RPlog:A Chance Dance

Location: Deep Space Patrol.

Two hours into a routine patrol of the borderline, Raxis L'ygr pilots Ghost 3 on a split patrol. His wingman flying a nearby pattern a few kilometers off, he takes a moment to himself to humm quietly while his Astromech goes through some of the latent programming. Above all things, this patrol is a boring one, and knowing well that he isn't expected to meet any opposition he can't help but feel like he's on a milk run.

Some called it joy riding, others a complete waste of time. For the pilot of the Z-95a Headhunter it was a much needed break. Admiral Rall hadn’t filed a flight plan, as if she had there was no chance she would have gotten out with out and escort. This was her stress reliever, flying had been her passion lone before she had even heard of the Admiralty, never mind become one. Exiting hyperspace, the woman raised her shields and read the translation from her Astromech. She was on the edge of Rebel space, the deep dark dead zone. The Interloper was going to bang out a few scans and then head for home, nothing dramatic but she needed the stick time.

A series of beeps echoes from Vee-Ten's communicator into the cockpit speakers, as Raxis comes out of his trance to look over the sensor readouts. Apparently, something small in the system had been picked up a kilometer out, and Raxis had found it. Too small to be anything larger than a freighter, and no sign of anything else in sight, Raxis taps his comm to his lent wingman from the NR StarOps. "Ranger two this is Raptor, I've got something on my radar I'm going to check out. Might be debris, but stay on the comms, over." He taps the comm, adjusting his course to intercept.

"Roger Raptor, Ranger two continuing flight plan awaiting update,over."

Through the dark silence of space, Raxis' X-Wing, Ghost 3, soars towards its newest waypoint.

“Frack” Dana mutters to herself, but the Astromech bleeps a response anyway. The woman wasn’t overly fond of the tiny droid behind her cockpit, but it was a gift and she needed it, so her answer was measured “No, not you Bleak…we were spotted right out of hyperspace by a rebel patrol” Sure enough the HUD was registering an incoming fighter. “We’ll see if we can bluff or this is a dance. Hold off on anything but passive scans” Leaning lightly one the stick, the snub-nosed fighter makes a wide sweeping arch. Jal’Dana had been a pilot long enough to know better than to make to aggressive a move from the start.

Slowly but surely Ghost 3 nears the location of the echo, looking through his cockpit for visual aide, he taps his radar and looks back up out of the viewport. Seeing in the darkness the small shape of a Z-95 headhunter, he swears under his breath and mentally flips a coin. Rolling and turning to put himself on an intercept course, he opens the comm to local frequency. "Unidentified Z-95 Headhunter this is Sector Patrol Ghost 3, what is your destination, over?"

Inhaling deeply and then exhaling slowly Jal’Dana debates just opening fire. “Always the Ghosts, never anyone but the fracking Ghosts…” Not changing her bearing, she flips the communication unit to the open channel, her normally raspy voice toned down by the helmet’s voice emitter. In a cool tone she replies. “Ghost 3, this is the Twilight Express we’re on a currier run to the mining moon three clicks away with corporation mail” It was a bold faced lie, said with all the conviction needed to sell ice on Hoth. Now the woman just had to see if he bought it.

Pausing, Raxis attempts to open a channel to Sector Patrol base, finding it just slightly out of range. Sighing at that, he speaks to Vee-Ten. "Vee see if you can boost the transmitter so we can get a word back to base and check this one's story out. I don't want any ambushes today." He finishes, clicking his local channel comm back on. "Twilight Express this is a militarily controlled border during wartime, verifying current information please stay on course and I will escort you. Over." He finishes, as his X-wing forms up slightly behind the Z-95 on course.

“That’s real nice of ya’ Ghost 3, but I think we can manage. Just a milk run and all” And this was why Jal’Dana’s staff didn’t want her out taking chances like this. But her voice was still cool and collected, like someone with nothing to hide. Holding the stick steady, the Z-95a’s course leads her right along the boarders, if she needs to break she will, but those scans could be worth the risk. The rebels didn’t patrol open areas, there must be a depot near by.

A slight bit of charm goes over the comm as Raptor can't help himself but oblige and buy time as Vee-Ten begins diverting power to their transmitter. "Well milk runs and all Twilight Express this is contested territory, we'd be happy to provide you with an escort compliments of yours truly. Proceed on course and we'll make sure your progress is unphased and let you on your way."

Ok, so it wasn’t going to fly and if they got in transmitter range, she’d have half the rebel sector fleet up her afterburners. “On my mark Bleak, jam the airwaves…3..2..1..mark” The battered little astromech clicks and warbles as he performs as his pilot asked of him. Meanwhile, readies her weapons and then suddenly Jal’Dana slams on the breaks, and lets the X-wing pass over her. She says nothing as the waits for the positive lock and a good tone. As the solid tone rings in her head set, Jal’Dana squeezes the trigger and red lances of energy burst from the fighter’s nose.

"Woah!" Raxis calls out to Vee-Ten as suddenly he finds his rear shields depleted. Avoiding the urge to palm his face, he grits his teeth. He should have known something was fishy about this entire situation. "Vee-Ten redirect power to shields and keep an eye out for more." He pauses as beeping in. "What do you mean comms are jammed?" He blurts as he banks his X-wing hard to return fire.

In a personal move, Raxis rolls upside down and pulls the stick down hard, a maneuver that looks from the outside as if the ship is rising inverted and plugs the brakes hard and sends his X-wing into a toppling spin. Pulling hard back up on the stick he finds himself drawing a bead on the Z-95 headhunter and opens fire.

It was something she has tried to teach all her pilots, you can never under estimate the power of surprise, and her two shots are pin point. The red lasers over hit the X-wing’s rear shield hard and do about as much damage as Jal’Dana could have hoped for on her opening shots. Now the dance was on, and the true test began “Just focus on jamming the transmissions” the woman tells her droid

The top over move by the X-wing is creative yet completely ineffective and under her helmet Jal’Dana’s eyebrow arches up. “Ok meat, lets see what you got” Jal’Dana says into her open mike. She was keeping up the act of a mercenary, and would not give up that she was Imperial. Some things were better left unknown. The X-wing’s maneuver had placed it directly back in Jal’Dana’s gun sight and the tone was good from the Start. The Ace known as Vapor smiles *Aggressive is good* and pulls her trigger again.

Grunting with the impact on his ship, Raxis grunts under his teeth "Who -are- these people?" as he jerks the stick hard and sends his X-wing into a plummeting immeman turn. Spinning and picking a random exit vector, he takes a deep breath as Vee-Ten fights to get the shields working again. Grimmacing, he slaps the open comm to local channel. "Meat? I've torped bigger fools then you..." He replies as his ship banks on a hard angle, fighting to get a shot at the rear of the Z-95 headhunter. Getting a slight lead on her, he opens fire.

Again the X-wing misses the nimble little fighter and Jal’Dana can’t help but be impressed with its performance. Lifting her foot off the thrust she slows down, bring the X-wing up closer on her Aft. Then hitting the port thruster spins the nose around and punches hard the reverse thrust. It was a move just long enough to give her a shot before the X-Wing flew over top of her. Visor down, he’d never see her face, just the red glow of laser fire.

Instead, Raxis barrel rolls directly towards her, and as the blasterfire from the Z-95's wingtips rush in, Ghost 3 is sideways in the roll and dodges the attack deftly. Roaring overhead, he kicks his speed down and turns on the nose axis as his X-wing performs a slide in space. Effectively stopped for just a moment, he burns his rear-right thrusters hard and spins the X-wing to face the maneuvering Z-95. Continuing the chase, he rears in behind her and presses the trigger. "You sure we haven't hired you, lady? You're pretty good..." He mutters over the open comm.

She had missed, it wasn’t unheard of but it was important not to let that happen again. Jal’Dana wanted her foe disabled at least, or bugging out so he couldn’t track her vector of escape. That was key, and she was just going to have to try harder. “It’s easy to hit the big one’s Ghost…..it’s the small one’s that you’re having trouble with” Again the X-wing’s motions have the best intent, and again the shot miss by a ship length. This should have been over faster.

In an exact copy of the X-wings opening move, Jal’Dana rolls upside down and pulls the stick down hard, a maneuver that looks from the outside as if the ship is rising inverted and plugs the brakes hard and sends her ship into a toppling spin. Pulling hard back up on the stick she finds himself drawing a bead on the X-wing and opens fire. Sure it was a taunt just like her saying “You can’t afford me”

With a concussive shake of the ship, the engines flare and Raxis finds himself feeling an explosion of a rear stabilizer, sending the ship to coast forward without any maneuverability. Pounding his fist on the console Raxis grunts, not remembering the comm was still on. "AW come on!" He blurts, growling and reaching for the comm. "Damnit who are you lady, if you weren't seriously deserving of being Ion'ed and tossed into a brig I'd have to ask you for a drink..." He grumbles, hopefully buying some time as he looks over his shoulder and sighs, finding Vee-Ten unharmed. "Try and get us back up, buddy..." He says over his ship's internal communicator.

The X-wing was toast, and would have been an easy kill. But with her escape all but assured Jal’Dana wanted to do some real damage. Spreading fear in the rebel fighter corps was a move more valuable than a lone dead pilot. As her Z-95a wags its wings in a salute she radios back, “Fix your ship, return to the fleet…tell your friends you live by my pleasure. The call sign is Vapor, you couldn’t touch me. I own you and when the time is right you can by me that drink in hell. Admiral Rall out”

Without any more chatter, the un-marked Z-95a gathers the scans and date packets in needed. A Fleet would return to finish the depot. For now her mission was finished. Never taking a look back towards the disabled X-wing, Dana tells her droid “Set course for a secondary system, from there we will go home.” When the astromech is ready it blups the date to the pilot and she then exits without delay. It was a good day of flying and the Admiral smiled as she entered hyperspace.

Mouth agape, Raxis watches the Z-95 blink out and head on its way. Sighing, he clicks his comm and finds communications outbound restored. "Ghost 3 to Sector Patrol base requesting pickup, over." He pauses, slamming his fist down on an unbuttoned portion of his console twice. "Damnit damnit damnit damnit! Argh!" He finishes as he shoves himself back into his seat and begins his long wait.