revivalproject | Coming in at last call!

Entry tags:

Coming in at last call!

WHO: Drake Riley
WHERE: Coruscant
WHAT: Angrily bumbling through unsuccessful social interactions
WHEN: March Event catchall
WARNINGS: Language, but only if you speak Goa'uld

Arrival
For the second time in - what, a week? - Drake woke suddenly and with no idea where he was. And it was getting annoying. At least this time, he didn't feel as though he'd been pushed down a cliff and trampled by an upset moose. The ship gave a judder-

Ship? What? He sat bolt upright and staggered to the front just in time to see the planet spread itself out before them, glittering and vast. Astonished, he couldn't take his eyes off it, and only found a seat by fumbling blindly for one.

Later, after being ushered against every protest into the hotel and subsequently his room, Drake spent a few minutes going over his tablet to make sure it hadn't been damaged, and then promptly left. It wasn't like he had any belongings to unpack, after all.

Shopping
Drake's first impression of Coruscant was that it reminded him a bit of Tokyo. Except that he'd never been to Tokyo. But he knew it was vast and crowded and cluttered with bright signs, and he expected he wouldn't like the smell of all the street foods mingling with the steam drifting up from manholes, and he was assaulted by all of that the moment he left the hotel.

The first thing he tried looking for was an adapter for his tablet, both for powering it and for interfacing with new technologies he might encounter. (He didn't have much luck, only finding a few little scraps he could try splicing together later.) The next thing he looked for were any items that could replace what he'd lost in coming here: a proper torch, a canteen, waterproof matches or firesteel, binoculars, water tablets, a first aid kit, a weapon, and definitely some meal bars. Maybe a small shaving kit if he had room. So far, he's only found some meal replacement bars and a flashlight, and his increasing agitation with being unable to communicate with the shopkeeper (who he's sure is holding out on him for a better price, but is actually just getting fed up with his tone) is about to get him kicked out.

Underground
It didn't take long for Drake to get himself thrown out of the establishment, after which he'd yelled "Kel kek, mikta!" which didn't mean anything to the shopkeeper, but was clearly an insult if the rude gesture that accompanied it was anything to go by. They'd squealed angrily and thrown a small, hard bag of something foul smelling at him.

WELL.

It wasn't his fault they were too thick to understand easy-to-decipher body language regarding drinking, shooting, and bandaging (but could, for some reason, understand when he was calling them stupid). Oh well. That was fine. No upstanding citizen would sell a weapon to some random stranger without an identification, mailing address, or even a background to check, anyway, so he'd go looking elsewhere. After asking around here and there, Drake began to get the impression that he could buy just about anything he wanted the further down he went. No one really warned him about the violence down there, though.

That's how he wound up pinned against a wall with a blaster under his chin when he'd made too quick a move to reach into one of his pockets.

Late lunch/Early dinner
If no one came to his aide, he'll have escaped by offering up all of the power bars he'd bought earlier, claiming that they had "sun" in them - which he assumed they did. Vitamin D, that is, which appeared to be distinctly lacking down there. Weapon or no weapon, Drake will have taken the experience as a cue to retreat.

Tired, shaken, a bit smelly, and hardly having found anything on his shopping list, he turned his focus toward dining. He'd have given anything for a P.F. Chang's. Just someplace quiet to gather what remained of his wits, have something warm to drink, and try to calm down and formulate a plan. And have something to eat, obviously. He was starving.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Cal blinked. "Agra- yeah, actually." He had to laugh. What coincidence. Or perhaps it was the Force.

"Huh. Well I guess it's not the first time that the Agrii have directly transported people over to where everyone else was sent. But that's exactly it. I'm hoping to find some components that will help with converting things over once we get back."

"As in power conversion, adapters, etcetera." He supplied without actually asking for a confirmation. It was precisely the sort of thing he was also on the hunt for.

Drake pulled his tablet from inside his tac vest. "I'm looking for a number of things, besides a replacement sidearm. My tablet is about halfway down, and I'll need to find a way to charge it without worrying about overload. I need a nineteen-and-a-half volt, three-point-three amp cable, but I'm finding that cables aren't well labeled here."

That the man appeared to know just what he was talking about was definitely useful. "Chances are you won't find anything exactly like you're looking for, but if you can translate the power output you'd need to a more relatable equivalent, then that'll cut down on difficulties for what to look for. But that shouldn't be difficult."

Cal studied the tablet, notably different than the ones the Agrii provided. "The Agrii use power rods that can be inserted into equipment back in Temba. They can be recharged at the power station or through portable chargers but those are less common. So there's also that to consider."

"Yes, I'm familiar with crystal technology," Drake said, taking back the tablet (which is a hefty, rugged model that looks a bit like this, only with a lovely Velcro sleeve and a carrying handle).

"Might take some getting used to, but I picked up Ancient pretty well, so Agrii tech should be a snap. In either case, it won't be the first time I've had to improvise." He frowned at its blank screen, powered down to save what battery there was left, and put it back into his vest.

"Anyway, if you're familiar with how and where I can find useful supplies, I'd certainly appreciate the help. I've got quite a shopping list prepared, and if this world is half as advanced as I've been led to understand, it should have everything I'll want: sidearm, binoculars, thermographic camera, etcetera," he ticked them off on his fingers, "maybe some lab equipment, instruments for analysis and measurement, computers, quantitative imaging software, batteries, magnets, that sort of thing. There isn't a Radio Shack or an army surplus store conveniently nearby, is there?"

"It seems like there's something about Agrii-anything that just doesn't make enough sense to be grasped without their datapoints, unfortunately," Cal explained. "You can't even fly the ships they provided without that specific information. Same goes for making any sense of their tech to fix it. I'm not quite sure how that's managed, but that's pretty much how it works on Agra Ten."

At least most of the things that Drake mentioned were familiar enough. Cal had no doubt they'd be able to find such things. "Might have to go elsewhere for lab equipment and more delicate equipment like all that, but it'll be levels up rather than down, at least." The question of a Radio Shack is lost on him, naturally. "Not sure about an army surplus store. This Coruscant is centuries older than the one I know."

When Cal suggested that Agrii technology was unlearnable, Drake gave him his cockiest smirk, and even a little chuckle.

"We'll see about that."

Then he clapped his hands together, all business.

"Right. Since we're already down here, let's grab what's found down here. Parts for you, a sidearm for me. Utility knife wouldn't go too wrong either."

Cal exchanged a look with BD-1 before shrugging. He was open to being proven wrong, but there were a lot of things on Agra 10 that really made no sense, the situation included.

"All right. Let's try that way. Stick close, and try not to make eye contact with anyone. If there's anything that catches your interest, don't make too sudden moves."

Cal was clearly much more diplomatic than Drake and understood the local culture to boot, so Drake didn't think twice before falling into the familiar team role of following and taking direction.

It didn't take too long for him to see something that begged a closer look: a small blaster pistol that bore a strong resemblance to a Colt M9. Being so recognizable meant it would probably be easy to get the hang of, and he gave Cal a nudge with his elbow.

"D'you see that? You reckon it's legal to own?"

Well, Jedi were encouraged to handle things peacefully when at all possible. Cal only had one weapon on him and he wasn't very eager to go brandishing such an identifiable thing such a lightsaber around here.

Once something caught Drake's eye, Cal glanced over at the other weapons that were on hand, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "It might be. I'll admit I'm not exactly an expert on firearms, but I don't think they'd openly display anything that was questionable."

He steered them closer for a better look, offering the vendor a nod.

Drake had just been threatened with a blaster in a dark and grimy part of the city where it was apparently normal to sell questioinable objects and accost people suspected of being thieves or narcs or what-have-you. As such, he had his doubts that merchants down here adhered to any kind of legal ethic in regards to their wares and made a face that suggested as much. Still. He liked the familiar look of the weapon and pointed to it with a silent, questioning look. (He had learned by now that not everyone could understand him and that it was a bad idea to just grab at things - especially down here.)

Fortunately, the merchant just nodded and held a hand out, waving it over the entire display in an apparent invitation to browse.

The blaster (or was it a projectile? It was hard to tell from the outside.) felt heavy and solid in his hand as he weighed it. The grip was unfamiliar, and he didn't know if he'd need ammunition or a charging cable, but he liked it nonetheless.

"How much for this one?"

Cal simply shrugged back at Drake's expression, but as they engaged the merchant, the young padawan remained on his guard. At least this one didn't seem so paranoid; in fact, the merchant almost looked bored.

Looking over the other weapons there, Cal found nothing particularly of interest to him. He hadn't ever really tried using a firearm, the closest perhaps being when one of the troopers in his old battalion had let him hold one of their DC-15s, and that had been rather massive to a fourteen year old.

The merchant quoted two hundred and fifty credits for the blaster Drake was looking over.

He tried to keep his face impassive, he really did, but two hundred and fifty credits was something like (he did some quick conversion math in his head from credits to dollars to pounds) well, almost four hundred pounds! What he didn't know was that nearly four hundred pounds wasn't that unreasonable and was probably close to what his Glock had cost the RAF.

But...he really wanted to be armed with something. And he'd been informed that the credits were unlimited (which was economically boggling, but he wasn't an economist so he tried not to think about it).

"Two hundred."

He'd also been told that people liked to haggle here.

A gleam, like something of a challenge accepted, touched the merchant's eye though he kept his own face poker-stoic. "Two twenty-five," he said, eyeing Drake.

Cal glanced at them and then the weapon in question, but he decided to let Drake handle things. He really had no gauge for prices to know if it was fair or overpriced, and he was certain that the merchant had been dealing for quite some time that he was a difficult read.

Oh, he wanted to play hardball, did he? Drake made a show of looking skeptical.

"Two twenty."

He had to admit, this might be sort of fun. (If inefficient.)

The merchant's brow twitched. He grunted, nodding. "Fine. Two hundred and twenty credits," he said, a large hand extending for payment. Only after it was received would he add with a greasy leer, "Extra charge-pack, is twenty-five credits."

Cal hid a smirk as he turned to look at some of the other weapons. The guy reminded him of some of the shopowners back on Bracca in what amounted for a commercial district.

Drake didn't have an excellent poker face and when the merchant caught him off guard, he looked mortally offended. The merchant seemed to find this uproarously funny and slapped his big hand on the counter a couple of times before holding it out again, making grabby motions.

The extra 25 credits were smacked ill-temperedly into the merchant's hand while Drake maintained glowering eye contact, and then held his own hand out.

"All right, then, it's not that funny."

"It really is, small one."

"WHAT-"

"Learn to make less face, hm?"

"EXCUSE M-"

"Here is your weapon. Don't wave it around, now."

Drake looked like he was about to pop. He snatched the blaster (and the charge-pack) and crammed it into his thigh holster. It didn't fit very well, but it would do. Then he turned away with a disgusted huff.

"Let's go."

All things considered, the exchange went well at least. Cal was extremely thankful that the merchant was tolerant of Drake's outbursts. He supposed even they had to find some way to be entertained.

Smiling crookedly, the padawan nodded a farewell at the merchant before turning to follow Drake. "Could have gone worse," he suggested.

"That's annoyingly true," Drake grumbled, remembering being threatened with his life literally twenty minutes ago.

"But it's one item crossed off the list, at least! Lookit this baby!" He pulled the blaster from his holster to admire it and despite the merchant's advice, attempted a cowboy twirl. Having a new weapon didn't magically grant him the ability to spin it, however, and he fumbled and almost dropped it before reluctantly tucking it away again.

He cleared his throat.

"Well. With that out of the way, I suppose the next thing I should look for are raw materials. Trinium. Naquadah. Rare metals and minerals that have unusual potential might be found in a black market, if not in the field. You know of anyone selling rare substances? Or coordinates to where they can be mined?"

Cal had to grin at Drake's enthusiasm, even if he kept on his guard as the man brought his new weapon out to show off. At least it was quickly stowed away after the slip. He was sure a dropped weapon would have drawn more attention, but he glanced around them either way, just to make sure no wandering eyes had drifted their way.

"I don't think I've heard of those materials before. Remember, this galaxy may not be a part of any known space you're familiar with. But as far as that sort of thing in general, I don't think you'll find anywhere to mine on this planet, and I don't think we'll have the time for a trip off-world somewhere." He arched a brow at the man. "How much material are you looking to acquire anyway? That sort of thing might not be kept in bulk around here, you might end up having to get it shipped from elsewhere or go pick it up yourself, which would be both dangerous and time-consuming."

Not to mention impossible if they weren't allowed to leave the planet.

Drake listened intently, his brow lowering more and more in thoughtful concern.

"Right..." he finally muttered. "We don't have those materials on Earth, either. They've been found throughout the Milky Way galaxy, though, so it's reasonable to assume that it can be found in scattered pockets across the known universe, given the right conditions for composition and formation. Stars are all made the same way, after all."

Now, 'don't think we'll have the time'. That was a problem. He hadn't seen or heard a single reference to any Stargates, Chappa'ai, Ancestral Rings, Big Spinny Round Things, or Stable Wormhole Generating Devices. As lovely as FTL ships were, it was only through Stargates that efficient intergalactic travel could take place.

Cal's last question jolted him out of his thoughts.

"Sorry- what? How much? Well. Well, a steady source would be nice, but...a lot. Can't build without materials. I could build a generator with enough refined naquadah - not out of naquadah, mind, but to draw energy from it. Trinium is a light, stronger-than-steel metal that could be useful in defensive and space-ready equipment. The applications are really endless, making the need similarly...well, you know."

Cal frowned thoughtfully. "I'm sure you've seen the size of our shuttles. We have limited capacity, and at least four other people aboard. Amount and weight aside, I'm supposing you'd probably need specific equipment to make use of said materials, and possibly other parts for any particular design..."

He arched a brow at Drake to see if he was right on his assumptions.

Drake has had to say goodbye to valuable materials and knowledge before, usually under emergency circumstances, but it was never not a frustrating experience. He had similar problems with authority and appropriated funds. More than a few times, he'd been on the verge of a breakthrough, only to have his funding cut or his project aburptly halted or handed to another department, and don't even get him started on about devoting research to his own personal interests. If it didn't hold some great potential benefit for the program, you could forget about it. And even if it did, it hinged on how likely his R&D was to achieve desired results and whether the expendature was worth the benefit.

Limitations were the worst.

"Equipment...is on the list." He said slowly. Ugh. Priorities. Okay. Alright, then. He supposed he would have to prioritize equipment and make do with whatever materials were on Agra-10.

"Right." A Very Loud Sigh. "Maybe in time, we can organize mining expeditions on Agra-10. You're right. I'll need analytical and manufacturing equipment."

At least the man was reasonable. Cal wasn't meaning to shoot down his plans, but he was trying to keep it practical. He could see how one might get carried away with an unspecified credit supply, and while stocking up on things wasn't a bad idea, they did have to keep in mind that unlike their credits, their storage space was finite.

"There is a mine marked on Agra Ten but I don't know what might have been gathered there. ...just what are you wanting to make anyway?"

Drake would have argued that what he wanted to bring back almost certainly trumped whatever useless junk everyone else wanted. In fact, if given the chance, he would probably complain that this trip hadn't been better planned and coordinated so that each member of the expedition had a list of things to look for and retrieve. (You there, you'll be getting foodstuffs, and try to keep it mostly shelf stable items. And you, you'll look for medical supplies. You'll be gathering agricultural devleopment equipment, seeds, bulbs, etc.)

But that was beyond helping at this point, anyway. What did he want to build?

"Uh, everything." Drake said with a little chuckle. "Whatever needs made, which, from what I've seen, is a lot. Better ships, for a start, or at least improvements on the ones there are. I want to have a look at power generation, find out if there's any evidence of a shields system, take and study readings on those energy storms so I can build one if there isn't. You know. Necessary improvements to support a functioning society."

Cal smiled crookedly. "Your forethought's appreciated but I think it'll have to be narrowed down as much as possible. I think when it comes to ships improvements are probably the better way to go. We just don't have the means nor the manpower to build a better one from scratch."

He tilted his head again. "You haven't been to Agra Ten yet, have you? From what we can tell there's no shielding system. I'm sure the Agrii would have put it to use if they'd had the means, but then again I'm not sure how well it would help."

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