With a sudden flash of insight, Dex tells Jarren and Ian that he’ll be right back before disappearing up the ladder into the ship. He gives himself a mental slap to the head for not thinking of looking for a commlink earlier but is glad he thought of it before getting halfway to the settlement and not being able to contact the split up party.

Standing back inside the blessedly cool ship, Dex doesn’t have to look far for a comm station. Unsuprisingly, there is one about two meters away near the crew door, clearly labeled “Communications” in Basic. This comm station, like all of the others sparsely distributed throughout the ship at key points, is an unremarkable gray box with a speaker and some function knobs such as volume and a channel selector. Snapped on the side of the box in clip style fasteners are two remote commlinks, again clearly labeled. Each of the small commlinks are cylindrical devices composed of a speaker/microphone combination , approximately five centimeters in length – perfect for slipping into a pocket or holding in the palm of one’s hand (no matter what your race). Pleased with his foresight, Dex pockets one of the remotes after a quick test to make sure it works.

Before rejoining his unlikely companions, Dex walks the short distance to the flight deck, spotting the pile of supplies Jarren had gathered to keep them from the greedy clutches of the monkey-lizard. Knowing full well that the desert is real and unforgiving, not some happy-go-lucky dream world, he picks out several water pods for his megalomaniacal travelling partner, having noticed that he wasn’t packing any. He also checks around the cockpit and boarding area for some electrobinoculars without any luck. Disappointed, but satisfied now, he heads back out the hatch, into the oppressive heat.

Perched on Ian’s shoulder, Ears is looking none too happy with this latest turn of fortune. The heat is already disturbing the obnoxious little creature who’s latest cackle has a bit of an edge to it as Ian playfully pokes at it with his free hand. The creature wistfully looks back at the nice, cool ship, but has second thoughts when it sees the Blue Man who has murder in his eyes. The Blue Man is also “examining” his death stick (blaster), but Ears knows that it’s a threat.

Dex hands off the extra water supplies to Ian wondering if he’s going to have to babysit him and his “pet” for the duration of their time on this miserable planet. Once Ian finds a place for the water pouches under his makeshift poncho, Dex lets the other two know about the comm link and tells Jarren about the other one still left at the comm station. He suggests that Jarren keep it handy in case he ends up outside working on the ship or something else crops up.

With an unceremonious nod to Jarren, Dex, Ian, and Ears set out for the settlement, heading toward the mountain peaks that can be seen rising above the permanently obscured horizon. Waves of heat roll off of the plateau, blurring the land features at a distance and concealing the details of what lies ahead. Ian marches forth as if he’s at the head of some conquering army or important diplomatic procession, singularly unaffected by the bleak landscape and punishing heat. Ears, the royal advisor, clings on, sucking on a liberated water pouch, much bolstered from his mildly careening friend’s carefree, positive attitude. Dex follows behind with dreams of fortune and power floating around his head, his pragmatic turban getting a fresh dousing of liquid, keeping the walk bearable and protecting his shaved head from sunburn.

Once the two odd humans and that god-forsaken monkey-lizard have dematerialized into the shimmering haze, Jarren stands back looking at the crippled ship with a sigh, leery of the tasks ahead. Deciding that there is no time like the present, he scales the ladder and enters the ship to seek out the protocol droid that should have some information by now that he can cross-reference with the information he gleaned from his inspection.

Once inside Jarren turns left to go amidships where the maintenance interface is located. Getting closer, he can see the maroon droid looking over the control panel. The metalic panel has several readouts and some droid access ports. At the moment, the droid is reviewing one of those readouts alternating between various canned phrases of dismay as he assesses the systems.

“Oh, there you are Master Jarren. I have spoken with the ship as you requested. Dreadful news sir…” The droid continues on, recounting the list of damages to the ship that Jarren is already aware of as well as some internal issues he wasn’t. Jarren adds the new damages to his mental list and prioritizes them.

First, he figures, the cowling needs to be torched off of the hull to clear the engine’s thrusters. Once that’s done, at least the ship will be somewhat mobile. He should be able to fly it around the planet as long as he keeps it slow and low considering priority number two – life support. Life support definitely has to be fixed before any serious flying takes place, and absolutely must be repaired before space flight will again be possible. The droid confirms his suspicion that the ship’s supply of liquid gasses has been exhausted due to the breach in the hull. They will have to be resupplied as well even after a fix is made to the system. As for the rest, parts will be required, specifically for the sensor array and the turret dome. It might be possible to patch-weld a plate over the turret hole if the jagged shards are cut off and a large enough piece can be found.

All of the sudden, Jarren is inspired. He realizes that there are droids here and he won’t have to do all of the work himself. The more he thinks about it, he doesn’t see why A-18 wouldn’t be able to smooth out the turret damage and even cut off the fallen cowling with his welding attachments. The protocol droid could probably handle some of the minor repairs in the ship as well.

Before issuing orders to the droids and proceeding with repairs himself, however, he remembers he wanted to see if he could slice the ship’s security codes, so he steps up to the panel to give it a shot. The scorched protocol droid looks on passively as Jarren spends the next few minutes concentrating on his task, using the full range of his extensive computer skills. He manages to change the codes for basic ship functionality and silently congratulates himself for managing that. He’s blocked at every turn, however, when he tries to make any changes to the ship’s registry, transponder codes, or ownership information. After several more minutes of getting nowhere, he figures he will have to be satisfied with accessing and changing the basic command codes. At least the ship will be functional and under his control for now, he thinks.

Before heading to the cargo area, Jarren issues his orders to the two droids, telling A-18 to head outside and use his cutting torch to dislodge the cowling. When it’s finished with that, he tells it to cut off the turret wreckage then see if it can remove the sensor array. He tasks the protocol droid with fixing internal issues.

Once the droids are underway, Jarren takes a look around for tools. Clearly marked on one of the outer walls near a bulkhead frame, he finds the ship’s tools. It’s not overly stocked with tools such as mechanics kits at space docks, but it’s adequate to take care of most standard repairs. He unties the binding straps and carries the tools out to get to work, letting the protocol droid know that he has the toolkit should it require any of them.

Having another interesting thought on the way back, he stops at the holo player in the crew rest area adjacent to the cargo bay and pops in a copy of "Secrets of Twi'light". All that he gets is a flicker from the holo player. Upset, he gives it a sharp kick with the heel of his foot. The holo begins to play in slow motion, about half speed. Two beautiful and alluring Twi'leks wearing flowing clothing that gives hints at what lies underneath begin to dance, circling one another in seduction …

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After a couple hours of walking under the merciless eyes of Tatoo I and II, the procession isn’t nearly as upbeat as when it started. Nevertheless, the ragtag party treks on. The settlement is still nowhere to be seen, which is beginning to cause some alarm, but at least the landscape seems to be changing. The flat, nearly featureless plateau is giving way to rocky rolling hills and low wind-carved arroyos. Nearing the crest of one of those rolling hills the three had been climbing to get a better view of the surrounding area (and tearing the corner off of yet another water pouch), the uncanny sound of blaster fire echoes from a distance. First one shot, then another every few seconds, repeating for a while before stopping. The blaster fire is obviously not coming from anywhere nearby, probably about half a kilometer or so ahead judging from the volume of the sound. It’s definitely coming from the direction the group was heading, however.