"I still haven't found any sign of your officer in the base, but the prototype accelerator is down in the garage," Mission informed them, jumping to another video feed. "Show me," Kyle said. Mission turned the data pad, and scrolled through the facility map, she traced her finger along the route, showing the commando. "Take this hallway here, until you reach this junction, here. Then, you want to take a right. Head straight, and take the elevator here. I'll walk you through it," Mission promised.
((()))
Kyle edged along the hallway. Carth stood at his shoulder, and the rodians trailed along behind them.
Kyle touched his helmet, enhancing his HUD optics and resolution so that the camera he'd spotted at the end of the hall jumped out at him, as if it were only a meter away, "Mission, there's a camera in the corner ahead… it says A-v11. Can you put it on a fifteen second loop, until we're past it?"
"Yeah, give me a sec," Mission responded.
It took Mission fifteen seconds to loop the video feed. Fifteen long seconds, that might erupt in violence at any moment, should some hapless Vulkar stumble into them.
The intruders managed to get all the way to the garage before a rodian belonging to the Vulkars spotted one of the Bek rodians and threw a strange knife, which slammed into the startled Bek Rodian's chest… from the catwalk… in the dark.
It had to be the compound eyes, Kyle thought, as he returned fire with more traditional means.
"So much for stealth," Carth complained, ducking back down behind a storage crate. The wounded Bek Rodian gurgled weakly on the garage floor, still trying to raise its blaster and return fire.
"I wouldn't worry, I've disabled the Black Vulkar's communications. Unless one of them physically leaves the level, no one's going to know we're here," Mission smugly answered.
Kyle peeked around the corner, and snapped off a shot, which hit one of the Vulkar thugs across the garage. The injured thug fell back, clutching his useless shoulder.
A Nikto with more guts than brains tried to sneak around to the left and flank the intruders.
"I thought Gadon drew most of these bastards off!" Carth shouted, his shot throwing the flanker into a pile of discarded scrap.
"Obviously, he missed some, sir," Kyle snapped back, using the optical sights on his helmet to patiently line up a pinpoint shot with his rifle, and cap a Twi'lek thug at sixty meters.
"Heya Carth, the Vulkars have a couple repair droids—" Mission started to say.
"Grenade!" Carth shouted, and the group dove to get something in between them and the grenade.
"—recharging in some sockets, I'm—"
The explosion drowned out whatever the young slicer said, and left Carth's ears ringing. He envied Kyle's helmet.
"—so get ready," Mission finished.
"What? Say again?" Carth called.
The Vulkars started screaming and yelling. From what Kyle could see, two squat little repair droids were chasing the Vulkars with a fusioncutter, arc welder, and a pair of bolt cutters between them.
It was almost funny, Kyle thought. He flicked his rifle over to burst fire, and shredded the Vulkars who had partially left cover. The smarter ones tried to slag the droids, without leaving cover, and learned that an arc welder, or fusion cutter were just as deadly as a blaster… albeit slower in killing.
"Thank you for the droids, Mission," Carth said.
"Uh… I just made them berserk. There wasn't time to actually reprogram their friend-foe tags. I just set everything that moved as a foe," Mission answered sheepishly.
The surviving the utility droid caught sight of Carth, and with an insane little squeal, rolled over the garage deck drunkenly, badly damaged from multiple point-blank shots. Carth raised his blaster, sighted, and fired in less than a second. He hit the power core dead center, and the droid's photoreceptor went dark.
Kyle checked the wounded rodian, but shook his head at Carth, "He's gone."
The surviving Rodian quickly stripped his friend of blaster, knife, power packs, and valuables. ((Waste not.)) the Rodian told Kyle.
"Take a left at this next junction. I can't unlock the door to the labs from here, but you should be able to patch me into the security station there," Mission said.
"Got it," Carth confirmed, and motioned for Kyle to take point again.
((()))
Mission cycled through the various camera feeds, watching for Vulkars, and waiting for the strike team to patch her into the security systems in the garage.
Somewhere nearby, a door opened out of sight, and Zaalbar heard a Duros screaming abuse at someone.
That someone hurried around the corner, and into the storage room. She saw a twi'lek girl crouched over a datapad, with a comlink headset. Then Zaalbar was there, and clamped a paw over her mouth. Mission looked up when she heard a neatly muffled scream and caught sight of Zaalbar's hostage. She was thirteen, maybe. Human female, artificially dyed black hair, and sporting several scars and bruises. Her eyes were wide, and very, very green.
"Hi there," Mission chirped, and returned her attention to the screen. "Alright guys, there's some Vulkars coming up the corridor on your left, six of them, look like technicians."
((()))
Kyle wiped the blood off his knife, "Mission, they weren't techs."
"Oh. Sorry. Have you reached the security station yet?"
"Working on it," Carth replied. He helped the rodian up, but the alien waved him off, tying a strip of cloth over the stab wound in his leg, to staunch the blood.
Rodians were tough, persistent little bastards.
Kyle hacked a door control with an EMP stylus from his belt, and engaged the manual release, since he'd fried the electronic locking mechanism. "Commando standard issue?" Carth asked conversationally, looking at the highly illegal tool in the commando's hand.
The armored man shrugged, "All the best toys, sir."
((()))
"Do you promise not to scream?" Mission asked. The girl nodded frantically.
"Okay… but if you do scream, Big Z here might have to smack you," Mission told her.
The girl froze, and Mission nodded to her friend. The wookiee let go, and the girl fell to her knees, "Please don't hurt me – I just serve the food here, that's all! I'm not like these others – I'm not even a Black Vulkar. Please don't kill me!" she whispered in a sob.
Mission giggled, "I'm not going to kill you." That would be stupid.
"You… you're not?" the human girl asked, off balance.
Mission looked back at the datapad, using the uplink feed from the commando's helmet cam to watch him struggle to patch her into the security console.
"How did you end up in the Vulkar base?" Mission asked, distracted.
"My father… owed Davik some money, but he couldn't pay," the girl whispered. She didn't say more, but Mission could connect the dots: Set example by killing deadbeat father, sell girl, get money back.
"What's your name?"
The girl hesitated, like names had power, or something. Or she'd forgotten.
"Ada… my name is Ada."
((()))
"Ha. Superior engineering my ass," Kyle grunted, finishing splicing the "idiot proof" relay tine into the communication port of the security station.
"Mission, are you getting a signal?" He asked.
"Uh… kind of. You put the prongs in the wrong ports. Flip 'em around," Mission suggested.
"Frelling damn it," Kyle said tiredly, and tried to jimmy the tightly wedged jack back out.
Carth watched. He sympathized with the commando, but he'd already seen the soldier shock himself twice, with insulated gloves. Carth had no gloves, so Carth would not be going anywhere near the cantankerous, highly electrified console. That's what grumpy commandos with diverse vocabularies and a hatred for machines were for.
Kyle shocked himself again.
((()))
"What're you doing?" Ada asked. Mission tilted the datapad, "I'm keeping these idiots from getting lost," she answered.
"Mission. You're transmitting," Carth said bluntly.
"Sorry," the girl answered, not sounding sorry at all. Kyle said something too, but Mission didn't think it was directed at her, unless somehow her ancestry contained a sonic toaster and a kinky Hutt. There were other adjectives mixed in, but Mission couldn't understand half of them… she was only trilingual.
"Hey, Ada, you haven't seen a prisoner, have you? Some woman named Bastila?" Mission asked suddenly, startling the skittish serving girl.
"Is— is she that republic soldier? I heard one of those Vulkars mention her, but she's not here. He said Brejik didn't trust his men around her. I guess she's too important to be a slave here in the kitchens, getting pawed and groped and kicked and spit on like me. Brejik must have taken her somewhere safe," Ada snarled.
"Whoa, girl, power down the turbolasers. Just askin a question," Misson protested.
"Sorry," Ada muttered, glancing nervously at Zaalbar.
((()))
"Ha!" Kyle hissed, shoving the jack in correctly. "Alright Mission, what are you getting?" he demanded, perhaps a little sharply.
"Nothing. Empty read," Mission replied.
"You're joking," Kyle flatly denied, unwilling to contemplate resetting the jack a third time.
"How'd you know?" Mission asked, put out.
"What?" Carth asked, irritated, "this is serious, girl. People are shooting at us. If you can't stay focused, and professional…"
"Sorry! It won't happen again!" Mission said hastily, and this time she did sound sorry.
"What are you getting from the jack?" Kyle asked again.
"Yeah, readings are good. I've synched platforms and… there. I have access. I'll unlock the lab when you get there, no point alerting anybody inside ahead of time."
Carth looked at the commando, "Ready to kill something?"
"You have no idea, sir…"
((()))
Zaalbar heard footsteps and angry muttering approaching. The girls were still distracted, talking, but the Wookiee scout had not relaxed his vigil. The Duros cook stormed in, and froze, staring at the huddled girls. Then the grey skinned alien's neck snapped loudly, and Zaalbar tossed him in the corner. Ada stared at the cook. She stood up, and walked over to the broken corpse.
"I hate you," she whispered. Then she was screaming, and beating the corpse with her fists. She'd completely blown both her stacks, flipped her lid, and flown off multiple handles, Mission decided. Unfortunately, other people heard it… and came running.
"Uh guys, hurry up. The Vulkars found us," Mission said. Zaalbar smashed a knife wielding gang banger into a wall with one hand, and kicked another in the throat, killing him out right. His bowcaster was still slung across his back.
((()))
Carth, Kyle, and the Rodian broke into a jog (the later had a distinct limp to his).
"Turn right at the next corridor," Mission said, distractedly.
"Uh Mission, we can only turn left," Carth mentioned.
"Sorry, I meant left!" she sounded flustered.
"If you're sure…" Carth said, hesitantly.
"Go left, damn it!" Mission barked.
((()))
Mission leveled her hold-out blaster, and squeezed off a few shots. The small weapon was underpowered by most standards, but Mission loved the feel of it in her hand… and she was a crack shot with it too. "Big Z, blaster on your right!" she snapped. Zaalbar turned, still holding a squirming nikto, who took several blaster shots intended for the wookiee… who promptly used the dying shield as a bola, to take down the blaster toting gang banger.
"Mission, we're at the lab." She glanced back at the pad, and unlocked the lab for Carth.
"Come on, goggle-eyes!" she taunted, dropping a rodian wearing Vulkar colors, who had slipped past the angry wookiee, intent on what it perceived as the easier target.
((()))
Kyle entered the darkened lab at a crouch, his visor on IR. He panned the room, but didn't see any immediate threats. No trip lines, pressure sensors, atmospheric scanners… nothing. That put him on edge. This man, Brejik, was gambling his entire fledgling gang-empire on the prototype accelerator winning his race. Brejik didn't even have alarms on it?
Kyle searched the room, while Carth and the Rodian stood at the door, watching for trouble. Near the back, Kyle found a security field enclosing a cylindrical object, which certainly looked like it belonged in a swoop bike. Sgt. Draven set his rifle aside, and set to work on figuring out how the accelerator was guarded.
"Sergeant, how's it coming?" Carth asked nervously.
"Working on the security safeguards now, sir," Kyle answered, ignoring the sweat dripping into his eyes. This wasn't his forte. For a moment, Kyle wished Ricki, from his old squad, was here. The devaronian would have had the security field cracked several minutes ago, and make it look easy doing it. Kyle hadn't thought about his dead squadmates for… months.
With a flicker, the field died, and Kyle grinned. Success. He ran a gauntlet scanner over the object, but his scan didn't pick up any obvious alarms… or at least, nothing high tech.
((()))
Ada huddled in a corner, her arms thrown over her head. Nearby, someone was screaming, before there was a crunch of bone, and the screaming stopped.
Zaalbar dropped the dead Vulkar, and snorted, trying to master the blood rage.
"Mission, is this what we came for?" Kyle asked.
The young Twi'lek paused, and tapped her headset, "What was that?"
"Check my helmet cam. Is this the prototype?" the commando asked again, patiently.
"Uh… from what I can see?" Mission hedged, peering at the data pad's screen closely, "Yeah, I think so."
"Okay. We're falling back to your position."
There was a rustle behind the girl, which was the only warning she got before a monstrosity surged out of the darkness.
"Ahh!" Mission screamed, and scrambled away. The Rakghoul missed its target, and snarled mindlessly, scrabbling after her. Then a wookiee broke the monster in half, and stuffed it back down the pipe they had climbed into the base through. His keen hearing heard more monsters below… no doubt attracted by the smell of the kill… and with no rancor alive to eat them… It only took Zaalbar a moment to work out how long before the Rakghouls would be drawn to the pipe… and the smell of living meat. It sounded like a lot of Rakghouls though.
((()))
"Hey, Carth, um… we've got a problem," Mission said, some panic in her voice.
"This is Carth, go ahead," the captain acknowledged, as the group back tracked. The Rodian was starting to noticeably slow. Tough or not, he was sporting a rather serious leg injury.
"Uh, when we blew up the rancor…" Mission trailed off.
Carth was not getting a good feeling, "What about the rancor?" he asked tiredly.
"Well, a whole bunch of Rakghouls came and started eating it. Now they're climbing up the pipe," Mission blurted.
What this meant to Carth, was that their exit strategy had just gone to hell.
"Alright… hang tight, we're almost to the elevator," Carth told her heavily.
"Uh, are you still in the garage?"
"Yes, Mission."
"Zaalbar wants you to grab… a fusion cutter, an arc welder, and welding goggles," Mission relayed.
((()))
Zaalbar stuffed another dead Vulkar down the pipe in a gristly crumpled ball. So far, most of the aliens were too skinny, even folded in half. It was filling up the bottom of the pipe, a little, and distracting the Rakghouls. It sounded like every monster within three kilometers had come.
"Come on Ada, help me," Mission snapped, trying to tug a particularly obese corpse towards the hole.
Zaalbar picked up the dead body, and shoved it into the hole. After some initial resistance, the body was… persuaded into the pipe, and this time, the body lodged about half-way down the pipe. With that initial stop-gap measure in place, the intelligent Wookiee began testing the surrounding cargo cylinders for weight.
((Watch the door, Mission)) Zaalbar growled, and the Twi'lek grimly obeyed. Ada was still paralyzed with fear, rocking in the corner.
Quickly, the wookiee found a heavy-duty cargo container, made of plasteel. It would work… probably.
Mission watched her friend begin ripping the lids off of the containers in the storage room, keeping half an eye on the hallway. Apparently he wasn't finding what he wanted… but then he paused, and pulled out some old fuel-slug power cells. Each was a cylinder, roughly as large as someone's head and three times heavier. With a contemplative grumble, Zaalbar hefted its weight experimentally… then tossed it down the hole. There was a loud impact of some kind, and something screamed in very definite pain.
Zaalbar bared his teeth, and picked up the large packing crate… it had to weight at least twice as much as Zaalbar… and tipped the contents into the hole.
Mission grinned wickedly, half deafened by the thundering hail.
It's hard to climb a pipe when heavy things are raining down on you, Mission decided.
((()))
"No, not that one, Big Z! This one! It feels heavy!" echoed down the hall, followed shortly by a cascade of clattering metal falling. The curious chuffing, what passed for Wookiee laughter, bounced down the corridor too.
Carth looked over at Kyle, but the commando shrugged; it was no concern of his.
The two men walked into the storage room, and paused. Empty cargo crates and packing material was strewn all over the floor.
"Look, cyclic stabilizing nodules!" Mission cried, hefting a handful of small metal components that looked almost like ugly wedding bands. The Wookiee grunted something, and poured the contents of the crate down the hole, followed by inhuman screams of rage.
"Who asked for welding tools?" Kyle shouted over the noise. Without explanation, Zaalbar came over, grabbed the goggles, and arc welder. He slipped the goggles on over his eyes, a tough fit around the nose because of his muzzle, and quickly began welding the metal grate cover back over the hole.
Carth bemusedly watched the Twi'lek urchin continue to rummage through the storage crates. Apparently, most of the stuff was junk… judging by her rough language, anyway.
"Who's this?" Kyle asked, pointing to the rocking girl in the corner.
"Oh, that's Ada. Can she come with us?" Mission asked, looking up at Carth beseechingly, "The Vulkars were terrible to her," she leaned in closer and whispered, "I think they might have… you know… to her."
Carth looked down at the young Twi'lek, who could not have been older than twelve. His son, Dustil had been twelve when… when— before the old memories and ghosts could awaken, Carth slammed the lid on their box back down.
Someone that young shouldn't be so wise to the world… "Are you sure?" Carth asked Mission quietly. The urchin shrugged, "Pretty sure, yeah."
Captain Onasi slowly moved over to the rocking girl, Ada, and crouched several feet from her, "Hey, honey, is your name Ada?" Carth tried to keep his voice as gentle as possible. He realized that the girl was muttering something under her breath.
Her eyes weren't focused… she looked like she was in shock. He tried to get her attention without touching her, but she couldn't seem to hear, or see him.
The Republic captain nodded slowly to himself. "Sergeant?" he called. Kyle glanced up from his position by the door, "Sir?"
"Change of plans. The girl comes with us," Carth said grimly.
"Not a problem, sir," the commando replied quietly.
"Are we done here?" Carth asked no one in particular.
((()))
"Open the doors, Mission," Carth instructed. "Yes boss," the girl mocked, as she tapped in the commands on her datapad. It was still linked to the security station via Kyle's wireless jack… which had an effective range of roughly six hundred meters in such a tight urban sprawl. (There was a lot of interference from the dense materials of the buildings, especially for such a compact and low profile sensor jack)
The thick blast doors began to open, slowly.
"That was quick," Carth commented, a little impressed.
"Uh… that wasn't me. I'm still halfway through rerouting the security protocols," Mission stammered.
Kyle's eyes widened, "Someone's coming back!" The group hustled into the lee of the doors, and hid behind a haphazard stack of cargo pallets. The Rodian's faceted eyes had grown even glossier, but they didn't have time to properly dress the knife wound yet. "Hold on just a little longer," Carth told the injured alien.
Kyle's armored finger was tense on the trigger of his blaster rifle. He could hear the high pitched thrumming of swoop bikes rapidly approaching.
"How many people can pilot a swoop bike?" Kyle urgently whispered. The rodian raised his hand, and so did Mission. Kyle glanced at Carth, who seemed uncomfortable.
"Sir?" Kyle asked again.
"Well… when I was seventeen… I did fly a friend's swoop bike on my birthday… but it's been years since then, and—" Carth answered.
"You don't have to be an expert, just get it in the air and moving," Kyle told him reassuringly. Kyle was good at Plan-F's. A commando had to be flexible, and think on his feet… or else he was dead, and in less than ten seconds, Kyle outlined a viable contingency plan to his superior.
"Okay. Let's do it," Carth agreed quietly. Kyle didn't mention the hard part was stopping the rapidly moving vehicle in a fashion that permitted the passengers to walk away. Flying was easy. Landing was a bitch.
((()))
Four swoop bikes throttled down, and coasted into the garage. The vulkars riding the bikes had barely set down and sat up when they were shredded by heavy blaster fire, and even a quarrel from a bowcaster was in the mix.
"Let's go!" Carth barked. The group quickly jumped onto the bikes, and awkwardly had them turned around a few seconds later; Kyle could see more stragglers coming down the expressway. They'd noticed the light from the blaster discharges in the darkened hanger… but the intruders still managed to get airborne, and a few second lead on the stragglers. Unfortunately, swoop gang members were typically better at piloting swoops than the average commando, naval captain, delinquent teenager, and hemorrhaging rodian. As such, that lead evaporated in only a handful of seconds… and drastic measures were needed.
Kyle gritted his teeth, and swung the swoop bike into a sharp turn, and slammed into one of the pursuing Vulkars, knocking him off course, and into the oncoming commuter traffic lane. A large hover transport splatted the biker without slowing or noticing.
Blaster fire slammed into Kyle's bike. The commando tried to compensate, but although qualified to fly a swoop, he was no master of it.
Carth glanced over to see Sgt. Draven belly flop his swoop, and tumble off.
"Kyle is down!" Carth called, but only Mission heard him on her headset.
"This is Kyle, proceeding on foot. I'll meet up with you later—" the commando said breathlessly.
((()))
There was an abandoned housing complex just ahead, if he could make it there… he'd have a chance. Kyle didn't know where his rifle was, the hardened carry strap had either broken, or been severed during the crash. He had no grenades left, and during the fall, apparently he'd landed hard enough to snap the handle off his heavy blaster pistol.
Unfortunately for the Vulkars, his combat knife was still in his sheathe…
((()))
Malya stood at the entrance to the village, staring out into the wastes. Rukil had given her a quest… but… she did not know if she would succeed. She'd never left the village alone…
"So, when are we leaving?" a voice asked cockily behind her. Malya spun, recognizing the pale haired Trask. "You!" she accused.
"Me," he said smugly. "Go back to your tent!" Malya ordered, but the annoying man shook his head, "You sister made me promise to make sure you came back… and you know what she's like."
"This is my quest! Why must you be so… so…" Malya was beside herself. At every turn, the man was there, finding small ways to irritate her!
Trask smiled, "You're cute when you're angry," he teased, and damn him if she didn't blush.
"I'm just a side-kick. You're the hero. You lead, and I'll watch your back," Trask promised.
"You listen to me!" she spat.
"I'm all ears, beautiful," the man promised.
"Keep addressing my like that and you'll lose an ear or two," the girl hissed.
"Don't get yourself in a twist over it, gorgeous," Trask replied.
Mayla spun and stalked off into the darkness, back rigidly straight.
Trask smiled as he followed the young woman. He was pretty sure she was seventeen, which made him two years older… but he would see where this led.
"If it'll make you feel better, you can call me something, Go ahead, come on, I can take it," Trask apologized.
"Don't be ridiculous," Malaya snapped.
"What? Afraid you'll hurt my feelings? Come on, spit it out. You can do it," Trask encouraged.
"How about sexist worm?" the girl hissed.
"Is that it? You can do better than that," Trask grinned.
"How about pushy thug?"
((()))
Kyle crouched in the shadows, and watched through a hole in a wall as the Vulkars entered cautiously. He counted seventeen, all armed with a motley array of weapons. A few even had glow rods. Grimly, the hardened veteran clenched his knife, and tried to get his right arm to bend at the elbow, without success. Kyle didn't think it was broken, but he'd injured it in the fall somehow. Quickly, the man slipped deeper into the maze-like hallways of the condemned building. He had two major advantages over his opponents:
First, most of them were Nikto, or human. Neither of those species possessed excellent hearing or night vision, and he still had his helmet with its IR and thermal vision filters.
Second, they were idiots.
((()))
The swoop gang split up into three different parties; each had one of the glow rods. Kyle targeted the group of five first. He quietly stripped some optical cable from a ruined computer hub, and twisted the strong fibers into a fairly sturdy line. The commando coiled the line to his belt, which was awkward with only one hand. Kyle watched from a crumbling second story balcony as the group of five cautiously crept through the hall below him. A human had the glow rod, and was at the front of the group. Two nikto, and three more humans followed behind him. Each had a blaster pistol of varying model.
Quietly, the camouflaged predator shadowed the group, until he saw an opening. The human at the back of the group was straggling, nearly two meters behind the group. Without hesitation, the shadow pounced. Kyle felt the visceral grating vibration of his knife sliding between two vertebrae at the back of the human's neck, severing the spinal cord at the fatal C-2 juncture, the "sweet spot" on humans. He let go of the knife in time to throw his good arm around the corpse. Kyle cursed his useless right arm, and lowered the dead man to the ground, as the group of swoop gang-bangers kept creeping deeper into the apartment complex, unaware that their group had grown smaller… and Kyle now had some toys to play with.
((()))
"You left him behind!" Mission accused. Carth ignored her, handing the prototype accelerator to Gadon, "The prototype," he said bitterly.
The big black man looked at Carth grimly, "I'll have my techs start on this right away… and about your man. I'm sorry. I lost people too…"
Carth nodded stiffly, "He might still be alive. He's been through worse."
"In that case," Gadon motioned to Zaerdra, who reluctantly slipped from the warehouse.
Dia watched helplessly. Left behind?
((()))
Kyle checked the blaster packs for his sidearm, to see if they were compatible with the cheap Czerka knock-off he'd looted. Naturally, they weren't. His luck wasn't that good. It didn't bother him though, because the blaster still had seven full power shots left. The commando was confident the badly neglected weapon wouldn't explode in his hand. At least, probably not.
Kyle hid the comlink he'd taken from the first vulkar inside a gutted apartment, near the door though, and then carefully rewired his broken blaster pistol into an impromptu grenade. Now, when the trigger was pulled, instead of overloading and exploding immediately, he would have a two second window to get rid of the damaged weapon. He hefted the stubby weapon by the barrel. Its balance felt similar to a cryo-ban stick grenade, which brought back a few fond memories. He saw the light from a glow-rod splash the far wall of the hallway, and grinned, getting into position.
((()))
Jeth was not having a good day. Carl had either gotten lost, or slipped off to snort some spice. Either way, Kandon Ark was going to yell at him. Beat him too, but Jeth was more afraid of what the irritable Twi'lek could have others do to him. Then deliverance fell into his lap. He could hear something… "Quiet!" he hissed to the idiots around him, and listened. He was hearing… a man… in pain, trying to be quiet. Half-bitten groans and grunts, almost too soft to hear.
Jeth felt that he had the best hearing in Brejik's gang, and proved it, pinpointing the sounds.
"In that apartment… I think our bastard's in the apartment," Jeth whispered. The nikto nodded dumbly, distracted by the idea of killing something very soon. "You two, go in first," Jeth snapped, pointing at the nikto. Eagerly, they pushed past him, into the dark room. Jeth followed them. The sounds had stopped. The man knew they were near. Jeth swept his glow-rod around the room, but there were only a few places to hide… he heard a strange noise, and spun. Caught in the light, Jory slumped, a knife in the back of his neck, and an armored man in camouflage drew a blaster in the time it took Jeth to raise his. Fierfeik!
((()))
Kyle shot the young man with the glow-rod first, in the left eye. The two nikto spun at the sound of his blaster, and the sergeant double tapped both of them, in the chest. The second nikto though, didn't die immediately, and managed to get a shot off, which slammed into Kyle's own chest, two inches below his throat, so Kyle shot him again, and tossed the useless blaster aside. Fifteen seconds later, Kyle had stripped the bodies of useful items, and disappeared into the shadows.
((()))
Kandon Ark was a patient man. Except where incompetence was concerned. He looked at the dead bodies scattered in the room. Two nikto, two humans. He had found another human deeper in the apartments, also dead. His men were being hunted… The wily ex-warrior felt a flurry of excitement rise in his belly. Finally: someone worth killing…
((()))
Kyle searched for an escape route from the building, which didn't involve stepping outside, since he had little inclination of becoming a vulkar's hood ornament. He was looking for a maintenance access, or ventilation shaft.
Trapped. Damn. Kyle glanced around, but it was indeed a dead end. He could hear the vulkars closing, behind him, as well as see their glow rods. No help for it then. Kyle pulled his impromptu grenade out, and stepped to the corner. He pulled the trigger, then strong armed it into the advancing group.
"Look out!" someone yelled, before the blaster exploded violently. Kyle sprinted towards the group, firing one of his stolen blasters. The Vulkars were off-balance, and although the exploding blaster hadn't been exactly lethal, it had caused confusion and a wonderful distraction. Kyle hurled a spent blaster into an alien's startled face, and pulled another blaster from the webbing on his chest, hardly slowed.
((()))
Kandon Ark watched the man tear through the fools he had sent ahead. The exploding blaster had been brilliant, no pun intended. It was refreshing to fight enemies capable of creative thought. He noted though that the armored man's right arm was apparently injured, clutched to his side as he fought. The man hurled his blaster, apparently spent, and yanked another weapon from webbing on his chest plate, still fighting. Here was a man who danced with death, Kandon was sure.
Kyle growled in frustration. A Nikto had grabbed his bad arm, and Sgt. Draven frantically bashed the alien's rugged face with the butte of his useless blaster. On the third hit, the alien weakened, and Kyle kicked him hard, in the genitals. That finished it, and the alien crumpled. Some of the Vulkars were starting to organize behind him, and Kyle charged on. Two Twi'lek's barred his way, a male and female. Kyle hurled his blaster at the man, who slapped it out of the air. Quick hands, Kyle noted, drawing his knife. He had an advantage though. He was armored.
((()))
Kandon was ready for the blaster throw. Seli shifted to the left, letting the man attack Kandon directly. The brawny Twi'lek deflected the knife with a blade of his own,
Seli's kick hit the back of the man's knee, collapsing it, and she snatched his injured arm, twisting it up behind his back, and kicked the knife out of the man's hand, quickly securing her grips on his arms.
Kandon looked down at this faceless warrior.
Seli looked up at Kandon, "Would you like me to dispose of this Bek spy, Kandon?" she purred.
"No, wait a moment, darling…" Ark replied, looking at the man… "You aren't wearing the Hidden Bek colors. Are you from one of the smaller gangs?"
"No." the voice was cold, modulated by the tinny helmet speaker.
"Ah… a freelance mercenary, perhaps?" Kandon questioned. The man stayed quiet, and Kandon chuckled, "I enjoyed watching your work, you know. I could use someone like you in my organization."
"I killed half your men, and now you are offering me a job?" the mercenary sounded nonplussed.
"I appreciate art when I see it. I am no barbarian, and the men you killed were weak," Kandon said.
There was a pause before the mercenary spoke again, "At the moment, you have my undivided attention."
"Smart of you, Gadon Thek is old news. Brejik is a visionary – soon he'll control the entire Lower City," Kandon answered, "I want you to do something for me…"
Kyle watched the Black Vulkar begin his recruitment spiel. As he spoke, Kyle felt the unconscious loosening of the woman's hold on him. He had underestimated her before... but they should have taken his helmet. He had one last card to play, painful as it would be…
In the silence of his helmet, Kyle spoke three words, and things were set in motion.
The incompatible blaster packs he had wired in sequence with stolen com-links received the signal they were waiting for, and began to overload. He had two of the devices, on his belt. They were essentially flash-bangs… but even with his armor, this was going to hurt…
Kandon had a moment of confusion when something exploded. His ears were still ringing when he was capable of lucid thought. Seli too, looked dazed, but also furious. It was an amusing combination on such beautiful features. The mercenary was gone.
"I can see there's not much chance of convincing you to come work for us after all. Most unfortunate," Kandon sighed.
Seli snarled, "Now can I kill him, Kandon?" He would have slapped her for using that tone, except the fury was not directed at him, but the mercenary.
"Yes darling. Kill him. Kill him slow."
((()))
Kyle stumbled through the ruins, gasping in pain. It felt like a Gammorean had been kicking him in the ribs for the hell of it. His armor had held though, thankfully. Kyle's right arm was still screaming at him, as well as his left knee. He was a mess.
Kyle tripped on a fallen piece of duracrete. The floor ahead had collapsed into the room below, creating a ramp of sorts, that he rolled down, crashing into a couple of ruined chairs and a table covered in a fungal colony of some kind at the bottom. When his ribs stopped screaming, and he could think lucidly again, Kyle realized that he was not alone. At the top of the ramp stood the Twi'lek woman. She had a vibro-blade in one hand, and his knife in the other… not to mention murder in her eyes.
Draven crawled to his feet, and stared up at the woman, waiting. She tossed his knife down, and it landed at his feet. Stiffly, he picked it up, only half feigning his injuries. She slipped down the ramp like quick-silver, possessing a dancer's grace. He was facing a predator. The first attack was a sudden, darting motion. Kyle lurched away, and the testing slash missed. For the next minute, the dancer probed his defenses, trying to decide just how injured he was, and then, she did not care.
Her attacks were fast, brutal, and precise. Kyle felt her short vibro-blade slice his plastoid armor, and thinly cut the flesh beneath, avoiding his slower counter attacks. Technically, he had three inches of reach on her, but she was much faster.
The only thing in his favor, was that she liked to play with her food. Kyle could feel himself slowing, the multitude of cuts was building up.
"You are weak, human," the predator told him coyly.
Kyle squinted at her, a chill running down his spine. She was becoming aroused, by the act of killing him. He was going to lose this game.
It was time to change the rules. Draven stumbled, and fell awkwardly, the knife falling from his hand, out of reach. He weakly reached for it, stretching his hand out desperately, but the weapon was clearly out of reach. The predator circled, and pounced, as Draven knew she would.
Kyle rolled, and kicked, pouring everything he had into the movement, adrenaline flooding his system. His boot connected, knocking the woman's leg out from under her, and he slammed the rock in his hand down, hard, on her head. She deflected his arm with her own though, and tried to stab him. He lost the rock, and grabbed her wrist, trying to force it away with one hand, as she used two hands against him. His sudden burst of strength was waning, but the commando refused to yield.
Kyle's knife thunked into the twi'lek female's throat, where both she and Kyle stared at it in confusion. Then he looked to the left, and saw another twi'lek woman poised like a tusk-cat, her arm still outstretched from the throw.
"What took you so long?" Kyle demanded, twisting his knife in the Twi'lek's throat to kill her.
"I got lost," Zaerdra replied evenly, unashamed.
"Lost?" Kyle asked heavily.
"Yes. I lost my way in these ruins, trying to reach your emergency beacon," Zaerdra explained, helping the armored commando to his feet.
"How badly are you injured?" she inquired, only partly interested.
"I can walk," he growled.
"I wasn't going to carry you," Zaerdra informed him.
((()))
Carth looked up as the door to the warehouse opened, and a very battered man entered, followed by a sleek shadow.
The captain stared at the grim commando. Blood had trickled on his plates and dried from dozens of short cuts that had pierced them.
"What happened?" Carth asked.
"A bitch with a vibro-blade tried to skin me alive… sir. She failed, end of report," Sgt. Draven replied angrily.
"Go get patched up, soldier, you've definitely earned your rack time,"
"Thank you, sir."
Dia hovered in the background. The commando looked terrible. He limped off, deeper into the warehouse, and the shy woman followed him, discretely.
Kyle let the doctor-in-hiding Zelka Forn tisk and tut over his injuries, before finally tending to them. He wasn't the only one in the curtain wall medical area. The rodian with the stab wound in his leg had apparently made it back to base. Kyle nodded to him, and received a nod from the rodian. The black faceted eyes still sent a shiver down Kyle's spine.
To Kyle's great surprise, most of his injuries were minor. The lacerations were quickly treated with kolto and sterile bandages. His right elbow was sprained, not broken, and his knee was actually undamaged, or Zelka's medical scanner was broken, because his knee was very unhappy with Kyle for it to be "undamaged."
Carth stood by Gadon Thek, and watched him tab down a datapad.
"Can I help you, captain?" Thek asked, not even looking up from the pad, distracted.
"How are we going to recover Bastila, after the race?" Carth asked.
"To be honest, Bastila is near the bottom of my worries right now, captain."
((()))
Trask and Malya had followed the directions to the sewers, where the father and forefather of Rukil had last been seen. Of course, that wasn't much help…
Malya crouched beside a shriveled, desiccated corpse. One of its arms was missing, and chunks had been clearly ripped out of the neck… obviously the victim of Rakghouls… she searched the corpse, but found nothing… until she flipped him over. He had fallen on a book. It was enclosed within a transparent plastic case, its paper pages intact despite the years and conditions. Excitedly, Malya popped the case open, and carefully looked through the pages. The dead man's handwriting was cramped and spidery. But Malya could read it. After a few pages, she realized that this was the journal of Rukil's father, Vintil. There were half-finished hand drawn maps, and pages of jotted notes.
Trask touched her shoulder, "Is that it?"
Malya shook her head, "I still have to find Rukil's grandfather's journal."
((()))
The man sat in his private room. It was not as opulent as he'd have liked… but it did have a holo-vid access, a sign of his power. After all, the Lower City wasn't supposed to have something as Upper city as a holo-vid projector, much less actual access to the vaunted network. He watched a holovised dueling match. Brejik still remembered the old days, when death matches were still legal… he sighed, as Deadeye Duncan, possibly the worst gunman on Taris, drew his blaster so rapidly from his holster that he lost hold of it. Both duelists watched the blaster arc from his hand, and clatter to the deck. Deadeye looked at his opponent beseechingly. Now, Gerlon Two-Fingers, was everything Deadeye was not. Despite being younger than Deadeye, by nearly twenty years, Two-Fingers had served in the war against the Mandlorians, when they had conquered Taris.
In fact, that's how he'd lost all the fingers on his right except for thumb and trigger finger. What made Brejik respect this man, was that Two-Fingers, had refused to shoot with his left hand, and was still an excellent marksman with his right hand despite the… losses.
Two-Fingers sighed, and gestured for Deadeye to recover his weapon. Sheepishly, the older man scurried over to his sidearm, and snatched it up, desperately aiming at Two-fingers, who stood ten meters away, waiting.
Deadeye snapped off three shots… all of which missed by half a meter or more.
Gerlon causally aimed his blaster, fired once, and walked away as his opponent collapsed, stunned… again.
Now, Brejik wasn't the only person in his room. Shackled to the wall by crude chains, was a scantily clad woman. Her alabaster skin had once been bruised and covered in scrapes… but after some kolto treatments, her beauty had been restored. Around her neck, like a collar, was possibly the most expensive and illegal device in the slaving business, a neural disruptor. It created dissonance in an organic's neural pathways, preventing higher level cognitive function, while keeping the autonomic systems of the body working. The effects were also temporary, lasting only as long as the disruptor was in place. Brejik likened it to a droid's restraining bolt… to keep unruly merchandise… pacified.
Those chains had held other beautiful females in the months since Brejik took over the pitiful Vulkars, but the gang leader hadn't restrained any of them with a neural disruptor… no, he relished the… struggle, as it were.
A knock at his door pulled him from his ruminations. Only one man in the organization would dare disturb him at so late an hour…
"Come in," Brejik called, hitting the switch on his night stand that unlocked the door. It never paid to be too careful.
A green skinned twi'lek male entered the room. He smiled, showing his serrated teeth… but this was not a happy smile.
"What do you want, Kandon?"
"Sir… we have a… situation," the second in command hissed.
Brejik lost all interest in the holo-projector, "What's happened?" he demanded.
"The Hidden Beks… they stole the prototype."
"WHAT?!" Brejik roared, coming to his feet.
"We're still reviewing the footage, but sections of it have been… erased,"
"I don't care how they did it, I want that accelerator back, now!" Brejik screamed.
"We're still trying to locate the Hidden Beks, sir," Kandon explained carefully.
"Get out! You come back without that accelerator, and I'll kill you myself!" Brejik screamed.
Kandon nodded slowly, and left. Brejik locked the door and screamed, secure that his room was sound proof (he'd done so for other reasons) and began snatching things and throwing them. Most of them were expensive. Some of them were fragile. All of them were stolen.
Throughout the tirade, in the corner, a flicker of awareness stirred. It hid, deep within a numbed mind… gathering strength. It remembered what it must do… but it was so hard… so difficult…
Bastila began the slow process of using the force to insulate her mind… synapse by synapse…
((()))
Kandon Ark nodded to the informant. The nervous Duros anxiously rubbed his hands together, "And you're sure this information is accurate?" he asked. The gray skinned alien nodded frantically, his luminous amber eyes wide.
Kandon walked up to the door his datapad indicated, and well… he knocked. There was no reply. Kandon tried again, but there was still no answer. Very well, he had established that he wasn't trying to sneak in. Now, the dangerous part. The door was locked but… with a little assistance from his datapad… the lock flickered briefly before the auto-security algorithm cracked it. Technically very illegal, but only if he was caught.
Kandon opened the door, keeping his hands clearly in sight, clearly empty, "Hello?" he called, and stepped inside the dark apartment.
The door snapped shut behind him, and the lights flared on, blinding him.
"Stop right there, or I'll give you a blaster shot right between the eyes!" a woman barked at him. Kandon couldn't see her yet, he was still blinking tears from his eyes, the downside to enhanced night vision. He froze though. Rough hands patted him down, removing his comlink, datapad, and blaster pistol. She didn't find his throwing knife though, in the tiny sheath on his forearm.
"You are either the worst bounty hunter in existence, or the unluckiest man in the galaxy," the woman commented coldly, watching him, "What are you doing here?" she demanded.
She was coldly beautiful, like a well crafted dagger. She wore a greenish light armor vest, but Kandon realized it was Echani make, probably fiber armor… which was almost as durable as medium armor, but moved like a second skin. Echani prized agility, but weren't stupid. They knew that sometimes agility wasn't enough.
"I'm not here for any bounty, but I am looking for you, I have a business proposition," Kandon began cautiously. The woman's green eyes sparkled dangerously, "Keep in mind that I'm the one with the blaster pointed at you. Lie to me, and I'll kill you," she said simply.
"Do you know who I am?" Kandon Ark asked calmly.
"Of course. You're wearing Black Vulkar colors," the assassin said calmly.
"I am Kandon Ark. I represent Brejik's interests…" Kandon said slowly.
"You represent your own interests, which coincide with Brejik's," Selven observed.
Kandon nodded, "I concede the point."
"Very well, make your case," the predator purred.
"I want you to kill Gadon Thek," Kandon said calmly.
"You are aware of my… fee?" Selven asked.
"Bring me Gadon's head, and I will pay you twice your normal fee." Kandon assured her.
"Is that all?" Selven asked.
Kandon hesitated, "Last night, the Hidden Beks took something of value from my gang, a swoop bike module. If you retrieve it, in addition to Gadon's head, I'll triple your normal fee," the twi'lek decided.
"In addition to the doubled fee?" Selven asked.
"No. If you only bring me Gadon's head, I will pay double. With Gadon's head and the prototype module, I will pay you triple," Kandon promised quietly.
"I'd like that in writing, if you would," Selven said. Kandon pointed to his datapad, on the nearby cot, "I thought you might. I have a legal copy of the contract on my pad."
Selven tossed it to him, and the man transmitted the record to the assassin's datapad, and used his electronic signature to confirm it.
Selven returned his effects, and went to a nearby foot locker. She withdrew a vibro-sword, slipping it into a sheath on her back, and pulled out a carry-case of reinforced plasteel.
It looked like the only personal possessions she owned.
"You missed my knife," Kandon noted. If she had missed that detail, perhaps she was not quite as capable as her reputation—
Selven tilted her head to the side, "Are you referring to the fifteen centimeter balanced Czerka model throwing knife strapped to your left forearm?" she asked sweetly.
Kandon started laughing, he'd been had. "You're good," he smiled.
"No. I'm the best," Selven replied.
((()))
Malya squinted in the darkness, risking a little more light from the glow-rod Rukil had given her. She saw a skeleton in rags against the far-wall. It was on a ledge above the foul smelling murk. Trask faltered at the edge, and cautiously poked his spear into the foul water. It only came half way up his spear, so the water was only a meter deep. He glanced at her, smiling grimly, "I'm just the sidekick. Ladies first," he said, gesturing mirthlessly for her to go first. She glared at him, and slipped into the disgusting fluid. It came up to her waist, and she shuddered as the cold, slimy sensation traveled up her legs. She held the glow rod above her head like a torch, and steadily began to wade through the abandoned sewage processing pool. It was only seven meters wide… but the shelf seemed much farther away once she began wading…
Trask kept a watchful eye on the girl, and the surrounding area. They hadn't seen any rakghouls, and it was beginning to worry him. Where were they?
He glanced back at Malya, who was half-way to the skeleton. She left little V ripples in her wake, which for some reason worried him… then he saw a second set of ripples move into the glow-rod's light. Trask opened his mouth to shout, but something yanked Malya under the water.
"Malya!" Trask yelled. She was still holding the glow-rod in one hand, which lit up the water a little. Something with too many arms was swarming over her. Trask backpedalled into the entry way, and dropped his pack and spear. Then he sprinted for the dark water and vaulted. He splashed down almost on top of the struggle. Tentacles wrapped around his leg, but he ignored them, instead he grabbed Malya's collar and dragged her head to the surface. She hacked and choked water from her lungs, trying to suck down air at the same time, failing at both. Trask stabbed at the tentacles with his knife, and an eye popped out of the water on a stalk. Trask's knife flashed, and the appendage went flying. Something bellowed under the water, and Trask lost his grip on Malya, who disappeared back into the murk. Trask snarled, and hacked at the tentacles, which refused to retreat. Suddenly, he was under the water too, and he'd lost his knife.
Teeth ripped into his shoulder, stymied somewhat by the crude chainmail. Trask grabbed his second knife, and blindly shoved his arm into the creature's maw, stabbing inside it. Instantly, the coils of tentacles went slack, and Trask flailed to the surface. He choked in air, and looked for Malya. He found her, still holding the glow-rod, and pulled her up to the surface. She wasn't moving or breathing.
"Fierfiek!" Trask screamed, dragging her away, out of the water. He got her up onto dry land, and started pounding on her chest, forcing the water out of her lungs. "Breathe damn you!" Trask yelled, pounding on the girl's chest. More water came out of her lungs…
Then she flailed, vomiting up water. Trask held her until she was done shaking and gasping.
Malya clung to him and cried. "Shh…" Trask whispered in her ear, softly, holding her tightly.
"I'm right here…" he promised her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the motionless corpse of the creature, a dianoga, get yanked out of the submerged glow-rod's light by another tentacle… so there was more than one of the monsters…
"We smell terrible," Trask laughed, and the moment broke, both of them unable to keep from laughing hysterically. Her lips found his, and he forgot all about the little sewage monsters. There were more pressing and… urgent… matters at hand, which required Trask's full attention.
((()))
Mission sat with Ada, chattering at the somnolent human girl, about everything and anything, to which she would receive reluctant, monosyllabic answers. Zaalbar sat on a low crate nearby, the guts of several explosives strewn across his work area, (a piece of durasheet on top of two plastic canisters). His huge, clawed hands held two small tools in them, delicately rearranging and wiring the explosives into a single, portable device.
((()))
Trask was lying against the sewer wall, Malya curled in his arms… and he still didn't know how they were going to get the damned journal… until his eyes followed the path of several pipes that spanned the ceiling…
Trask tested the first pipe, experimentally, and it held his weight… so he reluctantly reached forward, grabbing the next pipe. Malya watched apprehensively as the man she'd claimed as her lover slowly moved out over the water, dangling from the pipes that ran along the chamber's low ceiling. The first scare came quickly. A tentacle flailed up from the water, barely missing one of the man's feet. Trask yelped, and pulled his knees up to his chest. The second scare came when he was half-way across, and he couldn't quite reach the next pipe. It was too far… by several centimeters. Frustrated, Trask swung his body back and forth, then let go at the apex of his swing, gaining the necessary distance, but almost losing his grip on the slippery metal. By the time Malya's heart had returned to a normal beat, the young soldier had reached the opposite side of the chamber, and dropped down beside the skeleton. She saw him quickly search through the bones, grabbing several items and shoving them in his pack. He slipped the bag on, and jumped up, scrambling at the wall, barely managing to grab the lowest pipe, moments ahead of exploratory tentacles from the water. He flew over the water, hand over hand, victory on his face. He reached the other side and dropped beside Malya.
With slow reverence, he showed her the contents of his bag. She found a second plastic sealed journal of paper, and on a chain, was a key of some kind.
"There's some kind of data-chip in the prongs of the key," Trask told her.