How did I get into this mess? Sirahn swiveled his sinuous neck to regard the pair of Corellian sand panthers that had flanked him on the ground-floor of the industrial complex. I really don’t know how.
Letting his heavy pistol clatter to the floor, the Sluissi pushed himself up from the floor, his armor now covered in oily soot, and drew his finely balanced vibrorapier, preparing for the felines’ vicious attack. The screech of metal on metal stole his attention for a split second, giving the panthers an opening to pounce! Luck, the Force, or maybe just good old-fashioned body armor saved the snake-man’s skin as he slithered away from the outstretched claws of the dangerous predators. Shorbecca’s crumpled form still lay several meters away and Sirahn realized that he would have to forfeit some of his own safety in order to get to his friend in time. Or was he already too late. . .
Over the thrum of the ore processors and repeated clashing from above the causeways, Sirahn heard BX-1N call down, alerting him of the incoming ordinance. Like some holovid action star, the mechanic caught the heavily modified carbine one-handed, bringing it to bear against the unsuspecting panthers. His aim steadied by the forearm grip that he himself had installed, the Sluissi loosed the power of the hand-cannon at his foes! But he was ill-prepared for the blaster’s explosive recoil and managed only to graze the beasts.
His luck held when the sand panthers charged a second time, claws barely missing his scaled flesh. He had made it to the Wookie, however, and would not allow his fallen comrade to be savaged by the local fauna. A swift inhalation of the acrid fumes was all Sirahn needed to steady himself for a second shot; he would not need a third. He caught both felines squarely in the blast zone, charring their hides and forcing them to scamper away in terror.
Satisfied with the retreating sound of the panthers’ wounded mewling, Sirahn set to work on the huge shaggy form at his tail. Retrieving his medpac, the mechanic-turned-medic scanned the Wookie. With most of the injuries being internal, there was little the Sluissi could do on the grimy floor of the plant. He hoped the quick hypospray would be enough to stop Shorbecca’s internal organs from starting to shut down.
A high pitch whine was all that Sirahn heard before he was on fire! The small, floating droids had been no concern of his before, but apparently he’d gotten their attention. He eyed the blaster carbine at his side and shrugged. It worked before, right?. But the flying droid-swarm would have none of it and before the first of the flames had even burned themselves out, Sirahn was again treated to his very own laser light show: complete with new, smoking holes in his armor. Instead of the blaster, he turned to a less direct approach. He pulled out his datapad and attempted to hack the laser-balls’ targeting systems; but it was to no avail, as another sweep of laser light flashed around him.
The Sluissi wasn’t the only one suffering some burns, however. The screams of their quarry filled the entire building, as BX-1N went about his grim work. For Sirahn, it was a signal that it was time to ‘run’ and hide under some of the massive durasteel machinery. Ha! Let those lasers cut through this. Relying on fortitude he didn’t even know he’d had, the mechanic eagerly plunged the needle of a stimpack into his blackened flesh. Thank the Force for drugs!
As the pain meds worked their magic to alleviate his agony, Sirahn noticed that one droid was fighting against many. Better to let the one with a metal body deal with those things. After applying a generous helping of bacta-salve to his wounds, and hearing no more blaster fire, the Sluissi crawled out from under the processing equipment. BX-1N agreed that they should make haste in their exit, but only after collecting the trophies of a successful hunt.
What seemed like hours later, Sirahn, BX-1N, and the still-unconscious Shorbecca trudged up the landing ramp of the Fang. Sirahn secured the Wookie in the med-bay and settled in to make sure none of the vital signs dropped too low: though not before administering another carefully-crafted dose of stims to his tender skin.