"Teh arpat'ikase drashaar dral kurshise."
"From tiny seeds grow mighty trees."
- Mandalorian proverb
BlueSend Forest Complex, Corulag
Rain poured from the sky in driving sheets, pelting against the muddy ground in a staccato rhythm reminiscent of drumrolls. Roiling, purple-black clouds sent a brilliant fork of lightning through the air. The accompanying clap of thunder was close and loud enough to deafen a man. After a few moments the rumbling peal faded into the distance, leaving those newcomers stuck in the downpour to shake their heads in a vain attempt to clear their ringing ears.
The soldier in white had long ago grown accustomed to the sound of thunder. Months of being assigned to an outpost under endlessly-stormy skies tended to acclimatize one to traumatic intrusions on the senses. Additionally, his armor helped keep back the worst of the sound, as his helmet's auditory dampeners automatically filtered down the decibel level of his surroundings to protect his hearing. So when thunder cracked overhead, it sounded like little more than a discontented grumble.
Corporal Axes Darion, otherwise known by his serial number TX-219, squinted through the eye-shaped visors of his helmet and watched rain dribble down the transparisteel just centimeters from his eyes. He wiped his visor with an irritated huff, clearing the rainwater that obscured his vision. Where they were going, he was sure he'd need to see as clearly as possible.
The forest ahead was dark and foreboding, full of ominously crackling branches and strange bird calls, but he knew local patrols kept the wildlife a good distance from the prison complex. The last thing Command needed was some jumped-up treewalker getting too near the perimeter defenses and frying itself on the electrified barrier fences. Such an occurrence could potentially short out the energy junction supplying power to the entire facility. That would be catastrophic.
He sighed and hefted his rifle, marching with the others toward the trees.
When I first heard I was being transferred to a maximum security prison, he thought to himself, I thought this post would be exciting. Should have known that guard duty is guard duty, no matter where you're assigned.
For a maximum security prison, BlueSend was spectacularly boring. The prisoners misbehaved from time to time, but it was all bluster. A cautionary stun shot from one of the guards put them in their place quickly enough and any thoughts of rising up were quickly and efficiently quelled by the local riot troopers. After months of droning through day after dull day, TX-219 almost wished a prisoner or two would manage to orchestrate an escape. It would at least give the guards some target practice.
"Eyes sharp," their sergeant growled from the head of the group. They entered the tree line, the pattering rain tapering off as they passed beneath the sheltering branches of the forest's canopy. TX wiped his visor clear again, barely able to see through the water-streaked apertures in his helmet.
"Eyes sharp for what?" said his patrol buddy marching next to him. He spoke over their private helmet-to-helmet communicators so the sergeant couldn't overhear them. "These patrols haven't caught sight of anything bigger than a twig monkey in weeks. There's nothing in this forest. Nothing dangerous at least."
"Still," TX replied, "it beats guard duty back at base. I'd rather be out here than marching up and down that barrier wall any day."
"At least BlueSend is clean," his buddy murmured. He lifted his boot, shaking his head at finding the pristine white armor splattered with a thick layer of black-brown mud. "It'll take hours to get this crap scrubbed off."
"Just keep focused on the patrol," TX-219 said. "Shift's done at nineteen-hundred and the grav-ball game is right after that."
"Yeah. Something to look forward to, at least."
A bird called forlornly somewhere off in the trees and thunder rumbled overhead again, but the forest was otherwise silent. TX checked his holographic heads-up display – which showed him readouts of everything his suit's scanners could pick up, from comm channels to the patrol's medical status to the current ambush probability of their immediate surroundings – and saw that their patrol route would carry them right through the Dark Zone. Once inside, the dense foliage would cut off their communication back to BlueSend command.
TX hefted his rifle again, struggling to maintain his pace in the thick layer of mud under his feet. It looked like the entire six-man patrol was having similar difficulties. They were all wobbling and stumbling in the mire like a bunch of punch-drunk Trandoshans. One soldier lost his footing completely and went tumbling into the mud.
This rain isn't letting up any time soon, TX thought, wiping off his visor again. If this keeps up, Corulag will get more annual rain than Kamino.
He was about to say as much to his buddy when their sergeant raised a fist, ordering them to come to a stop. The group slowly filed to a halt behind him, still slipping in the mud.
"We're entering the Dark Zone," the sergeant barked. 'Keep your comms off and your weapons ready."
"Sir!" came the dutiful response. The patrol troopers cycled up their weapons, ready to fire at a moment's notice. At the sergeant's command they set off again at a slow, cautious pace. TX shivered a little despite himself.
The Dark Zone had always creeped him out. The trees grew so dense here, their branches so interwoven, that they interfered with comm signals and cut off any hope for light to hit the ground far beneath. The forest here was dark and dangerous, with tree branches winding across the road like the tendrils of some giant woodland beast, eager to snatch up and consume any unwary soldier who strayed too near. The entire area had such an eerie feeling about it that the locals had likened the sensation to the old Jedi myths about the dark side of the Force, hence its name: the Dark Zone. Fortunately it was only a mile or so from command, so any sounds of commotion would probably be heard back at base. TX comforted himself with the knowledge that reinforcements were only minutes away.
Another blinding flash of lightning and accompanying burst of thunder overhead. TX flinched despite his helmet systems and nervously glanced up into the canopy. Rain dribbled down between the gnarled, interwoven branches that stretched overhead. The leaves rustled and a bird hooted far above, the call echoing through the lonely forest.
Would they even hear us in this weather? I'm not sure.
They hiked along in relative silence for a few moments before the same trooper slipped and fell in the mud a second time. The other soldiers laughed at their fellow's clumsiness, but the sergeant was not as amused. He stormed through the column of troopers, hauled the clumsy private to his feet, and growled, "The next time you lose your footing, soldier, you're on report. Now get your balance and let's-"
A surprised shout came from TX's patrol buddy at the rear of the group. TX sighed and thought, If he slipped too, we're definitely gonna be in the poodoo.
But when he looked back, his patrol buddy was nowhere to be seen. Other troopers were also looking around in confusion, searching all around for their missing comrade. TX tensed in anxiety and confusion; his buddy's IFF tag was offline as well. It was like he had vanished into thin air.
"What? Where'd he go? He was right here!"
"Must have fallen behind a while ago, I guess," another trooper said with a shrug. "We may not have noticed he was-"
Their wonderings were cut short by a sharp crackle of branches at the head of the group and another shout, this time from the sergeant. The knot of white-clad soldiers spun, weapons raised, to find the sergeant backing frantically away from TX's patrol buddy.
The missing trooper was dead, hanging by his ankles from the trees ahead of them. His boots had been bound together by a length of durable whipcord and a still-smoking burn hole was seared through his chest plate. He swung back and forth lazily in the chill forest breeze, strung from branches high up in the canopy above them.
"What the kriff!" one of the troopers shouted. "What happened to him?"
TX-219 didn't reply and instead followed the whipcord up into the canopy. Up, up, up, to the branch where it was tied. He tightened his grip on his rifle as he did, eyes stretching wide at the sight that awaited him.
Sitting on the branch was a man.
"Kriff," their sergeant snarled. "Open fire! Open fire!"
The remaining troopers raised their weapons to fire, but by the time they did the figure was gone, vanishing into the trees with the speed and grace of a nexu on the prowl. They emptied their rifles into open air for a few moments before reason caught hold and they released the firing studs. One after another, their guns fell silent.
TX was breathing hard, his respiration echoing loudly within the confines of his helmet. It looked like the other troopers were just as winded; shock could take a toll on even the most grizzled of soldiers.
One of th troopers glanced at the sergeant. "What the kriff was that thing?"
"Did we get it? Is it dead?"
The sergeant raised a fist, signaling them to be quiet. He took a cautious step forward, finger hovering over the firing stud of his weapon. When nothing leaped from the shadows to attack, he stepped forward again.
A barbed durasteel grapple sliced out of the trees with an angry whistle. It hit the sergeant in the chest, piercing his white chest plate with a loud crack, splintering the plastoid and sending shards of armor flying into the air. The man cried out in equal parts pain and surprise, then was yanked away into the trees and out of sight. He let out a high-pitched scream of pain and terror, then his voice was abruptly cut short.
The troopers stood, staring in shock and unsure what to do. TX gulped loudly, making sure to reload his weapon before more soldiers were cut down. Deep in the forest, the same bird let out another mournful call.
With a cacophony of crackling branches, the sergeant fell into view again, bound by the ankles and hanging from the trees like TX's patrol buddy a little further down the path. He wasn't moving, and his chest plate was smeared with a brilliant swathe of crimson.
"Kriff, man!" one of the troopers shouted. "What do we do? What is that thing?"
TX was about to speak when he heard a strange synthetic buzz and a glowing bar of bright blue sailed down out of the trees. The bar of light, connected to some kind of long pole, speared the panicking trooper through the chest. There was a synthetic snap and a shower of sparks, drawing shouts of surprise and fear from the rest of the patrol. The man screamed, clutching at the bubbling and melting plastoid of his chest plate.
In the next moment, something dark and angular, vaguely humanoid in appearance, dropped down out of the trees. It landed in the middle of their group, instantly lashing out with one leg to knock the nearest stormtrooper onto his back. The figure produced a pistol from his shadowy form and fired twice into the man's helmet. The trooper twitched and fell still.
Barely pausing, the man pivoted, holstered his pistol, and yanked the long bar with the glowing blue blade from the chest of the still-flailing trooper in front of him. The wounded man fell to the ground while the dark figure spun, whirling the glowing weapon over a rounded, dome-shaped head. He brought the weapon down, carving another soldier's chest plate in two before pivoting on one foot and stabbing another through the stomach. A quick boot to the face felled that trooper and the man moved on to the final two Imperials left standing.
The trooper standing next to TX-219 managed to snap off a lucky shot.. It popped against their attacker's chest, just over his heart, with a crack and a shower of sparks, but didn't slow him down. He hefted his weapon and slashed, carving the trooper's rifle in two before reversing the direction of the blade and taking both the soldier's hands off at the wrists. He then spun and hit the screaming trooper in the throat with one heavy boot, silencing him for good.
After only moments, TX was the last remaining member of his patrol. Over course of the short and frantic battle, he hadn't fired a shot. He hadn't even raised his rifle. He was frozen in equal parts horror and morbid curiosity, staring at the dark figure that was towering over the corpse of the handless trooper and all his other squad mates.
His training finally took over, screaming at him to engage the hostile. His hands were shaking, knees knocking together so hard that his armor plates clattered together. But slowly, with a quivering, terrified motion, he raised his rifle.
"Not a good idea." There was a violent hum from the blue blade as the figure pointed the glowing weapon at him, a cautionary motion meant to warn him to stand down. TX knew he should probably give up, but the logical side of his brain seemed to have temporarily shut down.
"Put the weapon down." The man's voice was soft and predatory, like the snarl of a Kashyyyk vine tiger sizing up its prey. "You can still walk away."
But TX wasn't listening any more. He tightened his finger over the firing stud, his aim shaking wildly. He could feel his heart pounding as the dark man took a step toward him. The blue blade hissed and sizzled in the drizzle of rain.
"Last chance, vod. Weapon down or you'll force my hand."
TX was beyond the capacity for rational thought. In next moment he made the decision that ended his life.
He squeezed his eyes shut and fired. The rifle kicked in his hand and there was a loud pow as a blaster bolt was loosed from the barrel. A split-second later there was an even louder clang of the bolt slamming against hard metal.
TX hesitantly opened his eyes, shivering uncontrollably. The dark figure had fallen back a few steps, holding a hand to his head. He let out a low, snarled curse, then looked back at TX-219 and finally stepped into the light. TX saw scarred and burned metal, the result of his blaster shot, and a reflective, black-tinted T-visor.
A Mandalorian, TX thought to himself, shaking harder than ever now. I just shot a Mandalorian.
The black-armored man took another threatening step forward and hissed, "Big mistake, vod."
Seconds later, TX's scream rang out through the Dark Zone.
Cin Vhetin took a step back from the smoldering body of the offending stormtrooper and deactivated his lightsaber pike. He was breathing hard, head throbbing from the shot he'd taken to the helmet dome. He cursed again, then clipped his pike back to the clips set against his jetpack and triggered his comm unit.
"Go for secure," he said. "I need a sitrep."
"Doesn't look like anyone noticed your theatrics," came the response. "We're good as long as you hurry to the outpost."
"I'm on my way," Vhetin replied. He considered hiding the bodies of the trooper patrol and quickly decided against it. He didn't have time, and everyone at the prison outpost would know he was there soon enough. "Keep me notified of anything out of the ordinary."
"Roger. Oya."
"Oya," Vhetin murmured. He took one last look at the stormtroopers splayed out across the forest floor, then set off at a sprint into the trees. A well-timed jump off a large stump launched him up into some low-hanging branches, where he clambered up and took off through the treetops, unseen by anything that moved below.