World Tree MUSH

  The incident on Bespin had been a comedy of errors, although Juno Eclipse hadn't found it funny. It was a lucky thing that everyone had gotten away safely. She had been the last to trickle back, but not before running across one of the few stormtrooper patrols in the area. The old general had limped her way back to her ship, leaving a bit of a blood trail up the Rogue Shadow's ramp.

  After thirty-five years of rebelling against the Imperial institution... getting shot still isn't any better than the first time it'd happened to her.

  Now, aboard the Rogue Shadow, Juno sighs and leans back in the pilot's chair, boots kicked up on the console. She twirls a bottle of mostly-empty Corellian whisky by the neck, flicking distractedly through interstellar charts on the navicomputer; charts from her own galaxy. Although she's cleaned herself up, she's still exhausted, in pain, and the nav charts aren't enough to occupy her... until she spots something.

  Juno leans forward, setting the Corellian whisky down and staring at the screen. Fingers dance over the controls as she reads. Eventually, distractedly, she reaches over and taps the console's controls; a tightband sent directly to the Razor Crest.

  <<Rogue Shadow to Razor Crest. Get over here. Bring the Child if you have to. I've got something to show you and I can't trust the comms.>> She sounds haggard, but that's hardly new. Did she even sleep? <<This could be important.>>

  The usually-reasonably-polite woman isn't actually waiting for an answer from him, so it must be important.

    Meanwhile, aboard the Razor Crest:
    "Huh." The Mandalorian muses as he looks to the Child in the seat just behind the pilot's chair. "She didn't even wait for a response. I wonder what could be so important." He murmurs, earning a puzzled look from the green-skinned infant tilting his head at him. "Well whatever it is must be important. C'mon kid."
    In short order the two are aboard the Rogue Shadow, the infant carried in one of the Mandalorian's arms. No need for the crib at the moment, they make their way to the cockpit, the clink of bootspurs sounding tinny against the metal flooring as The Mandalorian comes to a halt.
    "Okay. I'll bite. What's up?"

  Juno looks up, very slowly, at the sound of books on the Rogue Shadow's deck plating. The sound is profoundly nostalgic, for her. She can remember half a hundred times when Galen's boots clunked their way to the cockpit to throw himself into the co-pilot's chair. It was a ritual of theirs: She would ask how he was, and he'd reply that he was fine, regardless of whether the answer was true or not.

  This is not Galen, though, and she had business with this man. Juno blinks herself back to reality, snorts in annoyance at her own distraction, and flexes her fingers over the pilot's console.

  "Have a seat." She tosses her head at the co-pilot's seat, and as her hair falls from its neat styling, she snorts a breath to clear flyaway bangs from her face. "I'm sending some information to that console. See if you can have a look at it."

  "The gist is this: There's a shipment of starship components passing through the Inner Rim, carrying a full complement of rare and unique parts meant for prototype Imperial starships." Juno smiles, blade-thin. "I have a plan. We're going to steal it."

    No, this is not Galen. But The Mandalorian has a seat in the copilot's chair never the less, setting the Child down lightly on the floor where the liliputian little green thing plops down for a seat as well.
    Fingers plink at the indicated console, bringing up the aforementioned data. The Mandalorian's gaze is a hard stare of that T-visor over the screen. It's hard to tell how fast or slow he's reading the information, but eventually he does look up from the bright lights and flashing text.
    "Huh. This info's good?" He asks, dubiously at first, but then brings a hand up to rub at his chin through his helmet. "Well I'm open to hearing this plan."

  As The Mandalorian sets down The Child, Juno smoothly leans forward and snatches up her bottle of Corellian whisky by pinching the neck between thumb and forefinger. She follows the inertia of her arm, swinging it up to take a swig of what's left, balancing it against her thigh. At his question, she nods. "Yes. Berkelium Shyre's been feeding information to the Rebels since it began. He's trustworthy."

  "Since we don't have Rebel firepower available to commit to this, we're going to have to fight smart, that's all. I think this is within the realm of possibility." She drains the last of the bottle before setting it aside, well out of the alien toddler's reach. "The Itani Nebula is volatile as hell. There's a reason the Itani Run and the Hydian Way only cut through specific areas. They're safe. The rest of it is a mess... but if you're trying not to be found, it's brilliant. Sensors are mostly useless within the nebula."

  She kicks back, folding her arms behind her head and closing her eyes. "The only problem will be separating the frigate from its escorts... it's something of a work in progress, but we've time until that frigate reaches the Itani Run."

    "Huh." A trustworthy source. Rare in this day an age, but then again people always have their sources they can look to for aid. The Mandalorian isn't going to question Juno's tipoff if she's willing to stake her claim that the source is good. The man's beskar helmet turns to regard the blonde for a long, silent, beat as she finishes the dregs of her bottle.
    "Don't you think you hit that a little too hard?" He muses, a note of concern edging into his otherwise gruff tone, before he forcuses on the topic at hand.
    "It's possible." He does concur, looking over the data again. "How many escorts are we looking at? If we can't shoot them down, what about a diversion or distraction?" He does consider for the problem at hand.

  Don't you think you hit that a little too hard? the bounty hunter asks.

  "Nope." Juno leans back more comfortably in her chair, eyes half-closing. To punctuate her point, she raises the bottle, sloshing the last of it around. "Getting shot's still a bitch," she grumbles, straightening up in her chair with a grunt. She stares intently at her console, fingers dancing through a series of commands. The harsh blue light casts shadows on her tired face. "Oh, it's definitely possible. I wouldn't waste time on it otherwise."

  "We're looking at a minimum of one full flight of TIE fighters. They're gnats by themselves. I know. I flew a hundred missions in those tin cans, once upon a time." She tosses back her last swig of whisky. "No hyperdrive. No life support. Useless without a capital ship. Tin cans. They're obnoxiously fast tin cans, though. I think our best bet is going to be to lure them away somehow."

  She considers the pilot's console, eyes half-closed. They drift closed. "The Rogue Shadow is fast enough to lead even them in circles, but this ship is also too fragile. One or two shots past my shields and it's all over. Besides, my ship is as much of a tottering antique as the Razor Crest. I need those parts so I can overhaul the ion drives and hull integrity." She sighs, opening her eyes and kicking herself straight upright in her chair again. "And I don't want them to stay in Imperial hands any longer than they have to."

  "On the other hand... if the Razor Crest can lead them on a chase, they'll take the bait. If you can lose them in the nebula, their instruments will be useless. They'll be flying blind. It's risky, but I think it's doable." Juno tips her head, regarding The Mandalorian thoughtfully with bloodshot blue eyes. She's clearly somewhat drunk, but maybe not as plotzed as she might seem. No matter how haggard she looks, she's undeniably lucid. Or just really good at mental multitasking. "It's up to you, of course. I'd be asking you to put yourself in danger for no real gain, unless you need those parts as badly as I do."

  "Or... we find ourselves an accomplice. One who knows how to pilot, and one who can keep those tin cans busy." The old general raises a brow; reaches up to clear silvered blonde hair that falls into her face. "What do you think?"

    With a mask of beskar it's difficult to tell just how skeptical a look The Mandalorian is offering Juno when she denies her vice. He moves on just as smoothly.
    "Tie fighters won't be a problem." Not for him and the Razor Crest. Or Juno and the Rogue Shadow. But chances are high he'll just volunteer his smaller, nimbler, gunship anyway.
    "I'll handle it."
    See? He just did. Though that silver helmet tilts to a slight, inquisitive angle at the thought of finding an accomplice.
    "Unless you have someone else in mind?"

  "Normally, they wouldn't be," Juno agrees. She straightens herself with a grunt, reaching up to rake her fingers through hair already pale blonde, frosted with silver. It seems like a little more silver than the first time The Mandalorian spoke to her. Her arms drop to rest her elbows on her knees, back hunched, head bowed as she huffs a tired sigh. "Unfortunately, the Rogue Shadow can't handle the escorts. I'm one of the best damned starfighter pilots in my galaxy... but even I couldn't buy enough time to disable the freighter."

  "I know it sounds a bit like I'm sacrificing the new travelling companion to the rancors, but the truth is, I need these parts. This ship is finished if I don't have the means to repair it, and I..." There's a quirk of emotion there that The Child might not like; a well of grief without a bottom. She masters herself with a visible twitch of her expression before she's stoic once more. "I'll pay. I wasn't expecting you to do it for free, anyway."

  Her head shakes at his question. "No. Not off-hand, anyway. I might have been able to call in a favour or two among some pilots I used to know. If it came down to it, I could petition the resources from the Rebel Alliance." Juno's expression sours. "I'd have to fight tooth and nail, but I'd probably win. I don't know if I'd be able to win it before the window of opportunity's closed, though."

    "It's fine." The Mandalorian says that with a level of finality that says he understands full well. "The kid can stay on the Rogue Shadow while I handle the TIEs." It's safer that way for the Child while he's fending off enemy pilots.
    Because while the Rogue Shadow can't handle them... A smaller, nimbler, deadlier, ship like the Razor Crest can. She may be old and showing her age, but the ship still has fight left in her.
    That's when the Child locks onto Juno, uttering a tiny whine at the sensation of that grief.
    "I'll take a cut of the parts." He says in regards to payment. Chances are he can do something with them to spruce up his ship anyway. It's what might be a surprisingly generous and kind offer from a bounty hunter of his caliber.

  "He'll be safe with PROXY," Juno says, immediately. "I'll be back to the ship myself as soon as I can load the cargo onto the Rogue Shadow, and he won't be out of my sight once I've gotten back aboard." She cocks a bloodshot blue eye, eyeing The Mandalorian blearily. "I know he's important to you."

  "You'd do the same for my ship, I like to think." She pats the pilot's console. "It's one-of-a-kind." Again, that bottomless well of grief, even if it doesn't so much as show on her face. She forces a lid on it a heartbeat or two later, expression twisting, as though the cost of the effort were physical. "And I'd be a piss-poor pilot if I couldn't keep my own flagship running, anyway."

  She eyes him at his offer, eyes him for a very long few moments. Her stare is flat the way it goes when she's thinking very intensely about something, like a supercomputer's processor kicking into high gear. After a moment her gaze slides back to him, her frown subtle, eyes hooded. "That's so generous an offer it's insulting. I know my reputation paints me as cheap, but even I wouldn't make such a low bid on a contract."

  Folding her arms, Juno eyes the bounty hunter up and down as she rubs her jaw and considers. One can almost see the wheels turning; she looks vaguely puzzled, as though trying furiously to figure out all the angles on it.

    PROXY. She plans to leave the kid with a droid.
    "Mnnnnnn..."
    The disdain that wafts off the beskar-clad hunter is almost palpable. But he doesn't shoot the idea down. It's better than nothing, and once Juno's on board the ship he can relax a bit more fully.
    "Fine." He relents after a beat of putting thought to it. It's true though; Mando wouldn't want a silvery little hair harmed on the little womprat's head.
    He meets that stare dead on. "Fine." He says again. "Pay me what's fair then and we'll call square." He's not going to fight her on this.

  The old general is silent as she's sized up, and she seems indifferent in the face of that disdain. She does eye the empty whisky bottle longingly, as though she were thinking about cracking open the next, but for the moment she stays planted in her chair.

  Juno pushes herself to her feet, steadying herself on the back of the chair before retrieving a strongbox from her side of the cockpit. Keying it open in a blur of fingers, she retrieves a data cylinder and offers it to The Mandalorian.

  "Fifty percent, in credit value. Plus an amount of salvage, to be agreed upon at the time of appropriation by both parties... but I can tell you right now there'll be more than enough to fill your hold. I plan on doing the same with the Rogue Shadow."

  Wow, she's... actually pretty serious. And pretty honourable, for someone who speaks like an Imperial.

    Cracking open another bottle would just probably prove Mando's point anyway.
    But gloved fingers curl around the offered data stick, gingerly plucking it from Juno's grasp. "Deal."
    That was easy enough.
    "Sounds like we're going to get a good haul anyway." He muses, slowly rising from the co-pilot's seat to pluck up the Child from where he had been plopped on the floor staring up at the two.
    "Let me know when you're ready to make your move and I'll bring the kid back over and gear up to shoot down some imps."

  "I'm counting on the quality of what we find." Juno eyes the console, blearily. "If even half the cargo manifest is true, we're looking at hundreds of billions of credits' worth of manufacturing made to the highest, most exacting standards. This is stuff as far away from the assembly line as it gets. This is the kind of thing the Rebel Alliance would never be able to get its hands on, alone."

  "It'd be irresponsible of me to pass up the opportunity, as a general." Her grimace says it all; she hates having to play politics. She's as impatient with it as stubborn old General Rahm Kota ever was. "I do appreciate the help, though. You're not just competent, but skilled. I can always find you work from the Rebel Alliance, if you ever need a job on short notice."

  Juno folds her arms behind her head and closes her eyes again. "I'll do that. You're welcome to use any of my gear you like, too. It's the least I can do if you're willing to die alongside me." She shrugs. "I can promise you PROXY'll do everything he can to keep him safe. I can even send PROXY to the Salvation and ask a reserve X-Wing pilot to watch him, if that makes you feel any better. I'm sure I can dig up somebody who owes me a favour of some kind."