and tilt his head (thankfully though, the wound wasn't that bad and had more or less stopped bleeding). Did she just say what I think she just said? "Uhh... two hundred credits? Are you serious lady?" Is she serious? She can't be serious... Maybe she thinks the painkillers made me dumb in addition to way too talkative and uninhibited. Yeah. That must be it. Or maybe she wasn't listening when I told her what kind of encryption this is. That would be a likely explanation too. "You DID hear the part where it's a thirteen layer cyclical security system with rotating encryption algorithms, right? Two hundred would maybe get you through the first layer, but I doubt it. This ain't some primary school computer club project, sweetheart. I wouldn't even do this kind of work for two thousand credits, much less your piddly two hundred. I ain't some kinda lousy knockoff you can find in any random cantina on the rim. He jabbed a finger out in the general direction of outside the ship (presumably to indicate the rim), then just kept talking. The great and powerful Oz is the genuine article sweetness, and he don't come cheap. If you want this thing cracked, it ain't gonna happen for anything less than ten thousand. If you don't like that, then you can go ahead and just take it somewhere else so they can tell you they ain't good enough and send you back to me!"

Whoa... head rush. Oz "wobbled" slightly in the wake of his tirade as he stood in front of her trying to look resolute, doing the best he could to ignore the nausea rising from the pit of his stomach (apparently, painkillers aren't quite enough to completely counteract one's natural tendencies... Who knew?). I did. I knew. Shut up.

"Not exactly military grade?" Oz' voice rose an octave as he spoke and he forgot his nausea as his eyes started trying to climb out of his head. "Not exactly military grade?!?! You'd be LUCKY to find security half this good on a military system! I would know! I've been in them!" He tapped a few keys on the datapad then spun it around to show her the display, which was a forever oscillating depiction of thirteen sets of seemingly random numbers and letters all shifting around on a whim. "You see this! Do you even know what this means?! It means that every fifty seven seconds the entire set of thirteen encryptions generates thirteen brand new keys, and if you don't get through all thirteen layers of encryption in those fifty seven seconds the entire system resets and you have to start over! It should take DAYS to even get the first cipher figured out, much less all thirteen in fifty seven seconds!"

What he didn't tell her, what he purposely avoided telling her, was that he'd been running the decryption since he plugged the card into his datapad and what she was seeing now was actually the decryption process itself. There's no way she'd know what it is. She doesn't even know the difference between military grade crap and this beautiful work of art. Seriously. Whoever designed this thing is a genius. An absolute freakin' geniu...hold on... Abruptly, Oz' expression turned from one of insulted outrage to one of surprised recognition and he spun the datapad back around while his fingers began flying across the screen, inputting memorized commands and codes faster than he could consciously recall the information. "No... really? I haven't seen his work in ages..." He didn't seem to be aware of the fact that he was talking out loud as he worked, and just kept on rambling. "Not his best work, obviously, there's junk code fragments scattered all over the place, but still, it's gotta be him...A smile grew across his face, the (quite frankly kind of insulting) exchange with Liya all but forgotten. "It is really good to see you again Mizu. Been a long time since I've had a decent challenge." If she hadn't been able to tell before, the look of sheer joy on Oz' face as he worked would tell Liya everything she needed to know about whether or not he'd actually decrypt the card (he would). (Shut up, they're not idiots) (So you say...)

...What?

Dante eyed the man with a look of incredulity, and suddenly...something became oh so much more clearer. What was this need to displace blame onto Dante's head? What was this circular and redundant logic? Dante had attempted to rile the man up - accusing a man of a deadly situation was usually a good way to do this - and Seros' reaction was...different from what Dante had expected. For one, he took partial blame, and then cast the rest on Dante - not that Dante took exception to that mind you - he quite frankly didn't care whose fault it was. What clued Dante in to something...deeper...was the fact Seros WAS casting blame. This wasn't a smuggler, this wasn't a spacer, this was a Jedi - or at the least, a man who had been trained in the light side arts. And that took control, poise, calm. Besides the fact...Dante didn't think for a second that the Jedi was afraid of the blockade; hell, he'd fought off Jekk like a master. Why should a blockade be any different? Why was this situation any different than the Jekk? There had to be something more than simple danger...it was the fact it was the Syndicate...something...couldn't get caught by them? What? The black box he had seen on the video? The resolution on the helmet cam wasn't good enough to make out what had been put into the box. But...was that what this was all about? A need to keep that from falling into the wrong hands?

Shaking his head Dante leaned back and gestured widely, a flat and unreadable expression on his face.

"Stardestroyers. Beyond that, I don't know; its enough to catch any small craft like our own. Larger vessels like the one we're on might fair better...except that it's several warships versus one. Ion cannons could disable us, or worse...its hard to tell. I guess the big question is...why do you care? You don't know us...and you have no relation to us, well, beyond Coruscant, so really...why are you so very concerned about the blockade and their strength? Is it the black box you don't want falling into their hands? Unlikely as they had their hands on it...THEY know whats inside...so it's more likely they want YOU. That, or something close to you. Whatever that might be. But it must be something personal to you, or very, very important in order to break the famed Jedi composure..."

With a sigh, Dante shook his head slowly.

"Look...you can hurt me, you can kill me, and you can even probe my mind. Hurting me wont do any good...been through torture before, and I'm not very impressed. You can kill me, and that would be a mercy to me - plus, you won't get any info. Probing my mind...will be a MOST unpleasant experience for you. So...show me the blackbox, show me the contents, and tell me what part you had to play in this...and I'll let you have one question. One. And I will answer it truthfully, and to the best extent of my considerable knowledge of this situation. I give you my word as Dante...and you can ask Jace...my word is binding. But a word of warning...Dante the Deceiver doesn't offer these little trades very often. Decline, and it wont be offered again."

A Firrerreons word was binding...especially when invoking ones one name. Should Seros ask, Dante would answer truthfully to one question. One.

So there it was...Dante had pushed, nudged, and manipulated best he could to get the man to tell him what was going on. Someone close to him was it? Probably a lover - he wasn't a member of the order anymore, it stood to reason that the "she" he spoke of was the reason he left. Those were assumptions of course...better explored later perhaps. 

Simply listening to the man, barely flinching at the outburst, Dante took in the mans demeanor, attitude, and emotional state...and finally...Seros took out the box, and handed it to Dante. Silently Dante openness it, take in the assorted colors of the sticks inside, before closing the lid near a half second later.

"I see."

And that was all he said. From the contents, Dante could assume several things...one, that the Syndicate had used Seros for testing purposes...that much seemed obvious. And, from the way Seros kept the box with him, the way the syndicate doggedly pursued him - that combined with Seros' medical experience - clued to the fact that Seros was more than likely involved, somehow, with the creation of the aerosolized compound to begin with. The depth that he was involved was a conversation for another time though.

Handing the box back to Seros, Dante leaned His head back and closed his eyes for a long, long moment. The mind whirled, logic evaluated; Arcturus' principles of adaption, improvisation, and deduction ran through his mind. Eventually he opened his eyes and looked at Seros once more.

"You get one question...free of lies, trickery, and deception. Think about it carefully."