Coruscant Time: —258 days
A'tergo Station was more unpleasant than even rumor had suggested. It hummed with the roar of customized light freighters and the rattle of broken down old ships that still managed, somehow to fly. The sound of unmarked cargo was being loaded onto a nearby ship.
A strange, vaguely nauseating stench permeated everything from the walls to the muddy soil beneath. For a station as busy as it was, the administrators never bothered to upgrade the accommodations, leaving dirt or more often mud for streets, paths and even inside many buildings.
Not that it likely mattered to the station's patrons, for those who came here wished to avoid the local magistrates and certain Imperial attentions.
Obi-Wan Kenobi also wished for the anonymity that A'tergo provided. Ducking into a narrow alley, he pulled at the soaked green poncho hoping to better protect him from the heavy rains that fell unmercifully from the brownish-yellow sky.
While A'tergo Station may have been a hemisphere away, it suffered from the Pyiatn Mining Consortium's excavation of the moon's southern region. The massive strip mining operation to find the rare caston flint was destroying the small moon. The ore was extremely valuable and difficult to refine but to an army it was worth whatever price. Its addition to any weapon magnified the blast potential by a hundredfold.
Just the thought of the mining operation gave the Jedi pause. He knew Pyiatn was under secret contract to the Empire to provide. In the interest of protecting the operation and in turn the priceless shipments, the Imperial peacekeeping forces had cordoned off the southern hemisphere and any ship that strayed into the watch area was promptly gunned down. Yet they virtually ignored A'tergo Station offering up an image of ignorance to the underhanded dealings going on there.
Or at least that was what they portrayed. Obi-Wan knew better than anyone that the Emperor had eyes everywhere.
Dropping his weary gaze to the deep green poncho he was surprised to see it was fading. Holding a shaky hand out, Obi-Wan watched as heavy droplets with a yellowish haze pooled his palm. Dust, dirt and pollution had poisoned the sky and the cleansing rain that fell from it.
It took a short time for the sickening rain to penetrate the fading green material to soak the brown shirt underneath. It stole the last of the warmth and replaced it with the iciness of the approaching night.
He just had to bear it for a little longer then he would be leaving this forsaken place in just a few hours.
At the far end of the station, a Mon Calamari crew worked quickly to prepare the freighter Reliant for take off. They were in league with the young rebellion delivering desperately needed supplies. The captain, a young female with silvery eyes had offered him passage to Yavin IV. He had tried to decline it for their safety but she was determined having known who he was at a glance. Her spirit reminded him so much of his lost friend.
He never felt Bant pass into the Force but he knew she was gone. The healer had been there when the Temple was destroyed.
The Peacekeepers had offered no mercy and no escape not even for the children. The Grand Army of the Republic swept in without warning and when they were finished all that remained of the ancient structure was a great crater that was visible from space.
Or at least that was the image the Imperial HoloVision showed. They happily proclaimed that the traitors to the Republic had been put down. The tyranny of the Jedi was at an end. Supreme Chancellor Palpatine declared himself Emperor of the new regime. He said martial law was only temporary until the last of the corruption was weeded out and destroyed.
That was only on the surface. Worlds that once had a great voice in the Senate were lumped together in small groups of "lesser" species and forced to be represented by one, often inept politician. Some of the non-human worlds were put under a governorship and lost representation all together. Commercial clans within the Senate disappeared as well as outspoken politicians without so much as a whimper. Instead of debate, a pall hung over the Senate chambers, the politicians had become afraid of making their opinions public for fear they too would vanish only to be replaced by those more agreeable to Palpatine. Anyone who sympathised or aided supposed traitors were charged with treason and put to death with minimal legal effort.
The Jedi were traitors by virtue of what they were.
And yet, the Mon Cal captain did not care. She told him they were dead if they were caught anyway so what did it matter?
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As the day's yellow sky drew toward darkness, the cold poisonous rain had intensified. Its murky substance did not slow the wet footsteps that sloshed toward the waiting freighter Reliant as the last of the cargo had been loaded. The old engines hummed as the ship prepared to quietly leave under the cover of night.
Just as the loading ramp began to retreat into the craft, heavy mud covered boots stepped on and rode the closing ramp into the ship. A black gauntleted fist slammed into the door controls jamming them and leaving the side of the ship open and unable to take off.
With blasters in hand, Ruan Uri calmly walked onto the ship's small bridge. "Where is he?"
The young captain rose up from her seat as she quickly masked her surprise. Harshly eyeing the intruder with silvery eyes, she growled, "He? Who? I have several men under my command. Which one do you want?"
Disliking her impudent tone, he fired a single shot that clipped the Mon Calamari captain's shoulder sending her to the floor with a pained gasp. "Do not play games with me. Give me, Kenobi and I will let you rebels go. Be nice and I might not even contact the Imperial gunships watching the moon."
"He's not on the ship," she defiantly spat the pain high in her voice.
The Mon Cal male at the navigator's station turned with a blaster but Ruan fired quicker, killing him quickly. Keeping one blaster trained on the captain, Ruan's right arm swung out and targeted the pilot. "Where is he?"
"I do not know."
The third shot killed the pilot.
"Anymore crew members you want dead?" Ruan asked.
"It's a small ship," she replied calmly.
The fourth shot killed her.
Turning his attention to the narrow opening that led to the back of the ship; Ruan stepped over the pilot's sprawled form. His guard remained up as he pushed through the unusually crowded sections. For all of the packing crates there was hardly room for the crew to exist which led him to believe they were not going too far.
Turning sharply he put one of the silver blasters between he and the final startled member of the crew. The Mon Cal cowered at the wall. He was young, not more than a boy but a problem no less. Stepping back, Ruan fired a fifth shot dropping the young man.
A few paces down, he paused to study the crates of medical equipment to the burgeoning rebels. Some would have thought they were supplying a relief effort.
It would provide the rebels with a great deal of use, if only they could get it. Replacing one blaster in its hip holster, he reached behind his back to the sheath attached to the armor and pulled out the blaster rifle that had remained secure there. He only used it when house cleaning as the expensive caston flint enhancement was only good for a few shots and he did not relish replacing it often.
Tightening his grip, he pressed the muzzle directly to the corridor floor and fired. The ship rocked with the force of the explosion and a hole the size of a man's head appeared after the smoke cleared. Studying the contents of the secret hold he found nothing but medical supplies. Every few steps he repeated the action until he reached the far wall.
Moving silently along the wall that divided the crew cabins from the ships over abundant storage he paused. Pressing the rifle to the wall, he fired. Taking a few steps he repeated the action.
The instant the echo of the last shot faded, a muffled groan escaped through the newly blown a part wall.
Smiling from beneath his mask, Ruan did not allow the distraction to last for more than a moment before roughly kicking in the door to a small cabin. In the low light, he found the Jedi on his knees clutching his left arm. Bits of shrapnel from the blasted wall had cut into the muscle of his upper arm and shoulder.
Small tracks of blood had already appeared through the damp green poncho that clung heavily to his slumped frame. The depth of his exhaustion was clear in the heavy lines around his eyes as he drew his eyelids closed, waiting. The silver that had unmercifully begun frosting his ginger locks made him look much older than his thirty-eight years.
Leveling the blaster rifle at the Jedi, Ruan retreated a step. "Come on, old man, let's get out of this ship and into the open. I'm in no mood to drag your corpse through this maze."