SHGS - Chapter Four: Let's Play Sabaac
Disclaimer: Stars In My Pocket Like Grains Of Sand by Samuel R Delany is a Science Fiction classic that must be purchased by any serious fan of the genre... IMHO
A/N
"Thanks to those who followed or commented, it is great motivation. There is a mistake in the previous chapter, Jedi Knight Finton Stetil is the final name, I will be reviewing all places where the name is spelled Finston. I will rewrite the whole chapter a bit at some point."
- Darklighter
"Thoughts"
"Speech"
"Abnormal sentient thoughts"
"Abnormal sentient speech"
"Following the decision of the Lord of the Land of Fire, and the acquiescence of the merchant and Shinobi councils of the Land of Fire, I Danzo Shimura, Fifth Hokage of the Land of Fire, find you, Hiruzen Sarutobi guilty of treason... Punishable by public execution. Have you anything to say before we complete this sad day? There was a time when you were an inspiration to us all."
One would have thought that Danzo had not been yearning for this moment for most of his mature life from the way he pronounced his final judgement.
Hiruzen knew better though, having rivalled against the new Hokage throughout his own period of prominence. It was the way of the world and of politics. An endless cascade of parading old men. It was only fitting that in his final hour of triumph Danzo should play the part of humble victor.
He tried to shift in his bindings even though he knew how futile that would be. Still... he would like only to reach the itch skittering from face to neck to crotch.
Most Hidden Villages had ancient proscribed methods for dealing with renegade Hokage. Konoha had the dubious, by Shinobi reckoning, distinction of never having executed a sitting Hokage in their recorded and secret histories.
That was about to change.
There was much he would say, but to speak would endanger the greatest mission he had ever set out to accomplish. He had not spoken whilst under special Jounin Ibiki's tongs, and his co-conspirators had both paid their prices. But now faced with the anguished face of Asuma, forcibly restrained, whether from rescuing his father or killing him - none could tell, Hiruzen felt the words trying to force their way out.
Kami he would speak to him!
But he had bought the Village's... no... the planet's future with his life,and to break his silence would jeopardize all...
The execution space was a wide raised platform. To the side, a good distance from Hiruzen in the center, was a raised table of judgement with the Hokage as chair. His wide red hood of office shielded his eyes from the view of the common man yet Hiruzen was sure that glimmers of joy must lurk somewhere in those grim pools on this day of days.
Danzo had evidently taken his silence for what it was and the executioner stepped forward.
A grim ANBU who he had probably met once upon a time off duty.
For show more than anything else, how could he let his son see him die an apparent coward? Hiruzen commenced an epic struggle against his bonds.
The ANBU leaped backwards as Danzo half rose from his dias. Shinobi and civilian alike who had gathered to watch the un-watchable surged away in barely constrained terror as he almost, almost! brought his heavily fettered and spread arms around to clasp his fingers in a hand-sign.
Then his struggling ceased as the chakra sucking nature of the metal that bound him overwhelmed his efforts, and his arms were sent springing back painfully spread eagle.
Calm was restored by the by, and he had a final view of the broken Village spread before his raised position. Broken people and broken buildings sheltering in a despoiled forest and all watching a broken old man die.
The setting sun crowned what remained of his tower.
Danzo was welcome to it.
Through all that had happened over the past vicious weeks, "The Professor" had known that this would be the most likely end result of his communion with a power that the rigid traditions of his world had blinded him from comprehending.
The Force.
"Proceed," the new voice of power. The new leader.
Danzo had taken charge.
There was nothing left for him to do in this world.
He cast a last look at his son. He tried to convey the sense of a reassuring or comforting nod but was met only by the wall of incoherent rage and confusion that blazed in Asuma's eyes.
After his final moments, no one could say that Hiruzen Sarutobi, The Professor, Third Hokage of Konoha and master of the legendary Sannin uttered a whimper as he died.
He did not even feel the sword, having unshackled his spirit in the instant before it pierced his heart, tracking down and up in a U form to ritually disembowel his corpse with gushing squelches of blood and the hysterical cheers of dopa-mine fueled masses.
Old Shinobi had lots of little tricks.
Twenty-Five Days Earlier.
He had headed for Konoha quickly after the the resounding boom of his former Master's ship overshot him ahead.
Former Master, because the next time they met this card game of life would end one way or another.
There was no hope of reaching the city in time, but that was not what hurried his steps. The transponder bringing Vasuya's mercenaries indicated that they were already in system. Osvaldus raged at himself for overlooking the threads of the Force that had weaved this moment into being, but there was still time for him to steal the crescendo and ride the final wave.
A short while after his master had broken the planetary atmosphere Osvaldus saw the first slave ships. Ugly and fat constructions, their convex forms gave the image of the bulging bellies of termite queens.
They snaked down from the sky on ion wings.
By this time he could see the city in the distance from the hillock the road followed.
If he had been further away he could have even traced his way to Konoha from the thick plumes of towering black ash that smoked up into the sky, or from the smell of flame devoured flesh and wood that was even now riding the winds.
He had no doubt that infiltrating deep cover Shinobi teams from rival nations were already headed to the scene just as he was.
He needed to get off the road. Heading off the hillock he considered the ways in which he was unlike the inhabitants of this world, how this moment of their anguish would help seed his dominion.
He waded roughly through the bracken at hill's base, about to head into the forest. His eyes had traced the destructive landing made by the slave ships as their torpid bellies settled and that combined with the overhanging trees meant that he almost missed the entrance of a third player.
The Dark side had not lied to him yet however, and would not lie to him about this of all things.
The sweetness of the light.
Innocence, justice, and order.
A Jedi had come.
Perfect.
Finton had never seen Mexes execute an imperfect landing, no matter how war torn or treacherous the environment.
The knot of foreboding and prescience that had been pushing at his brain since they had entered the system had caused him to wish that something unnatural would happen. A fault in the Ai's algorithms, or an uncharacteristic mistake on the part of his partner, but no such boon was forthcoming.
Can't help that I asked him to land in such a convenient spot.
There was a frustration that was trying to sink Jedi Knight Finton, it had been trying to sink him from the moment that they dropped in system.
They had exited to set foot on soil, a substance Fint would have had no physical memory of encountering if his life as a Jedi Knight and erstwhile spice smuggler had not taken him to some of the universes backwaters.
This was not soil such as on those worlds though. Not the earth of a land that had had all of its resources sucked out from underneath in a churning mass of industrialization and spoilage.
No. This was verdant green earth so far unspoiled by progress.
He raised his rifle to his face and the minuscule droid chip in his brain instantly magnified his telescopic to zoom in on the disembarking slavers. His body slung down into a habitual crouch as he began a rapid scuttle towards the impending action.
These the small computer chip marked yellow for friendly, whilst painting the whole walled city beyond the mercenaries a dull glinting red.
Mexes by his side did the same, and the only sound for a while was the soft crunch of their boots pulping the loam and plant matter underfoot.
It was only a matter of time before they broke the tree-line, although a good distance from the main body of personnel from Nar Shaddaa.
The city was relatively large for a pre-industrial society such as this one, and he could not see all of its decimated expanse. The wind carried the hysterical babble of an alien tongue as the native combated the licking flames that were threatening to devour their homes.
He knew that the destruction he saw could not have been wrought by the Slavers, whose vessels were not equipped with proactive armaments, but only by a War-Yacht such as the one he had arrived aboard...
Or watched a Dark Lord of the Sith depart upon.
There was a sudden commotion from the city. The Slavers were close now. Very close. It was only a matter of time before they breached its walls and killed all the inhabitants who put up resistance.
They would target the very young and women, killing the old. If possible they would put restraining shackles on muscular young males which could prove highly valuable, but it was more likely that they would kill these outright.
They were very efficient these Slavers, if you could stomach looking at things a certain way.
"Hey Fint, you seeing that?"
Trust Hexs's acute Mandalorian DNA to pick up on danger before even a Jedi Knight's senses caught on.
"I don't like the look of this," Something was wrong. The native warriors were streaming out of their encampment. That in itself was not so unusual, it was in life's nature to put up a stirring defence. But the Force was trying to tell him something. The discomfort he had felt on the journey so far had been leading up to this moment, or to the sequence of moments that would come after this one. He could not tell.
"It is definitely going to be a slaughter, check out the fancy armaments," Mexes thought he was agreeing with his partner. The natives were armed lightly with small blades and hand held projectiles...
But the way they leaped over the walls clad only in leather and oxidized metal could not be natural.
Everything crystallized in Finton's mind.
"Hex... this is a standard grav world right?" he asked. The leaping natives were humanoid, although under their battle garments it was hard to be certain they were all baseline human.
"Fuck that's right... Two minutes till contact. Our guys are gonna engage in seconds, I don't have voice com with the buggers. You have one'dem feelins but relax alright? This could still be a wash-ou, OH SHIT!"
Oh shit was right.
The natives had slammed into the first group of warriors and a pirouetting orgy of death ensued.
Now he understood how he had missed it. All the native warriors, inhumanely strong and fast, as they ripped out throats, shattered bones, and shoved their archaic knives through by comparison highly advanced armor, were using the force in someway. The effects were prominent and sometimes astonishing to witness, the doing was subtle.
All of them.
Multitudes.
It was hard to explain the feeling, but to his perceptions they were like insubstantial shadows that flitted in and out of connection with the Force. He did not understand how it was possible, but he got the distinct impression that many of them could draw deeply on its power.
His mind yawned, stretching for inspiration as all the elements and creatures out of nightmare took to the battlefield.
And this was just one population center.
"This is bad. This is really, really, really bad."
"Bad? Fint my eyes are showing me some really weird shit, and I think the advance group is all gone. How is this possible? Are they Jedi? Fuck we gotta bug out, I count four on us," Mexes was a whirl now even as he spoke. No time for surprise or fear, rifle to firing position in one smooth action, after the barest delay a single shot.
He aimed for center of mass and his shot counted, sending the native warrior - a she Fint noted - pitching to the ground.
Something told Finton he needed to have his Lightsaber in his hand, as soon as possible.
"I'm following, let's go," he said as Mexes impatiently slapped him on his back armor.
The natives had already consumed the first group of mercenaries. Now many of them headed directly for the ships, though to what purpose Finton could not guess, while others commenced work on what remained of the second batch of slavers.
three of the natives pursued them.
Because his elemental affinities swung towards the destructive and cutting arts of Fire and Wind Asuma had found himself with little to do in the immediate fall-out of the extraterrestrial attack.
Even though the destruction had been wrought much too rapidly for anyone to respond to, and in a manner that they had no defence against, everything that had transpired caused a roaring anger in Asuma that he had rarely felt. One that was begging for some kind of release.
Just when they were starting to get accustomed to how bad things were the situation descended into chaos as more futuristic vessels appeared.
The civilians, whom a few Shinobi were attempting to herd into safety zones, displayed their craven nature hurtling about the place and causing more confusion.
They could not help it of course, and he could not truly blame them, but a part of Asuma knew that the anger in him was only stirred by their wailing.
It was such a blatant reminder of everything that they had just lost, and the danger they still faced.
Thankfully the incoming enemy ships did not fire upon the city again. Already the Shinobi in him, and in all of them he supposed, was judging the difference between this ship and the previous.
Now that they had all been exposed to a new reality they were able to process it faster than most pre-space societies.
In a way the Shinobi had known about things like this. Or at least about the potential for it. For centuries part of the deal that bound Hidden Village to Elemental Nation was an unspoken of accord to collectively suppress all technologies that could irrevocably alter the land's balance of power.
The Shinobi were, of course, well-suited to this task - assassinations being prime trade-goods.
Through their contact with such technological types Shinobi had gained enough know how that culturally they were less shocked by events than say... your average 19th century Englishman.
That of Asuma which came from his father - that core which loved the intricacies of developing new Jutsu, and was at home with the pure theory of Shinobidom, was already considering ways in which to defend urban centers from the kind of assault Konoha had just been subjected to.
A part of him already grasped the bare truth of the situation. The gates of hell had been opened and more invaders could come at any moment. At any rate, as Shinobi, they would most definitely seek their revenge.
He had been drawn inexorably towards the walls as he had watched the beings land. Soon enough, trickles of them began to emerge from their constructions.
Asuma was among the first Shinobi over the walls.
The anger in him had found an outlet, but he was still the son of the Third Hokage, there was a definite purpose to his hurried steps.
They had to secure the invader's vessels at any cost, without them they would have no hope of extracting retribution within their lifetimes.
The will of Fire burned with a phoenix's intensity inside, and in this very moment he was the weapon forged to draw its enemies blood.
His structured mind was already organizing data, his brothers and sisters were with him, wordlessly reflecting his own fury through their battle poise and hurried steps.
Flights of throwing stars and kunai were flung at the enemy.
The uneducated attackers no doubt thought that the metal waves of sharp implements was timed to some unseen signal, but then they did not understand that for Shinobi none was needed. They could not comprehend the discipline of their craft.
They did not realize that they were something far more than a primitive army.
When contrasting the military doctrines of the enlightened galaxy and lonely up-till-now isolated Terra one realizes a sole fact.
There is no such thing as a Shinobi grunt. Even Genins are trained to think as most cultures generals do, with their very body serving as army.
Without reflecting on the act Asuma had already unsheathed his twin trench knives. Flying Swallow, the technique whereby he charged them to razor sharp sword points of chakra was already in play, brought to being by long ease and practice.
Tendrils of energy flashed from the weapons in the enemies hands. barking coughs of light obviously intended for use against personnel, but no doubt related to the weapon that had destroyed much of The Leaf.
Instinctively he judged and moved, coming into range alongside his compatriots. It was the Genin and Chuunin who suffered most in those initial moments of adaptation, and too many of them fell to the burning rays of croustillant energy.
But others survived, Asuma amongst them, and those others waded in amongst the enemies ranks - scattering them, and destroying.
The valuable knowledge they gained in those first brief encounters with beings from other worlds would be distilled and analyzed to the very minutiae for the benefit of the generations to come, but for the moment all there was was the killing.
They hounded them like dogs who had evolved to hunt in the forests, darting through the treetops like crazed dervishes as they flung killing weapons down at them and caused blossoms of fire to sprout from nothing before their eyes, and fists of water to be formed and sent crashing at them through the forest cover.
They must not have been as many as he first supposed, Fint realized as he poured liquid lightning back at his foes. The Viovacor made rifle spat plasma that was very similar in consistency to that which thrummed from his Lightsaber, though of course it was not the same.
Still the weapon caused considerable carnage and set fire to much of the shrubbery and in some places its acidic nature scarred the earth.
Yet Fint felt a strange sense of comeuppance as they put up a fighting retreat, heading for the safety of their ship and the cosmos. he felt for once what it was like to be 'normal' and face a Jedi, or similar force sensitive.
Although he and Hex were anything but normal.
Fint was straining his precognitive senses to the utmost, and using this ability to lay down efficient lines of fire, he avoided overt uses of the force and his concealed Lightsaber. One of the three attacking them had disappeared at some point. He had been wearing white robes, and should have been easy to track amongst all the green, but he had vanished utterly.
Although Hex on the other hand was Mandalorian born, he had probably noticed before Fint. Clad in his Beskar'gam and sending his fire right at the attacking natives, predicting their motions and forcing them to scurry away from the retreating forms of the pair of them, though he was yet to score a telling blow.
The armor Mexes wore had been passed down over eight generations. This fact was no doubt a foreboding one, as each owner would have maximized the armor's capabilities in his own distinctive way.
Perhaps to prove him right, or perhaps the force had so deeply wrapped itself around Fint at the height of battle that his own thoughts mirrored reality, vents of flame opened up out of the back of Mexes suit and his partner was propelled into the skies on wings of fire.
Mexes had dropped his rifle, and Fint followed suit knowing what came next. He began a headlong sprint for their ship, but something told him he still had to prepare himself.
The reason why Mexes had discarded his gun became clear as nozzles opened out on his shoulders and wrist mounted rockets armed themselves. From the sky he set ablaze a swathe of the forest before their pursuers that was so huge the action sent a ringing pang of loss through Fint's consciousness.
"Get to the ship" Mexes iron voice crackled to reach him over their linked communications.
"Ahyo," he said, immediately beginning to unstrap the armor around his left thigh even as he ran for safety.
He heard the dull boom of Hex's jetpack motoring him towards the ridge they had touched down alongside.
We've been lucky to discover what they can do and stay unscathed, but now that we do know I can't take any risks. Sorry friend, but I think you would understand if I said we can deal with the uncomfortable truth of me being a fuckin Knight and all later.
There were two beings blocking his access to the first ship.
The first one was all squat and wiry muscle underneath leathery skin the same colour as one of Guy's obscene green spandex outfits. This one Asuma killed with a simple thrust into the armpit, the almost invisible blade of his Trench Knife piercing through long before the creature was aware of the danger.
The second one had long writhing tentacles growing out the back of its head. It tried to take advantage of his momentary encumberance with its dead companion and blasted at him with its deathstick. He leapt into the air before the bolts had even begun to flash out of the weapon's nozzle and speared the chakra point of his other knife deep into its throat, channelling his energies to cover the extra distance.
His fellow Shinobi had quickly realized his intentions, and another group was already headed for the second ship.
Here there were faces besides him that he knew and some that were unknown to him. They were all united to a common purpose.
They were about to enter when he signalled a halt, there was a Jutsu he would like to perform first.
He formed the stance and necessary seals, breathing out the name of his signature technique.
A moment passed before a sharp wind, made visible by dust, began to build in front of him. The air currents tumbled as if inhabited by a malicious djinn, and then after another instant a screaming wave of razor gales streamed into the passageway ahead of them.
Most of the screams from those who had lain in ambush were drowned out by the rushing wave of his Fūton: Fūjin no Jutsu, a few carried through to the ninja and they knew that the enemy had been banking on such a plan. After that it was just a matter of killing.
When it was all over Asuma stood in a central chamber that looked to be some sort of command structure, though he wasn't even allowing his mind to process the details of what he saw. That would come later, for the moment all there was to do was ensuring the death of every single invader who had set foot on the world.
Suddenly there was a slight commotion at the entrance to the room from which he was organizing the final attempts to seek out still alive aboard.
Guy came through the door, his tall muscled frame sodden with sweat, the vibrant energy that usually pasted a smile on his face turned to rage at the desecration of his beloved Leaf.
"Asuma! There was another ship. Like the one that attacked the city. The Hokage has asked all Jonin to converge on the location, its an S-rank. Lord Hiashi has already engaged the enemy, the Chuunin who returned to report says that these ones are more skilled."
"Immediately," Asuma replied. He spotted a pair of Chuunin he knew by the names of Kotetsu and Izumo. "You two, go find Hatake Kakashi. Spread the Hokage's message to all Jonin that you see engaging the enemy." Guy's face was red from the exertion of keeping three of the nine gates constantly open. There was no room for delay or merriment in his stony expression
"Let's go," Asuma said, matching action to words.
This time he had his Lightsaber firmly in hand as he rushed through the forest, but no matter how he leapt the blocking boulders and fallen tree shafts in his path there was no way he could hope to reach the ship before Mexes.
Which wasn't so great because the Force was telling him, quite insistently, that something terrible was about to happen.
Now.
He tried his best however, and it was with dismay that just as he reached the last overhang of forest-land before their little sheltering landing space under a ridge and beside a dry stream-bed he heard the cacophony of Hex's assault rifle.
He leapt the last ten meters and came out unto the dry turf of the stream-bed in a roll.
He rose with ignited Lightsaber to face a battle out of his nightmares.
Mexes buzzed around in the sky like an enraged hornet, sending tongues of lazer fire at a figure below him.
There is another one of THEM?
Fint was momentarily stunned by the sight of the pale skinned Zabrak Sith Lord nonchalantly batting away Hex's efforts with a blood red Lightsaber, his dark robes all aswirl.
"You're one of THEM!" Mexes was likewise stunned and for an instant it looked like he did not know who to shoot.
"Ah! the Jedi! What has been keeping you? It's just about time to deal the cards for the little game I have planned!" The Sith Lord had a high pitched voice that was nonetheless chillingly evil. He gobbled up the distance between Fint and himself and there was such a clash of Lightsabers that Mexes could not have gotten a clean shot even if he made up his mind as to a target.
Duck, side stroke- no he will mirror me, wait for the counter, dang he saw through that, thrust!
Combat between two wielders of the Force bearing Lightsabers was as much a question of who could successfully out 'Force guess' who as it was a question of swordsmanship.
Still his enemy was skilled, and Fint was forced to take unplanned steps backwards when the Zabrak aimed a low swipe across his ankles. He tried to counter with a Force push was again countered as his enemy preempted him and used a wave of darkside energy to grasp for his throat.
He annulled this attack with a swipe of his hand but the Sith Lord was already on him slashing and hacking wildly but with perfect form as he descended into a berserker rage.
The calm was on Fint now as well and he regained his equilibrium.
These moments were what the Sith and Jedi both secretly lived for, for in the clash of their arms the eternal mystery of the Force was accomplished; the snake eating its own tail.
He managed to give Mexes an opening by seducing the Sith into overreaching a particular strike, and then sending the elbow of his other hand to crash into the man's face even as their crossed swords hissed and sparked.
The Sith could not help but stumble, and Fint quickly ducked aside as Mexes took aim and struck true, sending lances down that should have pinned the man.
Still the Sith fought on and his power seemed to only grown with his rage. He stuck up one hand and absorbed three bolts of pure energy before bringing his Lightsaber back into defensive play.
A sharp wail of danger, Fint began to sprint.
The Dark Lord thrust the hand that had absorbed the blaster bolt up at Mexes... Consuming lightning licked up at his friend, wrapping him in their static embrace. Mexes began to convulse as the energy took ahold of him, in a matter of seconds his jetpack shorted out, but though he began to crash to land the darklord kept the stream focused on him.
Fint shoulder tackled him just in time.
His Lightsaber went flying out of his hand and this inspired him. He used the Force to push the surprised Dark Lord's own weapon away as they both fell heavily to the ground. He heard Mexes heave a pained groan and joy surged up within him at the revelation that Hex was alive.
"Jedi rodent! I'll"
Even as the Dark Lord began to snarl there was a sudden and distinctive crash as hundreds of the metal knives favoured by the natives began to pin cushion the ground around them.
Our ship is right There!
All three of them on the ground, Mexes because he couldn't move, held still.
They could see the natives now and there were at least a hundred of them in the trees, on the ridge, even on the dry river-bed itself he now noticed.
These people could be so invisible when they wanted to be.
There was a man of average height with a bushy beard that covered his whole face smoking.
He threw the cigarette at the floor in-front of them and said a quick stream of sentences before gesturing calmly.
"He say's we are now their only prisoners, since they killed everyone else when the heat of battle was upon them, and that they shall restrain us and take us for further questioning."
Finton had almost forgotten he was entangled on the floor with a Sith Lord.
"I told you I had a little game planned," the Zabrak positively leered.
A/N
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