It'd been several minutes of creaking and groaning...all from the ship. The men were completely silent, to that point that none were sure that the others were alive. And then suddenly...it just stopped. Silence outside, silence within.

Stopped.

"...Owen" Ja-" Deryk started

"Owen, give us main's again?" Jameson stated as calmly as possible. "Deryk, keep an eye out on those criticals..." Both 'aye, sir's came simultaneously, then the tapping of keys and chatter of electronic clicking began to chirp. Erratically.

Owen's task complete, most of the monitors began to flicker on and pads light up. Too many lights, actually, and an alarm from several of them.

"Deryk?" Jameson questioned intently.

"Venting from...sensors are damaged...losing coolant...portside forward thruster, it's shredded, mostly gone, took some of the ship with it, already trying to cool it down and recover, give me a minute"

Owen chirped over now...."Ya need a hand?"

"No, no, just...hold on a minute..." Deryk's key-punching was a sign enough that this may not end well.

Jameson turned from his monitors to the others. "...can't plot a course back to Dorein."

Owen quirked a brow. Now what? "Outer sensors are alright, and the rear thrusters are all we need to-"

"No, Owen...I...it's gone. It's all gone. The only system near us, we're practically in orbit with...but-"

"Port forward is stable. In-op, but at least it's not..er.....a'splody." Deryk's sense of humour finally returns as an assurance that the ship's finally out of harm's way.

"LISTEN, Deryk..." Jameson cut, "Dorein's gone. Anitlae is gone. Terrane is gone. We're in the only solar system within this busted little ship's sensor range, and it's completely uncharted."

"Alright...first of all, what?s out there?" Deryk retorted, still not sure how much of these readings were falsified by a blown circuit somewhere in the ship.

Owen was already analyzing the screens. "Limited stardrive-port potential...two planets habitable...nothing really standing out...but this is definately not where we started this little excursion."

Deryk, looking over his post again, simply shook his head. "I think we're going to have to land, sir...coolant's low and I'm going to need time to repair some of this bucket."

After a curt nod, Owen reached forward and plotted a course toward the nearer of the two planets, then took the ship as slowly as he could into the atmosphere. A moment later, he tapped a few keys again, his eyes popping open. "Systems locked...controls are gone, cutting forward thrust power..." The ship plunged only a few inches into the grass and dirt, cold and frozen below them. The clearing's grass now burnt from the heat thrown from the battered craft, Deryk simply looks into the monitor...at a bunch of large, green...what" "Their trees are green here...what the hell kind of planet have we come across..."

It had been near an hour that Deryk was inert outside, knelt against a tree. Several who had passed showed some sign that he was not hidden well enough...A large form with feline features sniffed in his direction, a few cloaked figures glanced directly toward him. Near an hour...his breathing was slow and laboured, as quiet as he could manage. Still, he knew he was found out already. Two strangers around this building, which was apparently some fashion of tavern...someone was bound to be overly suspicious. His pistol was drawn already, placed on the ground at his side. The datapad was still working, but intermittently, the signal would crash and then reestablish a few moments later.

Too coincidental...these things have been too reliable up until now, somebody's trying to cut the signal, split comm channels between the two invaders. Somebody's plotting.

He could hear Owen inside again...still talking with that woman. Even SHE is warning him that there are beasts to be feared in these woods... And then the signal completely dissipated. Nothing, no attempt at reconnection. Either the signal was so jammed that there's no periferal wave, or...Owen's datapad is inactive.

Not more than a half-dozen heartbeats, and Deryk had taken up his pistol and dashed the entire way to the porch. His shoulder lowered...his thoughts alone were going fast enough to bust in this door. Three steps to the door to go and...it's opening. Deryk's body arches to the right to make sure he's in position to level his pistol out ahead after his shoulderblock, until he sees that his target is...Owen.

"Deryk!" Owen braces the man's sprint as to avoid them both tumbling back inside. After a moment's pathetic attempt at balance, Deryk is thrown back a step and the door curtly closed.

"What happened in there? Who..wait..." his pistol being pressed down by Owen's hand, he hears himself through his datapad. The transmission has been reestablished. Deryk only stood there, thoughts gathering in a haphazard heap in the center of his mind...all it added up to was that...everything's alright for now.

"Deryk, you have GOT to get ahold of yourself." Owen pulled the pistol from his hand and pressed it firmly into its holster. "Calm...level out...all's well...now let's get back to the Menithes. We'll all talk about what we're up to. Nobody in there knew where exactly this planet is in relation to any other, but there are others from offworld in the area. I'm coming back tomorrow."

Deryk just shook his head. "No. No more, we fix the heatsink lines and check the manifold, FORGET the blown out engine, the mains will do for a while as long as we're not trying to do anything tricky. We're getting off this world, Owen. I'm sure that Jameson agrees."

"I am coming back tomorrow. If there are other offworlders, then somebody's got to have a starchart, some kind of heading, something. Any idea what end of the galaxy we're in..."

"Owen, you're crazy. Any other offworlder probably threw their bucket of bolts into the same...whatever...as we did. We may not be safe here for long, and w-"

Owen cut him off, without a finger pointed or a raise of the voice. His demeanor was calm and voice unwavering, but determined. "We'll do what we can to the ship tonight. I'm coming back here tomorrow. If noone's here that can help us then, we'll work on the ship for the next few days. Then, I'm coming back again. But I am not leaving this planet with no idea of which way's what."

Deryk gave a nod. He respected the plan, understood completely why it was the only logical answer. As they began walking back toward the treeline, Owen's eyes caught a fleeting glance toward Deryk's pistol. "And I'm coming back alone. I don't need things to get out of hand." Again, Deryk could only offer a nod. Realizing that he nearly cost each of them their lives, and probably their captain...it's about enough to silence any man. Even a loud one, time to time.

She had been woken with politeness, the owner of the voice disappearing soon after giving some sort of....instruction, she thought. Sleepily, she drug herself out of bed, still near-fully clothed, and did her best to shake wrinkles from her gown. The attempt proving futile, she sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled her boots on one at a time, working her feet snugly into the heels. Each action was rote, her mind still in the haze between dreams and awareness.

Cassady couldn't quite remember what was said, only that Owen had not yet woken, and she was told that she could wait....somewhere....but she certainly did not want to be in their way; she had no clue what was involved in moving such a strange vessel to sail the stars, and the cold would at least wake her up some. The moment of indecision gone, she took up her mantle, wrapping it about her, and stepped out of the room, out of the....starship....to wait for Owen.

He greeted her before too long, and, at his request, she watched the ship as it began its trek for the sky. A sharp intake of breath met its initial rise, her eyes wide with wonder. Truly, she had never seen the like and probably wouldn't have believed it possible if she didn't see it with her own eyes. Words failed her and seemed hardly necessary, for his own silence mirrored hers, and his thoughts likely travelled the same venue.

And then, the sounds changed; though she didn't know what it meant, a glance to Owen confirmed it wasn't....right....Suddenly, the vessel canted to the side and tore past her sight, into the thicket. She felt the crash reverberate in the ground beneath her, and her hand covered her mouth in shock and horror. "Dear spirits..." The words were barely even a whisper. She couldn't breathe, as if it was the thing furthest from her mind....

The moment passed as quickly as a flash of lightning, and then she was running toward the crash site, her skirt drawn up in her hands lest she trip. However, the action was clearly reflexive as she glanced over her shoulder and skidded to a halt. Owen was just....standing there. She didn't know how to open the door to the ship! What if there was no way in? She turned back to him, calling out his name. It sounded shrill to her ears, twisted by the edge of fear she felt wringing her insides and making her heart beat with frantic insistance. At his silence, she sprinted back to him, her voice more desperate. "Owen!" Her hands gripped his shoulders. "Listen to me!" Still, he said nothing, his eyes looking beyond her as if he was in another world. Tears slip down her cheeks. "Owen!....Please, Owen! I....I don't know how to get in! I don't know what you do to open the door!" Her words were met with another blank stare, and her face turned away from him for a minute, her eyes squinting shut with frustration. Sage green eyes found his once more, her pleading little more than a whisper. "They need you, Owen....I need you..."

As you emerge from the treeline, the clearing spreads widely around you....lush green grass, the chatter of small woodland creatures, the whole nine yards. The grass is only now starting to sufficiently overtake the scorchmarks on the ground behind the Menithes, the relatively small spacecraft. The ship sits rather level (after a near-week straight of digging out one side to level it off). Probably fourteen feet tall, somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty feet wide, and maybe eighty or ninety feet long. It's a somewhat boxy shape, in the sense that it's almost entirely formed by straight edges, even where the ship forms itself into stubby wings on either side. The sides are rather mundane, simply the sloping straight edges of the wings. Farther forward, there is another engine angled forward and outward from the top corner of the right side of the ship. Then, as you continue walking around the front, you see the straight-edge formed "nose" of the ship, the blast hatch affixed over any sort of window that may exist underneath for the control room, and this hatch is riddled with dark spots on the left side of the ship. Farther around, you can see why. The engine on the top of this side has shredded itself, tearing wildly into the forward section of the ship. It has been covered over with welded plates where it may have cut too deep as to breech the hull. The rest of that side, aside from the burn marks, is identical to the other. The engines in the rear are two feet wide each, sitting high on the ship, and a foot and a half wide, sitting much lower and way out to the sides. In between these is a retractable ramp, which remains down, about 10 feet wide. The ramp leads to an inset just deep enough to stand in, and of the same width as the ramp. The panel to the left side of the inset opens the door that the inset accomodates. This opens into the aft bay, where several cases of varying sizes and shapes are arranged neatly on the left side. All is grey, all different shades of it. There are several locker-looking doors, three feet wide each, throughout the bay. Most have a temperature indicator on them that seems as if you can adjust them. This room is lit well, omnidirectional LED-like lighting emitting from several places on the ceiling, and a few places on the lowest points of the wall. The "Rabbit" sits on the side of the bay opposite the cases. It looks much like the all-terrain vehicles that earthers would be familiar with, but laiden with brushguards on all sides and a decent sized seat, enough for three it seems. There is a cargo bed on the back, seperated from the rear of the seat by a diamond-plate steel bookend, which has since been padded on the passengerside for comfort. The only things that would show that this ATV is of foreign design is the engine is some sort of mostly magnetically-driven camshaft, and there seems to be a seperate working motor in the rear....and the thing has six wheels, three on each side, the rearmost and frontmost of which all steer simultaneously. In the near-middle of the front wall is a door, which is nearly always left open to spill into the corridor. The hall is barely wide enough for two people to squeeze awkwardly past one another if they should meet halfway, and at the far end is another door, but this one is now closed for the duration. Past it is the burnt, chaotic remains of what was once the control room. There is no way to see into this room now, but the scorched swathes across bits of the wall and corridor should give some indication that there's not much hope of anything left of use past this point. There are six other doors in this corridor, three to either side. The first on the left, coming from the bay opens into the engine room. Dozens of panels, some have been recently added, make-shift stands keeping them arranged, pepper the far wall. There are tools and parts about the floor, pushed to one side. It looks as though the contents of this room have been checked over and repaired recently. A rifle of curious origin sits against the wall near the door, apparently of the same particle-projectile design as Owen's pistol. The door directly across the hall leads to a room of a few more added panels, but is in much better condition. There is also a narrow table, a portable (what looks like a camping) stove, and a few more cases beside it. The rest of the room is undecorated with anything but the occasional LED upon the ceiling's edge and a smaller door, leading to a small room with a sonic-shower and the "facilities", of course. Moving to the next set of rooms in the hall, the left seems to be living quarters. A low bed, a nightstand with three drawers, a few hooks upon the wall, a monitor upon the wall beside them, and a closet. The bare essentials, and all shades of grey, just like the rest of this bucket. The room to the right is, for all practical purposes, exactly the same. The only real difference being that it's currently used for storage of a few more cases, a few fuel cells for the Rabbit and the emergency portable stove. The next room on the left was once much like the last two, but has been converted to a more "homey" feel. There is a couch, a small table in the middle of the room, and a few small touches that make it seem almost livable. A blue-glass vase with blue and purple roses in it, three small chairs, a datapad mounted to the wall playing music softly, and a cage with a sleeping rabbit within. This room has a few pictures upon the walls, even. All, rather nondescript. No people, no faces, only landscapes, shots taken from space, and one of a beach that looks like it'd been painted. Across the hall, to the last room, the door- ...is closed, and will not slide away into the wall to allow entry as the others. It would be assumed that this would be where Owen sleeps, and so this would be the only interior door to still be using a sealing code. Owen turns away, smiling, walking back out the corridor and into the bay. Of course he wouldn't go into that room right now, Dru would still be sleeping, and later this day, Owen plans on rearranging that room anyway. The haze has cleared, the fog lifted, since he's begun communicating with the locals again...if ANYONE was actually "local" to this world. He still toyed with the idea that he was dead, or trapped in some coma-world....but hey, maybe they were all actually dead. It didn't particularly matter at this point, all seemed well enough to go on with whatever existence he'd been granted. He mounts the Rabbit and the motor whirs to a gentle hum after a few moments, then takes him skimming across the grassy clearing and past the treeline, out of sight, and the bay door closes tight after him.

"We are who we are, how we got here doesn't matter. What matters is- What Do We Do Now?"

The streets of the market place were bustling this afternoon; the chill in the air had proven to be no obstacle for those of RhyDin who wanted to shop. Moving along through the crowd were Owen and Dru. Calmly strolling at a relaxed pace, hands clasped lovingly as they chattered back and forth. Each seemingly unaware that anyone else was around them besides the other.

As they had discussed the previous evening they were out today with two objectives in mind. At the top of the list was a new firearm for Owen since his had been damaged in his recent crash. Dru had never found much need for weapons personally, but she had no qualms about anyone who preferred to tote one. Besides, she figured, it was better to be friends with the person carrying the pistol than enemies. Not to mention he had asked her specifically to help pick out a new one and she couldn't say no to that.

They were also in search of decor for the interior of the Menithes. The warmth that the pair exhibited was not at all represented in the somewhat cold surroundings of the craft turned home, but Owen felt that it was time to change that once again asking Dru for assistance. She had quickly agreed and not a moment later was going on chipperly about fabrics and color. One of her favorite things when she was younger was helping her mother make the best of their surroundings and, not that she enjoyed tooting her own horn, Dru always felt she was quite good at it.

They arrived at the weapons shop, Owen moving ahead to open the door for Dru. She chuckled and sauntered inside whispering a quiet "thank you? with him quickly following behind her. She had never stepped foot in this store before and her expression clearly displayed this fact. Her gaze of wonder trailed along swords, knives, and armor. A hand lifting to touch, but she quickly stopped herself and instead stuck both hands into her pocket to deter temptation. She was unsure if this store abided by the "you break it, you buy it" policy, but she knew darn well that she didn't want to find out. Owen smiled as he watched her explore, appreciating her curiosity before he moved towards a glass counter. A glance was cast over his shoulder towards her indicating she should follow. His grin silently saying, "Wait until you see this."

She came up beside him at the case and couldn't keep her mouth from dropping at the sight of its contents. Within the delicate glass were a wide variety of pistols, revolvers, and other arms along with many accessories. She knew these weapons were used to harm and kill, but as they sat entombed in quiet slumber she couldn't help shake the feeling that they were oddly beautiful. The detail and hard work put into each piece was apparent and she had to respect that. She peered at Owen out of the corner of her eye and could see that his mind was turning over the same thoughts as he carefully eyed each creation. They sat silent for a moment longer before Owen turned his head to her and spoke.

"I really can't decide on which one. I mean, that one's compact. And that one in the corner would be enough to hunt small buildings if I wanted to. I don't know if I'll ever have use for one anyway, I just..."

He had been pointing to the different choices while describing them to her before he finally finished his thought.

"what would you choose for me?"

It was true that each firearm was tugging at one heartstring or another and he was having a rough time narrowing down his choices. But he also couldn't help wonder what Dru would point out. She pursed her lips at the question then leaned over the counter. It looked as if her full concentration was going from one side arm to another. She didn't know anything about which gun was better than the next. She didn't understand the statistics or brands. Owen was aware of this since she had warned him herself, so he wondered what exactly she was taking into account during her observations. But he dare not disturbed her while she worked so hard to choose.

After a couple passing moments of silence Dru straightened and poked a nail against the top of the case pointing downward towards her selection. Owen couldn't help but raise a brow as he leaned over to look at which she was pointing to.

It was a Springfield 1911 .45 and, oh, it was a beauty. He momentarily swelled with pride at her decision as he took in the details of the piece. The metal had a dull shine. It was nothing too flashy. The grips were a solid black. Most notable was the intricate engraving that someone had put a lot of heart into scrolling over the entire body of the gun. The details heightened by a dark antique finishing. After a long while of observation he turned to Dru, a grin on his lips.

"And how did you pick that one out?"

Her hand lowered now looking from the pistol then back up to him. She gave him that bright smile he loved so much.

"Well, You both just seem like you would go together nicely. I guess....it seems right, you know" Do you like it?"

She turned to look back down at the piece, but his gaze didn't leave her. He knew exactly what she meant. How some things just seems so right. He replied in a firm whisper.

"I love it."

The clerk was quickly called and the pistol purchased. Owen pleased with his new acquisition and Dru very excited to have helped. With that completed they left the shop and made their way through the Market Place off to their next errand.

http://i11.photobucket.com/albums/a180/SugarlNlSpikes/GunTrans.gif

...and the first few minutes of Owen's consciousness existed only as a foggy realization that he hadn't died. Or that he had, and heaven-or-hell, whichever the case may be, was remarkably like where he'd begun. It was darker than it had been, but still daylight for the time being. Whether dusk or dawn, Owen was completely unsure. He stirred heavily, aching deeply, which seemed to be the only feeling or emotion coming through the fog.

After ten minutes (full of hour-long seconds...) Owen rolled slowly, a low grunt escaping his inconsistant breathing. He raises himself to his knees, one hand, still slightly decorated in his own dried blood, grasping the rail on the side of the ATV, which still lay overturned. As he pulled himself farther up, toward standing, he falls back to his knees with the stifled scream of unexpected pain. His knee, the left one, the one he'd dislocated, was very unhappy with his decision to attempt standing. Why he wanted to stand, or what he was looking for in the first place, he had no idea.

After a long moment of controlled breathing, he pulls himself to his foot, the right one, and turns, sitting against the ATV as he reaches out, pulling the medical pack from a compartment, and he opens it across the middle wheel. Two select vials were injected directly into the base of his neck, and another smaller one into the knee itself. All his bleeding seems to have stopped, and he tried, throughout his attempt to right himself medically, to wash and scrape and wipe away as much of the dry, dull red as he could from his skin. He sprayed his cuts with a red bottle, and a blue one, in turn, and placed an adhesive bandage patch over a particularly ripe spot upon his elbow. Perhaps he'd have been better to wear the leather coat after all....what was he doing here after all?

When that was done, he placed a wrap around his knee, and then affixed another wrap around that, and he searched for a third, but decided it unnecessary. He sat, his right hand grazing over his handywork on his knee, then elbow, and nodded in half-hearted approval. No other real option, so....good job, yeah' He then turned to face the ATV and propped his good leg out behind himself as he pressed as hard as he could against the rail currently at the top. It didn't budge, and after further inspection, there was a rock behind the ATV holding it from rolling rightside up.

He shrivelled a bit, realizing he'd not be able to do this alone, not with a near-useless leg, at least. He let out a sigh, his eyes panning around himself. His vision was beginning to clear a bit, and thoughts were coming together a bit more coherently. He looked aimlessly at the trees all around him as he began to ramble silently inside himself about the rock, and the Rabbit, the Menithes, and the crew. But there was no crew anymore....He stared at a brightly colored patch of flowers as he thought of the Cheari Nebula, and what a supernova looked like....How he loved to turn the panels off when all was quiet in the cockpit and stare at the stars in the dark, and how sometimes, Deryk and Jameson would join him. But there is no Deryk and Jameson anymore....not in this world. His eyes closed heavily as he slunk heavier onto the ATV.

His mind lingered on the bright sky, and how the clouds drifted slowly, as the Menithes had, flaming engine and all, before being delivered here...and how the flames and the sky and the flowers and even his own reddened flesh all seemed to remind him of the fabrics that he'd gotten at the marketplace with D-...Dru. Dru.

His arm lashed backward, grabbing the datapad from the steering handles of the Rabbit, and he tapped the keystrokes in quickly, with blinding determination. A mild chime later, and Owen was already calling into the pad, transmitting on several open channels, hoping for someone else to be listening for a frequency in use. "Attention, Distress. Attention, Distress. My name is Owen Mirett, I've overturned a small vehicle, in need of assistance, left leg is badly hurt, unable to support weight, all other injuries are workable. Searching for one known as Dru....please, respond."

After a minute or two of staring at the screen, Owen's inert body relaxes a bit, leaning once more against the Rabbit, and he taps again, the same chime sounds. "Attention, Distress. Attention, Distress...

His next ride was toward the Inn itself. He didn't speed along as he had been, he decided he was in no shape to do so. The ATV gently hummed along, weaving easily around the sparse obstacles of tree and rock and the occasional being. His mind, however, raced along as would the .45 caliber rounds loaded into the pistol slung onto his side.

Again, his memory failed him. Perhaps it was what he wanted....to simply forget....but forget everything, not just these short moments. He wanted to cast away everything since he'd left Dorein. He would have had a decent, run of the mill, cookie-cutter life there.

The Rabbit's magnetically driven motor whirred to a near-inaudible humming idle as it lurched to a stop. He stared flatly before himself. It hit him like, well, like those same .45's would.

He failed. He failed Jameson and Deryk, he failed Cassady, he failed Dru. He failed himself. He hated that it was the most important part to him, but he hated himself for failing to be who he thought he should be. It's a simple life out here....this shouldn't have happened. And now his body is in shambles as much as his mind....this shouldn't be this way.

Now, the sounds of his torment echoed through his mind with enough force to escape his lips. "Aleiali....Doeraie aleiali..." he started, the tears pressing through his eyes no matter how tightly closed. "DOERAIE ALEIALI!"

Owen dismounted the vehicle with enough force to throw himself painfully to the ground, forgetting about the battered condition of his leg. After a grunt of agony and Owen's planted position on all fours, he plowed his fist hard into the ground accompanied by another furious grunt. He'd had enough.

His wince would be unnoticed as he thrust his upper body backward. She was gone. His eyes were wide and angry, hateful and afraid and aware. They were dead. He was still on his knees at the side of the ATV, peppered with dirt and blood and tears and sweat and hate and love and they had all left him, for he had left them all.

He drew the pistol. The gunmetal grey .45 caliber 1911 Springfield that Dru had picked out. The slide was wildly flung backward, spilling the first round from the chamber which he'd forgotten was even there, just to make sure a shell was prepared. Without hesitation, the pistol was pressed under his chin, angled as best he could to ensure it would spray the contents of his damned head across the Rabbit. His tears were gone, his emotion drained, his face pale and prepared....but his finger is unresponsive.

He knelt there, inert, just waiting for the strength to finish the task. Pleading with himself to pick life or death. Noone else got to choose, so pick one, Owen. The pistol began to droop slowly, his arm simply tired of holding it's position.

"Well, You both just seem like you would go together nicely. I guess....it seems right, you know" Do you like it?" She had said. Dru had said...when she picked this pistol.

His arms fell to his sides, the pistol hesitating there pointed at the ground, then seems to holster itself obediently. Noone else got to choose, and Owen now chose life. He reached toward the Rabbit, grasping the side rail, and pulled himself to his feet, then onto the ATV itself. He let out a sigh, a long, deep sigh, and admitted both defeat and victory. He'd lost a lot, near all he had, but it's his job now to heal and deal with himself.

His gaunt face, his deep sunken eyes, his entire body turned toward his original heading through the sparse trees, and the Rabbit again whirred to it's gentle hum as he continued on toward the Inn in silence. Silence outside, and in his mind, all was calm. This, he remembered well.

~pistol still at the hip...he walks back to the inn, no, the marketplace....flowers? He's holding flowers....back at the ship...~

Owen jerks awake in a cold sweat, a yelp escapes the dry throat, his breathing is heavy and rapid. His eyes flare side to side, body forcing itself to his feet, until a few desperate moments later, he realizes where he finds himself now. Still in the alley...

Without even caring to attempt recalling the vivid, erratic dreams, he simply takes a few steps about in all directions, picking up the pieces of his dismantled firearm. He begins sliding it back together, and then slips it into it's place at his hip. A sudden dizzy spell grabs him for a moment, and he juts a hand against the wall, shaking his head wearily.

One deep, deliberate breath is pulled in, and then returned to his surroundings before he starts his walk toward the marketplace, deciding he really ought to eat something before he starts losing it.

Star Runner 'swam' lazily through the forest, relying on her satlink with the Ambrosia in orbit above to guide her to the location of the Menithes as given to her by Owen. Trailing behind her, attached to her harness was a floating grav-sled, on which sat a Mobius pad. The teleporter would be used to send down the equipment that Owen had asked for, freshly fabricated in the nano-factories of the hospital ship.

Finally passing through the trees into the clearing, the Irukan could see the ship itself. Not very large, and still showing signs of heavy patchwork repair. Hopefully Star could help get the poor thing spaceworthy again, even if it's owner never intended to leave Rhydin, at least he'd have the option.

Moving over to what looked like a door, Star heard what sounded like an explosion inside. A squeal of alarm and star unhooked the sled and raced over to the door, raising the volume on her vocoder as she called out, "Owen! Is anyone in there?"