<B>Desevro</b>
<i>Terrain</i> : Mountains, tundra, swamps
<I>Length of Day</i> : 27 standard hours
<I>Length of Year</i> : 522 standard days
<I>Sentient Species</i> : Humans
<I>Languages</i> : Basic
<I>Population</i> : 3 billion
<I>Major Exports</i> : Consumer goods
<I>Major Imports</i> : Foodstuffs, processed goods
<I>System/Star</i> : Desev (companion star Maugina)

The immense dome that dominated the skyline of Desevro's capital city, Maslovar, was impressive, but it was dwarfed by the skyscrapers, the temples of light, that dominated the sprawling metropolis. Shafting skyward, they bespoke the nature and power of Allied Tion's achievements in culture as well as in technology. Famous in this part of the galaxy, at least, they were an unmissable expression of all that was Desevro. On its neat, clean streets, citizens went about their business with the air of those who believed themselves just slightly superior. In its skies, transport craft of every imaginable size and description hurried along their predetermined paths.

The makeup of its citizenry attested to that. The city was home to every variation in stature, shade, and sensibility of contemporary humanity. It was reflected in the city's art, in its commerce, in its entertainment venues.

It was also amply evident in its politics, which at the moment were undergoing an upheaval that found them uneasily balanced somewhere between the fractious and outright hand-to-hand combat. Uncommon to Allied Tion government, yelling and shouting filled the outer chambers and anterooms of the capitol dome.

Pulling on a cloak, one man fled the cacophony. His expression showed him to be as disgusted as he was depressed. Curious beyond restraint, an aide intercepted the fugitive as he strode from the dome. With a nod of his head, he indicated the barely controlled chaos that presently filled the interior.

"Delegate Im, I have worked for this government for twenty years. Never have I heard or seen such signs of serious dissention. What's happening in there?"

The delegate paused, glanced back. "When all is said and done? Much will be said-- and nothing will be done."

Cloak swirling around him, he swept away. Behind him, the aide stared back toward the towering doors that opened into the dome. Like the majority of his Tion brethen, he was keen on order and predictability. The shouting and arguing within did not bode well for a continuation of such things. It was just as well he was not privy to the debate raging inside. More than a few of the comments and observations being made would have unsettled him a good deal more than he already was.

The defense minister was adamant. She was also louder than most of her fellow officials. Even in an age of advanced technology, a strong voice still had its uses.

"Shut down all hyperlanes to the Cronese Mandate and the Tion Hegemony!" she roared. "We need to save the energy, save all resources for <I>this</i> world! We cannot continue to export at a time of such uncertainty, when planetary defense should be everyone's first priority."

Sterak, a Rodian, disagreed, as he usually did. "We can't be slaves to fear. What kind of message would that send to the people? Desevro is expected to set an example for the lesser nearby worlds of Allied Tion. A specific threat must be identified before radical action is approved. We cannot react in panic to every rumor that--"

The respected clerical delegate Asjem, a Twil'lek, cut him off. "Rumor? Is it rumor that we have lost communication with <I>another</I> world?" He gestured emphatically to his colleagues. "One such incident suggests communications failure. Multiple ones suggest something far more sinister. You all know to what I refer. Those who are named the Black Dragon Empire."

Someone shouted, "We should try and make contact, negotiate with them."

"Them?" another delegate countered. "Who's even seen 'them'? Who even knows what they want? If 'they' even exist. There could be other explanations, as Sterak says."

"They do exist!" another countered.

A second cleric rose to speak. "Fifteen worlds, at least fifteen worlds in the Tion Cluster have been conquered! That is all the explanation I and my department require. Can one be blind to the deafness of one's neighbors? What more proof do we need?" He waved in the direction of the defense minister. "We must prepare, and quickly."

"Scillal!" The new voice teetered on the edge of panic. "My sources say Scillal in the Centrality has been conquered!"

Sterak's strongest ally in session was Teyfuddin, a Toydarian. Raising his voice as he batted his wings, that worthy attempted to counter the rising feeling of hopelessness. "But not another in this system. Planets are not countries. We share no direct border with those worlds that seem to be experiencing those problems. With those in our system we share a sun, and they continue to communicate with Desevro as efficiently as always." The Toydarian regarded the sea of anxious faces.

"I share your concerns. Such increasing silence from beyond Allied Tion is troubling. But civilization has known many troubles, and still survives. History tells us that not all troubles visit all worlds. Nobody here today knows where this mysterious enemy will descend next. Or even if! I see cause for vigilance, yes, but not for panic."

The defense minister did not sit down. She was growing increasingly frustrated at the turn the discussion was taking. This was a time for action, not for talk! She <I>had</i> to convince them.

"Again, I say it. Shut down the hyperlanes. Draw in our outer defenses. We only make ourselves more of a target the longer we--"

This time it was her turn to be interrupted. Sterak refused to be stampeded into a decision he felt was not only unnecessary but also counter to Tion philosophy.

"If we show fear-- if we shut down the hyperlanes and cower in the dark-- our sister worlds in Allied Tion will wither and starve. It falls to us to set the example, to be strong for all. For their children, as well as ours, we must stand our ground. We are Desevro! And we will do what we have always done: generate commerce and then share it with all."

Shouts greeted his declaration-- some supportive, some questioning. Politician and defense minister, supporters and detractors, glared at one another across the chamber as the debate raged around them. Both had the best interests of their homeworld at heart. Neither had any idea of the nature of what was coming for them...

Even inside the bulky armored suit, Sargeant Bile could feel the cold night bite at him. Sure, the land crawler blocked most of the icy wind of Desevro, and they had pulled one of the crawler's portable heaters and turned it up to full, pretending it was a campfire, but it was still cold. It was the best they could do-- there wasn't any wood nearby, and they certainly wouldn't be <I>burning</I> it, if there was. That would easily give away their location for the invading enemy to spot them.

The frozen wind howled like some kind of unhappy beast as it blew past the squat form of the crawler; the song changed to a whistle where it flowed over the armored transport's sharp treads. The sounds were eerie. Every now and then through a patchy break in the roiling and thick clouds, the stars gleamed briefly, hard pinpricks against a dead, black curtain, glittering like diamonds caught in a laser beam. Even without the clouds it would have been dim; Desevro had no moons.

Well, right, so it wasn't comfortable out here in the outskirts of the capital, but at least the three of them weren't stuck inside the perimeter with the do-nothing dweebs of their security force, bored half stupid. At least the prize they caught would be worth headlines, once they headed themselves inside after their quick break.

"Okay," Mig said, "what else we supposed to do here? We ate the ration bars and sang that fool song about spacers and soldiers. This is terminal droll, Bile. Tell us a ghost story before we head in. Heh."

"If you two dweebs will shut up, I'll tell you."

Mig and Cal rolled their eyes. "Oh tell us then, oh great leader."

"First, I have to check up on our guest," Bile replied. He pulled himself off the ground and made his way back to the lock-up located directly behind the driver's seat of the crawler. It had been designed and built with enough strength to contain a pack of rabid vornskrs. As such, it ought to suffice for one human prisoner. Even one named Boba Fett.

Tightly bound, secured to the wall, and beaten, Fett did not look up at Bile's approach. His attitude remained one of languid indifference. Someone other than Bile might have been infuriated by the prisoner's attitude. Not this time. The Desevro officer was not stupid. Fett was static and serene in the same way as a coiled snake. Despite the prisoner's bonds, the soldier kept his distance. His opinions, however, he was always ready to share.

"So," he began conversationally, "where do we drop your bounty-huntin' ass?" He feigned thoughtfulness. "Maybe Kessel? Nice little double-max prison. Small, secure, compact. Civilized. Penal boutique. More than adequate for a soldier-killing person like yourself. Just because your bounty gets away from you, doesn't mean you had to vape several of our guys to get him back. Now you have to pay the price."

Fett considered the proposal, responded immediately. "Kessel?" The bounty hunter shrugged. "I'm sure they keep a cell open for me after all this time. Not my fault your guys got in my way."

Bile nodded as if he had expected to hear something just like Fett's retort. "Real predictable, you know that? You know what I am thinking <I>now</i>? I'm thinking when we get to Maslovar and get famous for capturing your ass, I'll gonna get promoted to Commander."

"If you survive <I>their</i> arrival." Fett casually looked out the window of the land crawler. Several lights were crossing the sky, high in the east. "Just one more omen in a season of omens-- all of them bad." Turning away from the nocturnal vista, he regarded his jailer. "Best that you just let me go and fend for yourselves. Forget your reward. You won't be collecting any."

Bile swallowed. "I'm not worried about the Black Dragon Empire." He squinted. "Do you know what's been happening in the Tion Cluster?"

Fett's expression twisted slightly. "Sorry. I've kinda been out of touch. When trying to stay alive and collecting bounties becomes a full-time occupation, you tend to give the news a pass."

Bile nodded, not needing to know the details. "Chandaar has fallen. The Tion Hegemony, gone silent too. Desevro shares its bounty with several less naturally endowed worlds nearby in the Cronese Mandate. If we fall, they fall. And after that..."

He stopped talking. Fett was ignoring him. Bile risked the sound of impatience. "Have you heard anything I said?"

Fett looked up. "Yeah, I heard you. Said it's all circlin' the drain. Whole Tion Cluster. Civilization local, nearby, distant."

"That's right. Even the Centrality."

His prisoner shrugged. Bile might as well have been describing the loss of a garden to weeds. "Had to end sometime."

The air sirens rang in the distance suddenly. The enemy had arrived. The sky was soon aflame with flashes and bursts of brilliant destruction, as if two flocks of phoenix were engaged in mortal battle. Cal and Mig jumped to their feet and sprinted over a small hill for a better view. The fire in the distance grew steadily more intense as more and more defensive weaponry was brought online. While his two men gawked openly at the aerial conflict, even with his helmet on, Bile was forced to shield his eyes from the brighter explosions as he peeked outside from the crawler.

Unimaginably vast, the dark mass of BDE battleships were descending under exquisite control. They loomed above the city, hovering as if with a mind of its own. Defensive weaponry raised harmless blisters of fire on the object's flanks, deflected by its massive screens.

Perhaps something emerged from the underside of the mass. Whatever it was, the result was a shattering concussion. For an instant, the center of the city was lit up as if by sunlight. Seeking shelter, any shelter, Cal and Mig leaped just as the shockwave reached them and sent them flying through the air, impacting with the land crawler's windshield.

Then the effects of the same tremendous explosion that had blown the soldiers off the hillside struck, and the land crawler was tossed, overturning several times before finally resting on its side. A lull followed the immense detonation that had flattened the city center in the distance, as if the sky itself had been momentarily shocked into silence. There was dust everywhere.

One figure was an exception. Coughing from the excess dust in the air, grateful for the bindings that secured him from further injury, Fett realized one of them had loosened, then noticed Bile sprawled to one side, his head twisted awkwardly. Apparently, he failed to grip onto anything before the shockwave hit and had his neck snap during the roll. He couldn't see the other soldiers around.

Loosening his binding and grabbing with his free hand, he took the keys that was secured to Bile's belt and released his other bond. The bounty hunter was now a free man.

All Fett needed now was an opportunity to escape from this planet and the invading forces...

The lights of the capital of Desevro were failing, the dominating skyline of the city being extinquished one by one from the center toward the countryside. Hovering above the destruction and devastation was the single black mass of BDE battleships. Beneath them, replacing the joyful lights of the city, was an impact cloud: ominous in its implications, implacable in its spread. After a moment, as if studying what it had done, the black mass of ships began to move again, slowly, but with defined, inimical purpose. Looking for something else to destroy.

There was debris everywhere; the powdered flesh of broken and shattered buildings. Beginning to rise above it all was the seeping stench of death. Having been moved from panic to despair, the citizens of the capital were running in all directions, as if by sheer good fortune they might somehow stumble on a way out of the total destruction that had enveloped them. Bedlam had descended on them without warning, and they were ill prepared for it. Having no idea what was happening or why, screaming, howling, crying, they surged back and forth like womprats trapped in a rancor pit, their only common denominator the fact that there was a general consensus of movement away from the devastated city center.

Boba Fett fought the flow, working his way back <I>toward</i> the central business and commercial district. The bounty hunter now sported a Desevro soldier's garb lifted from his former jailer, complete with blaster and vibroblades, intending on making it back to the spaceports where his ship, <I>Slave IV</i>, was waiting for him. Hopefully, the dockmaster and security guards had abandoned their posts so he can access his ship without too much intervention. The real problem was making it there without running into the armies of the Black Dragon Empire and making it offplanet. Too bad his Mandolorian armor was stripped off during his arrest, but there would always be opportunities to replenish his losses yet again.

Too shelled-shocked to care, few of the other refugees thought to wonder why one man was pursuing a single-minded course in the direction of what must surely be certain death. Those who did pause briefly to speculate on the lone runner's bizarre choice of destination were sure he had gone crazy. In that, he certainly now had company. In madness lay one unarguable way out of what had befallen them.

The rising thunder slowed him. Something was happening off to his left. Changing course, he angled toward the sound. Whatever was generating it was big, very big. Rounding the corner of a once beautiful, now collapsed building, Fett came to a sudden stop.

Dark dust clouds enveloped the fringes of what at first glance appeared to be a massive, undamaged battlecruiser. In fact, several of them. Wiping the grit from his eyes allowed him to clarify the vision. Rising from the ruins of Maslovar's great skylines were Tion DragonClaws of the Black Dragon Empire, settling down to disgorge its contents of AT-BT's, Riant Tanks, and its complements of Drhazi Dameun troops, death infantry, and death commandos upon the planet's citizens. He was impressed at the sight, and Fett was not a man to be impressed easily. The rising crescendo he had heard was still sounding, the rumble of engines reaching release strength as small fighter craft, Tion Deathgliders, began to detach from more DragonClaws floating above him and take to the air. Though he did not expect any of them to pay attention to a lone survivor, he nevertheless clung to the shelter of the ruined building. Even a vornskr will snap at a womprat, if it's in the mood.

Behind the Deathgliders of the Imperium, more warrior ships were descending. Dropships and landing barges packed with troops and ground vehicles, they rode the first shockwave of success as they dropped toward the devastated city below. It was a scene being played out all across the surface of Desevro, as the invaders targeted every major population center simultaneously. To do so required seamless coordination, which the Black Dragon Empire possessed in plenty. But it was on the capital, as always, that they focused their efforts. An enemy could always be subdued by repeated stabbings, but victory came far sooner and easier if the head could be cut off first.

In areas cleared of defenders, the enormous assault shuttles were already setting down, disgorging battalion after regiment of helmeted, armed death soldiers. Their motivation was simple, their methodology straightforward. It had already been pursued with great success on many worlds, ever since the Black Dragon Empire had made their presence and determination known to the rest of the developed Tion Cluster and the galaxy. Implacable and humorless, they surged eagerly out of their ships, responding to the directives of their officers as they fanned out across the capital in search of resistance.

As always, and as was proper, they envied those they intended to kill.

Leading this particular mop-up team was an officer of singular size and reputation. As Commander Kix Davin and his squad swept their surroundings with waiting blaster muzzles and sharp eyes of their own, the bioscanners scanned everything in range or sight of its enhanced senses as the death soldiers swept the devices from side to side. Streets, windows, doors, cracks in the ground-- all were subject to the same remorseless scrutiny. Occasionally, they found something. Some feeble sign of life. Wounded resistant soldiers being more trouble to the cause than they were worth, they were efficiently finished off by Davin's team.

Instantly divining the source of the squad's leadership, Fett determined to make it to the spaceport, before the bioscanners could find him. Working the darkness and the shadows as only he could, he slipped out of his hiding place and advanced. As he moved, the vibroblade he carried shifted from hand to hand. As he moved fast, Fett heard the distant guns discharge. He accelerated, keeping to the shadows. It would do no good to move faster. Better to stay out of sight and get there alive.

He slowed when he reached the entrance of the docking bays; scanning the port for signs of life, the ruined buildings nearby, the destruction that dominated the far side of it. The only thing moving were a few insects, the ultimate survivors of any combat. In the distance and fading fast, he heard the sound of retreating boots. A distant glimpse of death soldiers double-timing it away, dominated by one figure that towered over all the others, a Drhazi Dameun, and then they were out of sight.

Cautiously, Fett moved out into the spaceports and advanced toward the landing bay where his ship was, stopping only when he saw clumps of large debris at his feet. He did not have to analyze the debris to recognize where it came from. The trail of scattered wreckage led to the landing bay where <I>Slave IV</I> was nestled. In a single leap he was top of the scorched heap, balancing easily. A solitary burning hulk in the center of the platform below caught his eyes immediately. He recognized it as what was once his ship, now destroyed.

<I>Should have left when I lost the bounty</i>, he told himself angrily, thinking back to the initial encounter with the patrolling platoon. He had been too cautious. Should have trusted his first instincts. Now he really was alone. The only alternative now was to hijack a ship and get off this rock. He would have to rebuild his assets again, once he survived this ordeal.

With a last glance to make sure all of the Imperium's death soldiers had left and that there was nothing in the immediate vicinity capable of following him, Boba Fett jumped down onto the messy corridors of the landing bay and rushed off to find a ride...

<I>Life was simple</i>, Fett mused. It was always people who complicated it, messed things up. Turning a corner, he vanished into another corridor of the docking bays in search of a craft or ship-- any ship.

Expecting to feel his back explode at any second as more BDE death soldiers caught sight of him from behind, Fett ran on, amazed by his continued existance. Could he have lost them? It seemed improbable, unreasonable. He did not slow down to ponder the unlikeliness of it. Still unwilling to accept that he was going to live through this, he thought he might have a chance if he could just reach one place, one special spot. After all, he knew the city while being here, knew where he was. His pursuers did not.

It lay just ahead of him: a small hangar bay. In normal times busy with ships and freighters coming in for repairs or modifications, it loomed like a beacon against the night. If he could just get to it.

Moving fast again, the bounty hunter heard the distant bootsteps quicken. Fett quickly huddled in a hiding place, pressing back as far as he could among the rubble. It was very quiet. It remained quiet even when the pursuing soldiers stopped with their backs to him, waving their bioscanners in the opposite direction. They then continued onward in their search.

As Fett rose from his hiding place, the sound of cycling armament made him turn. Something flashed through the air to one side. He wasn't sure if it leaped, or ran, or was propelled by some mechanism beyond his understanding. All he knew was that in one moment the hangar bay stretched out before him, and the next.

The next, a single figure stood blocking the way. Slowing, the bounter hunter regarded the BDE death commando. The man was huge, his armor designed to intimidate, his expression pitiless. All the humanity had long ago been drained out of him, lubricant for the soul that had never been replaced. Yet he did not shoot. Instead, he smiled encouragingly and beckoned for Fett to approach. The smile was as genuine as the rest of the man's expression.

Exhausted from running, frustrated at the events that had overcome him, in agony over what had happened to his prized ship, Fett knew instinctively that whatever the soldier wanted, in the end they would not just let him go. He knew it as surely as he knew his faith, and his destiny. Locking eyes with the slowly advancing death commando, Fett pulled his vibroblade. Surprised, Commander Kix Davin stopped. He continued to beckon, to encourage. Licking his lips, he made his voice as low and intimidating as possible.

"I know you. I have seen your face. Aren't you him-- The bounty hunter? Surrender. Now."

The bounty hunter reacted, but not in the way Kix expected. The impossibility of it did not fully register on the death commando until later. All he knew was that one minute his quarry was standing in front of him, and the next, he had sprung into the air and somersaulted over the stunned commando. In the process, one hand came around in an arc to smack the weapon out of Kix's hands. The other caught it before it had flipped halfway to the ground.

A grand total of perhaps two seconds had elapsed. Before, Kix had been standing in front of his prisoner, weapon in hand. After, he found himself with their respective positions exactly reversed. Though it had happened, the bewildered commando was unsure of how it had been accomplished.

The reality of the transformed situation beggared analysis. All he knew was that instead of holding the TC-11 on his quarry, it was the quarry who was now pressing the blaster muzzle against the bottom of Davin's jaw as he turned to face the bounty hunter. A single blaster shot would messily remove that important bit of skeletal structure, along with half the commando's head. He stood very still. Fett eyed the BDE assault shuttle that lay nestled inside the hangar bay, then locked eyes with Kix.

"Get me into that ship or its your life," the quarry murmured matter-of-factly into Kix's ear. "You decide, Dragon. And just for the file? You're right. My name is Boba Fett and I am <I>still</i> THE bounty hunter." The barrel of the TC-11 pressed harder against the underside of the death commando's jaw. "I'm pressed for time. Ship access security pad. Now. Or I can sort it out for myself."

Kix's hands began to move, quickly and carefully. All manner of hardware began hitting the floor as he emptied his utility belt, pockets, both visible and hidden over and under his armor, side pouches. None of them distracted Fett; none of them fooled him. Seeing how the dust and smoke were blowing, a resigned Kix finally dropped the pad. At the same time, he did conjure a few choice new names for his former quarry-- but despite the bounty hunter's seeming indifference, the commando was careful to keep them to himself.

He had an opportunity to shout out loudly to his comrades, but the butt of the rifle was quickly struck across his face, rendering him unconscious before he hit the cluttered floor of the hangar bay. The bounty hunter rushed inside, letting his eyes adjust to the dimmed lights of its interior. It was then he spotted the craft that would be his rescue.

It was a better ship than he expected that rose out from the dimmed lights. A <I>Tion-class</i> Assault Shuttle-- low slung, handsome, contemporary construction manufactured on a world named Rudrig, noted for skilled engineering. Adaptable and tough, it was exactly the kind of versatile transport a pack of Black Dragon Empire soldiers would utilize for their planetary invasions. In addition to traversing interstellar space and a variety of atmospheres, it could also level several square blocks with its arsenal of weapons. Fett quickly approached the BDE assault shuttle and flipped the security pad on, letting his thumb slide over the red contact near its base. The shuttle's doors came to life as they slid open. The craft now belonged to someone else: him. <I>That's the way the rsychate crumbles</i>, he thought to himself as he pulled out his TC-11 and ran a check of the interior. The ship was empty; devoid of life-forms.

Settling himself into the command chair, he methodically coaxed quiescent instrumentation to life. Though no professional pilot of BDE spacecraft, Fett knew what to do to survive. One of these talents involved piloting small spacecraft, thanks to his father who trained him, Jango. Though some of the indicator markings were new or unfamiliar, the controls were basic enough.

At his command, protective internal screens whisked aside. The main repulsor drive powered up. With the ship alert and awaiting instructions, he paused to delve into its internal supplementary databases. Another talent. He almost, but not quite, smiled as his own record appeared, glowing softly with the details of his personal history. Alone, as usual, he read silently to himself from the section catalogued under "ARRESTS."

<I>"... Now known to have murdered several Deservo security guards before finally re-aquiring said bounty. Possible sighting outside of capital. Reported seen on... Reported seen on..."</I> There was quite a lot of the latter. This time he did smile. To have been everywhere he had been reported seen, there would have to be twelve of him. <I>Seems the BDE were interested in slicing into Desevro's database to see who is around...</i>

An unsealed package of food rations sat on the deck between his seat and the co-pilot's chair. Ripping open the seal, he pulled out a length, bit off a mouthful, and chewed as he scrolled through the readout. It didn't take long to find the one labeled "PLANETARY READOUTS."

Fett began to read the list of worlds that were isolated or barren in order to hide himself for the time being. He would lay low for a bit before attempting to escape out of the Tion Cluster. One glaring exception made Fett take notice.

<I>PLANET: RHEN VAR. REGION: CRONESE MANDATE.</I>

Rhen Var. A barren, snowy planet reminescent of Hoth, nestled in the Cronese Mandate. Perfect.

"Be a bitch to live on, but should be a good hiding place," he mumured to the screen. It did not reply. The lack of a response did not trouble him. He was tired and in no mood to talk to anyone. Not even a machine.

The compact assault craft boosted effortlessly from the surface of a world Boba Fett would just as soon forget as quickly as possible. The surface of Desevro fell away beneath the accelerating BDE shuttle. From space; it was impossible to tell that the dominant society on the planet had been battered and torn, that devastation and destruction on a massive scale had occured at all. Oceans still rolled, clouds still scudded, plant life still stained multiple continents with swathes of muted green. At a distance, the works of man, whether benevolent or malign, shrank to insignificance.

Once clear of atmosphere and safely away from BDE patrols, who neglected to stop the assault shuttle as it was one of their own, Fett entered the coordinates for Rhen Var and prepared for the jump to hyperspace. Better to hide first, than attempt to jump out of the Tion Cluster. It would be obvious by now the Imperium had gravity wells set up around their borders to stop anyone from coming in or out of the system.

Pulling the lever, the assault craft lurched into hyperspace. Fett, now satisfied that his escape from the Black Dragon Empire was complete, fluttered his eyelids closed.

It was good to sleep. He had not been able to do so comfortably and without concern for a long time. Safe in the cocoon of the pilot's chair, nurtured and looked after by the ship's life support systems, he could at least relax. Meanwhile, the small but sturdy vessel went about its business...