OOC Note: Open to anyone who wants to respond to a distress call, or might have reason to have been shipped off (or stowaway from) Ryloth. Elkras would be unaware of any living beings on this ship besides himself; as a rule, he doesn't smuggle sentients.
Somewhere in space....
Today, Elkras decided, was one of the less pleasant days he'd experienced in a while. Some bounty hunters had caught up with him on his way out of Ryloth and had caused extensive damage to the Comet as he made a desperate jump to hyperspace. He thought he'd been in the clear, but the hyperdrive had failed and unceremoniously deposited him back in realspace; location unknown. His ship was now running on emergency power, the faint glow of red bulbs bathing the cockpit as he floated adrift somewhere in the galaxy. The only lights on the console was a ticking clock; an estimate for how long he had left before that emergency power ran out, reading less than two hours. The stabilizers were offline, subjecting him to a slow spin as he floated slowly through space with nary a planet nor landmark in sight. At least the life-support systems hadn't been knocked out, the faint hiss of the oxygen scrubbers reminding him that he was still breathing. Things could be worse... he told himself. He wasn't dead yet; thus far his luck had held, and it was time to do a full inspection of his beloved Y2k-series light freighter.
First things first; activate the distress beacon. As much as Elkras hated to admit it, this was one of the times he needed to ask for help. A quick inspection of the engines- which doubled as power generators for the ship- told him that he was going nowhere fast. He could fix them with time, but that was time he didn't have. The hyperdrive looked repairable, but was nothing more than an expensive lump of metal without the power generated from the engines. For some odd reason the holotable worked- who decided that was a critical life support instrument?- but Elkras quickly powered it down to help conserve his scant emergency power reserves.
All in all, it was not looking good for the home team. Maybe his distress call, identifying his ship as the humble freighter Starskipper- one of the half-dozen false identities programmed in by the ships former owner, Zirga the Hutt- would attract a luxury barge or something fun. But if Elkras had only 90 minutes left to live, he wasn't going to spend them idle. He rolled up his sleeves, grabbed his toolbox, and began to work on the port engine; it was the less damaged of the two, and perhaps with some of his trademark luck he could get it working again.