RPlog:Salt Shaker

Public Landing Pad - Drev'starn City - Bothawui

The Starport in Drev'starn City, Capital of Bothawui, never sleeps. This is due to the fact that at nearly any hour of the day, or night, a ship can be seen landing or leaving. Piles of cargo containers fill the area as droids and humans alike work to unload the valuable cargo. Groups of beings are gathered around talking, dealing, and rushing along with their business. Several squads of Bothan security can be seen scattered about the port, keeping a watchful eye on the actions of every being. Some of the squads are moving about, checking permits and assisting customs inspectors with inspecting ships. A great deal of order is kept in this port, upholding a standard for the Capital on this planet. Floodlights are scattered about the perimeter of the port, keeping a constant illumination on the bustle below. The port itself is immense, left over from the Imperial occupation. By the old Imperial system, this port would have been classified as a Class 1 port. Under the New Republic system it is referred to as Class A.

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=> Shuttle Terminal

=> Economic Presence

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=> STARSHIP: Sienar Lambda Class Shuttle -- Storm Wisp

=> STARSHIP: Sardakh Inter-system Customs Vessel -- FSS Star Blazer

=> SHUTTLE: Sienar Lambda Class Shuttle -- Glee Bus

=> STARSHIP: Sienar Mu Class Shuttle -- Starfire

=> STARSHIP: Sardakh Class 750 Freighter -- Retribution

=> STARSHIP: Sienar Guardian-Class Light Cruiser -- Free Reign

=> STARFIGHTER: Incom T-65B X-wing -- Jedi One

=> SCENE OBJECT: Surplus Salt Containers

=> STARSHIP: Corellian YT-1300 -- Twilight Breaking

=> STARSHIP: Vangaard Pathfinder -- GLESHKA

=> STARSHIP: Telgorn Gamma Class Assault Shuttle -- Swift Strike

=> STARSHIP: Corellian YT-1300 -- Clean Rip

=> STARSHIP: SoruSuub Nestt-class Light Freighter -- NRS Internuncio

=> STARSHIP: Telgorn Gamma Class Assault Shuttle -- Dreamworker

-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-

East leads to West Federation Lane - Drev'starn City.

_____________________________________________________________________________

The entry ramp to the Storm Wisp is open, the inner bowels of the Lambda shuttle shrouded in darkness. Sitting at the base of the ramp sits Simon Sezirok, a wooden staff leaning against the ramp at his left side. With one arm resting on a raised knee, he gingerly touches his swollen bottom lip with his other hand. After touching the wounded area, he withdraws his hand and looks at it, obviously checking for blood.

With a sigh, Simon shakes his head and then turns his eyes about the area. Bothans seemed everywhere, here. Dog faced, furry creatures, their heads together more often then not talking in hushed tones in their strange dialect. Fur of all different colors bristled and shifted, telltale signs of their emotions if one were trained to read such things. From the blank way Simon regards them all, it would seem that he wasn't knowledgeable of such things. Occasionally, Simon's nose wrinkles, as if he smelled something particularly unpleasant.

The Hydra stands nervously on the Bothan tarmac, her captain busily inspecting her underside for that most ubiquitous of Bothan exports: homing devices. Zarl's been here far too many times and spent far too many credits cleaning them off to relax for an instant while on this paranoid planet. In his right hand is a bulky piece of equipment, a point-and-shoot sensor device, designed to weed out the annoying little bits of plastic.

Tired of watching the local folk move about, impatient with the scent of them that keeps assaulting his senses, Simon raises to his feet. Picking up his staff, he looks about the area again, his slightly above average human height putting his eyes well above the heads of the Bothan populace. A non-local ship captain catches his eye, and Simon sets off to walking, moving toward the _Hydra_.

Unconcerned with angry squawks and fur bristling, Simon walks in a straight line, pushing rudely past any of the local folk that get in the way. Getting within decent speaking distance, Simon raises his voice, calling out to Zarl. "Does your ship move fast, and do you take passengers for money?" The words are tinged with a slight, slurred accent.

Zarl starts as the odd-looking device lets out a screeching sound not unlike that of dying Verpine. Angrily, he steps forward and smacks a specific second of hull, which drops off to reveal a blinking hunk of wire and plastisteel. "Why," he mutters to himself. "Do they feel it necessary to..." He stops at the sound of Simon's voice and turns, putting on a slight smile. "Fast? I dare say she is, sir. And as for passengers," he bows, indicating the boarding ramp. "I'm more than happy to take them on for a small sum."

Through out the tarmac, through his work, something was nagging at the back of Krinko's mind... he moves from the Blazer, to a control station: finalizing some business concerning the Hornets he bought recently. Shrugging it off, he does a roll of the neck, as to loosen it up, for what good that does... 'something in the air...' he musses mentally, not realizing: the smell. Something in the air... Shaking his head, Krinko gets back to work, signing the tablet... that nagging feeling still on his mind.

"How small a sum?" Simon asks, cocking his head slightly. His eyes move up to the hull of the _Hydra_. He was no judge of machinery or ships or anything of the sort, but he'd seen others in a hundred different starports, looking upon ships in this fashion, like a goodwife judging a pie at Sun's Day.

After mock judging the _Hydra_ for a few moments, Simon turns his attention back to the rest of the starport, his eyes lingering particularly long on the _Storm Wisp_. Just beyond the Lambda, Simon takes notice of another tall, non-Bothan, working on the _Blazer_. Nodding to himself, making a mental note that there may be other options if the current prospect didn't pan out. Bothawui was the land of opportunities, it would seem.

"And," Simon continues, turning back to Zarl, "How much notice? I and my two... no, three... companions may need to leave at a moment's notice."

Jessalyn arrives from West Federation Lane.

Jessalyn has arrived.

Zarl regards Simon coolly. He doesn't actually need the business, but it would be nice to keep up appearances. "Generally, one flight is 200 credits for one person." He scratches his head, trying to look thoughtful. "A party up to five would cost you upwards of 350." While Simon considers it, he turns his attention back to the bug, removing his blaster and beating at the homing device with the weapon's butt.

The quick glance by Simon is not gone unnoticed... as Krinko turns, putting down the Tablet, his eyes catch the look of Simon for a moment, as the smell in the air and the appearance of the man all come together... all in a rude thunder-clap of the mind: 'Simon!' Max's mind recoils in shock... 'what the fnark is he doing on Bothawui?' First Racra... now... It's almost too much for the older man, as he takes a slight stagger back... all the while praying Simon doesn't see his reaction. "Just play it quite Krinko... play quite..." he mutters to himself. This was unexpected.

"I see," Simon says, pursing his lips thoughtfully. With his left hand, Simon reaches into one of the inner pockets of his tunic, pulling out a fistful of credits. Taking the few steps necessary to close the distance between himself and Zarl, Simon offers the money to the man, saying, "Perhaps you will accept a... deposit? This should be enough for the people that may be with me. It does not matter where we go, as long as it is far from this place."

With his hand still outstretched, offering the deposit, Simon turns and looks over his shoulder once again toward Krinko and the _Blazer_. There was something familiar about the fellow. Something that reminded Simon of Nar Shaddaa, though he couldn't quite put his finger on why. Trying to put the thought of mind, Simon turns and regards Zarl again, awaiting his reply.

Zarl frowns, not liking the idea of being obligated to take this person and his cadre where they please at the drop of a hat. He shrugs to himself. Money's money. "Very well. A deposit will be fine." He extends his hand, palm up. "However, I will require a few minute's notice before hand." Smiling, he waits for the change to be deposited.

Racra emerges from the Telgorn Gamma Class Assault Shuttle -- Swift Strike.

Racra has arrived.

Bothawui was one of the more exotic planets that Jessalyn had ever visited, and the past couple of days had been interesting in terms of observing Bothan culture and society. She'd explored the city, mostly on her own, listening to the rumors and talking to a few locals who had no clue of her identity. Even now, she keeps a low profile, whistling a common spacer's ballad to herself as she strolls into the starport. She hadn't checked on the _Retribution_ in a while, she tells herself idly. Maybe she could track down Artoo and have him help her with some of the maintenance work that needed done. With these mundane thoughts distracting her, she is completely unaware of the conversation going on in the starport.

Krinko can't help but wonder... what exactly should he be doing, now that he had found Simon and all... after all, it had been, what, 3 months since Kyyel told him to keep an eye out for the man? The exact instructions had become unclear, as he had let him self be distracted by other facets by life: but here Simon was... and Max couldn't just stand around looking like an Idiot, which he was.

Realizing he was staring, Krinko turned around, looking he opposite direction for a few minutes while he weighted his options. This was the last thing he expected to happen here and now, much less anywhere else.

Simon takes a step back from Zarl after giving the pilot a deposit, then looks back over his shoulder once again, his curiosity growing in regards to the person near the _Blazer_. Why did he think of Nar Shaddaa when he looked at the man? Nar Shaddaa and... Daana Roon, for some reason. Shaking his head, Simon turns back and nods his thanks and agreement, giving the man a small smile.

Turning away once more, Simon begins to walk toward the _Storm Wisp_ again, his staff tapping the pavement every other step. He lets his eyes roam above the heads of the local populace again, taking in the presence of the other people not of Bothan heritage. There was another mechanic, swearing as he works on a battered looking stock freighter. There was a trader, carrying on some sort of heated argument with a furry freight master. And there was an attractive woman with red hair, walking toward-

Simon does a double take, then looks back across the way at Jessalyn. He stops in his tracks and says, "I must be cursed. How by the True Source have they found me again?!?", in Corellian.

Zarl takes the cash, watching the strange man and his staff depart. "Odd sort." He looks downs, examining his payment closely. "ope it isn't counterfeit." He shrugs, going back to his bug search.

The Corellian words are familiar enough to Jessalyn that she recognizes them as such, even if she doesn't comprehend them, but it's the voice that really catches her attention. The red head turns abruptly, seeing Simon immediately, and taking in the rest of the scene, the other man counting his money beside him. Even though her heart leaps into her throat, she raises her brows at Simon and regards him coolly. "Hello, Simon. I didn't know you were interested in visiting Bothawui. Are you enjoying it so far?"

As Krinko puzzles over the issue of the "Curs'ed one" he catches Simon's departure in the corner of his eye... right to...  Krinko exclaims in Horansi, falling promptly on his butt. "Jessa?!" His eyes are wide at the appearance of the woman... first Cernious, THEN he hears Racra's on planet, THEN Simon... Now Jessa? It's all too much for the 40 some man, and he sits on his butt dumbfounded. Then, clamoring up using a crate, he hauls him self to his feet, and begin wide-eyed'ly moving in her direction, the situation still overwhelming him.

*Clink. Clink. Clink.*

This is the sounds of the metal heels of the boots that adorn Racra's feet. He's not exactly within the gathered crowd of Bothans and Non-Bothans. More so walking around his own ship, tips of his claws giving a light tap against the metal. His eyes are narrowed, and his hair doesn't exactly look like it has been well kept for a bit. A mass of it hangs in front of his face, concealing quite a bit of it. He grumbles under his breath, tail twitching behind him as he comes to a stop, deciding to take a look at exactly who of the most noted faces is here. Eyes bounce from Simon and Jessa, already knowing that the darker of the two is on planet, seeing as how he was forced to split his lip, though an eyebrow arches to the slightly familiar woman.. The hunter had seen her before. The tip of the claw at his thumb runs along his jaw as he remembers that the red haired one attempted to rescue a woman who had shot his tail. Then spotting.. Well, not really spotting, but catching glimpse of Krinko falling back onto his arse. A crimson eyebrow ticks at that, and the partial Horansi shakes his head. He must remember to try to delay his next visit to the Bothan Home world, if it's going to be as pleasant as this one has been so far. Though anyways, the bounty hunter continues to stand next to his ship, going back to scanning the crowds.

As Simon opens his mouth to respond to Jessalyn, he catches a sharp movement out of the corner of his eye, and turns to see Zarl recover from... whatever accident it was that befell him. Perhaps he wouldn't go and make a deposit with that pilot, after all.

Turning back to Jessalyn, visibly composing himself, Simon grounds his staff in front of him and holds it with both hands as he addresses her. "Who is hunting who, Jedi?" Simon says, forcing a smile on his lips. People said all sorts of unpleasant truths to each other through smiles. Simon could emulate. "I left you and your lover back on Caspar. I did not expect to see you here."

The sound of Racra's metallic footwear carries across the distance and catches Simon's attention. Extending his senses toward the sound without actually turning away from Jessalyn, Simon recognizes who it is and visibly cringes. Releasing his staff with his left hand, he brings his hand to his face and gingerly touches his still swollen lower lip. Drawing his hand away, he glances at it again, once more checking for blood.

Jessalyn notices that Simon's discomfort doesn't seem to be entirely centered on her mere presence, as if that wouldn't upset him enough. His roving senses make her take heed of those around them, as well, and she widens her eyes as she hears the sound of her own name being called. Her eyes fall on Krinko, and she bites her lip, before she spots Racra, as well, who seems to be having quite an effect on Simon. "I'm not hunting anyone, Simon. I'm as surprised to see you as you are to see me. We should talk sometime. Maybe you could start to see that we should be allies rather than enemies." She smiles genuinely, but there's a fretfulness in her eyes. It's more likely than he would attack her than agree to parley, after all.

Krinko attentively approaches the two... not sure what to say, although he catches some of the words none the less. So He just sort of stands there, moving his mouth, trying to figure out what to say, saying nothing: All in the hustle and bustle of the Port. The Two others where already in conversation, and he would probably be mostly ignored, but he manages to stammer out just a few phrases in his twisted ascent: "Uh... Hi ya Simon... Jessa... been a while?"

"Another love sick puppy to follow you around, like Kyyel Marrak?" Simon asks of Jessalyn as Krinko approaches and makes his greeting. Simon turns and regards Krinko, his eyes narrowed slightly. He still couldn't quite place why the man was familiar, though it was obvious from Krinko's words that the familiarity went both ways.

Turning back to regard Jessalyn, Simon shifts his position such that neither the Jedi nor this older stranger should have his flank. He continues to keep his staff grounded in front of him, both hands holding it tightly.

The Bothan Soldiers assigned to watching Drev'starn never cease to amaze anyone. First, was the grenade assault on a supposed Sarian terrorist that aided in the start of riots in this very area. Now it was only getting worse with escalated violence toward Sarian traders. A freighter struggled overhead, fighting an invisible hand holding it and pulling it down to the landing area, a tractor beam. Bothan soldiers moved quickly setting up a perimeter, and readying their heavy blaster rifles carefully. A number of other Bothans, some armed with weapons others with cutting tools moved forward.

The ship was forced to the ground and clamped by an emergency ground crew, too keep it from escaping, the tractor beam remained on as well. A pair of Bothans moved up and beat on the entrance ramp as a cutting team stood by. They soldiers made an announcement in Bothan,  it was said in a number of languages, from Hutteese to Sarian.

No Reply, the nod was given and a cutting team moved forward and they began cutting the hatch open slowly as a number of soldiers covered them with EKX-10 blasters.

Jessalyn nods her head slowly toward Krinko when he approaches. "Hello," she says, hiding her mounting wariness. "It has been a while." She fixes Simon with a steady, unblinking gaze, then smiles slightly, shaking her head. "You seem obsessed with my love life, Selas. Perhaps you should be worried about more important things." She grins, giving Krinko a sidelong glance. "Say... what's going on over there?" she asks idly, gesturing toward the ship that's been grounded and is being forcibly boarded in the distance.

He isn't able to catch the cringe from this distance, but Racra does know that the thought of last night's small conversation would linger on in Simon's mind for a good week at least. Krinko joins in the conversation between Jessa and Simon.. And the eyebrow that gave a twitch before raises again. Perhaps he should attempt to make his way over there to eavesdrop on whatever they may be speaking about. Since there are chances Simon could of simply been lying to cover his tracks of the kidnapping of Ubi Sunt. Though there's nothing to prove he's exactly right or wrong. So what does the feline man do? He makes a small stroll to the boarding hatch of his ship, giving a slight glance over toward where furred soldiers gather. He sighs, shaking his head and pushing back his hair. Why must events such as these follow the hunter? Or perhaps it's just that he should never attempt to drop on Bothawui again. Unless needed to save his life, of course. Stupid stinky Bothans and their chaos.

It's hard, perhaps Impossible to miss what Simon Just said... Making Krinko's face grow red, not blushing, but in a raw rage that is barely contained by force of will. Love sick Puppy indeed! These people, have they no clue about honor? Have they no Sense, no semblance of it's necessity? Hasn't he ever heard of an Debt of honor?! Insolent brats, all! Krinko fumes... "I am No one's 'Love sick Puppy, Cursed-one. No more than you are Morganna's personal love slave." He adds with a touch of malice.... quickly swayed by Jessa's question, to a lesser extent. "I don't know what there doing there..." he says, to Jessalyn, but also to no one in particular. Unclipping his comm off his belt, he quickly barks in it in Bothan  he puts it near his ear, waiting for his answer.

"Maybe if you hadn't made me a part of your love life, I wouldn't be so concerned," Simon spits back, clearly agitated by Jessalyn's remark. "Perhaps if you didn't use the Force and your body to twist people to your way of thinking... no. I am not going to be drawn into that, now. Not-" he stops as Krinko makes his agitation known, then turns and looks toward the drama that is unfolding with the Bothans and the ship.

"Probably someone trying to get salt out of this place," Simon says, shaking his head slightly. It was all so foolish, to him. "It's what brought me here, actually. I mean to talk with the Bothans to trade for Ubi Sunt's life. Salt from Caspar for the Banari Hrum's freedom." Having said this, Simon turns back to Jessalyn and watches for a reaction.

The Selas' first words and Krinko's exasperation make Jessalyn smirk slightly to herself, and she folds her arms, taking a defensive step backward. "No need to go accusing this one," she protests, gesturing to Krinko as he speaks into his comlink. "I made you? It was you who rescued me, you who pursued me, and you who couldn't accept the woman you had 'saved' for being who she was. Don't try to blame me when you are just as much to blame. I would tell you I'm sorry for all of it, if I thought you would care."

She dips her head a little, turning red and looking at the toes of her boots. But when Simon mentions Ubi Sunt and his plans for a salt trade, she looks up again, furrowing her brow, trying hard to sense signs of deception. "How noble of you," she says in a flat voice. "Is Ubi Sunt your new lover?"

The hatch on the freighter falls to the ground as the soldiers rush into the freighter quickly. The snarl and the sound of blaster fire can be heard in the ship. A few yells in Bothan, mostly incoherent garbage erupts. The freighter itself shakes slightly as there is quite a bit of action going on, on board. A thundering sound can be heard as a pair of hover tanks move in slowly. Their heavy cannons turn slowly toward the freighter and sit quietly.

Moments later a number of Sarians some forced out and thrown to the ground with their hands over their head. Others dragged out stunned, followed by a wounded Bothan Solider being carried out by a comrade. The Bothans begin reviving the stunned and reading them their rights under the Bothan law system.

Krinko's comm crackles softly as a Bothan voice comes over it,  was the only reply as a prisoner transport and emergency vehicles, enter the scene.

"Probably someone trying to get salt out of this place," Simon says, shaking his head slightly. It was all so foolish, to him. "It's what brought me here, actually. I mean to talk with the Bothans to trade for Ubi Sunt's life. Salt from Caspar for the Banari Hrum's freedom." Having said this, Simon turns back to Jessalyn and watches for a reaction.'.

Ayra emerges from the Telgorn Gamma Class Assault Shuttle -- Swift Strike.

Ayra has arrived.

Activity? Oh yes. Racra gives a small amount of that. Giving one or two glances in the direction of the ship, arrested Sarians, and wounded Bothan. Taking a breath, the hunter slowly gets to his feet, the clinking of his heels sounding again, stopping once he reaches his destination. Right next to the man named Simon, giving a look over toward both Jessa and Krinko before looking to his.. Not exactly friend, but 'accomplice' of sorts for the current moment. A growl is heard in his voice as he speaks, "Unless these two are going to assist in Ubi Sunt's rescue.. I suggest you keep from speaking to them. They are un-needed distractions."

And just when it would seem that Racra couldn't use any other 'distractions', the hatch to the Swift Strike slowly opens and a new figure makes an appearance. She's not exactly the biggest, tallest person in the galaxy, and certainly a less intimidating figure than most on this world, but nevertheless she holds a discreet, no-nonsense air as she sweeps down the ramp, cloak flowing behind her. She stops just at the bottom and takes a look around, silver eyes scanning the relative gathering scrutinizing for a moment before falling on the half-Horansi hunter. "Racra...you didn't tell me we had company..." she comments, folding her arms across her chest. Ladies and germs, meet Ayra.

Krinko gives the Comm a double click Acknowledgement, before turning to Jessa "Just some Spice smugglers, that's all..." But Simon's words had already hit him 'If they have Ubi, then Cernious is sure to want to hear about it. Staring at Simons back, Krinko straitens out for a moment, ignoring Racra's words... what ever he was here for. "Simon... what makes you think the Bothan Government would pay to get her back? From what I hear, it's all good riddance to bad rubbish on the Bothan side, that the searchers in the forests are just a token effort on the Bothan's behalf. Not really a person to use to make demands, eh?" Krinko crosses his arms self assuredly, not giving the man the courtesy of a proper disposition.

As Racra steps into Simon's proximity, Simon raises his left hand again and gingerly rubs his abused lower lip. He turns and gives the partial Horansi a hard glance, but then nods reluctant agreement to his words. As Ayra glides up next to the felinoid, Simon's intense gaze shifts to take her in, as well.

Clenching his teeth, Simon's eyes move on from the present company, taking in the heavy technological weapons the Bothans had brought to bear against the smugglers. He shakes his head again and lets out a soft sigh. He should make more deposits around the starport. The one left with the pilot of the _Hydra_ wasn't going to be enough, he was certain.

And then Krinko's words register. Initially, Simon had meant to ignore the strangely familiar stranger, much as one ignores the ever present buzzing of insects in the deep woods. As understanding fills Simon's mind, he turns his attention fully back upon Krinko, frowning deeply.

"No, she is not my lover, Jessalyn Valios," Simon says, his eyes still fixed on Krinko. He continues, "I have had no lover since... and it is none of your business, either." With that, Simon turns and glares back at Jessalyn. There was too much going on for him to let her distract him into a pointless fight. Addressing Krinko, his attention now displace upon the Jedi instead of the other way around, Simon says, "You know something about Ubi Sunt's kidnapping?"

Listening with pertinent interest, Jessalyn looks at each of the bystanders in turn, hearing their part of the story, and trying to piece more of it together. She frowns as well as she watches the Sarians being taken into custody. She sighs deeply, not bothering to respond to Simon's barb in what she also feels is a pointless fight. She glances quickly toward Racra and the woman who speaks to him, but fails to recognize either of them. Her eyes narrow at Racra's remark. "Does someone need rescuing?" she asks, sounding genuinely worried.

The Sarian prisoners are moved into the prisoner transport swiftly as it his closed and it goes off into the city. A number of Bothans in white coats enter the freighter with scanners, and other means of searching. A large portion of the military presence dissipates and returns to their duties elsewhere, all is calm in the Drev'starn spaceport once more. A number of chuckles come from the few soldiers left watching over the vessel, as they take this opportunity to light up a smoke and relax for a bit.

The spaceport never sleeps though as a new bustle is heard coming fast from the Federation Street. An escort vehicle moves into the port it's light's flashing and siren blaring as a pair of hover-limo's with the trade-mark Federation flags and symbols on the sides move into the spaceport followed by another escort vehicle. The vessels stop toward an area of the spaceport where passengers catch public transport off world.

The front passenger side door of the second limo opens as a Bothan in a black business suit steps out and moves to the back and opens the back door. A cane is the first thing to exit the limo followed by a pair of legs, that belong to the Grand Protector Cernious Vry'lya, making a public tour of the capital as he did on some occasions, mostly to examine the goings of new policies. A pair of other Bothans follow him out, as the older Bothan dusts himself off, and takes a pipe in mouth and nods, offering a quick salute to some of the soldiers who have stopped their duties to salute. A few stray holo-camera flashes from tourists and the Grand Protector is off on a very routine walk around the spaceport, strangely after the show-down with spice smugglers happened, an obvious sign of Vry'lya's arrogance and his feeling of security on Bothawui.

The narrowed pupils of Racra lock on Krinko. He growls loudly at the older man's words, hand giving a twitch to show he's tempted to give the man a face full of barrel for that comment. He speaks to Krinko at first, "If you dare speak in such a way of her again, fool.. You will regret even the air you breathed to say those words." he states rather coldly. He then looks to Ayra, and the expression on his face softens. He smiles lightly to her, giving a shake of his head. "No company. A simple gathering of.." he glares to Krinko and Jessalyn, "Bothersome pests, who will more then likely not help us." he snorts to the question from the female Jedi, turning to stare her down. "Indeed. Someone does need rescuing. Though I don't think you will help in the least with the... Relationship that you have with Simon. So please.." he growls again, "Do mind your own business.. Jumping into other's problems when you're not wanted gets you harmed."

Interesting. Ayra's silver eyes scan over the crowd, a slender ebony eyebrow raising in the direction of the Jedi. One can see the gears turning in her mind, but she only shakes her head and grabs one of Racra's arms, giving it a tight squeeze. "And when you lose your temper, that can get you harmed as well," she notes sternly. A glance back up to Jessalyn, and then she asks of the Jedi, "What is it you are here for? Perhaps I can help you so Racra here doesn't explode?"

Its all Krinko can do from breaking down in fits of laughter, at Racra's threats... trying to keep his supreme mirth down long enough... every now and then snorting. 'Always the cocky one, this "Hunter"'... and Max uses that term VERY loosely 'is... it's a wonder I haven't put him in his place yet... no bother.' Max musses mentally. "Racra... the day you get me to regret my being born, is the day I stop being the 'Nkosi'." His voice has some Mirth in it, but is cut hard by his usage of Nkosi... saying something only those familiar with the Horansi would know of. 'Yes Racra, but I'm the Leader... your not. Remember that.' so goes the unsaid words...

A tall Treka, or commoner Horansi, dressed in similar garb as Krinko, pads his way over to the crowd, in a pseudo quiet fashion, before calling over to the older man  In Horansi, reminding max of his duties so rudely again. Max, turning to Jessa. shrugs so so... "I must go, Jessa... but if you need anything... and I mean anything... please, contact me. It is good to see you are well.

Krinko moves slowly, with the Horansi at his back, over to the /blazer/, not giving the group a second look. Some people, its better not to associate with too much. You wind up dead.

There were too many people around Simon for him to be comfortable. With each passing creature, Bothan, Horansi, or otherwise, Simon's level of discomfort crescendoed. Jessalyn's presence did not help matters at all. The still healing wound on the Jedi's face was a reminder of the overwhelming battle he fought. Krinko and Ayra's words, offering aid to the Jedi, was a reminder of how much Simon was losing in that battle.

Taking a step away from the group, hefting his staff so it is held loosely in his right hand, Simon gives the small gathering a wary look, then says, "I have work to do." With that, he turns and begins trying to push his way toward the Bothan getting all the attention. If he was as important as he appeared to look, he might have answers.

Surprised at Racra's outburst, Jessalyn turns her head to gaze at him more fully. "I don't know who you are, and I don't think you know the nature of my... relationship with Simon. There's no need for hostile words," she says, her voice oddly soothing. Jessa seems grateful for Ayra's more practical intervention, and she bends her head in greeting to the other woman. "I'm just here trying to help, if someone is in trouble," she says truthfully enough, shooting Simon a quick look. "My name is Jessalyn."

But then she's distracted by both Simon and Krinko's farewells, and she furrows her brow, wondering at the motivations of both of them, as she watches them leave without a glance backward. "See you later," she calls after them, heaving a sigh of her own.

The light tapping of a cane signals where the older Cernious travels. He moves quietly with good escort down a sidewalk area peering into shops and whatnot. His face void of emotion as Bothans, typically wear a mask of deception with emotion, as the superiority of their control over such things is time and time again proven, or just a simple ploy and hidden underneath other racial traits. His fur rippled softly in a pattern with some slight speed too it.

A Few Bothan soldiers standing post at the walls nearby immediately take up movement with the Grand Protector as his convoy of beings gets slightly larger as he moves through the spaceport soldiers picking defense postures around the old being as he walked at a very slow, deliberate pace. His wise old eyes pause as a Commander on scene gives him a briefing of current actions being taken in the spaceport and of their success. He nods softly as he listens some several meters from Jessalyn and her conversation, and totally oblivious.

Eyes watch over Simon as he makes his way off. Then dart back to Ayra, Racra nods toward her, moving his arm from within her grasp slowly, then placing it over the huntress' shoulders. "You are right.. Sorry if I made you worry." he says down to her, smiling again. He basically ignores Krinko, seeing as how senility can settle in earlier on some then one would imagine. He takes a few breaths, giving one glance to Jessalyn before giving the human female next to him a nudge, then motioning his head in the direction of Simon. "That is Sezirok.. Remember what I said though. Do not anger him." he says in a whisper to her.

Krinko turns, looking at Simon, seeing him press his way into the crowd to Krinko's boss... with suddenly a singular though worming its way through his head. Boarding the Blazer, he disappears from sight... but 4 minutes later the Call is made to the Captain of the Protectorate's guard.  With that, Krinko put them all out of his mind. The guard would convey the message to Cernious, and Cernious would Listen... hopefully.

"Ohhh...well, there's plenty of that on this planet..." Ayra smirks a bit, then shakes her head and regards the taller woman. "Please excuse my partner. He's a bit hot-tempered. A...friend of his is in a spot of trouble, and we've been meaning to get her out of it. Seems a lot of dangerous individuals are involved in it, though..." The bounty huntress shakes her head a bit, then turns and smirks up to Racra, stroking his side momentarily. "I know, I know. Can't miss that face. It's on bounty posts everywhere. It's tempting, but I promise I won't. Mind you, if I could use the force as well, that'd be a different story." She winks.

The voices of the gathering of people that coalesced around Simon diminishes in Simon's ears and becomes overwhelmed by the cheering and general noise making of the many Bothans pressing in to see their venerable leader. For the first time since Simon had come to Bothawui, he found it difficult to press through their numbers as there were simply too many to intimidate or push aside. Holding his staff in front of him, he wedges himself between more diminutive Bothan statures, then presses himself forcefully deeper into the crowd. Simon's vision is assaulted by flash bulbs of eager Bothan's trying to capture images of the much beloved Cernious Vry'lya. Simon's nostrils are assaulted by the shear smell of the Bothan's furry flesh. But still he presses on.

"I take it this Ubi Sunt is a Sarian?" Jessalyn asks idly, smiling at both Racra and Ayra. "Sorry, I don't mean to sound intrusive. I'd just like to be of service, if there's something I can do." She probably looks like any average spacer who might be visiting Bothawui for one reason or another, but something in her tone suggests she might have other talents to contribute, as well. Her lips twist slightly at Racra's whisper, though he probably hadn't intended it for her ears. "You're wise about that, Simon isn't someone you want to anger," she muses, turning her head and watching the Selas converge on the prominent, older Bothan. This can't be good....

A comm signal is received by one of the elite-soldiers guarding the Grand Protector. He looked over the comm message carefully and then relayed it to the older Bothan. Cernious rubbed his beard thoughtfully raising a hand to stop the group. He eyed the message and then listened to a Bothan speak into his ear with a nod. His green eyes move across the crowd of people searching for the being 'Red' spoke of. Humans were usually a head above Bothans so this shouldn't be too difficult. His old perceptive eyes lock in on his new target and he nods to the security team as the make a few calls into the comm.

A new found push in the crowd began happening as it was gathering quickly and the landing area was slowly becoming a public spectacle. A path was being formed toward Simon, by Bothan security and soldiers. Immediately one of them reached Simon he spoke in Bothan,  he says simply, then he repeats it in basic. A path was being formed toward the hover-limo's on stand-by.

Cernious himself raised a hand toward the crowd his regal voice amplified by a device an aid held nearby spoke forth in Bothan, . He turned and began to slowly move toward his vehicle to promote the dispersion of the crowd which would take some hours to fully occur. His voice turned toward his escort  he said simply placing his pipe once again into his mouth.

"Indeed. The stories would change for both of us.." Racra grins, winking back to her, purring for the moment his side is stroked. He then looks back toward Jessalyn once she speaks again, clearing his throat then giving a bow of his head in the direction of her. "My name would be Racra, on a late note. Bounty Hunter." he states, looking down toward the landing ground. "And I would have to apologize, even though my.. 'Partner'." he smirks at the word, glancing to Ayra then back to Jessa. "Has already done so. My visit here has not been kind." he states. Then gives a nod to her question, "Indeed. Ubi Sunt would be Sarian." then adding in reply to her little extra comment "And I already am quite familiar with Simon's.. Anger."

"And I'm Ayra, Racra's partner in crime." Ayra smirks a bit, then nods and glances back to the gathering behind them momentarily. And well...since Racra's already mentioned Ubi..."She's been kidnapped, to put it bluntly," she adds.

The Bothan that approached Simon was ignored at first as it spoke in its local dialect. Then it started to become clear what was happening. As the path began to open up before him, and the Bothan escorts words changed to Basic, Simon nods his agreement to the escort, then begins to proceed as directed. From his vantage point, it looked like he was headed towards some more small ships. He would have to be careful not to leave the planet, if that was the purpose to his being led through the crowd.

Looking over his shoulder, Simon can still see the taller off-worlders over the heads of the Bothans behind him. The Jedi was still conversing with Racra and Racra's friend. Tisking to himself, Simon wonders if his next encounter with the partial Horansi was going to even have the preliminary words associated with it, or if they were just going to start fighting.

Jada emerges from the Incom A-24 Sleuth -- Redline.

Jada has arrived.

Jessalyn bends her head respectfully as Racra more formally introduces himself. "Ahh... you're already familiar with Sezirok," she says in a quiet voice, unable to keep from looking in the Selas' direction, and worried as he's guided toward a group of smaller ships. "I am always worried whenever I see him about." She presses her lips thinly together, moving closer to Racra and Ayra so that she can pitch her voice as low as possible without being heard by others. "Thank you for being so upfront with me. I should return the favor. My full name is Jessalyn Valios. I am a Jedi Knight."

Small mumbling coming from her as She hops down Her ship, not seeming to wait for it to complete opening up. She tapped a few things onto a pad at Her side and the ship closed up, locking down. Jada raised her brows once She heard Jedi, turning her head, Hm, Then spotting Racra...Strange, Jedi, Racra, she never imagined seeing the two. Nor did she have a real appreciation for the Jedi. Her crimson eyes only stared off in the direction of the group before shaking her head and looking over Her ship to make sure nothing was wrong with the hull or anything placed outside the ship. Steel tipped boots clicking on the ground as She walked around the ship.

The crowds in the spaceport was still around, in fact there was little room to move at all. The Grand Protector only occasionally drew such a crowd, but with the economic success of the Federation, Cernious' approval rating was high. The cheerful nature of the starport was interrupted by the sound over head as a group of massive, bulk freighters more forward and beginning landing procedures near the large amounts of salt toward a certain area of the port. The Freighters slowly began to land and went through shutdown procedures as crews moved to clean and refuel the vessels. The Federated Trace company had arrived to remove the excess salt and have it destroyed.

Cernious watched the goings of the starport very little his eyes trained on Simon, another political hurdle he could just feel it in his bones. The old Bothan bowed deeply to the approaching human and gave him a traditional greeting in Bothan, . His hardened eyes watched him carefully as now a regal basic is spoken as he gestures the man to follow him away from the center of activity, "A contact of mine says you wished to see me about some issues." he offered.

Ah. A Jedi Knight. When someone is in need one of them. Quite amusing, seeing as how there have been times before that Racra could have used their help. He gives another nod toward Jessalyn, "Quite familiar with him.. And it would be an intelligent idea to be worried when he is within sight.. Though I'm sure you know this already." he states, moving aside crimson strands of hair from his eyes. "And I do believe that I know of your name and title.. Had needed to make sure that you were not killed a few months back." he replies to her low toned voice. The landing ship gets it's respected glance, and he smirks as Jada exits.. Someone he hasn't ran into in quite a while. Though anyways, he looks back over to the red haired woman, giving a rather belated nod to Ayra's words, though giving her a nudge slightly. "She has been told this already.. And as said before, Simon and I are wishing to rescue her.. Though I do not know of any suspects besides.." he clears his throat, glancing toward the general area of Simon. "The obvious."

"A... contact?" Simon asks as Cernious offers the question. Still somewhat jostled from the passage through the crowds leading to the Bothan leader, Simon gives Cernious's escort a wary glance, then focuses his attention once more upon the venerable elder Vry'lya. His voice is stern as he says, holding his staff with a white knuckled grip in front of him, "Do you know that the Sarians believe that you are holding one of their Clan Chiefs hostage? Unless you want more hostilities than just smugglers, I suggest you turn these weapons and hostages towards the forests, if that is where she is being held."

Simon turns then and looks off in the distance toward Jessalyn and Racra. He watches for a moment as the female escort of Racra's moves off, but then lets her presence leave his mind. She was not the dangerous one, if he judged things correctly. Simon continues speaking to Cernious, his tone conversational as he says, "Unless, you ARE responsible for her abduction."

Tarazed arrives from the ramp of the Storm Wisp.

Tarazed has arrived.

"What would be Simon's interest in kidnapping her?" Jessalyn asks Racra, still keeping her voice low. Something about it didn't seem right, but this entire situation reeked of Simon's influence. She nods toward Ayra as the huntress leaves for her ship, then frowns, sensing the Selas gazing in their direction once more. She shifts her stance so that she can keep both Simon in the distance as well as Racra in her line of vision, still unaware of Jada who already has them in her sights. "There are too many unanswered questions in all of this."

Finding nothing wrong with Her ship, She found herself a nearby crate and propped herself up onto it. Pulling free her knife and picking at her nails. Wiggling the tip underneath them and picking out the dirt and grime what had managed to wiggle underneath when she had worked on the engines back on Tatooine. Not even flinching as She did so, Jada was like that, She looked up, using the knife tip to scratch behind her ear. Idly tapping her boot on the side of the crate. At first just a quiet lil tap with a beat. Then a loud irritating banging with no real beat at all. All the while with a nice grin on her face.

The old Bothan speaks with some compassion in his voice his regal accent and powerful presence, made him a political giant, "The Sarians are an interesting breed, so much like Bothans, yet so different.." he smiles toward Simon, is first sign of physical emotion. The old Bothan continued to walk forward, "Sarians wish to undermined our gain in the economic world, it seems our positioning, hurts their economy, I can understand such accusations being turned toward us, no matter how false they are." His green eyes sparkle slightly in the beginnings of a Bothawui sunset. "I will answer one question for you; we have nothing to gain from her being in our custody as the Caspian Democratic Union has nothing to offer us. We have a number of theories on the Chief Liaison's disappearance, perhaps predators, but there is no sign of this our trackers found nothing. She left, as a part of a Caspian plot against my government, or she was abducted we did find her hover chair and it was considerably damaged." He offers Simon all he can give on the matter.

Dozens of Bothan workers disembark from the large bulk freighters that had landed with dollies and other devices to begin loading salt. It was a huge task and would take hours, a small chaos erupts over the spaceport as the workers begin to buzz about more quickly as the guards loose their perception over a large portion of the Spaceport.

A cloaked figure descends the ramp of the Storm Wisp. There are so many people around. Tarazed had been watching the port, and this time was usually one of the more quiet. Still, they hadn't time to lose. The convoys were scheduled to arrive soon, and her opportunity would be lost. Smiling inwardly, the woman can taste victory. They would pay, the Bothans who stole everything from her. It was a great risk, what she was doing, but when you have lost everything, risk is meaningless. She had seen an opportunity for revenge and was prepared to grasp it with all her might. Let the Bothans know even a fraction of her pain and there would be some modicum of success. But she planned bigger than this. The starport would be unusable for sometime if things went well. Businesses would suffer. People would die.

Dibar stands at the bottom of the ramp, patiently waiting for Tarazed to descend down. He is without his usual cigars at this time, preferring not to smoke while on the job. He glances up at the woman, and tilts his head in inquiry. "We ready?", he asks in a gruff voice, sparring a glance at his watch.

Tail giving a twitch or two to the sounds being created by Jada, Racra glances over toward the red Twi'lek then looking back to the whispering Jedi Knight. His voice also lowers slightly, seeing as how if one Bothan does hear this information, there might be chance of the abductor of Ubi hearing this as well. "It would be a long story to explain entirely.. But Ubi Sunt will soon be forced to marry Simon.. He had earlier said that he would wait, but I do think he possibly lost patience.. Which would explain his appearance here." he says in the hushed tone. He looks to Cernious and Simon speaking with each other, then another scan around the area for any new faces.

Simon had been walking with Cernious further and further away from the _Storm Wisp_ and the excitement that had taken place as the Sarian smugglers had been apprehended. His pace begins to slow after Cernious's last statement to him, Simon's eyes focusing inward as he considers something outside of the conversation that he was carrying on with the Bothan leader. Pursing his lips, Simon halts in his steps and shakes his head.

"You seem unconcerned about the whereabouts of a Sarian clan leader, and you seem unconcerned with idea of Caspar believing you responsible for her capture. So be it," Simon says, donning a look of disgust. "I came here to retrieve her, from whoever may have taken her. I have warned you about what may happen. Do with that what you will."

That said, Simon turns on his heal, preparing to push his way back the way they'd come. He had another agenda to attend to, and time was running short.

Turning her gaze on Racra's felinoid face, Jessalyn considers his words, her eyes going wide at this explanation. "Forced to marry?" she whispers in surprise. "Perhaps she has fled of her own accord," she snorts, shaking her head, and squinting toward Simon when he turns away from the venerable Bothan and heads back the way he had come. Her fingers tighten into fists at her sides, danger prickling at the edge of her senses, from seemingly every direction. There was too much for her to focus, too much for her to hone in on whatever was the greater threat.

Furrowing her brows, She pulled her knife from the crate and hopped off it, sliding it back into it's sheath near her calf. Jada started to weave through people, seeming to disappear right into the crowd as She made her way to the unknown location. Whatever it was, She was going there in Stealth, and with this many people and so many diversions, it was quite easy for Jada to be lost in the crowd from any watching eyes.

Dar'siden arrives from the ramp of the Storm Wisp.

Dar'siden has arrived.

The old Grand Protector simply listens to Simon as he speaks and threatens his government. The old Bothan offers no reply as it'd never reaching the man fast enough as he has already turned around. He continues on his way quietly and rubs his beard softly pausing to look back into the ground, he could feel the unsettled crowd and an energy a foot, or he was just paranoid. The old Bothan turned to a commander of the area's security and nodded softly. The unspoken command would be understood as Cernious hastened his steps to leave the spaceport.

That left the Commander and he moved quickly forward through the crowd grabbing Bothan soldiers patrolling and moving them after Simon. Tailing him most likely and making sure he wouldn't disturb the peace. The alarm of moving soldiers signaled the crowd as a new energy erupted and the paranoid species was beginning to make some motions and moving around in the spaceport as there was a developing push for the exits as the crowds noted the Grand Protector virtually fleeing the scene.

Tarazed nods to Dibar and to Dar'Siden. She replies to Dibar in a quiet voice. "Yes, let us do this. Remember, those charges you have need only be placed every ten container or so. Try to keep them inconspicuous. We may have trouble, but these need to be placed at any cost, so I trust you are all appropriately armed. We will detonate on the ship, but in case you get stuck here, the respirators will allow you to get through the gas. But be careful." She is nervous and excited at the same time. All the planning came down to this one moment. She hopes the weapons are worth what she had to pay for them. More importantly she hoped they really did work. Damage was damage though, so perhaps it made little difference.

She exhales softly as she notices Simon coming back towards her. Hopefully he had managed to get the information she had tried to get, but had been unable. In any event, if Ubi was here, it was too late now to effect a rescue of her. That was sad, but there were sacrifices to be made for the greater good, and she is sure the Sarian woman would agree in principal though not in the detail.

"Gas?", Dibar says, as his eyebrows narrow in confusion, then he nods. "These charges looked like some sort of concussion charge. Wait...", he pauses, as school chemistry comes back to him, and he blinks. "...Chlorine gas.", he states, more to himself than to anyone else. He gets a sour look on his face, looks at Tarazed a moment, and then turns, shouldering the bag of charges. "Every ten containers.", he says, a bit mechanically. He then sets off at a casual stroll, towards the area with the waiting containers..

The smell of Bothan flesh still assaulted Simon's nose. He would have expected to have gotten used to it by now, but perhaps the large number of furry locals made for a mixture that overpowered his ability to adapt. He wrinkles his nose with disgust as he stomps along, brandishing his staff more often than not to encourage Bothans in the crowd to get out of his way.

Simon begins to move toward the same destination as Tarazed and then stops in his steps. Cocking his head to his left, he starts to turn and look over his shoulder, back toward where Cernious had led him. Sighing deeply, shaking his head, he changes course once again. Toward Jessalyn and Racra. His part in Tarazed's plan had irrevocably been changed.

Dar'siden just remains silent. He listens Tarazed and inclines his head from under the hood of the cloak. "Do not worry about me," the cloaked being says, in a raspy and harsh voice. He waits a second to see if there are more instructions, and then turns around to head towards whatever containers there are to put charges at. In doing this, the creature seems to stick to the shadows, and would appear to be doing quite a good job at that.

"Ahhh, you were the bodyguard," Jessalyn says to Racra, even as her attention begins to be diverted elsewhere. Simon... he was moving toward... Tarazed, the woman she recognized from her last Casparian visit. The hairs on the back of her neck begin to bristle, and she literally gasps as the Telgossian turns around and starts in their own direction instead. An instance of panic takes hold of her, a cry going out that is unheard except by anyone sensitive to the Force. "I wonder... what she's up to," Jessalyn says restlessly, her hand slipping to her side, into a large pocket.

Sweeping around the ramp and then staring up towards Tarazed. Jada had managed to listen in to the conversation, not able to hear most of it as people were starting to move about and get louder, but she did hear one thing. "Chlorine Gas...What are you planning to do? Make these people suffer? You know what symptoms happen? It's nothing quick, it's nothing like tear gas, That stuff will make these people suffer for days even if they survive from the huge amount." She reached to her hip, then staring up at Tarazed for a long moment. "You know I could take a shot into the sky and this could all turn into a riot. Now tell me, What are you trying to prove?" All of her words were loud enough for Tarazed but anyone else couldn’t pick up anything due to the amount of... goats milling about.

The Bothan crowd begins to now slowly get under control, as a few whistles and other devices make sound. As security steps up to do crowd control. Something set them off, and Security would find it, a few quick comm calls were being issued as a number of Bothan Soldiers moved into the spaceport as a multitude of people were slowly beginning to make it to the exit and back to the streets, still thousands left to go.

Cernious Vry'lya finally made it to his hover-limo and was ushered in by his body guards and private security as his convoy raced off to his private estate. The sirens blare as Bothan civilians move out of the way of the rushing hover vehicles.

Command Edgar Krac'zah was on the case as he and a unit followed Simon through the crowd with their heavy blaster rifles drawn. They moved quietly and kept on his tail from a distance away.

The cloaked woman was on her way toward some of the containers where she had intended to set charges. She regards the Twi'lek who addresses her coldly. "You could do that" her voice is ice. "And I might appreciate such a distraction. It isn't so smart to talk about things you know nothing about, or eavesdrop upon. Worry for your own skin, and keep yourself far from me. I don't have time for idle chat on what I do and what I do not do. As to what I have to prove? I don't believe you've the right to ask me. If you will excuse me..." Tarazed casts glances at the others, checking their progress."...I have business to attend to"

Notes the increased activity throughout the spaceport, and starts looking around the area. "Frak...", he breaths out. "This ain't good...", he adds, continuing his progression towards the containers. He glances around, looking for guards. He sees none, probably line of sight to them is being blocked by the containers, and other crates nearby. "I told her...", he says, reaching into the bag, and pulling a small rounded device from it. "...I don't frag civvies. Frak...she doesn't listen.." He looks around the container a moment, and then settles his eyes on one spot, placing the charge very low on the container. Using magnets, it clamps on with a metallic thud, and holds. Dibar looks for the next target, peering around the edge of the container...

"I was. Had wanted make sure that she was alright. Apparently it did no good." Racra says in reply to Jessalyn, his own attention diverted from all this activity that seems to be moving through. Usually it was moments like these that were hints of the very bad things happening soon. Soon spotting Simon making his way back to him and Jessalyn, he exhales slightly, and looks back to the Jedi as she speaks again, glancing through the corner of his eye to the mentioned woman. "In all truths.. I have not a clue. But right now.. I have a feeling of something bad happening."

Sure, she had disappeared into the ship for a while, but now Ayra re-emerges, cloak sweeping behind her regally. She spares a glance at all the commotion over to the side and shakes her head, then hurries down to join her half-Horansi partner once more, brows furrowed. "Racra, hon..." she begins, tapping her fingers against her thigh idly, "'Bout how many people were out here around the time I left?"

Pushing roughly past one more Bothan, shoving him hard enough that the fur covered, long faced fellow nearly falls on his side, Simon reaches into one of the interior pockets of his tunic and pulls out a small bundle. He tosses it in Racra's direction, and the contents of the bag clinks with a metallic sound. Simon says, addressing Racra, "The Bothan leader has agreed to help us find and rescue the Banari Hrum, but only if we help with clearing some salt shipments for travel. Those need to be placed on every tenth container. Do not ask me what they do, for I do not know."

Without waiting for a response from the felinoid, Simon turns and faces Jessalyn, hefting his staff into an on guard position. He casts a sidelong glance at the recently returned Ayra, then addresses Jessalyn, raising his voice so that it would carry further than it needed to. "You have planted enough lies in this one's mind, Jedi. I will not tolerate it anymore! Draw your weapon, and let us finish this!"

The cloaked being that is Dar'siden seems to have made his way towards a set of containers. Using his cloak as cover, he starts working on setting the charges. His work is methodical, and if there's any concern regarding what he's doing, the cloak wouldn't show it, and his demeanor and movements doesn't either. He picks another spot, after being done with the first one, and continues working on setting charges. Now and then, Dar tilt his head back to see if there's anyone close to his immediate surroundings.

Standing rigid as Simon draws near to them, Jessalyn frowns, ready to defend the others nearby if necessary. From deep in her pocket she pulls out a long metal cylinder which she keeps wrapped in both hands in front of her. When it's clear that she is his only true target, Jessalyn grits her teeth, glancing past Simon toward that Sarian woman who was definitely up to something. She was arguing now with a Twi'lek... Every one of her senses screams of danger, but she's not sure which direction she should heed. Her eyelashes flutter, closing for a moment as she takes a shallow breath. "Distraction," she murmurs, almost to herself. "Your distraction isn't going to work, Sezirok," Jessalyn declares more loudly this time. She takes a few lateral steps hoping to get past the Selas while keeping him in her line of sight, lightsaber still silent in her hands.

Jada Staring off towards Tarazed for a moment, She pushed through the crowd, most likely about to stir a lot more with the Jedi's deciding to duke it out. She tapped a few things and stepped into her ship.

Commander Edgar Krac'zah gawks as a bag is tossed toward Racra, he knew that beings face, the body guard of the Chief Caspian Liaison,  he yells to his squad of soldiers in the native tongue,  The Bothan squadron moved quickly now toward Racra leveling their blaster rifles, . In the background an alarm was raised, a loud siren penetrated the air as the Bothans were indeed paranoid. The civilians were now being forced out of the Starport quickly now. A low rumble of beings running and yelling, children screaming.

The Security guards get up and start searching the area, <Signal fleet command, stop traffic, no one leaves and no one lands!> Edgar screams into a comlink. Everything was said in Bothan.

Tarazed pulls a small device from her pocket. It is the remote transmitter given to her by Ernest Pallando as a gift to her clan. She wonders how pleased he would be if he knew how it had been used. Enough of the charges are set that she can begin the detonation. She sets the device to the first frequency and pushes the button. Twenty of the devices are set to go off within a short amount of time. In a few more minutes she will set off the next round. Once it starts, it will just go on and on until all the sets are detonated.


 * CLICK CLICK*

Seconds after the frequency is set, the charges begin their count down. It is not as silent as she had hoped. A click is almost audible, as the ten devices count down in unison.

Fast reactions count for some of what Racra does. Luckily he has these for the current moment, and catches the bag with one hand. He pauses, and watches exactly what Simon and Jessa do.. Then clicks his tongue into place. At least this wasn't a fight that he would be forced to join. That would only make this trip much more of a problem. Oh, and he looks to Ayra, smiling as she return, then looks to the new faces of the space port, "It was definitely a smaller crowd then earlier." he states. And it seems that the Bothans wish to be an annoyance. He scans over the blaster rifles, then bares his fangs to each of their holders. "You -dare- order me?" he growls out, slowly twirling his head to crack his neck. "Lower your weapons, or you will drop them after I kill you." he states simply, not really moving for his guns. Or moving to open the bag as stated to do.


 * CLICK CLICK CLICK*

Dear God, no! Dibar sees a pair of boots! The horror! There's a guard attached to them! Luckily, the guard is turned away, and seemingly unaware of Dibar's presence. The mercenary slowly drops the bag down behind himself, and crouches, moving slowly and quietly towards the guard. No other guards are within sight or sound, as far as Dibar guesses, so he readies to jump the guard....then...the panicked radio traffic is heard, and then loud, shrill sound of the siren goes off, starling the guard. Dibar clamps a hand over the mouth of the guard, and drags him back and down, over his leg in a standard takedown maneuver. The guard flails as the bigger man drives a meaty fist into the Bothan's neck, aimed at whatever passes for a windpipe. He strikes again...this time to the face...then a third time. Then there is no movement.

"Frak", Dibar says, getting up and looking around, quickly grabbing the bag. He looks inside. "Oh frak! They're already counting!", he exclaims. He looks down the path of containers, and takes off in a run, drawing another charge out of the bad, and slamming on the container's side as he runs by another one. Guards notice the running man, and call out a warning, firing several over his head in warning.


 * CLICKCLICKCLICKCLICK*

Anger grips Simon as Jessalyn sees through his plan. The squawking, barking vocals of the Bothan guards, their strange language lost on his ears, adds to his irritation. If the Bothans didn't try to foil Tarazed Brum's plan first, then the Jedi would. Simon could at least try and stop the Jedi.

Turning on his heal, Simon whips his staff into motion, swinging fast enough that the wooden weapon makes a deep, whistling whoosh as it cuts through the air. He directs the weapon in a sharp blow at waist level. It's not towards the Jedi that he strikes, however, but the closest bystander available: Ayra.

"If you don't face me, Jedi, then someone else will!" Simon screams at Jessalyn.

Her original plan had been stretching up to place a tiny kiss on her partner's cheek. But Ayra's timing couldn't be worse, as she spots the man she had been *trying* to ignore in all the background noise suddenly taking a swing at her. *SHING!* Whirling around on her heel, she draws her sword and whips it out to meet the staff, stopping it halfway. Now all the sudden the little woman doesn't look so little, full lips curling back in a heated scowl as she looks her opponent over. "You know, Racra...you said I couldn't hurt him if I got him mad, but you never said anything about him getting *ME* mad!" she fumes.


 * CLICKCLICKCLICKCLICK* ......*BOOOM!* A huge explosion rocks the far end of the spaceport. The whole planet seems to be shaking as though some child were shaking a snow globe. The containers of slat split open, but it is strange. Salt does not pour from them. Instead there is a white substance, and then slowly rising a cloud of acrid green smoke. The cloud begins to disperse and beings near to those containers find they cannot breathe. Burning pain singes their lungs as they fall on the ground. Shrapnel from the split containers rains down upon them. The nearby buildings are not spared either.


 * CLICK*

The sudden appearance of security forces doesn't seem to distract him, Dar'siden seems to be done with his round of charges, and simply moves back to the shadows, using them as cover as he makes his way back to Tarazed's location. His breathing mask goes on, one he keeps hidden under the hood of his cloak. He pauses the moment the explosion goes off. That didn't seem to distract the cloaked being much either. Turning around he continues on his way.


 * CLICK CLICK*

Chaos had already begun to take hold of all the beings in the spaceport before the first explosion. People were fleeing, trampling their way to safety, as Jessalyn turned fully away from Simon and charged toward Tarazed, the blue-green blade of her lightsaber flaring to life. She skids to a stop only when Simon begins to attack the bounty huntress, and frowns, torn for a split second --

Until the explosion shakes the ground beneath them and Jessalyn barely keeps her footing, heart beginning to race as she considers her options. As much as she pities Ayra who must face the angry Selas without Jessalyn's aid, the Jedi realizes where the larger threat is. Grunting, she swivels back toward Tarazed, flying toward her so fast that her form is nothing but a blur. "Stop!" she commands the Sarian, the ominous clicking sounds becoming louder in her ears. She holds out a hand, warning her. "If you don't defuse those right now, you will die!"

Jada obviously coming back from her ship more prepared as She pushed aside Bothans, coming through the crowd, unbuttoning her jacket, letting her protective vest be seen and blaster set into a ready stance. She glared off towards the jumpy Bothans, Her walk soon turning into a run, Bothans most definitely getting out of the way with the Blaster at her side.

Free-hand clenched and coming across the jaw of one of those damn paranoid Bothan squad members, loud crack was heard as He fell back. "Racra! Don’t slack off!" Then disappearing into the mass once again. Proving a nice distraction giving Racra some more time to prepare his own comeback. While Jada would be moving about the crowd, waiting for her next chance to strike, it was going to be soon because the crowds were starting to dwindle as they wanted to get as far away from the scuffle taking place. But She sharply turned to watch the green gas spill out, Her eyes squinted. "Tarazed... Your going to regret this..." She quickly turned right about to punch a nearby crazy Bothan trying to stop her, She pushed him away and he simply ran off with the sight of gas starting to fill the area. Jada could only summarize this.

"Shit."

Bothan civilians were still running around, now only in a panic. The security guard notes explosives, and a timer counting down. No time to deactivate all of them, the old bothan looked over it carefully, <Blast! No Time> And screamed out first in Bothan into a com <Explosives Commander, no time for deactivation! We need to pull out now!> He simply ran and was waving to everyone in range to get away from the salt containers. The soldiers immediately began pulling back as the civilians, still in a panic moved as one away from the containers.

Edgar listened to his come and eyed Racra, <No time to play!> he yelled, and waved his squad away, <Pull back.. get as many out as we can!> He simply bowed toward Racra and Ayra and began sprinting off away from the Force users, the bounty hunters and the disaster, his unit following him. Edgar was loyal to the Federation, but not THAT loyal, after all his cousin got him this job.

Then...

BOOOOOOOOOOM!!

The Soldiers flew with the shockwave, those that were nearby, and others began immediately choking on the fumes coming from the disaster. Environmental alarms stating blaring where they were still working. Drev'starn was edging into chaos. The guards that managed to active their helmets and their breathe mask before the poison rolled over simply began opening fire, the spaceport would become a war zone now. The poisonous gas began to settle over the starport like a fog and it was indeed a hell for those within it's sphere of danger


 * CLICK CLICK CLICK*

*CLICK*

An X-Wing fighter pierces the Bothawui's upper-atmosphere. Veering sharply aside the craft's quad engines flare in compensation.

"Drev'starn control, this is Luke Skywalker requesting permission to set down in one of the public bays."

Static crackles through the pilot's helmet: Negative Commander, Bothan airspace is closed. Reroute to position two-one-four mark eight-seven and await further instructions.

"Closed?" The pilot's voice replies with disbelief, "What's going--"

A single point of light flares upon the fighter's radar screen. Its warm light pulses there and then fades, the pilot's helmet suddenly filled with static. An anguished flurry of binary from the rear of the cockpit.

"Drev'starn control, come in. Drev'starn--." A pause the white noise assaulting his ears, "Artoo, can you.."

An affirmative chirp, two seconds pass, then a low wary sound.

"Explosion?! Artoo, confirm that... I'll need a place to set down."

The little astromech enters a frenzy then. Crimson tinted translation racing across the inner display.

The pilot's head bows slightly, a low sigh founding into his mike. "Destroyed!? Get us in low then, I want to see for myself.."

The droid gives a wary sound as flyby vectors are calculated. The man before him already starting to remove his restraints. Three words carrying over the ship's relay and back to the copilot before the helmet is fully removed.

"We're too late.."

Tarazed had continued to set two more of charges, each several minutes apart. These timers continue to click their way to detonation. She resets the transmitter to the next frequency and prepares to press the button again. Another twenty will be on their way to detonation. Oh, the giddiness of expectation. And then the first series explodes in a symphony of noise and screams.

The filthy Bothans would soon lose their precious spaceport and lose their meaningless, self-centered little lives. And it could have been prevented if only they had not schemed and swindled their way into winning her contract. Government controls? Where were their precious conglomerates and federations now.

Tarazed would be avenged. Deneb would be avenged. More than that, Caspar would be avenged. And they should look upon her and know who it was that reigned this down upon them. Slowly she pulls the hood of her cloak down. Sarian and proud.

Startled by the Jedi, Tarazed simply shrugs. "It is to late to stop it now. There is no diffuse. There is just explode"


 * CLICKCLICKCLICKCLICK*


 * CLICK CLICK*

Things were going from bad to worse, in Dibar's opinion. He kept running along the rows of containers, slapping on the last charges when he hears the explosion. "You frakking bitch...", he breaths, looking over his shoulder, knowing what he was going to see. Gas. He draws the respirator out of the now empty bag, and drops it on the ground. As he runs, he drags the mask over his head, occasionally ducking a blaster bolt. He activates the internal comlink within the mask, and dials up the emergency comlink...


 * CLICKCLICKCLICK* *BOOOOM* Another set of ten charges are detonated. Again the ground rocks, and beings already panicked begin a stampede towards the exits furthest from the green gas cloud that threatens to overwhelm the spaceport. More containers split open, the salt shaking loose into the harmless white powder and the choking gas. This explosion has come closer to the terminals and closer to the docked ships. Several vessels are tossed on their side. This sets off internal combustion. Now there is fire as well.

*CLICK CLICK CLICK*


 * CLICKCLICKCLICKCLICK**

The explosions are definitely something to cause Racra to hop a bit from his positioning. The felinoid looks about to all the chaos that now decides to drop itself in. Absolutely wonderful. Everything that happens is too fast it seems. The exiting of the Bothan Guards, rather pleased they moved off, though growls as Simon decides to give an attack to his partner of sorts. He flings the bag that originally tossed to him by the Selas back to the man. He then un-holsters one of his Flash-4's, aiming directly at Simon. "Attack her again, and you will regret this.." he looks to the closing in gas.. And sees exactly how close it is to his ship. Looking to the huntress, he motions his head over toward the Swift Strike. "We're leaving. -Now-." he then turns, and begins a run to his ship, firing off blaster bolts into the air to make sure the path is cleared.


 * CLICKCLICKCLICKCLICK** **BOOOOM!**

It is widespread panic now. The third set of ten ignite in a fury of noise. By now, the popping sound of the containers ripping open has become sickly familiar. More gas pours into the air. A green cloud striking down people like a might hand. Choking the very life from them. This last explosion has also caused the fuel depot to ignite. Fire rages through the depot, explosions flaring up in brilliant reds and gold. The world has gone red and green. And there is no escape for so many beings. They are burning to death. They are choking to death. They are being crushed.

Several of the terminal building are on the brink of collapse. Are there more clicks? It is hard to tell. Too much other noise drowns out the soft clicks that are a countdown to destruction. How many more times can this possibly happen?

"What? Run? No way!" Ayra draws back a little, still furious, clearly wanting to split Simon in two with her sword. She tenses her muscles then, raising the sword over her head and -- BOOOOOOOOOM! The huntress is knocked off her feet by the third explosion. Trying to regain her dignity and composure, she quickly rolls back on her heels, silver eyes falling on the chaos only meters away. A swallow, visible, and then she leaps to her feet, casting one last glare at Simon. "You're fair game now..." she warns, before dashing off after Racra.

Ayra's survival was inconsequential to Simon. He had only attacked her in an effort to rile the Jedi, and the Jedi had disappointed him. As Ayra makes her retreat, Simon stands down, watching her move after Racra with narrowed eyes.

Chaos was running rampant. The fires... the explosions... the gas... this was the distraction Simon had wanted so that he could whisk Ubi Sunt out of the Bothan hands. Only, it would was all a wasted effort. Looking past the crowd of running, screaming people, bracing himself as explosions rock the starport, Simon catches a glimpse of his brief partner, Tarazed. He could do no more for her, now. Turning on his heal, Simon begins to trot off, away from the clouds of gas and chaos and destruction. There was supposed to be some woods, nearby...

As the fumes begin to descend around them, Jessalyn feels the acrid gas painfully fill her lungs, burning her eyes until tears stream uncontrollably from them. She staggers when the next series of explosions rock the starport, and the sounds of alarms and screaming and utter chaos make it difficult to focus. But she does, forced into action to keep anymore lives from being lost by this misguided Sarian woman.

"I'm sorry," she splutters, green eyes settling sadly on Tarazed. She hesitates for a moment, but the screams are deafening... buildings are collapsing... she has no choice but to stop it all.

Gasping, Jessalyn lunges forward, impaling Tarazed through the chest with her lightsaber blade, amazed at how easily she finds the pounding heart. Her tears flow from sorrow as well as irritation now as she takes away this life, the gas descending on her now until it's too much effort to retain consciousness...

Rolling behind some crates, She readied her blaster and spun about to aim and take her shots at the few Bothans that decided to fire on her. She would move forward from cover to cover, moving closer to the downed soldiers. She reached over, grabbing a hold of the poor soldier and pulling his gas mask from his belt. She shook her head, slipping on the gas mask and ducking right behind the crates.

Cursing as Shrapnel came down on her, piece of metal and debris clanging beside her and on top of those crates She had found cover in. Cursing even more as fire rained down, spinning around her pistol in the other hand before gripping and popping up over the crate, firing shots at oncoming guards. She turned about, hearing another explosion and the oncoming 'avalanche' of debris. Managing to land in a big pile of rubble where Jada was standing...

The situation grows grim, as the death count is in the thousand. The sound of marching and rolling and other things begins to faintly come in under the disaster. An entire legion of Bothan Soldiers and support personal began moving into what is left of the Spaceport. Fire retardant suits are worn, and breath masks. The mass of new beings arriving on the scene begin dragging those near enough away to safety. The situation was indeed dangerous, the crews can't risk their lives on top of those already injured, and who knows how many more explosions are left. A smaller group moves in and takes to releasing a foam on the nearest fire, and to suppress a path deeper into the spaceport, as well as draw a line and keep the rest of the ships from going up as well.

The soldiers that were on the scene already including Edgar had begin their finally stretch to pulling out, many dragging dead citizens, few survived the gas. Most of the legion that moved in and the emergency crews could just wait before they moved in. The situation was out of their hands for now.

The roar of quad-engines sound the cloud of acrid smoke which now looms over the starport billows aside as strained repulsors flares to life. A single white craft pierces the black cloud, its trade-mark S-foils keyed to a passive position. The X-Wing falls nose-first like a lead weight in a free-fall maneuver that boarders upon lunacy. Hitting the minimum flight ceiling the engines roar again, pulling a maneuver that defies schematics as rights itself screeches barely twenty meters above the debris littered tarmac. Cockpit shield disengages, sliding backward, a single figure perhaps seen to struggle briefly against the G-Force. High above a man can be seen to pull himself over the side of the cockpit, above the screaming masses below, black form plummeting without grace towards the ground below.

--

Arms and legs flailing against the wind Luke Skywalker fights to right himself the moments until he hits the ground below counted mentally as he focuses to guide his ungraceful fall towards a clear section of pavement. Straining he erects his form, arms crossing and legs straightening his eyes downward to watch the ant-like Bothans quickly expand to dreadful reality. Eyes slide closed, focus drawn.

Three...Two... One

Straight legs go loose, joints unhinged, black boots impact upon the pavement with a crack the recoil shifted painfully through the joints of his body. An anguished sound is muffled, the farm-boy's body doubling over upon itself and rolling from the force. Darkly clad form skids along the pavement in a painful, ungainly manner. Momentum yields to friction and five seconds later he lies, still upon the ground.

A second after that, he moves to stand.

Struggling against fresh wounds, Luke Skywalker attempts to find footing. He does so, limply, arm hanging a bit and left-knee sensitive to any pressure put upon it. Blue eyes dart briefly skyward, the Incom craft he fell from disappearing into the clouds above tailed closely by a pair of angry Bothan patrol craft.

Focusing then, upon the scene at hand, the alleged Jedi limps slowly across the pavement towards the focal-point of all this darkness, the fleeing masses streaming past his ungainly movements. Cursing the tenderness that wracks his frame, his mind swirls to lockout such notions. His posture, at least, recovering slightly with each dragging step though the gas still burns his lungs.

"SIMON!" The young-man yields a choked scream, eyes narrow as his recovering gimpness pulls him for the other's fleeing form, "This is madness!" Luke's voice draws itself to commanding stature, "You seek to balance your body and soul, to free yourself from technologies grasp. Yet, despite this, you still employ basic terrorism to achieve your means." The shambling Skywalker slows then, scraped chin lifting in defiance, "You tread across your own principles. You loathe the supposed hypocrisy of the Jedi yet you yourself are unable to maintain your own beliefs." Chest heaves gently, "You have become what you fear the most.." A slow pause, "..a hypocrite. No better or worse than any of the rest of us. End this, Simon, or your reliance upon crude atrocity will never allow you to master your one true desire.." A sage nod of his head, "..yourself. This is--the only chance--you will have.."

As the gas starts to fill the area around the spaceport, a small figure slipped out from the Storm Wisp and drops to the ground. A small mask is on the face as green eyes peered out in search of someone, a larger adult-version of the gas mask in the young boy's hands as he takes off in the direction of Simon. The young teenager keeping his own body low as he crawls beneath the ground and crates.

'Deneb! Deneb! Is that you?' Tarazed believes she is saying these words. But it is not her dear husband she sees before her, but a woman seemingly borne from the destruction she had wrought with her own hand. This has red hair from the fire, and her weapon glows blue-green almost like the gas that begins to fill her lungs, burning and stinging. She was the Jedi Tarazed had been warned of. Perhaps revenge was not so sweet. But she was avenged. This would have to be enough. The destruction around her was agonizingly beautiful.

A time to live, a time to die. And then there is agonizing pain. Then nothing. "Deneb....Deneb..."

Dibar dives on through the gas, heading back towards the ship he's supposed to depart on. There, through the haze of the chlorine gas, a light in the shape of a rod can be seen through the gas, spreading the illumination around. Dibar's eyes narrow as he sees this, and then watches as the rod of light lurches forward, then falters. "Now my ride's about to be frakked!", he exclaims, drawing his weapon, and plunging forward, further towards the ship. He then bounds close enough to find Tarazed, chest smoking from the wound...and Jessalyn, unconscious on the ground. He kneels down next to the woman he knew as 'Razz', putting two fingers up against her neck, checking her pulse. "Dibs...you are soooo frakked....", he comments, just shaking his head...

Simon Sezirok had every intention to find his way into the massive crowd of departing people. The incoming Bothans with their protective suits and equipment could have been a problem, but Simon didn't think so, with chaos and disorder as his easy ally in this day and place.

And then, two things happen at nearly the same time, stopping Simon in his tracks, making his blood run cold.

As Jessalyn Valios's blade takes the life of Tarazed Brum, Simon senses the Sarian woman's familiar life sense fade to nothing. In spite of all they'd talked about, it still came as a shock to sense her departing, to feel her mortal shell release her soul back to the True Source. It seemed fitting that it should be a Jedi to cut her honorable life short.

And then there is Luke, suddenly there, springing from a cloud-filled sky as if by magic. His words assault him, and Simon turns to face the Jedi Master, his countenance twisted in disgust.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand any of this, Jedi," Simon says, using the title as a curse. "Your whore already made me one of you. It was that which I feared, and it is useless to fear it any longer. Do you really think that I would stand here and believe that my soul can be saved by _you_? You have fouled yourself. You have fouled the Jedi, that once were noble. Tend to your witch, Jedi. Before she dies by someone else's hand."

Stumbling away from the evidence of Tarazed's death, Jessalyn begins coughing, lacking the presence of mind right now to lessen the effects the toxic fumes have on her. Turning away, she ignores the one who comes to the aid of the already dead women, trying to make her way back through the gas cloud.

The sound of the Jedi Master's voice stops her, and she finally makes out his dark-clad figure through the fog. "Luke," she coughs. She moves toward him, glaring at Simon and his accusing words as she does so. The attacks hurt more than she is willing to show, and she finally turns her back to him, bending her head and covering her face with her arm to shield it from some of the gaseous fumes. "We've gotta get out of here," she rasps, swaying.

Jada Manages to crack the surface of the rubble with her hand, obviously cut and bleed, That looked to be only a preview as She pressed her hand down onto some rubble. Jada pushed herself from the pile of twisted metal, Cuts, not to mention blood. Her eyes stared forward as She slowly crawled down the rubble, Then down onto the floor.

Stumbling slowly, She seemed to stare into nothingness, though She came to stare down at Tara. Growling lowly, She clenched her fists and stumbled her way towards Her ship. Irritated and injured, She had lost her chance to repay that woman for what She did. Tripping and holding onto the side of the ship for stability, She tapped in a few things to gain access. Though slowly, She slid down and fell to the floor unconscious. Not even able to finish the access code. What a hell Tarazed had unleashed...

Bothan Soldiers and medics move around rapidly, like Busy insects: the Medics tending to any, all wounded they can, the soldiers Jogging with guns, Not sure what they should be shooting, but sure they should be shooting _Something_. Some of the ships try to take off, but the sky Crackles a shade of blue, as the planetary shield is activated... stranding every one on or off plant for good. Where they where they are for good.

Krinko Comes too... in a squad car, full of other security agents riding full well out to the disaster area. He had come as fast as he could, always knowing he was too late for anything, but still: the old hunter wore his fully enclosed battle suit, just for environmental protection. But all the while, he rode with one solitary thought in his mind... to the time he arrived on at the scene, holding his sword in hand, not sure what to do. 'I was too late last time... and I am this time too. But at least this time...' He shakes his head, looking over the green clouds, wondering what exactly he would do... at all the dead bodies...

"Simon.." Luke's voice wheezes gently, a faintly gagging cough interrupting the saddened look upon his face. "..I can't save your soul." The young-man holds his ground, voice saddened, "That is something only you can do. We dislike each other, the respect we once had for each other faded a while ago when the wedge was driven to separate us. Neither of us are willing to listen to the other for we are both determined the other is wrong.."

Luke half-turns, gesturing to the chaos, _the horror_, stretched behind him, "Just _look_ at this. _LOOK AT IT_." Blue eyes turn to Simon again, "_This_ is what you've done with your vengeance. Employing common _soulless_ mercenaries to plant _bombs_ and kill _innocent_ people." His voice lowers, "You sought me out, once upon a time, hoping to find a warrior of great spirit. Hoping that I could help you. We failed each other then, refusing to sort out of differences in belief. You still wish to find inner peace, to become a great warrior, to merge mind and soul. _THIS_.." He gestures to the chaos, "..is not the way to do it. No man who would slaughter innocent people, so blindly, will amount to anything of noble purpose. Help me fix this.." The Jedi Master beseeches the other, "I'm not asking you to become my friend, I'm not trying to redeem _anything_. I just want you to realize what you've done, and help me fix it." A gentle sigh, " I don't think you're evil Simon, and I don't think that you believe I am either. We're different, but surely neither of us wants to see this continue.."

Jessalyn's words, and Simon's direction, sway his attention that way then. He paces backwards, gloved hand taking hold of the woman's arm and body leaning to the side in support. "We will.." The Jedi assures the other, "..if all else fails we'll have to."

The only back-up plan that his father had, the small teenager pushed beneath the legs of people flailing and running. Safe in the protection of the gas mask as all was witnessed from the cockpit of the starship where Lucky had laid hidden within. The flash of the lightsabers catches Lucky's attention as he witnesses the death that was dealt by the female Jedi upon Tarazed. The young boy had to force himself to avert his face to ignore the situation as he concentrates on finding his father...there...and lo behold...his father was face to face was the famous Luke Skywalker. Uncertainty was in the figure's body as he paused for a moment to contemplate the next course of action.

Making a swift decision, the boy slide beneath the legs of the people around and raised his hand to throw something towards the pair, "WATCH OUT!" The call came as the projectile soars towards Simon and Luke.

Dibar Recognizes Jessalyn, as she walks away from the scene at the bottom of the loading ramp. This was the second time he'd run into this lady (that he could recall) "Wait...damnit...oh no...you're not getting away again...", he says angrily through his mask. He chases after the woman through the gas, weapon readied. "Hey you...I want some--", he says, coming to a stop as he reaches Luke and Jessalyn. "...answers.", he raises his weapon in line with Luke, switching it over to stun with a flick of his thumb. "So what did I just walk in on, anyway?", he asks, trying to maintain a bit of calm around the chaos and confusion of the area.

Donning a coldly unemotional face, Simon turns and regards the carnage as Luke gestures. His eyes sting as the gas begins to engulf he and the Jedi, but the True Source was with him, and pain could be controlled. What was more difficult to bear was the ring of truth in the Jedi's words. The needless waste of lives had not been what he'd come here for.

And yet...

"What's done is done," Simon says, his voice cold. With the words, he breathes in a large dose of the toxic gas, and his lungs begin to burn. Concentrating on the pain, concentrating on his body, Simon hunches over slightly and continues speaking, albeit more quietly. "There are casualties in war. The Sarians and the Bothans are in a fight, and I chose the side of the Sarians. It may have been a mistake, but the dice have been tossed, and what has happened now can not be undone. You want me to help you save these people? So be it. I will leave you and Jessalyn Valios to do what you can. There is still another that I am here to-"

It's then that his ward's warning reaches him, and it's then that Simon reacts. Turning quickly away from the Jedi, Simon dives, tucking his staff to his body in preparation for the rolling landing. Had that Sarian woman let Lucky have a bomb?

All Jedi calm and poise has left the red-haired woman who reaches Luke's side, shaking from the horrible scene around them, from the mortal blow she just dealt to another soul. She clings to his arm, trying to stop her trembling, and staring defiantly first at Simon, and then at Dibar. "What did you walk in on? We're trying to stop a terrorist attack here, if you don't mind lowering your weapon!" she advises.

But something doesn't escape her notice... Simon's hesitation at Luke's words. It strikes a deep, hopeful chord inside her, one that she's clung to for a very long time now. Something inside him could be saved. She had to believe it. Her faith in the Force depended on it.

But before she can process this, a child appears from nowhere, tossing something unrecognizable in their direction, and she reacts purely on instinct, lifting her hand to deflect the object with the Force, hoping that the thing doesn't explode on impact.

The panicked crowds are all now but gone, most have run for their lives... only the Medics and the Soldiers, and the few individuals left. The gas, nearly gone, as even though the winds where low that day, the gas was beginning to disperse into the air, like a green phantom... lessening it's toxicity, but still deadly, none the less. A few of the living, still writhing, are pulled out by the brave civil servants... some, if not most, would be dead by the morning: their families to morn. Rubble... still burning fires, green gas... and hundreds, if not thousands dead, lying in their own pools of dead.

Between the shouts of warning to Luke from the projectile, and Dibar's appearance... Krinko realizes the presence of the others real quick... his eyes glued to that of the same person as from the morning. <That dirty whelp son of a wench...> He curses in Horansi. "_Simon_!" Off come his tack vest, off comes the rifle, onto the ground, his sword drawn, as he moves running, but not walking to the 'Cursed One' with vengeance. 'I should have killed him on Tatooine. I should have.' He mulls sullenly... only a meter away from the group. 'I should have killed him... I should have.' The Object Arches through the air... grenade? Bomb? Krinko pays little heed, only saying a short prayer that if it is a bomb... let it be a dud....

"Then leave us, Simon." Luke utters simply, his words a threat but not baselessly hostile or devoid of intent, "Run as fast and as far as you can. I did not want to harm you, but I am left no choice. So long as this war continues, so long as you continue to put innocents at risk, I have no choice but to stop you. This will be the last mistake you ever make. You are powerful.." The Jedi concedes, "..but I've--"

Luke's attention shifts, the words of warning catching his attention. Eyes dart to the boy, and then to the object he released. A weapon? Yet who was the warning to? Simon? He? Both? Things move too quick to be rationalized, gaze twisting to Simon who rolls away the stir of energies at his side giving logical premonition to the actions of the woman to whom he holds.

"Move away!" Luke cries, releasing the woman's arm and twisting protectively aside her form. Yet the command was not directed to her, but rather the man whose weapon was leveled at him. Icy gaze stills itself upon the man, a look of warning as one gloved hand flicks itself upwards a forceful shove of nothingness striking fully for the man to send him tumbling free of any supposed blast radius as his other, mechanical, hand sways lower for his hips.

As the object soars through the air, the young boy takes advantage of the distraction it gives to throw the gas mask at his father, "Catch." The boy calls out to Simon as he takes more objects out from his satchel to toss them in their direction. As the first one strikes the barrier that Jessalyn put up, it splinters into pieces of...soap, sprinkling the occupants with its fragrant scent. Of course, it is uncertain if the other objects are the same as the first as they soar towards the occupants. Lucky takes in a deep breath before he starts to run himself, instead of away from the chaos, it is towards Simon as he gestures towards the woods or anywhere where there is coverage to escape from the chaos in the port within.

Dibar "Sorry...can't do that, lady.", he says, his words only slightly muffled by the respirator mask. "As for being a terrorist...can't blame ya for thinking that. Wasn't my idea...", he says, sourly. "Every time yer around, things go to hell for me...I want to know--oooooooff", he is cut off, as he goes flying backwards through the haze. He lands on his back, skidding several feet through the debris, his thick jacket absorbing a lot of the scraping he would have normally suffered to his back. --Not again...I hate this drek!-- He thinks to himself, as he lies on the ground a moment, trying to recover. Luckily, both his mask and weapon are still where they were before his flight...

Tucking and rolling, scraping his knuckles on the hard concrete, bruising his back as he hits too hard, moves too quickly, Simon makes his escape from soap particles that Lucky had used for distraction. As he completes his acrobatic maneuver, he launches himself to his feet, preparing to put action to Luke's conditions. He could still take advantage of the mayhem and chaos, if he moved quickly enough. His efforts here and the multitude of lives lost in this catastrophic event did not have to be completely without worth.

Before he can cover three hurried steps, the sensation of Krinko's life sense and the impression of Krinko's intentions to slay him with the sword make goose flesh on Simon's arm. Stopping quickly, Simon turns and gives Luke and Jessalyn a brief look before raising his arm and gesturing toward Krinko, mirroring the gesture with which Luke had cast toward Rabid. Simon had no time for a fight, not with the Jedi, and not with this other man.

Seeing the respirator mask for what it is as it soars towards him, Simon raises the hand he'd gestured toward Krinko with and summons the gas mask to his hand. As he catches it, he calls out to Lucky, "Get to the ship! Take off if you must!"

Jessalyn leaps surprisingly fast out of the way as Luke moves in front of her. But the effort is draining, and the gas is having a horrible effect on her breathing. Her throat and sinuses burn, eyes reddened and bleary, even if the cloud is beginning to lift.

The Jedi watches from a short distance as Luke pushes Dibar away, not sparing any time to wonder at the man's odd curiosity about her. The presence of the child was even more disturbing. Was he part of Simon's new entourage? The thought makes Jessalyn's blood run cold. "I can't... hang on much longer, Luke," she rasps. "Simon, get out of here! None of us should die here today. None of us wish for that. I don't, Simon! Whether you believe me or not."

Laying there motionless, out cold and bleeding from the numerous cuts on her body. Jada couldn’t do much, Though, Her eyes did flicker open, cringing softly as She reaches out for something to grab onto, mumbling softly through her mask. "Racra.."

In the moment before the soap shatters... Krinko's blade point comes forward in a high 'en-gard' position, trying with all his might to run Simon through. Blowing by Jessa, By Luke, and by anyone and ever one, He holds the Katana forward like a lance, hoping the distraction by Lucky would give him the necessary second to run Simon through... hoping the blade found home in the 'cursed one's gut. Again, a silent prayer. 'Let it strike home...' With a slam, Krinko is thrown back a good foot, boots over head, heels under foot, the sword clattering to the ground. With a quick sweep, he stands again, sword in hand... recovered from the sudden blow with ease... and he charges Simon again with point. 'I will not let him go live again! Find home!' He silently screams at the blade...

A snarling roar erupts in the haze, a glimmering blade of emerald energy hissing into existence and lengthening itself into a meter-long blade. The swirling movements of the Jedi, whom turns from the man he threw with the sheer force of his will and towards to rest his eyes upon the back of his fleeing enemy, are echoed by the vibrant hum of the wavering energy blade which fights to maintain its own existence against the sweeping currents of air.

The innocent look of the farm boy drains itself from Luke Skywalker, a nobility and purpose setting itself upon his form as his dominant arm tugs backwards the silvery hilt which he clasps the only weight the magnificent blade has to offer. Arm snapping backwards reality swells around him, the energy which binds the very flow of the universe diverting its natural course to crash for Skywalker in an invisible wave. The blade shimmers, strengthened by Force of will, his target's back plainly visible as his arm straightens back, preparing to snap forward, to unleash the full totality of his might through the weapon he bears and drive it across the tarmac into the back of his fleeing prey.

Yet, he hesitates. Knowing that Krinko's distraction provides ample chance to end this now. He hesitates.

The blade hums in the air, its stillness a prelude. Skywalker's determination softens in a subtle manner, the image of the boy running along side his father. A man whose good has not been fully quenched by his evil, strikes a familiar chord. Less than twenty years ago it could have been him, at his fathers side. Unable to suppress the eerie feeling that grips him he releases a ragged sound of commensuration, the action gagged as gas burns his throat.

He looks at Jessalyn, the blade he holds yielding an audible sigh as it disappears back into the silvery base. He take Jessalyn's arm again, turning slowly to support her weight upon his shoulder. "Me neither.." The Jedi says, voice pained, "..let's go... while we still can."

The air was clear through the gas mask that was on the boy's face and his gaze was unblocked as he sees the stranger launch himself once again upon the man he had called his father. Gritting his teeth tightly, the boy draws upon the palm blaster that he had concealed upon himself as he takes aim at Krinko murmuring beneath his breath, "Git away from mah Poppa!!" A blaster bolt shoots out from the weapon.

"Ugghrk...", he says as he rises. "If...That.. happens...one more time...I'm...going...to just start shooting.", he says softly to himself, propping his body up into a sitting pose. "No questions....just shooting...", he decides, trying to shake the dizziness from his head, and then trying to rise to his feet. He switches on his comlink, switching frequencies. "Leet...priority call. Ughhkk...get yer ass in gear, and get me info on the spaceport...*cough* *cough* hack into any basic camera systems...whatever."

"Roger Boss. I can already tell you the place is a mess from what I'm hearing on the emergency frequency. I thought I heard your voice earlier, but it was calling out a warning...", Dibar can hear coming through the comlink built into the mask.

"It was...don't ask...", Dibar says sourly. "Transfer data to my wrist comp...I don't have my HUD with me. Just get me a clear *cough* path out of this hellhole. My ride's fragged..."

The single-minded persistence of Krinko was surprising, considering the disarray and panic and mayhem that continued to fester around them. Bothans had by and large suppressed the flames, but the gas was still a problem. The bodies of the dead littering the landing area was a grim image, maddening in and of itself. That Max Krinko could persist in his deadly assault on Simon Sezirok bespoke of a true hatred and dedication to purpose.

Simon had managed to get a few more paces away, his assault upon Krinko with the True Source only buying him a short time. Krinko's blade, gleaming deadly even in the light made diffuse by the chlorine gas, was bearing down upon the Selas in a way that could not be denied. It had to be dealt with.

The wooden staff in Simon's right hand whips through the air. It cuts through the air quicker than the eye can trace, moving in a tight arc in front of Simon as the Telgossian takes a step to his right.

In that moment that Lucky's weapon discharges its bolt of energy, Simon's staff begins to glow of its own accord. The True Source, what the Jedi would call the Force, fills the simple wooden weapon until it literally crackles with energy, cutting through the air with the same lethality as one of their lightsabers. A burnished red flame that is the wooden staff catches the blade just above the hilt, cutting through it smoothly, causing the metal to superheat and send acrid smoke into the air to join the chlorine gas.

The blade is severed, but it would seem that Simon was not quite fast enough. The very tip of the blade catches Simon's arm, cutting smoothly into his flesh. The pressure from Simon's staff forces the blade away before it can cut to the bone, but damage was done. Blood begins to run freely from just below Simon's right shoulder.

Letting out a cry of pain, Simon gestures with his left hand, once more moving to strike Krinko with the True Source and drive him back. The breathing mask was in this hand, and as the gesture is completed, Simon brings the apparatus to his face and begins to use it. *Hoo-KAH* *Hoo-KAH*

The broken blade in his hands... the hilt... the blade, which tempered by heat, had resisted Vibro blades, Ax's, explosions, gun battles, flesh... broken, destroyed, by a mere staff. The sword... that Wen-Poe had cast... was gone. It struck Krinko harder that Simon's force blow that came after. He lay there, on the duracrete, cradling the Hilt curled up in a ball... his master final legacy destroyed. He just lied there, and wished himself dead. Simon... Simon... would pay. Dearly, oh so dearly, for the death, the destruction, the discord, the pain, the anguish... and for destroying the last of an old man's legacy, which would never be repaired, or replaced.

The sword of Kay had been broken.

This cut Krinko deeper than any wound could of ever have. For hours after the events...lying back on the Duracrete shards... he willed himself to die.

His wish was not answered that night.

Lowering the blaster after the shot, Lucky peers around him as he takes in the destruction of the spaceport. A thickness in his throat, the boy's expression was indiscernible through the mask as he calls out hoarsely, "Let's git outta here, Poppa!" The boy indicates the shuttle or the woods and looks prepared to follow Simon for his next direction as he lowers his back in preparation to run, watching the troops as they run into the square.

Dibar gets the strength to rise to his feet, and looks around, walking towards where Luke and Jessalyn had been a little while ago. He looks around, spinning around with his weapon draw. "Drek...", he curses, and then drops the weapon back behind his back, holstered. He looks around the smoking wreckage, bodies, and rolling waves of barely dissipating gas. Not a great day for Dibar... A slight motion off to the side draws Dibar's attention. Jada's hand moves barely, and he walks over, looking over her body a moment. "Frak...she's a mess...", he comments, pulling some of the debris off of her. "Are you awake?", he says loudly, his voice rising above the noise of the chaos and mayhem running rampant through the area. "Are you awake?", he repeats.

Jada letting out a small grumble, She clenched her fist and planted it beside herself, Then moving to place her hand on the other side. Trying to push herself off the ground, but only falling forward with a small grunt. She let out a sigh and manages to look up at Dibar. "I'm... awake.." She had obviously been overlooked, There was blood around her, showing that She had been bleeding for awhile, not to mention the many cuts all over her body. Torn clothing and pieces of shrapnel still lodged into her skin.

After he adjusts the mask to sit on his face of its own accord, Simon grasps his right arm with his left hand. Blood runs through his fingers, the thin slice from Krinko's letting his life's fluids flow out of him. His breathing continues to sound more amplified, more strange as the respirator does its work.

Seeing that Krinko has, at last, ceased his assault, Simon turns and regards Lucky. The boy was still with him, in spite of everything else. Looking off in the direction the Jedi had gone, Simon counted himself lucky to have such an aid in... Lucky.

Half turning, Simon nods with his head, gesturing for his ward to follow him. He still had business to attend to with Ubi Sunt, and the fools that held her against her will.

Lucky bobs his head up towards his surrogate father as he conceals the palm blaster in the folds of his clothes. Making a quick survey of the surroundings, the boy trots off to join his father, staying near his back as he remains silent. Noticing the wound on Simon, the boy opens his mouth to say something before he shakes his head and murmurs, "Let's git outta here before we git arrested."

"Frak...don't move...crap...", Dibar stammers, looking around quickly. While he remembered the trauma and medical care training he received in Basic, he had none of the proper medical equipment to use..."Drek. I hope they've got enough bacta to fix whatever I break doing this...", he says both to himself and to the Twi'lek. The mercenary kneels down, and then slowly, carefully rolls Jada over onto her back. He puts both of his arms underneath her, and slowly rises up, carrying the alien. "Keep talking to me. Where are you? Know where yer at now?", he says, trying to keep her from slipping into unconsciousness. He slowly and carefully makes his way through the debris, and carries Jada through the gas, towards where a set of emergency teams are helping bring other wounded in the attack.

Groaning...The Twi'lek rolled her head back and stared up at the sky. "I am Jada Kadoth and right now... I am in Hell... Bothawui." She cringed and then groaned once again. Tatters of her pants and other clothing dragging from her. She knew what it felt like to be in hell now, to be trapped under thousands of sharp points dug into your skin. Then pulling yourself up from them, grazing over you skin and cutting it open. Then laying on the floor for so long... unattended and suffering.. "I hate Bothawui..."

Descriptions

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Zarl

A long nose, with dainty, slightly reddish flares to each side of its base. Brunette eyebrows that rest, lazily, above the rims of black aviator sunglasses. Lips that curl up at the ends, twisted by over-worked cheek muscles into a perpetual smile. Fairly bland, really. Unmemorable, some would say.

Atop the man's inconspicuous grouping of facial features rests a fedora woven of white linen which, no doubt, conceals a boringly well-kempt mop of brunette hair. Outlining his significantly waifish frame is a morning coat (suit coat with tails, to the uninitiated) made from the same material, and done up from just above a heavy-looking gun belt to just below mid-chest with shining, ebony buttons. A thin, white tie offsets his black silk shirt and, though the shirt can be seen tucking into the top of (you guessed it) white linen trousers, the tie would appear to end somewhere between buttons and gun belt. The ends of his trousers, in their turn, remain unseen, tucked in and flared about the tops of shiny, knee-high boots.

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Krinko

About 2.1 meters tall and easily 130Kg he is built quite stocky. He is slightly old, getting on to his later middle years, and a few gray hairs streak his slicked back black hair, tied into a tight bob at the back of his head.. His face is strikingly, angular, almost chiseled, and it has a noticeable, long, pound sign-shaped scar, on his upper left forehead. His eyes are a light blue in color and His nose is rather smallish. He wears a cream colored hooded tunic, rather long, going down to his upper knees. The loose garment's sleeves have been carefully removed, revealing a well worked frame, but disrupted by a series of sets of three parallel lines, all in wide swoops, as if from slashes of some animal. Beneath that, he wears a simple, brown, woven pair of pants, the top and bottom bound by a thick black belt. Hanging from his back, over his shoulder is strapped a scabbard, holding a Full Navy sword, Katana style, it's original blade replaced with a silver-ish alloy, the red and black wrapped hilt protruding noticeably. Under the wraps, one can almost see a polished metal hilt hidden, with etchings in it just barely visible. Adorning his feet are a pair so simple sandals, made of a slab of animal hide, bound tightly to his feet. Despite his humble appearance, he moves with an almost powerful, confident, air, fitted to a leader more than anything.

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Ayra

Slender and lithe, Ayra is a young woman who finally seems to have come into her own, appearing to be about 19. She stands at a rather short height for a Human, her skin having been tanned a deep bronze by apparent work of some kind outdoors. Beneath it ripple taut and wiry muscles, adding a nicely-toned finish to her otherwise petite frame. A face with bold and somewhat angular features is hidden to a certain extent beneath a thick mop of bangs. They, like the rest of her waist-length hair, are a solid jet-black, though with only a dull sheen to them, and from beneath them peer a pair of silvery eyes. They seem to take on a greenish tint depending on how bright the light is, and are complimented by finely-arched eyebrows.

Currently Ayra is clothed in a white leotard that clings to her like a second pair of skin. Sleeveless, it disappears into a worn pair of tan hide pants that are fastened around her waist with a scaly black belt. These, in turn, are tucked into sturdy but equally-worn leather boots, calf-high and lined along the tops and insides with fur. Thrown over her slender shoulders and fastened around her neck is a simple brown cloak, light enough to flow with her moves, yet heavy enough to offer her some protection. It sweeps down to just above her ankles, and can be pulled around to cover her entire body should she so please. Other than a small pair of golden hoop earrings, nothing else adorns her person.

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Dibar

Big and mean-looking. There is no other suitable way to describe this man. Tall, standing in at 6'4, and built like an Altairian Wild Bear, he looks like he bench presses swoops for fun. His hair is a dark brown, kept constantly trimmed to military strictness. He has a constant smugness on his face, as if he believes he knows everything. No fire, ice, or other elements display themselves in his eyes. They are brown, plain, and utterly observant. A thin, jagged scar runs along his jaw line, a testament to the things he's experienced.

Currently, he's dressed fairly plainly, with blue-shaded jeans and a black shirt that easily shows his rugged form. A dark brown leather jacket is worn as well, unbuttoned and opened wide. His footwear appears to be a pair of rugged combat boots, that seem to have seen a century's worth of years.

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