Qiilura was a grassy planet. Low sloping hills extended in miles in every direction, some of them so subtly that one would barely notice they'd been walking uphill until they suddenly found their steps overlong and over heavy as they unexpectedly came to a downward slope. Well-tended orchards dotted a landscape dominated by hazy fields of grain, the long stalks moving like the sea against an occasional breeze.
One of the dozens of vineyards near the village would have been a fine place to vacation, to sit in the warm and gentle light of a yellow sun to slowly sip away at one's problems.
But that wasn't why Cal was there. It definitely wasn't why Jorge and his troopers were there, and it absolutely wasn't why Agent Manse was there either.
They used the tall grains as a desperate cover. Crouched among the stalks, they moved slowly, following Cal as he started and stopped, being careful only to move when the wind sent a ripple of movement across the field that would hide their own.
A processing plant sat as a black monolith at the edge of the fields. On top of the one acre of non-arable land for miles in any direction, it was a severe thing and it was hauntingly still. Long conveyer belts were set to feed tall grain silos, ports for trucks and trailers sat mostly empty. Tall metal arms, controlled only by the most simple of droids were poised to pluck and sort any number of fruits or grains that the land had to offer to the factory.
Cal brought his gaggle to a stop just before the top of a nearly imperceivable hill. Crouching, he made the best cover he could out of the grain
"You see anyone in there?" He asked over his shoulder, mostly to Jorge but ready for anyone to reply.
Agent Manse had come to a halt closer to beside Cal than behind him. Unclipping a pair of binoculars that he kept on his belt, the agent cast a hard look to the factory, "The power is on in the admin block," he began, first checking the places the ISB had assessed the rebels would hide, "There were twenty workers on shift when the patrol went missing, five men to the patrol itself. Total rebel force unknown, but I count four lookouts, two on the northeast corner, others in the machinery. There are probably more."
Also having expected something from Jorge, BD barely managed to contain a surprised whirr at the agent's sudden speaking. Then the little droid turned to look at the factory, wondering how the man had managed to glean that much information at a glance.
Cal was less excited, "So what? Maybe the workers are helping the rebels now? That's two dozen people?"
"Unknown." Manse lowered his binoculars, "They may be heavily armed as well, many fertilizers can be repurposed as explosives."
Cal looked at the twisting factory and then to Jorge, "You guys are going to be back up."
"Yes, sir." Jorge didn't miss a beat in his reply
"You too Manse, hang back here while I clear the factory."
Caught off guard, the ISB agent stiffened, before hazarding a cautious, "you're going in alone?"
"I've seen way worse than a couple dozen people with some improvised explosives. I'll be fine."
Manse doubted it, "With all due respect sir, we have two objectives. Rescue and securing the rebel's long range comms."
Cal hadn't forgotten, "Where do you think they're keeping the communicator?"
"Probably in the admin block."
"Sounds like you know where to go, then."
Taken aback, Manse paused for just long enough for Cal to look to the troopers.
"I'm going in. Once you see the blade of my lightsaber, give me three minutes and then move in. I should have things mostly calmed down by then."
"Yes, sir." Jorge repeated, suppressing a sigh of relief that he wasn't going to be charging in first.
Still skeptical, Manse tried to speak but hadn't the chance before Cal slipped away, half crouched and disappeared into the thick waves of grain.
The wind rushed, the field shivered with placid movement, and Agent Manse was sure that he was about to watch an Inquisitor get themselves killed.
Taken aback, Manse looked to Sargent Kendima, "What does he think he's doing?"
Jorge didn't flinch, "Clearing the factory."
"Alone? The group of us would face three to one odds, that's steep enough but doable."
Jorge heard the concern but was too busy setting a timer to meet Manse's gaze as he replied, "Two dozen guys won't even slow the Fourth Brother down."
Taken aback, Manse looked between the troopers and then peeked between the grains to search the foundry for any evidence of the Inquisitor. Hesitating for a moment, he held his binoculars up once more.
He found the Fourth Brother near a powered down speeder, just out of view of the rooftop lookouts.
Gritting his teeth, Manse tried to game out how the Inquisitor would try to sneak around the guard; which path would be in a blind spot between the four of them and how long it might take for one to react to a warning shout from the others.
He didn't like the Fourth Brother's odds.
And he especially didn't like it when the young man stepped out from cover to stand in the middle of the clearing in front of the factory.
Locking his jaw and going rigid at the foolhardiness, Manse quickly looked to the guard on the roof – those mostly likely to see the Inquisitor first.
Only to look just in time to see them fall from their places.
Flung into the air by some invisible force, the two of them tumbled to the ground, hitting metal pipe and duracrete beams before landing with a dull thud and the slight stirring of dust.
The rebels patrolling the machine stopped, shocked for a moment before one frantically looked around. Too far away to hear what must have been a panicked shout, Manse watched the guard closest to the ground raise her blaster.
Bracing in place, Manse watched a searing bolt of red plasma zip toward the utterly exposed inquisitor.
Only for it to stop midair. Wavering in place, as if angry to be forced to a halt, the zapping streak of energy fidgeted and hissed scant ten feet away from the Fourth Brother. Blinking and startled, Manse didn't dare lower the binoculars -afraid he might miss some other impossible event.
Hand outstretched toward the frozen plasma bolt, the Fourth Brother gave a simple twist of a the hand. Flying forward at the gesture, the rebel met her end on the very shot she'd just fired.
Swallowing a lump, Manse looked at the last remaining guard.
They braced themselves in place, one hand holding onto a wire while the other struggled to make a decision between his blaster and reaching out for something else to hold onto. He said something, his voice lost to distance, but Manse knew it was desperate and angry. Maybe a threat, maybe a final defiance, it didn't matter.
As sudden as the last two incidents, a heavy track of metal and rubber leading to the top of the silos buckled and fell. Twisting and falling far faster than gravity alone would propel it, half a conveyer belt crashed down over the rebel. His stance and grip not mattering at all, the man died where he stood.
Echoes of twisting metal ringing out over the field, Manse looked back to the Fourth Brother.
Standing perfectly out in the open, he looked up at the factory.
Then he looked back at the field.
Then he ignited his saber.
A shuffle came from Manse's right; Sargent Kendima began his timer.
Suppressing a shiver and a sickening realization that he had far less understanding of the kind of carnage the Inquisitors were capable of, Manse tried to keep up with the Fourth Brother's sudden dash toward the building.
Little more than a black dot and a red blur, the Inquisitor scaled twisted scaffolding as if he were walking up stares. In a flash that Manse was sure he misunderstood, the Fourth Brother took a running leap and planted a foot along a vertical wall to run along it for a stretch before making a second long jump to a fire escape on the factory's top floor.
Entering the unlocked door dozens of feet above the fields below, the Inquisitor disappeared into the darkened building.
A beat of silence passed, occasional flares of blaster fire or the Inquisitors plasma blade visible through a window. Manse had no idea how the young man managed to move so quickly, appearing on the northeast corner of the second floor, and then an instant later showing up as a flash of light and a person thrown out of a window on the fourth floor on the southeast side.
Part of the factory clicked on, conveyer belts creaking and groaning, the broken one making an awful grinding noise as its belt fell off its track. Manse couldn't know what confusion had gripped the rebel forces, but whatever it was sent them into a panic. Alarms blared, and then suddenly went silent. Power dropped from sections of the building, each of them powering down with a snap.
An explosion rocked the factory, blowing out a wall on the west side and sending flaming chunks of fertilizer into the fields. Powered duracrete fell as a dry rain, the sound of it hallow compared to the real thing. Manse ducked, the shockwave from the blast crossing over the grain as a harsh rebuttal to the gentle winds. As he looked back up, he couldn't help but thing that the blast had been a last ditch attack, maybe an attempt to destroy evidence, but the building seemed hopelessly still after it.
Sargent Kendima's timer went off.
"Loose formation, keep at high ready. We don't know if there are any stragglers."
Lowering his binoculars, Manse fell in behind the troopers, his own chest plate and helmet seeming useless for how undeniably still the factory felt, and for how little it would do against something like an Inquisitor.
The squad approached, careful as they passed the clear area in front of the factory.
As they did, the places main doors opened wide. The Fourth Brother stepped out, his explorer droid still perfectly perched on a shoulder and a thick black smoke wafting out after the two of them, "It's all clear."
He didn't seem winded.
Sargent Kendima didn't seem surprised, "The hostages?"
"Basement," Cal replied before looking at Manse. "I'm pretty sure I saw the communicator in the admin bloc."
The droid on his shoulder whirred.
"Yeah, it was definitely there." The inquisitor corrected, "I don't think anyone got to it in time."
Manse waved a fresh cloud of reeking smoke away from his face, "I don't think they had the chance."
Cal shrugged, "Probably not. I'll go make sure the guys in the basement are okay, then I'll meet you up there."
.***.***.***.***.
Jorge went to the admin bloc ahead of Cal. Partially because he wasn't fond of tunnels ever sense the Eris Ordo mission, and partially because was sure that Agent Manse was still shaken from the one-man siege, he'd just witnessed and seeing the ISB agent rattled was a rare chance for some petty gloating.
Side stepping a missing section of floor, Jorge came to the admin bloc. Partially protected from the explosion, one wall closets to the hall had some damage, the control panel that sat against it being fried, but the rest of the place had only suffered superficial damage; a few errant gashed from a lightsaber.
Jorge found Agent Manse knelt beside the long rang communicator, studiously checking for when it had made its most recent transmission.
"You doing okay up here?" Jorge asked from half a room away.
"Perfectly fine," Manse replied, "It appears this communicator had been powered down for maintenance. The rebels likely won't know about this attack."
"Dead men tell no tales, I suppose."
"I'd prefer that we'd kept at least one alive. We could have gleaned something from an interrogation."
Jorge was thankful for his helmet hiding an annoyed tick, "I'll make sure to add that to the Fourth Brother's objectives next time." Seems like it'll be a real easy task when he's clearing a building.
Manse heard some of the sarcasm, but not enough to call the trooper out on his behavior. Turning away from the comm, he focused on the conversation instead, "about that. It's clear that you've served by his side before, what can you tell me about an Inquisitor's capabilities? I fear I don't have a clear grasp of them."
"You remember the Jedi?"
"Passingly. Though I'm certain their capabilities were exegeted."
"Try downplayed." Jorge not so gently corrected, "Living war machines as far as I'm concerned. The Inquisitors are like that, but even stronger."
"That was quite the display," the agent gave some ground.
Jorge didn't trust it, but he didn't trust anything else the ISB did either, "It's even crazier up close. One time I watched him kill a rancor without even drawing his lightsaber."
Manse raised a brow.
"I helped," Jorge clarified.
"Right." The dismissal on Manse's voice wasn't unexpected, but it was irritating.
Jorge knew better than to call the agent on it and he didn't need to either, as Cal appeared with a couple of the other troopers in tow.
"Ogrin's got the patrol outside and is calling a transport." He let the others know, "anything important with the communicator?"
"No, sir." Agent Manse answered first, any hint of the conversation he'd just had with Jorge gone, "Its last transmission was weeks ago. The content is encrypted, I'm afraid."
"We'll let the techs figure it out," Cal peered around the factories control room, idly wondering when exactly he'd passed through here.
"Understood, sir."
Not paying much mind to the agent's overly formal air, Cal stretched slightly as he walked deeper into the room. Eyes sliding over the half dozen gashed he'd made against the walls and floor, a different it of damage on one of the control stations caught his eye.
"Hey, Jorge? You see anything weird with this control panel?"
"I just got here. Manse?"
The agent cast a sharp look at Jorge, before answering, "I've yet to take a close look at the other machinery. Why do you ask?"
Cal ran a hand over the machine. One hole, cut straight down with no scorching that would single a blaster hit, had been bored into it. Catching something distant, detached but obviously significant on the mark Cal closed his eyes and concentrated.
Watching the Inquisitor closely, Manse was about to ask what was going on, but a glance at Sargent Kendima kept him quiet.
Breathing in and out, Cal tried not to be aware of the others in the room. He tried not to notice the few people standing outside, the relieved but shocked patrol members, the still guarded troopers. He tried not to hear the wind rushing over the drain, or to smell the acrid scent of still smoldering fertilizer.
After a long moment, he managed to block it all out. To be lost in a standing meditation, that seemed to fade as quickly as it arrived.
Keeping his eyes closed, Cal looked up.
The control room, unmarred by his attach and with all of its walls still in one piece, folded out around him.
Beside him stood a phantom. A memory of the Jedi, Kori Jenussa.
She lifted her saber out of the computer, "No one can hack the plant's control features if they're fried."
"I… I mean. I guess?" a rebel, maybe one that Cal had killed, maybe one that had abandoned their post and their friends long ago replied.
"Don't worry, you'll get used to the crazy." A second rebel replied, this one seemingly close with Jenussa
"Do I want to?"
Jenussa wore a mischievous grin, "I know I don't, but here we are."
"…great."
And then the little snippet was gone, the echo of an echo twisting away for how mundane a moment it would become.
Cal opened his eyes, back in the present.
"Jenussa was here. Your picture is old," he spoke over his shoulder, his words meant for Agent Manse, "she has a scar along the side of her head. From front to back, there's a line just above her left ear where her hair won't grow."
Harsh comment meant more for Sergent Kendima than for the Inquisitor, Agent Manse flatly replied, "I though Jedi didn't get shot."
"No one plans on getting shot in the back of the head," Cal's voice grew heavy, "especially not by your own troopers. I bet she got it during Order 66."
Careful and only aware that there might be a link between the Jedi and Inquisitors from Sargent Kendima's comments, Manse sensed that there must be more that he didn't know. Deciding that now wouldn't be the time to press, he offered a careful, "I'll let headquarters know Jenussa's appearance has changed. Perhaps we can edit her wanted picture."
"Sounds good," Cal halfheartedly replied, the low hum of an arriving transport bleeding through the damaged walls, "It's about time we get going anyways. The army probably needs help securing the town."