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~Author's note: The events in this thread take place during the events depicted in "The Road to Ryloth". Approximately four standard days after the Janda incident~

Case file: 4729
Cliant: "Rust shell"
Target site: Unknown. Target last known position provided by client.
05:32 hours

The black void of space was generally an empty, featureless place on it's own. It was the objects and matter that filled it that gave space the lovely vistas that star voyagers have been marveling at and dreading for generations, creating a rich tapestry of wonders and terrors to spark the imagination, stir the soul, and rejuvenate the spirit.

The vista that the two-person crew of the Unspoken Truth would be met with, however, was one of those that served to fuel one's nightmares.

Debris and flotsam spread out before them in a thick cumulus of starship plating and the bodies of the dead, those unlucky enough to have stumbled into the horror that was explosive decompression. Even seeing this, Savin couldn't help but feel sorry for however was left. They had -no- idea what walked among them. If it wasn't for the fact that this mission could possibly be the final brick that would solidify the treaty, non-aggression pact, and--of the utmost importance to Manda'yaim and the Mandalorian people as a whole--trade agreement between the insectoids of the Roche astaroids and the Mando'ade, Savin would have told that bug to cram this op directly up his shebs.

Savin took his time on approach, meticulously scanning the debris field for the signal frequency he was given, on the hopes that his target got sucked into the black. A simple retrieval where his 'competition' could not follow. Or so he hoped. Those things could be spaceworthy for all he knew.

::::Wouldn't that be a kick in the mi'vonks. Bad enough I won't be able to trust my own eyes on this caper:::

After his search came up negative--he had no illusions that he would get off that easy--Crimson stood to make his way back to toward the stern of the ship, waving his little blue 'co-pilot' along to follow him back to the war room. It was time to get ready.

Savin was certain that he wished he did not bring her all the way out here. But, as much as he wanted her to be back on Manda'yaim--safe and sound--Crimson understood that to keep her holed up there would be as bad as what the Empire did to her. He would be dammed to haran ten times over before he allowed Alema to be in bondage again.

Ever.

"Ok, Blue.." Said the crimson-clad Mando as he neared a pair of sliding doors of an ominous black hue with a red mythosaur symbol across them as if it was guarding the room beyond. "This," the doors parted with a loud hiss as the lights in the chamber flickered on, filling the darkened hallway with a faint blue glow. "..Is the war room."


The inside of the large chamber that was once meant to be the rear portion of the Naboo Queen's throne room was dominated be a 'throne' of a completely different sort now. The large chair in the center seemed to be built to have the focus of the room circle -it-. Like one was meant to be the center of the universe when they sat in it.

"This is 'The Mountain'." Said he, gesturing to the reclined seat. The large number of advanced and complicated communications and information relying instruments had been built into the comfortable seat could be clearly seen as the pair neared it. "From here you can monitor the situation and pretty much anything that you would need to do as an operator. My main channel will be closed. So, this will be the way to contact me. You'll porbably recognize the control surfaces, so I doubt you need a crash course in it's operation. Except.."

The D'xun leaned over to press a three-button sequence that closed the doors to the room and dimmed the lights to near darkness. In moments, a number of holographic images appeared showing different screens of snow and some where simply black, having no feed to generate an image. Until, the Mandalore slipped his helm off the clip on the back of his belt and slid it on. The screens came alive with information fed directly from his HUD and sensors. There was even a few smart windows depicting the very images the Mando was seeing. It was a glimpse into the private world that was in a Mando'ade's helmet. It was incredible how much information a Mando sorts through, at a glance, as a matter of course.

There is a -reason- they start them young.

"If anything happens or you.." Savin stopped short of saying 'if you get lonely or scared'. He was not sure how she might have taken that. "..get it in your head to talk, just sit here and I'm only a few buttons away. I'll be back before you know it, Al'ika."

:::I hope:::

There were times like this that the D'xun would swear that the blue Twi'lek was force-sensitive. The way she looked at him. Even with his T-shaped visor between them as some sort of obsidian-hued shield seemd completely unable to stem the force of her chocolate-brown gaze.

She knew. She always knew, somehow. He never could hide much of anything from Alema, he knew. But, he really didn't want her to worry. He just wanted her to relax and heal and be happy. Was that really so much to ask? But, the possibility that her coming along on a aka, or operation, with him would be an important step to regaining a portion of her life that she lost in the pit the Empire tossed her into was too great to ignore. It was the main reason why the Mandalore relented--against all better judgment--and allow her to accompany him into a situation that had him questioning his own ability to handle. That, and the fact that he found it nearly impossible to say 'no' to this woman. Alema's requests, as few and far in-between as they were, seemed to halt his ability to communicate with his higher brain functions to ponder anything outside of making what she requested to happen, happen.

But this was no simple request to join him. His 'competition' was no ordinary assassin. And the ship had seemed to suffer catastrophic damage already. At least, his mark will be easier to extract without having to show a forged Bounty Hunting writ to any gung-ho constabulary on board. It was likely any 'peacekeeping' personnel had been killed in the initial destruction that left the ship in question in it's current state of 'non-operational'.

Crimson hoped, again, that the assassin was floating in the void somewhere and -not- still lurking about that ship. He had doubts he could actually take it in combat.

:::Not without the right kit, anyway:::

Savin turned to press a few buttons on the arm rest of 'The Mountain" to slowly brighten the lights, revealing the walls of the room to be smooth and very dome-like. Every inch of the walls where covered in a number of symbols and murals that all seemed to be different virtues and tenants of his personal faith. His devotion to the War Bride, Paran. This room seemed to serve a dual purpose as his meditation chamber when he was on board the 'Truth.

It was a rare thing to see a modern Mando spiritually connected enough to profess such faith in one of the old Mando goddesses. The next button Savin pressed would reveal the War Room's third purpose as panels on the walls slid back with audible clicking and metallic grinding. Out of the multiple apertures would slide entire racks of firearms, explosives, blades, spare beskar plates, ammunition and other various implements of utter destruction that would have been out of place for the Mandalore -not- to have had them somewhere on the ship.

A logistics/armory/prayer room with all different states available at the touch of a button. It was classic Crimson to a T.

Stepping into a pair of shallow wells meant for his booted feet near the wall, Savin stood still as the droid arm holding his custom sen'tra attached it to his beskar'gam with an audible -clack- that echoed throughout the room. The compact design of the boostpack was a boon in and of itself, allowing the D'xun warrior full freedom of movement unrestricted by much larger designs. Without warning, four appendages bloomed from the center of the sen'tra with the grace of a flower in season. A low whirring could be heard as the nozzles at the end four 'arms' of the boostpack rotated and turned, performing the important pre-flight check a flight system with full, three-dimensional thrust vectoring needed to ensure that an unfortunate accident did not impede the Mandalore's efforts to survive. After a moment, the quartet of projections retracted back into the back with a motion as sudden as one of Felucia's carnivorous plants making a meal out of a tanta hawk.

Savin wasted no time in selecting, along with his regular load out of his .50 caliber, Czerka CP-209 'Ender' slugthrowing pistol and his paired long and short sword, Adenn Kote and Ge'tal Kyramud--'Merciless Glory' and 'The Crimson Slayer', respectively. Skirata heirlooms, both--a Kalranoos carbine, a weapon based on the Geonosian carbine's sonic technology. And, more importantly, with a trigger that was more accommodating to those without Geonosian anatomy. Any gun nerd worth their mettle would be envious of such a prize. Savin would have never even taken it out if he was not completely -certain- he was going to need it. All too soon.

The age and history behind his blades, however, was something only one well versed in Mandolorian--or even galactic history, to a certain extent-- would recognize. They could be placed as far back as the Mandalorian wars, wielded by a Mando'ad that had been said to have slaughtered scores of republic soldiers and even a number of Jedi before the Jedi known to history only as 'The Exile'--her true name and visage lost to the sands of time--struck the Mando warrioress down in single combat.

The pistol, on the other hand, was simply passed to Savin from his father after he retired from the family business of honest mercenary work. That was more than enough to make it priceless in his eyes.

A quick visual check of his flame emitters, ammo bandoleer, and his brand new grappling lines and net launcher that he had not gotten to use yet, Crimson walked over to The Mountain to depress a control to retract the arsenal back into the walls where they seemed to vanish.

"Alright," Said he as he finally turned back to her, unable to hide from that gaze in his work any longer. "You know the drill. Channel 5-C. Comms open. I'll make this as quick as I can."

With that, the former mercenary made his way to the exit, already plotting the ship's approach via the small, flip-down panel on the underside of his left gauntlet, stopping only to look over his shoulder to his best friend with a smile she could 'see' in his voice.

"Trust in the manda, Blue. It'll be alright." He said, addressing the concern he sensed in her gaze. "I mean, c'mon. It's -me-."