The Skorp-ion was an odd craft, three stabiliser wings reaching out from a crimson central unit that resembled a beetle's carapace. It skimmed through the stars in an upright configuration, shooting towards the rocky lump that was Arthel XI. A wasteland system, Arthel had recently been exposed as the site of a major Confederate weapons testing ground. Even as the Confederacy prepared to retreat with their new weapons, the Republic immediately dispatched a task force led by the Trandoshan Jedi Mthitth, one of the more respected Generals in the war. Within three days, the Confederacy evac cruisers had been pinned down on Arthel XI, a relentless Republic assault preventing them from taking off.
It was Quinlan Vos' job to stem the tide of the Republic attack – at the source.
"Hey Quin, be careful down there, won't you?" asked the pilot, Khaleen. Peering up from his seat in the cargo hold, Quinlan could see Khaleen's reflection in the viewport of the Skorp-ion, her face showing both concern and a steely defiance, as if she dared Quin to get himself killed on this mission.
"No worry," grunted Quinlan, using a small file to chip away at the carbon scoring on his blaster, "I'm not stupid. I know what I'm doing."
"I sure hope so," sighed Khaleen, bringing the ship down with a slight bump. The ramp extended, and Quinlan stalked out. He felt Khaleen's hand on his arm, and turned to face her. "Be safe," she whispered, and kissed him on the lips. Quin broke the kiss as quickly as he could, his sullen face staring out at her from behind a tangle of dreadlocks. "Be at the rendezvous, Khaleen. I'll be waiting for you."
Khaleen grinned. "Sure, but I don't know what I'm going to do for thirty-six hours. Maybe there's a town on this place, one where I can pick up some easy marks."
Quin grinned too, but his smile was devoid of humour, and the expression looked peculiar, almost as if it was someone else's mouth plastered onto his face. "I need you at the rendezvous point, Khaleen, not locked up in some shanty-town prison. Be there." His face reclaimed his usual, brooding glare, and a moment later he was gone, lost to the mission ahead.
Tarkath was a run-down little town, exactly the sort of place that Khaleen would have described as an easy mark. A few houses had doors and windows, but most were nothing more than primitive mud-huts and brickwork structures, held up with cement and spit. The road was dusty and pocked with skid-marks and potholes, and scurrier vermin hurried about the town, rushing from pipe to pipe of the exposed sewage system. The sooner this mission was over, the better.
Quinlan's first port of call was the local tapcafe, although he wisely chose not to order a drink. Stepping over spilt drinks, smashed mugs and unconscious patrons, Quin made his way to a stout Caridan who sat in the corner, smoking a hookah and making idle chat with a Twi'lek woman. He looked up at Quin, did a double take, and shooed the girl away.
"I'm sure Dooku would be interested to know what you're spending his money on," grunted Quin as he sat down in the vacated Twi'lek's seat. "The gizka march at nightfall."
Staring into his drink, the Caridan muttered, "And the nuna will follow at dawn." Quin nodded, and the informant continued. "The battle has been raging on and off for the past three nights," he began, without needless preamble, "and it's pretty much chaos out there. No-one knows when the shooting's about to begin. Awful crossfire casualties, must be a hundred scavengers fallen already."
"Where's General Mthitth holed up?" Hopefully it'd turn out that the Trandoshan was hiding in the next room, and Quin could be quickly in and out, and back to something easier, something that did less damage to the Republic, something that – although he would never admit it – was easier to justify.
The Caridan cackled. "Holed up? Ha! I thought Dooku's intelligence on this matter was good!"
Quinlan offered the man a dark glare, and that shut him up. "You are Dooku's intelligence on this matter. Now where is he?"
The Caridan gulped, and then continued. "He's been with the troops ever since the battle started. Out there on the front, leading them into the battle. They say the Jedi can perform incredible feats of endurance, but I've never seen anything like this...three days fighting with minimal rest..."
In truth, most Jedi would have been drained after only a few hours of continuous battle. However the Trandoshan species was known for it's natural regenerative ability, and Mthitth had honed this trait, enhancing it with his Force knowledge, until he could endure fatigue and hunger for days upon end. When fighting Mthitth, one couldn't simply hope to wear him down.
"Where is he now?" asked Quinlan. "And how can I get there?"
"Last reports pegged him as fighting on the Pebble Coast. It's only a forty minute walk south of here, with enough boulders and cliffs to provide cover for anyone wishing to approach...unseen."
"Good enough," muttered Quinlan, dropping a twenty cred piece into the informant's palm. "We never had this meeting."
But he purged the man's short-term memory, just to be sure.
It was late evening by the time Quinlan neared the Pebble Coast, and if the rapidly thickening darkness wasn't enough to conceal him, the many boulders and rocks that littered the war-scarred terrain would do the job. Hunched behind a large stone outcropping, Quinlan did his best to catch glimpses of the battle. Every now and again a stray laser shot would skim over his head, and once a particularly violent explosion showered him with a spray of charred battle droid components. Still, he couldn't make out an awful lot through the darkness, and he would have to get closer to fully appraise the situation.
Working his way toward the battle site, Quinlan kept an eye out for danger. When setting up his spy network, Quin had become used to dark places, such as the bowels of the Wheel, and therefore his keen eyes were able to quickly adjust to the night surroundings. After about twenty minutes of stealthy approach, Quinlan drew close enough to pick out some details. He'd assumed that the Pebble Coast was a sea, but he could soon tell that he was wrong. The uniform rocky landscape met what could only be described as an ocean of small stones and pebbles, which seemed to stretch out to the horizon. Whilst the heavily artillery – Confederacy tank droids and Republic walkers – kept themselves to the barren land, most of the troopers were up to their waists in the pebble sea, dropping like flies, the restrictive bed of pebbles making it near impossible to dodge incoming blasts. Only one combatant seemed to be moving with any pace – and that was Mthitth, using his violet lightsaber to gouge a way through the ocean.
This could be easier than he'd thought. With Mthitth bogged down in the ocean, it would be easy for Quin to drop from the sky and take him out. But then he'd still have to get back out, under fire from both sides, and he'd also reveal his hand in the matter.
Perhaps he should try and hit from range, then, either from a concealed position, or better yet make it look like stray blaster fire from the battle. But how? Mthitth would sense a blaster shot and deflect it. No, heavier weapons would be needed. Something that Mthitth, pinned down in the stones, wouldn't be able to dodge.
Something like the main cannon of one of those attack tanks.
It was as he darted towards the battlesite that Quinlan ran into the deserters.