Striking a Deal

[Apocrypha]

Tibanna gas miners and factory workers are displeased with their current wages and hours in Cloud City. Their strike has now gone on to week three. The galaxy has a high reliance on Tibanna gas and many depend on it. Talk to the workers and help strike a fair deal with the miners and laborers and their employers.

Cloud City was, to say the least, impressive: commissioned in 1,989 BBY, the hovering luxury resort, gas mining colony, and city had been afloat for nearly three thousand years. The figurative key to the city had, naturally, changed hands innumerable times - but the core of the colony remained the same: party, party, party. Though it inspired memories of Adarlon and the Glow Dome, Cloud City was of a different caliber entirely; it had an estimate population of nearly ten million, with three hundred ninety-two levels, and thirty-six thousand repulsorlift engines that kept it soaring sixty klicks above Bespin's tibanna-rich core.

Of course, the two Jedi Padawans and their Jedi Knight escort were visiting Cloud City under a non-party pretense: the BLA - or Bespin Laborer Authority, a union under which most of the blue collar beings employed by Cloud City were chartered - had issued notice of a strike three weeks ago. With a full-stop on work well under way and neither party looking to acquiesce their position any time soon, it was only a matter of time before the region - and, then, the rest of the galaxy - felt the hurt of an inflation in Tibanna gas prices. Used in personal heating and as ablaster battery conducting agent - and even being the primary ingredient of an incredibly common hyperdrive coolant - Tibanna gas was a rather crucial commodity, and the Cloud City outpost on Bespin was one of the largest refineries in the galaxy.

Employing over a hundred thousand employees in their refinement factories, where Tibanna drawn from the gas giant's atmosphere was spooled into carbonite freezing mechanisms, Cloud City's scale of operations was impressive - and a strike by its work force could be devastating. Seeking only the betterment of their employee's working conditions and wages, the BLA discreetly contacted the Jedi Order for assistance, and thus three Jedi were sent.

"Resilience, you're cleared for landing in Sector C17 on pad 1-77-F. Observe proper docking procedure and a Bespin Laborer Authority representative will meet you on arrival," the cool, no nonsense traffic control voice hissed out of the cockpit comm unit.

"Understood," Rorik replied, thumbing the comm, "Resilience out." The young Jedi guided the light freighter smoothly into place above the landing pad, which jutted out, self-supporting, from Bespin's wide dome exterior, dangling over hundreds of kilometers of Bespin's gaseous atmosphere. Extending the landing gear, the Resilience came to a quiet halt on its feet, hydraulic struts hissing in relief as the pad came to bear the weight of the mostly empty freighter. Spooling down the sublight engine and running through the take-off prep checklist in reverse, Rorik disabled the freighter and then made his way back into the lounge, Ben and his Padawan awaiting therein.

"We've docked," he said to them, smiling. "The BLA has already sent an ambassadorial party to greet us - and, presumably, escort us to the union's Chief Executive. If I had to guess, I'd say we'll be given a tour of the facilities - with particular note made of the abysmal working conditions of the laborers - treated to a dinner during which the Chief will sway us to his side and propose that we meet with the facility's operators and attempt to swing a deal for the BLA, and then shown to our arranged quarters for the evening."

All in all, rather straight forward.

 

[01010101101]

Tali kept his head low and his mouth shut as he contemplated the reason that the Jedi had been called in. When the Padawan had heard that some groups still requested the help of the now-demolished faction, he had been quite surprised. Though Bespin was one of the worlds not under direct Imperium control, Tali knew that if the Sith found out that anyone was contact the Jedi, the consequences would be...severe. Luckily, it seemed that their involvement had been a well-kept secret.

Tibanna. A resource that had its uses in both military and domestic matters. To be honest, Tali was surprised that the workers had any reason to complain. If they had the power to cease the production of such a widely-used substance, wouldn't they be paid plenty? As much as the boy hated to think so, it was possible that the BLA was getting greedy and went on strike simply because they had the power to do so. On the other hand, the opposite could have been true. In any case, Tali decided it was best to save his thoughts until he had seen more of what was actually going on.

He took a slow breath, struggling to keep his nerves in control. Though he was very grateful for Ben bringing him along on the mission, and he was glad that it was a diplomatic assignment rather than a combat assignment, the student was still apprehensive. Despite what his younger brother, Shalge, had encouraged him to do, Tali resolved to say nothing unless he was directly addressed, and to direct any questions to his Master, just in case one of his queries was a red-button question. In other words, he was there to observe and learn from watching, and would only bring up his own opinions if asked. Nodding lightly to Rorik, whom Tali had briefly greeted when they had left the Enclave, he smirked a bit, silently agreeing with the man's prediction.

 

[Maxx]

Ben walked into the clearing of a forest. A warm breeze blew through his hair and the sounds of birds chirping could be heard all around. He held out his hand and a dove flew down, landing on is outstretched arm. With his other hand, Ben reached up and patted the bird on the head. The bird quickly turned its head, facing behind Ben from the direction he had entered the clearing. Spooked by something, the bird flew off. It was then that Ben noticed that the other birds had stopped chirping and the warm breeze no longer blew, in fact it felt as if the air was getting colder by the second. Turning back the way he came, he saw red eyes staring out at him. "We've docked," a voice resounded through the woods."

Ben opened his eyes and uncrossed his legs since he was done meditating. Before him stood Rorik Grey, a Jedi Padawan that Ben knew little about. He did agree however with Rorik's assessment of what was to be expected from the BLA. He looked to his own padawan that he had brought along for the mission. Tali Werin, he and his brother were rarely seen apart, but they were this time because Shalge had a different master. Standing up, he walked towards the landing ramp. "Best not keep them waiting." Pressing a button on the control panel, the ramp descended.

 

[Apocrypha]

"If it's okay with you," Rorik began, as the trio descended the freighter's docking ramp to the cold permacrete pad below, "I'd like to do the talking - try my hand at politics, as it were." Turning towards the narrow walkway leading away from their ship, Rorik intercepted the party of three that had come to greet them. Bowing, he introduced himself: "I am Rorik Grey," he said, motioning towards the pair behind him; "This is Ben Losan," he explained, and then motioned towards the younger Jedi, "and his student, Tali Werin." Clasping his hands behind his back, he smiled warmly at the ambassadorial squad.

"A pleasure," the woman in the center of the group replied, returning his smile. "My name is Alta Biron; I am the Chief Executive of the Bespin Laborer Authority. This," she swept her hand towards the shorter, dark-skinned young man to her left, "is Jori Surrol, my Chief of Security." Upon further inspected, Jori - at first glance fairly unimposing - was indeed a muscular young man, a heavy blaster pistol holstered in a low-slung gun belt at his hip and a red-and-white patch sewed onto the breast of his similarly colored tunic. Jori nodded, curtly, clearly all business. "This," Alta continued, indicating the woman to her right, "is Moira Surrol, Jori's twin sister, and my personal assistant." It was true; the pair looked almost identical, save for their more gender-specific features.

"How kind of you to meet us in person so quickly," Rorik replied, his tone bearing the hint of a question.

"Yes, it is a bit unorthodox," Alta replied, "and Jori himself advised against it - but I didn't want to delay our discussion with an envoy. Besides, you're our honored guests; it wouldn't fit to send an intermediary." She smiled kindly; Alta was an attractive woman, just a few inches shorter than Rorik, with lengthy auburn hair tied up into a bun. The lines on her young face, however, spoke of hardship and struggle. Regardless, she had an honest face and commanded your trust quite easily.

"We're grateful," the young Padawan said. "Now, if it isn't too much trouble, we would love a tour of the facility."

* * *​

She hated the ventilator masks: they obliterated your peripheral vision, they were too damn hot, and the oval-shaped lenses on the front had a tendency to fog up at any given moment - which, when you were working with the highly volatile tibanna gas mined on Bespin, not to mention the temperamental carbonite blocks used to store and transport the gas off-planet. Why, just last week, one of the blocks had overheated and exploded, killing one worker, maiming another, and wounding three more...

"Hey, there," she grunted, passing another miner; he nodded solemnly, eager to pass through the hot, oven-like ventilation corridor between the tibanna filtration units and the upper decks used for shipping carbonite blocks to the Cloud City commercial hangar bays. Heaving one of the six feet long, four feet wide blocks down the corridor, she paused a beat as the service lift ascended to her level; once inside, the block secured, she punched the lift down towards the filtration units, descending several hundred meters rapidly - nearly to the very bottom of Cloud City.

Filter Floor A was much akin to Filter Floors B through Z: overheated, covered in smog, noisy, and dangerous. Ventilator-and-jumpsuit clad miners hurried to and fro, doing their best to maintain the skyrocketed tibanna production rate - it was a rigged game, of course, with the unit requirements for each miner work cluster set roughly three percent too high to accomplish in a single shift... despite the fact that their shifts lasted nearly sixteen hours, at their longest. Between fatigue, overused and careworn machinery, and the general dangers of tibanna gas mining, workplace injuries were common enough to be an ever present threat.

She hauled the block out of the lift, heading west down the catwalk overlooking Filter Floor A. Bunches of miners, now and again, would quickly slip past her on the catwalk, rushing off towards another station as fast as their feet would carry them. Halfway down the catwalk, she was stopped: a portly man with his own ventilator and red jumpsuit - the red jumpsuits indicating Floor Managers - held up a hand in front of her, indicating with his fingers that she tune in to his shortwave frequency: 66-47. Given the noise level in the filtration units - and the dangers of removing your ventilator mask - communication was done via shortwave radio, with clusters of miners operating the same machinery tuned in to one group band (usually scrawled on a whiteboard on the support strut next to the filters, and each Floor Manager having their own frequency to speak to individual employees on.

"Where's this block going?" the filtered and modulated voice of the portly man hissed into her ear, once she had jacked in to his frequency. She thought she could hear an air of suspicion in his voice - but that was silly, she told herself, a bead of sweat working its way down the back of her neck, entirely unrelated to the room temperature.

"Carb Chamber 6C," she called back, rapping her knuckles across the face of the block. "GMR monitor's FUBAR, Busker on shipping C asked me to return it by hand in case it was volatile." She chuckled into the receiver, shaking her head: "Figured better I get blown sky high than him."

The Floor Manager visibly relaxed, shaking his head at the off-color joke. "All right, move it along, then - double time," he said, clearly eager to get her explosive carbonite block away from his person. She complied with a facetious salute, pushing the block further down the catwalk. Another hundred meters down, she hung a right, down a flight of grated stairs and across an empty corner of the unit towards the far wall; above the wall, in sobering white letters, CARBONITE CHAMBER 6C.

She stopped in front of the door and keyed an ID pass into the wall-mounted security unit next to the door; it hissed open inaudibly amid the noise of the unit, and she quickly slid the carbonite block through the doorway. Inside the chamber were at least a dozen people, tirelessly working to trap filtered tibanna gas inside hunks of carbonite, much like the once drifting towards them on its repulsorlifts, seemingly abandoned. As one of the techs glanced up with a frown, she palmed the detonator in her right hand, hauling ass towards the exit as the brick of carbonite lit the room up like a Star Destroyer's engine bank.

* * *​

"I agree," Rorik sympathized to Alta as the three Jedi and their escort rode the turbolift down from floor 281. "Their living quarters are deplorable, and we'll certainly bring that to the attention of the facility Administrator during our negotiation." Alta, her bodyguard, and her assistant had just given the Jedi Knight and two Padawans a lengthy tour of the miners' cramped quarters - each room barely large enough to support its inhabitant, much less contain anything in the way of a distraction. These men and women worked, lived, and slept in squalor - and Rorik was rapidly developing an aching sympathy for them.

"Next," Alta said, "we'll show you the refineries themselves, and after that we'll entertain a small dinner and show you to your quarters." At least Rorik had been proven right, at any rate.

Disembarking from the turbolift, Rorik's mind flashed a warning; glancing at the corridor around them, he failed to notice the immediate danger, and quirked his brow in confusion. Reaching out with his senses, calling on the Force, he began to detect life forms - moving very rapidly toward the half-dozen of them, their minds an absolute panic. Seconds after that, three men in grey jumpsuits wearing rebreather masks hurtled past them - but Rorik managed to catch the last one by the wrist.

"What?" he demanded in a panic.

"Calm yourself," Rorik said, doing his best to ease the man's mind. "Where are you running from? Or to?"

"Unity First just set off a bomb in the Carbonite Chambers! We're getting the frak out of here, and fast - who knows where else they're gonna strike!"

"A bomb?" Rorik echoed, shocked. He released the young man, who continued to flee, and turned towards Alta; "Where are the Carbonite Chambers? We have to see if we can help." She took off, throwing a glance over her shoulder and shouting, "Come on!" and hurried off, Jori and Moira on her tail and Rorik right behind them.

 

[01010101101]

Despite the seemingly destitute condition of the workers' living conditions, Tali remained skeptical. He knew that it was very possible that Alta had altered their surroundings to encourage sympathy. However, it would be difficult to do so, and the sense of despair and pain permeating the chambers felt real enough. Of course, there might have been a perfectly reasonable, albeit tragic, reason for the workers' hardships. Mining the gas was naturally very dangerous, and miners would have to come to expect death at any corner. In any case, he would have to see what the other side of the argument was...

That is, if he was able to live through the day. The news that a bomb had gone off had utterly shocked the boy. They had received no indication that there were terrorist attacks at the mines. And who was Unity First? Fear gripped Tali's heart as he realized that there was very little chance that they could defuse the situation without getting into a fight. Nevertheless, they would have to try. He gripped his lightsaber as he dashed after Rorik.

 

[Maxx]

Ben picked up one of the sheets, sniffing it. Holding back a gag, he dropped the sheet back onto the bed which he picked it up from. Underneath the sheets were wet spots with what appeared to be mold growing. He had a feeling that the other beds were all in a similar state. He followed after the rest of the escort and his two fellow Jedi. He listened on and off to what Alta said, he was relying more on the Force to pickup on the feelings that surrounded them. For the most part, what he felt was grim, the danger that the process of Tibanna Gas mining could be felt in the worry and nervousness of the workers that hurried around them. And then something else radiated through all the worry, it was fear. And just as quickly as it came, it was gone, along with those which that fear had come from.

Ben managed to start listening again just in time to hear a worker say something to Rorik, "Unity First just set off a bomb in the Carbonite Chambers!" A bomb in the carbonite chambers? With the bomb going off in a room full of Tibanna Gas, there's no telling what kind of damage could have been caused. He avoided touching the lightsaber on his belt as he chased after Rorik, after that vision he had meditating on the ship, he wanted to use the weapon as little as possible.

 

[Apocrypha]

"Take a mask - put it on - don't forget to switch on your ventilation units!"

The swarthy, muscular, though somewhat squat man bellowed commands to the three Jedi and their Laborer Authority guides; ventilator units were passed hand-to-hand outside of the turbolift that would ferry them into the hallway running from the main deck to the filtration units - and, then, to the carbonite chambers, where the "action" was. Rorik passed one unit, and then another, backwards to his Jedi companions. Handed his own, the Padawan slid it around his face, assuring an airtight seal around his ears, nose, and mouth before jimmying the switch on the right temple of the unit: from VC/OFF to VC/ON - stamped neatly on either end - the switch slid right, up, and right again. His ears popped unsettlingly as the ventilator normalized the pressure beneath itself and began its sole duty of filtering the air around it into breathable O2​. Rorik flashed a thumbs-up; he was ready to go.

"Let's do this!"

The party of seven filed into the turbolift and the stocky man punched in his access ID, then sent the elevator hurtling down to the antechamber. He waved his hand in front of the group to get their attention and then held up a few varying finger combinations: 78-44. Recognizing the command, Rorik turned to the other Jedi and indicated the comm unit attached to the lower left side of the ventilator; he adjusted its frequency to #78-44. "Test, test," he said, holding down the PTT queue.

"Five-by-five," their point man confirmed over the channel; as each member of the group relayed their own frequency test, he OK'd their communications in turn. "Bett Chandlar," he introduced himself tersely. "There's not going to be a lot of time to think, so follow my lead - we're going to move down the hallway and into the filtration unit. I don't know how bad the damage is, comms are down across the board in the unit, so expect the worst and you won't be disappointed. Once we move out of the hallway, we'll be on a long catwalk that runs the length of the unit; we're going to proceed three hundred meters to our west - the left - and then hang a left into the emergency storage nearest the explosion's point-of-origin; Carbonite Chamber 6C."

"From there, we'll move straight across the catwalk - north - and down a flight of stairs: directly ahead of the foot of the stairs is the entrance to 6C. I regret to inform you that we don't have any safety gear in the emergency shed; just fire-disperal units and a handful of first-aid kits. We're going to work with what we've been given and hope that's enough; if any of you aren't feeling good about this, go ahead and stay on the turbolift. It'll cruise back to the upper deck in two minutes. I won't hold it against you."

Nobody would be staying on the turbolift, Rorik knew that much; even the youngest of the three Jedi should be able to quell his fear and proceed with the rest of his party, in the name of saving and protecting innocent civilians. As for Alta and her entourage - well, it wouldn't be very reassuring if the Chief Executive of the Bespin Laborer Authority abandoned the people she was meant to be crusading for in their time of need. No, the party of seven would proceed knowingly into peril, and risk each and every one of their lives in the hope of salvaging another's. It was stalwart, to say the least.

The turbolift's primary hatch slid apart and Bett charged forward, Alta, Jori, and Moira right behind him and the three Jedi bringing up the rear. They reached the second turbolift and gathered inside the box, beginning the much shorter ride to the filtration units. Within five minutes, they had arrived; Bett hit the catwalk first, Rorik right behind him. A surge of energy - a warning - blasted across Rorik's psyche, and he threw his hands up in front of him; perhaps two meters away from Bett, maybe another half-second of flight time, was a cluster of shrapnel, held aloft in the air by the Jedi Padawan. Throwing his hands down, the razor-sharp metal plummeted to the deck below, clattering harmlessly against the durasteel floor.

No time for thanks: noxious compressed gases and fire screamed past the group's ears, and it became plain that the room was coming down around them. Rorik did his level best to project an aura of calm and determination to his six allies as they proceeded down the catwalk; three hundred meters west and they came upon an emergency storage room, the doors hissing open inaudibly as Bett queued in his passcode on the terminal next to the door frame. Bett and Rorik moved into the room, and - noting how cramped it was - Rorik motioned for the rest of the group to remain on the catwalk; the two men ferried fire-disperal units - perhaps two feet long, cylindrical, and with wide nozzels at their crowns that sprayed out a viscous, grey, flame-retarding chemical - to each of the group members. Strapping a medkit to their backs, both of them exited the closet and proceeded across the walkway, the five others in tow.

"By the sky!" Bett proclaimed to himself as they closed on Chamber 6C: the door's frame had been warped and blown apart from the inside, twisted and blackened. Pushing forward, they entered the unit; the room was reasonably small, perhaps fifty square feet, with a central freezing pit at its center, various carbonite-inducing mechanisms dangling overhead, with a bank of computers running along the far interior wall - or, they would be, had the explosion not torn apart the majority of the electronics in the room. The northwestern corner of the unit was on fire, and thick black clouds had drifted towards the ceiling. Rorik ducked low and followed Bett, slipping over toppled carts and electronics - until they came across a cluster of bodies.

The Padawan reached out with his senses, probing at each of the bodies in turn. "They've died," he confirmed over his comm unit; "We need to - wait! Wait!" He felt a tingle - barely detectable over the general roar of explosive energy in the room, but it was there nonetheless. "This man, here!" Rorik indicated a lanky man - he was fairly certain it was a man, at any rate - in a blackened-and-frayed jumper, swathes of his skin torched and burnt severely. "He's fading, but he's alive - I'll do what I can to stabilize him, and then we need to go; there's nothing else we can do here!" Abandoning his dispersal unit, Rorik laid his hands across the man's chest and began to channel his energy outward in a light, pleasant hum; he was, as of late, developing his combat skills, but healing the sick and wounded through the Force was his deepest and most evident talent. He was no Sage, but nonetheless, the man's life force began to ebb and flow more steadily as Rorik brought him back from the brink.

After several long moments, the Jedi wavered and nearly collapsed atop the wounded miner, leaning against his knee for support. "Go," he breathed wearily into the comm unit, "get him out of here!" Needing no further encouragement, Bett hauled the lanky casualty onto his broad shoulders and moved towards 6C's entrance, the rest of the group following closely behind. On a whim, Rorik came to an abrupt stop in front of the singed carbonite block, nearly torn apart: clearly, it had been the source of the explosion. Though he was unfamiliar with the technology, he could sense a disturbance in its make-up - something that simply didn't belong. His hands and eyes roved quickly, aware of the ever-encroaching danger of the flames - or even the collapse of the unit - but knowing that what he was doing was important.

Aha! The power cells on the upper lip of the block. They were the most damaged, and seemed to be the catalyst of the explosion; he slipped them out of their coupling and jammed his hand into the slot, feeling around for a moment before withdrawing a small, damaged, orb-like object - or, at least, the husk of one. Without a second thought he slipped it into his tunic and took off after the rest of the group, bounding up the stairs and onto the catwalk; they were nearly home free.

 

[01010101101]

(I really have no idea how to respond to this, so this post might seem butchered and/or stunted)

Tali peered over his shoulder to confirm that Rorik was close behind the group. The boy had to remember to breathe slowly as he was getting oxygen from a mask. The task was difficult, seeing as how there was a chance at another bomb going off at any second. Perhaps if they had time, they could try and sense any other incoming attacks. Obviously, however, time was something they did not have. "Are there any other workers that could possibly be in danger?" Tali called ahead, trying to keep his voice steady. If there were other bombs set to blow, or if the perpetrators were still at work, then everyone in the mine was at risk. How could anyone who wasn't a crew member get down to this level and plant an explosive? There was the horrible suggestion that came from the question: that the attack was an attempt for the miners to gather more sympathy. Though Tali couldn't say for sure, he seriously doubted that even disgruntled workers would risk the lives of innocents in order to get what they wanted. No, this had to be the doing of some separate entity.

Realizing that he had slowed his pace while thinking, the new Padawan quickly rushed to catch up with the main group.

 

[Maxx]

Ben surveyed the extent of the damage as he stood within the Carbonite Chamber of C6 as Padawan Grey focused on healing the man. It was a miracle that the man had survived. Ben didn't know anything about this Unity First group, but he disliked them immediately. If this group was workers down here in the tibanna mines, what did they have to gain from killing their fellow workers? It didn't make sense in his mind and he tried to think of other possibilities but none of them made sense. Ben saw movement out of the corner of his eye and reached out a hand to help steady Rorik as he nearly collapsed. After he got back up to his feet, Ben turned to follow the rest of the group as they left the area.

He ran up beside Alta so that she would know who was talking. "I want all the info you have on this Unity First group, they won't get away with this." Ben turned to look back at C6 which still had smoke coming out through the doorway, and then is eyes drifted to the form of the man that had miraculously survived. "While you're at it, I want to meet with the floor manager, if he's still alive that is."

 

[Apocrypha]

"Of course," the ambassador replied to Ben. "Once we're out of the frying pan we'll sort this out."

"Let's go, folks," Bett shouted over the comm frequency, motioning for the rest of the group to follow him down the catwalk, carrying on towards the turbolift they had used to access the level. Rorik brought up the rear of the group, directly behind Ben and Tali, the ambassador and her escorts wedged between the Jedi and Bett, who had now come to a halt in front of the main turbolift, the surviving miner still slung across his shoulder as the stocky man slammed his fist into the keypad.

"They've marooned us!" he shouted over their frequency, his voiced more lined with anger than panic. "The turbolift is sealed!"

Rorik wheeled about as he felt a hand clap him on the shoulder; behind him, perhaps half a dozen miners - some wounded, others unharmed - had bunched up behind the group. Motioning with his hands, the young Jedi explained what frequency they were on, and the half-dozen stragglers joined them on comms. "What's going on?" one of them asked frantically.

"Nothing," Bett replied sharply, authority in his voice as he did his best to quell the rising fear in the miners. "We're just going to have to find another way off of this level."

"There's an exit hatchway on the western side of the bay," Jori called out over the comm. "I've studied the maps for this area - the hatchway will be sealed in lock-down protocol, though."

"We can deal with that," Rorik replied wearily, patting the lightsaber dangling from his utility belt.

"Even if we can get to the hatch," one of the new survivors began, "it exits into the clouds. Unless you all want to plummet into the core of Bespin, I don't think that's our best route."

"I can handle that, too," Rorik said again, indicating the utility belt once more; "I have a grappling hook. Its capacity should allow two of us to ascend to the surface at a time." Glancing at his fellow Jedi, Rorik grimaced - "One of us will need to go first, so that they can use the Force to send the hook back down each time; then Bett and the injured miner can go, and immediately head to the medical ward."

"I'm going to need help," one of the new miners explained, offering out his hands; they were burned, badly. He wouldn't be able to grip anything with enough force to support himself.

"All right," Rorik agreed, "One of us can go with you." He nodded at Tali, "You go first, then send the hook back down," then to Ben, "You can help the burned man up, and I'll come up last."

 

[01010101101]

Tali swallowed his fear and nodded. "Alrighty then," he murmured nervously under his breath. Taking the grappling hook, the boy waited for Rorik to slice through the thick doors of the hatch before taking aim. Quickly calculating a rough estimate of where the hook would land, Tali tossed the tool with a heave. It hooked on the rim of the exit. Tugging on the rope a couple of times to make sure it would hold, he slowly began the ascent to the top. Tali almost started a breathing exercise again, but then remembered the injured down below and sped up his movement. The Padawan forced his fear out of his mind, trying his best to ignore what would become of Shalge if he slipped. He stared at a spot a foot away, then another foot...

Before he knew it, Tali had reached the exit. With a sigh of relief, he detached the hook from its grip point and carefully levitated it back to the group down below.