The narrow corridor of the Garamynthe Sector has long been a contested stretch of space between two spacefaring civilizations, a rift characterized by a seemingly endless series of incursions and skirmishes. But its location, wedged between both civilizations and controlled by neither makes it an invaluable trading passage for traders trying to smuggle illicit materials or avoid taxation by the governments flanking it on either side. Known as the Cemetery Corridor, it has given birth to a booming industry of pirates and scavengers. The ADD light cargo ship The Nostradamus is the Passage's newest resident. Gutted by stray fire from laser batteries, the ship was an unknown quantity, carrying confidential cargo. Whatever it was, the ADD's willingness to risk travel through Garamynthe suggests its value.

Tylna Ky'Ln's value as cargo was significantly lesser. A petty thief and pirate who's rap sheet was only remarkable in its length, was the only guest in The Nostradamus' brig, likely taken aboard the transport as a means to entertain the crew more than out of a sense of justice. Now, she may well be the ship's last survivor. She hasn't exactly been shedding tears over that fact. The ADD are hardly a more merciful captor than slavers, pirates, or the local law dogs. The organization breeds corruption, and Tylna was little more than an amusing dalliance for the bored crew. Her translation collar was taken along with her clothes, standardized procedure; it did wonders to dehumanize the captive in the minds of its captors when communication was no longer possible. The crash itself was followed by two long, hungry, lean days in her tiny cell, with no one to bring her food. But a short time ago, the ship deallocated power from the detention cell back to the core. The mess hall was Tylna's first stop, and she feasted like a queen. Never one to pass up an opportunity, she's spent the time since rooting through the skeleton of a ship for anything of value before she hustles to the escape pods.

She struts with a casual, bouncy step through the halls of the storage bays. The ship is massive by any means and she savors the opportunity to have this place to herself, Queen of her own private drifting castle, solitary Pirate Captain. Her tail sways in the slit cut out of the enormous Captain's coat she poached, a coat about twice her size, dragging with a soft swish-swish against the steel flooring of the ship. She donned it not out of modesty but due to its quantity of pockets, now stuffed wih food and shiny trinkets. She hops from container to container, dipping her nose in each one, digging through them like an inquisitive mouse, tail held high. She pauses, brief, skittish, ears perked high on her head as she fancies a sound down the hall. Chuffs, growls, howls. Did she imagine it? She must have. But her body remains tightly bound, frozen stock still as she keeps her ears readied.

It's rare indeed to find an ADD ship in the Cemetery Corridor, and when the Helios came across it, the Captain knew immediately that it was worth a closer look. The standard away team was quickly called to order and dispatched, flying out in a transport ship while the Helios sneaks away to a safe hiding place. And as Tylna is beginning to explore the storage bays, the transport is connecting to an empty airlock just next to the escape pods....

The doors to the airlock judder slightly, but stop only an inch apart, lacking the necessary power to open the rest of the way. Suddenly two massive taloned hands thrust between the doors, slowly dragging them apart until there's just enough room for the broad-shouldered Silverbeasts to enter. <Nice work, Treetrunk.> <...Thanks.>

The five members of the team squeeze through the gap, shooting the breeze as they go. The Silverbeasts' native language was guttural, full of growled R's, hard K's and the occasional snorts and hisses. <Finally some action! I've been feeling seriously cooped up.> <Yeah, some "action". Rooting through a dead ship isn't my idea of fun.> <As long as I get my talons on some of the ADD's files, I'll be -->

A hard cough breaks up the conversation. Starcall steps up in front of his four subordinates, who quickly line up to listen to his commands. <Alright, ladies, you know the mission,> he barks. <We search the ship, grab whatever we can salvage, and then see if it's worth breaking this thing down for scrap. We don't expect any real danger, but keep a channel open just in case. And if the ADD shows up to get their shit back, we get out at top speed. Got it?> He slams one talon against the metal wall, causing a resounding clang to echo down the halls. <Then let's move!>

The away team howls in unison, then hits the ground running, branching off in five different directions and beginning to scour the ship for anything -- everything -- worthwhile.

She loosens, finally letting out her breath in a long exhale. Probably just engine noise. Deft fingers reach into an inner pocket, fishing through. Her hand draws back out with a big roll of crusty sweet bread; two fingers return sporting a couple of shiny rings. Her tail sways, admiring fingers while she wolfs down the loaf whole. The clothing doesn't concern her but the collar does. She feels naked without it. A soft thump sounds as her lithe body leaps from one cargo container to the next, coiled over the lid of the thing, bright halogen bulbs flickering and waning, casting gray over the sterile wilderness of the cargo hold.

[SCREEEEEEECH]

She certainly hears that, as the whole weight of the enormous crate shudders beneath her. Her tail swishes to stabilize herself, clinging to the lid, eyes wide. A collision with debris, maybe? An asteroid? She crawls over to the corner of the container, hanging half over the edge as she peers down the hall. There's voices approaching. No. Less voices than growls and grunts. A sharp finger trails her collarbone, where the translator should be, a slight frown twitching into place.

Running on all fours, the away team is surprisingly fast for such huge creatures. It isn't long before the five Silverbeasts are scattered around the ship's corridors, updating each other on their status through communicators clipped into the fur of their manes. <I'm gonna get this computer up and running, see what's on it,> Gearshifter comments. <...This looks like the brig,> Treetrunk says.

It isn't long before one particular voice comes very close to the storage bays, accompanied by slow, methodical stomps. A massive hulking shadow falls over the doorway to the bay Tylna is currently in.... and then an enormous beast is revealed, placing his talons on the doorjam as he peers into the room. <Damn. I've found the storage bay,> Rockslide says, tapping the communicator that sits below his neck. <And there is a lot here. I'm going to start looking for the best stuff. When you guys are finished exploring, come join me. I think we'll want most of this.>

The shark-like beast steps into the bay, long sharp teeth showing in a grin as he surveys the series of boxes. Tylna hasn't caught his attention yet, but if he keeps looking around the way he is, he may see her soon. For now, he shoves a claw underneath the lid of a cargo container and works on prying it loose to see the contents.

Damn... She didn't know the ADD kept guard dogs. Fur stands on end as she watches the hulking, muscle-bound creature cut across the floor. She's safe for the moment, perched above his line of sight, carefully holding her center of gravity as she dangles over the edge of the crate. His speech just sounds like animalistic growls to her. The bay's stock looked like nothing of interest to her but to the monster.

Oh... Maybe smarter than it looks. The big silver monster might now know precisely what it is on board, but he can probably tell it's important, heavy duty, disassembled contraband gear, the material for weapons of vast destruction, and the sort of illicit cloaking to get them within restricted airspace. She leans further and further forward, challenging gravity as she tries to get a longer peek at the creature, claws gingerly scratched against the surface of the crate for support, and it's then that a pearl falls from her pocket, a good couple of inches in diameter. In the dead silence of the drifting ship, it clacks loudly against the cement floor as it crashes then rebounds again and again before settling into a roll across the ground.

Rockslide hisses slowly as he sees the contents of the crate. He's never educated himself on the high-tech weaponry the Alliance once provided his people with -- at least not the way Gearshifter has. But he knows powerful tech when he sees it, and this is powerful stuff. <God damn,> he growls under his breath. <I think we're going to need a bigger transport ship....>

The Silverbeast replaces the lid on the crate and turns toward another one, away from Tylna. And it might have ended there, if not for the sudden loud clack that came from behind. <Who's there?!> Rockslide shouts, spinning in an instant in the direction of the sound. He sees the pearl bounce and begin to roll, and his gaze shifts up to where it dropped from. The beast's eyes widen as he sees Tylna perched atop the stack of crates. <A survivor? You there! Identify yourself!> That loud growl is accompanied with the point of a long talon in the furred girl's direction.

Voices ring over Rockslide's communicator, but probably too quiet for Tylna to hear. <Rockslide, who are you talking to?> <What was that noise? You need help down there?>

Eyes widen like saucers, limber little thing acrobatically curled around the edge of the crate. The lights are dim, and the only impression the Silverbeast gets is the shadow of her form, lithe and shapely, draped in over-sized jacket, arched at nimble, curved angles. Eyes glimmer in the dark and she chitters something loudly. Her head tips as she hears the other growls, coming through the speaker, and her voice drops to a low mutter. Tongue flicks out of mouth, taunting the bulky monster before she twists, one smooth motion and she's disappeared back into the shadows, the distant thump of her body vaulting the space to the next crate.

<Oh, we've got a runner,> Rockslide snorts, ears craned to hear the sound of Tylna's landing on the next crate. <I might need some help, Quicksand, she's a fast one.> Bulky the beast might be, and he certainly couldn't match Tylna's speed, but he was remarkably limber nonetheless. He hoisted himself up onto a crate with just one arm, the wooden lid bending under his weight but not quite giving out. Rockslide grinned mockingly before following Tylna into the shadows, leaping from crate to crate with milky white eyes glowing just the slightest bit.

Meanwhile more growls emanated from his communicator. <I'm on it! There any other exits down there?> <I think I can get a map off this computer if you gimme a minute....>

The dim, flickering lighting casts everything in strobe as the silverbeast pursues. She dips and weaves, using the speed to her advantage, quick turns, shifting direction, using his momentum against him. Big monsters are slow to start and slow to stop once they get going, but limber Tylna is more maneuverable. The coat flutters behind her, a hazard, and a weight slowing her down, burdened with contraband as it is, but still a collection she's loathe to part with. She winces at the crunching noise behind her, as the heavy weight of the beast causes the crates beneath him to bend and shudder, each leap splintering heavy wood beneath him, bending steel. The only thought in her head is just exactly how painful would it be to get eaten?

Surely this big, lumbering beast isn't a match for her alone, right? She's quicker, defter, and dare she say, smarter. She's keeping distance on the monster but distance alone won't make the difference. There's only so much space and so much energy. The string of pearls is pulled from her coat pocket, slung behind her. Slippery marble orbs go clattering over the surface of the crate beneath her as she springs to the next box, catching it just with the tips of her claws, body squirming deliciously as she hoists herself up the side of the box.

Rockslide is able to keep up with the nimble little girl, but only barely. Crates crack and shudder beneath his feet, but he ignores it, caring only about the thrill of the hunt. Before long, that leads to his downfall. He doesn't catch the significance of the pearls until he's already landed on the crate, and by then it's too late. His huge feet move in one direction, his body moves in another, and all in all he goes down like a rock. The series of growls that follow as he struggles to regain his footing are pretty obviously profane.

The communicator is still active. Gearshifter is now barking out directions to Quicksand, who pants as he runs full-tilt throughout the corridors. Before long, he's discovered a back entrance into the storage bay where the chase is taking place. This beast is still huge, but shorter and less blatantly muscular than his fellow. Quicksand weaves in between the crates toward the crash and the growling, not leaping up on top just yet.

She turns quick enough to teeter on the edge of the crate, bare toes tickling at empty air as she rocks on her heels, chittering high pitched as she pokes out a wide tongue at the stumbling Silverbeast, savoring the sound of the wood splintering beneath him. Eyes go wide as she peers down at the pursuant on the sawdusted floor below. She makes a pumping motion with closed fist, the galactic call-sign for jerk-off. Oh, obscene sign motions, the one true universal language. And with a spring, she's flinging herself against the high wall. Fingers clutch over the edge of an open duct and for a moment, the two beasts are treated to the tantalizing view of her lithe little body squirming against the wall, as she hoists herself up. The heavy captain's coat hits the floor in her wake, weighted with baubles and jewelry.

And just as soon as she disappears, the whole ship rumbles, the whole floor shaking. Heavy crates slam across the floor of the ship, a couple crashing together in an explosive shrapnel of splinters. Somewhere at the midsection of the ship, an enormous hunk of rock has ripped a sizable hole. From the overhead speakers, a chipper, female AI voice resonates through the din. "Oxygen levels at 20% capacity, power at 25%. The canteen deck is now considered uninhabitable. Tactical systems suggest a mass evacuation of any remaining crew."