As Jarren squints at the two suns, salty residue cracks at the corners of his eyes and in the creases of his forehead. With the final screw of the cover for the life support line in place, he figures it’s definitely time to go inside and leave the rest of the hull work to the droid.

A-18 is nonplussed by the extreme heat and is working diligently at the tail of the spacecraft, still in the process of removing the remainder of the cowling. What’s left of the cowling is supported by a small plasteel plate that the droid is currently putting the finishing touches on with it’s cutting attachment. Jarren waits for the droid to finish up, watching the cowling begin to sag under it’s own weight as it’s support dwindles. Shortly, the cowling collapses entirely, dangling tenuously for an anxious moment before free falling to the crunchy sand with a final stroke by the droid.

Having completed its task, the droid turns to Jarren to obtain modified orders or to carry out the tasks it had received previously. Jarren tells it that he would like it to remove the sensor array in addition to repairing the hull where the turret used to be. The droid acknowledges the Omwati with it’s customary, emotionless “Affirmative”.

With that settled, Jarren heads up the ladder and back inside the Nerf Chop, locking the outer door once inside. The cool, conditioned air washes over him, startling him and causing him to inhale shaprly. He breathes deeply, pleased to be out of the intense heat and satisfied that he can now relax a little, make some minor repairs inside, and spend some quality time with the two Twi’leks.

Before he can truly relax though, he decides to head up to the cockpit to have some water and listen in on any Imperial radio chatter. On the way, he passes Y-3P0 in the hallway between the crew exit and the rest area where the holoplayer continues in its endless cycle. The protocol droid, who is working overhead on some unfathomable problem, mumbles a curt “Pardon me!” but assiduously continues its task with the steady pace of a machine.

Grabbing a silvery pouch of water and plopping down in the pilot’s seat is quite a relief for Jarren. Three hours on Tatooine can certainly be draining. He takes a long drink from the pouch and settles in to listen to the radio, closing his eyes. For some time he listens, but the radio is mostly silent, although it is occasionally interspersed with banal and tedious directives among the local Storm Trooper garrison. From what he can gather, the Imperials are on patrol somewhere to the southwest of their base of operations. Cross-referencing some intercepted coordinates with the nav computer puts their base at about 40 clicks to the northwest. Jarren feels somewhat relieved by the normalcy of their conversations and activities, considering himself lucky that they aren’t lurking in his area. He’s also comforted by the fact that this ship was fortunate enough to have an Imperial radio scanner built in – a highly illegal radio scanner.

Feeling much more satisfied about his situation, Jarren leans back in thought, putting his hands behind his head. About three more hours he calculates, and the ship will be flyable again. Time to get a little more personal with Sheela and Lo’mink, he figures as a devious smile unfurls on his face. But first, he grudgingly decides to let the other two know the ETA before heading down into the crew lounge, so pulls out his commlink and sends a message.

---------------------------------

A few minutes earlier…

Ears emits a loud cackle, riding high upon Ian’s shoulder, urging him on like a battle mount. He seems quite pleased by the chaos.

Ian is incensed. He can’t believe the appalling technique and aim of this garbage lout, and has decided to make it his personal mission to rectify the situation. The longhaired, bearded human rushes down the gravel slope, over the flat road leading to the compound, shouting on and on about the man’s shooting. He draws his blaster just and says, "Here, let me show you how to do it right for the love of Pete," before smacking face first into the buzzing force field that apparently he didn’t see.

The proprietor watches the scene with an equal mixture of alarm, curiosity, and disbelief. He thinks to himself, here is a man with what looks like an irradiated rat on his shoulder, looking and shouting like a madman. And, what’s he wearing anyway? Is that a tarp? This guy has spent way to long in the desert, but he does seem to know what he’s talking about.

From his hiding spot, Dex has a bit of a different perspective on the situation. The man is obviously interested in what Ian has to say about his blaster technique as evidenced by his repeated glances at the weapon and his grip on it in response to each piece of advice Ian calls forth. The man also looks somewhat worried by the sudden appearance of Ian from the borders of the wasteland.

As he continues to watch, Dex sees Ears leap off of Ian just before Ian plows into the force field. The backlash from the force field knocks Ian down unceremoniously and he lays there, conscious, but unmoving. If there had been a shred of doubt in Dex’s mind as to whether or not Ian was insane, all doubts were, at that moment, summarily washed away.

“Oooh, “ exclaims the balding man in the compound, cringing in sympathetic pain. He then tucks the blaster into the sash at his waist and rushes up to the gate’s control panel and deactivates the force field. Casting a sidelong glance at the monkey-lizard before focusing on Ian, he asks, “Are you ok buddy?”

Ever helpful, Ears pokes at Ian’s nose with one of his spindly fingers and laughs questioningly, hoping that nothing is seriously wrong with his new friend and it’s all part of the game.

Ian’s body is crackling with pain. It’s as if he’d been struck by lightning. His ears have developed a stinging ring and his vision is a bit blurry, but after a few moments he can breath and move a little again. After a few more seconds he’s able to speak, so makes the most of the opportunity and croaks to the portly man that he’s jerking the trigger.

Still leaning over Ian, the large leathery man can’t stifle his laugh. “Ha ha, you must be ok friend. I thought you were a goner. And, what do you mean, jerking the trigger?” he asks, pulling his blaster out of his sash and aiming it back into the compound at the junk piles and firing off a round.

Ian is able to partially prop himself up on his elbow to watch the shot, every nerve objecting to the movement. "You know, the only way to get good at firing this thing from the quick-draw is to actually practice on someone. We'll work on it together, you and I. Then we set our blasters to stun and shoot at each other. Believe me, after awhile you will get quite tired of being zapped and learn how to fire accurately and quickly."

“Are you nuts? I wouldn’t mind a few pointers, but there’s no way I’m going to stand there and let you take shots at me!” The man’s expression hardens as he eyes Ian’s blaster, suddenly suspicious of his motives. "Who are you anyway?"

Hidden among the boulders, Dex just shakes his head. Still contemplating his next move, his pocket then begins to speak - “Dex, Ian, are you there? ETA on preliminary repairs is approximately 3 hours. I repeat, 3 hours. Over.”