Project Boussh: Something To Crow(e) About
By Kristy Henscheid

Kristy had learned more GFFA-specific expletives in the past few minutes
than she (or Mike or Aaron) could have ever imagined existed.  The
Katarns may not have been sailors, but they were definitely capable of
swearing like them, especially when they were in the middle of enemy
territory and taking fire from at least a squad of stormtroopers.

Whistler had led them several decks down from the place where he'd met
with them, and then they had successfully rigged the Spaarti cylinders
to blow up spectacularly at the time of their choosing.  Kristy
suspected that Korren may have gotten a bit carried away with the
density of explosive charges, but then again Page had his standing
orders, and none of them particularly wanted to see any more clone
warriors running around the universe.

**And definitely no more Thrawn clones, thankyouverymuch,** Kristy
thought as she fell back and searched her pockets for a fresh power pack
for her blaster.  Poor copy of the original he may be, this current
Thrawn was quite clever enough, and she didn't want to know if the
defect in this one's growth could be corrected.  Thankfully, there had
been no re-run of the end of _Vision of the Future_ when they had
arrived in the cloning chamber.  She had enough on her mind without
having disembodied voices coming from out of nowhere and giant floods
ripping through walls.

A blaster bolt from across the room zipped by, close enough to singe
Kristy's long brown hair.  She gritted her teeth and promised herself
yet again to get the lot chopped off as soon as possible.

Their half of the team had begun their exfiltration of the Spaarti
complex (surprisingly deserted, even with the _Admonitor_ at high
alert), wary but casual.  Before they could get to a turbolift and
rejoin the rest of the Katarns, they had been ambushed in the cloning
facility's outer offices by at least a squad and a half of
stormtroopers.  The room was filled with a light, hazy smoke from the
discharge of weapons and their effects on the metal-plated walls,
underlaid by the stink of ozone.

Kristy held her blaster out a bit and released the spent power pack,
letting it clatter to the floor (or, what would have been a clatter, had
there not been a firefight going on over her head).  She slid a new one
home with a flourish and moved closer to the front of the knot of
Katarns huddling for cover behind a computer terminal.

"Tell me you found a way out of this madness while I wasn't looking?"
Kristy said to Page, crouching behind the taller man.

He ducked suddenly, and she followed his lead.  A pair of blaster shots
flashed over their heads to bore through the console behind him.  Fairly
impressive accuracy, for stormies.

"It's not looking good," Katarn One replied, grimacing.  "Not any
diversions in sight."

"Y'know, Boss," Korren leaned in, a blaster in each hand, "we can always
blow the cylinders."

Two, commented, "That's one hell of a diversion."  The last part of his
comment was overrun by a flurry of blaster shots.  The Rodian was
bleeding profusely from a cut over his left ear and had a nasty blaster
burn creasing an arm, but he didn't even seem to notice.

Page scowled again.  "Not one I'd really like to use...but then, I
haven't heard any other suggestions."  Kristy felt his unvoiced regret
for the order keeping the other half of Rescue Team 2 on the deck they'd
vacated when Whistler had told them about the cloning cylinders.  A
commander never admitted mistakes in front of his soldiers...but it
would have been nice to have them covering the demolition group's exit,
instead of remaining on guard several levels above their heads.  She
tried not to think about it and instead focused on the chestplate of a
stormtrooper across the room.  Moments later, she had shot a smoking
crater into it, and the one next to him.

No, wait.  She'd only pulled her trigger once.  How--?

Things started happening all at once.  Blaster fire lit up the smoke in
a sort of red mist as the density of shots increased, seeming to come
from all different directions.  (If there were suspended droplets of
blood contributing to the effect, Kristy did not want to know about
it.)  Most of the stormies shifted their focus to a new source of
opposition coming from right-angles to the Katarns' position.  Two and
Three--a tiny, lithe-limbed Bothan with beautiful silvery fur and a
permanent scowl--took advantage of the chaos to dart across the room and
return fire from behind a desk made of dark wood.  A stormie scored a
hit on Four, who went down in a howl of pain as a chunk of her knee
evaporated in the aforementioned cloud of red mist.  Page popped up from
cover and took down two troops in the blink of an eye, looking just like
any number of action movies.

There was another flurry of blaster bolts, and it was all over.  Silence
reigned for a handful of moments, underscored by Four's small whimpers
from behind clenched teeth.  Then out of the fog, a muscled form in New
Republic battle fatigues appeared, kicking a stormtrooper helmet out of
his way.  Several more followed him, their movements dissipating the
haze in the room.

"You were supposed to stay on point and wait for our return," Page
commented, not a hint of reprimand in his tone.  The rest of the team
slipped out from behind cover and checked over their comrades for
injuries, several pulling out first-aid kits for Four.

"You blokes do realize that this place is gonna do you in, if you
breathe on it the wrong way," a deep, familiarly Down Under-accented
voice came from Wes Janson's mouth.

Kristy blinked, and blinked again.  She stared at Wes, her brows drawing
together behind the rims of her glasses.  His attention was on Page, and
he was scratching the stubble on his chin in a gesture she knew she'd
seen numerous times before.  It couldn't be....?

"Why do you say that, Wes?" she ventured, trying to convince herself
that men from Tanaab had accents like that, too.

He gave her a level look, a disconcerting mix of Maximus and Terry
Thorne despite his longer, curlier hair.  "Who the hell's Wes?"

Page looked over at Kristy, confusion warring with tiredness on his
unremarkable face.  "Tell me the Major's joking."

"I don't think so, One," Kristy began slowly, too shocked to even
believe what her mind was telling her.  "Especially since he's not
Janson, but....Russell Crowe."

"Bloody right, mate."

"What are you doing here?" Kristy demanded, too worried over Wes'
disappearance to get fluttery over the presence of the most talented
actor on Terra.

"Blokes have some wierd action going on around here...and I'm a healthy,
36-year-old Australian male.  I'll be ****ed if I don't want to be a
part of it."

Maybe he didn't know where Wes was.  Kristy was all for retracing their
steps to find out where the pilot had gotten off to, but Katarn Six,
whom Page had left in carge of the second group, apparently had more
important matters on his mind.  The ends of his greenish lekku
twitched.  "Nevermind that.  This ship's about to fall apart, Colonel. 
We hacked into a structural diagnostic and any good tremor near a stress
point will break the whole thing in two.  You can't even think about
blowing that cloning facility with our people still aboard."

Page indulged himself in a good Corellian expletive; Korren had clearly
been on his team for too long.  "Good thing you showed up when you did,
then."  Leaving the rest unspoken, he straightened, walked a few feet ro
relieve the dead, helmetless stormie captain of his spare power packs,
and turned to face his squad.  "Let's move out, people.  Back to the
primary mission."

As he spoke the last few words, the shipwide comm clicked on with a
slight crackle.  Sci's voice was the last one Kristy expected to hear.  

"Attention all personnel. Our Moment Of Triumph, Underestimated Chances.
Repeat: Our Moment Of Triumph, Underestimated Chances. Implement
immediately. That is all." 

Kristy noticed Page's eyes close briefly, and imagined he was probably
trying not to curse again.  But he was all business only seconds later. 
"Okay, belay that.  You heard the man, back to base."

Korren grinned.  "Emperor's Bones!  They really got to Thrawn."

"Holy shit."  Sci's second statement hadn't even registered.  Kristy bit
her bottom lip.  **It's over, it's finally over.**

They jogged at double-time (or as near as they could come, helping a
crippled Four along) to the nearest hangar deck, weapons at the ready. 
Sci's code phrases had said nothing about all ship's personnel being
subdued, so they remained at high alert.  Not too long after leaving the
cloning bays, they met up with Kapp Dendo's team, who had apparently not
been far away.  (Just far enough *not* to hear the sounds of battle and
make themselves useful fifteen minutes ago, Kristy grumbled to herself
as she stretched to keep up with the taller soldiers.)  But maybe now
they'd make themselves useful by finding both squads a way off the
Admonitor before it fell apart around them.  Their ride up here, the
_Pulsar Skate_, had been relegated to the battle, leaving them to find
their own way home.

They were lucky; minutes later Team One led them onto a small
starfighter hanger which fortunately also housed a small personal
transport.  It was a tight fit squeezing twenty-five people into it;
Kristy ended up on Korren's lap, with Russell
Crowe--**ohmigod!!**--giving her one or two uninterpretable looks from
across the cabin.  Soon they were lifting off from the deck and leaving
the _Admonitor_, and Kristy found herself suddenly weighted down with
fatigue.  She let her head rest against Korren's arm, wanting nothing
more than to sleep for a few days.  If she let her eyes close, that's
exactly what would happen....