Chapter 19: Telos
Bumani Exchange Corporation. It wasn't particularly impressive looking, nor was it a dump. It was designed very carefully to avoid drawing attention. And, to be fair, with the amount of supplies that were being moved around for the project, an import-export business wasn't all that bad a cover, despite how stereotypical it was.
The rodian guard "sweeping" outside the front door cast him a surreptitious glance as he moved in. "Oh, sorry sir, we're not open to the public. If you'd like to place an order, please see our holonet site."
Atton shrugged, pasting on a disappointed look. "But face-to-face is really the way to do business."
The rodian straightened, steadying his hands on the broom that, now that he looked at it, would make for a pretty good quarter-staff in the right hands. And he was sure that wasn't the only weapon the guy could produce. "I'm afraid that won't be possible, sir. Why don't you leave. Now."
Atton spread out his arms, hands opened unthreateningly. "You sure? Luxa will be very disappointed."
The guard drew breath, then paused. "I . . . see, sir. I'll open the door for you, then. You watch yourself in there." He turned and punched a complicated-looking code into the door controls, and the front door slid open smoothly.
Atton stepped through, hands in his pockets, and he mentally cataloged his weapons one more time, including the surprises he'd stolen from Luxa's cargo. He was going to have to play this one by ear, which usually meant a lot of people were going to die. By sheer, dumb luck, he hadn't found himself face-down in the gutter yet, but that could always change.
A pretty-looking secretary with soft-hands looked up abruptly, startled eyes darting. So she knew at least a little of the type of people that came and went. He could work with that. "I-I'm terribly sorry, sir, but there must be some sort of mistake. I don't have a record of your appointment. A-are you certain it was for today?"
Atton stepped closer and leaned up against the counter. She unconsciously leaned back, hands clenched white with tension and sweat beading at the temples of her blonde, swept back hair. "Hey honey, don't worry about it. I'm sure it's a simple misunderstanding . . . Vula," he read off the name plate on her desk, "can I call you Vula?"
"I-I'd really prefer if you didn't. And I'm afraid that if you don't have an appointment I'm going to . . . going to have to ask . . . you to leave," she finished in a small voice.
Atton's hand shot out and clamped onto her wrist that was heading below the desk for some sort of emergency button. "Now, there's no need to do that, is there? We're becoming such good friends."
She tried to speak, but it just came out a squeak, and sat their frozen, desperately wanting to wrench her hand away, but terrified of what he might do if she did.
He leaned further over the desk, deeper into her personal space, with a grin that spelled out exactly what he was thinking. "Tell you what. I'd be happy to take you up on that. We could leave right now, take a long walk together and I promise to show you some of the . . . less well-known spots on the station." His free hand stroked her cheek affectionately. "Or, you could open that door for me. I'll walk through this one, and you walk through that one," he crooned, inclining his head slightly towards the entrance. "What do you say, Vula?" He practically purred her name.
Her free hand moved quickly, punching in the activation code. "T-the door is open, sir, if you wouldn't mind going on in? Please?"
He let her wrist slip through his fingers with a pout. "Ah, Vula, don't be like that. Ah well, if you insist." Then his smile crept back in. "Until next time, that is."
She swallowed and held very still as he walked into the next room. He could just hear her bolting for the exit as the door closed behind him.
Four gamorreans lounged at a table, their trademark battle-axes leaning against chairs while they chomped heaping plates of raw meat. The smell was repulsive, but at least it made it clear what Luxa was talking about when she said she owned some of the guards. Gamorreans were simple creatures, not that unlike humans. They had their pleasures and appetites, and they were loyal to whoever provided them. They looked up at him briefly, then stood and claimed their axes.
There were two doors, and he looked a question at the biggest, meanest looking gamorrean, who was of course the leader. He pointed to the door on the left, and they stepped in to back him up. Or pen him in, depending on how this went.
A quarren stood speaking to a handful of thugs. Four of them, all humans. Internal need to reinforce superiority by ordering around dominant species? Mid-size room centered around a large conference table, too light for real cover.
The quarren, Slusk, caught sight of him, eyes sliding back and forth between him and the gamorreans. "You've got a lot of nerve coming here, friend of the Jedi. What do you want?"
A good question, right to the core of the issue. And, given how many witnesses there were, a mask to the real question. Who's side are you on? And he only had one chance to stake out his position before the battle lines were drawn. "I'm on a job," he said carefully, "for the moment, looking for my 'friend's' ship." I'm with Luxa, but as a hired gun not a follower, and I can be bought.
The quarren's agile facial tentacles twitched in . . . hell, he had no idea, but Slusk reacted to what he'd said. That was something. "I don't have any ship of yours, human." Your interests and Luxa's do not align. There's your excuse to walk away from this.
This Slusk, he was quick. Someone he could work with, certainly more capable than Luxa. Atton frowned, sensing the gamorreans starting to stir behind him, bothered by the talk. "Well, that leaves me in an awkward sport . . . you see, I really need that ship. And for all I know, you could be lying." I can't flip now with Luxa's goons at my back, but show me that she's lying and I'll walk. And give me a ship and I'm yours.
Slusk paused again, considering, then shrugged. "I'm afraid that's not good enough, Mr. Rand. Enough of this. Kill the intruders."
Atton swore and dove forward and sideways into the room. Couldn't afford to get pinned down in a fight in the other room, needed to get close and finish fast. He heaved on the table and dropped in behind it, but not before the leader of the thugs tagged him with a laser blast to the torso. The raw impact knocked the breath out of him and spun him around to the floor. It hurt like hell, but it had also come in at a bit of an angle thanks to his dive, and the armor in his jacket had turned it . . . turned most of it.
Then the blaster fire stopped coming in as Slusk's people refocused on the four angry gamorreans rushing them while swinging their war axes. They were rough, taking four, five, sometimes even six solids hits before going down. He took the handful of seconds their rush bought him to reposition himself and bring his blaster pistol to bear. A peak around the corner showed him two gamorreans go down squealing, and one of Slusks, who dropped with a scream as a battle-axe drove half-way through her chest.
He drew a bead on the leader, dancing away from a swinging war axe, and opened up on him. The man's body armor was tough and absorbed two shots before the man turned too much attention to Atton and lost track of the gamorrean, he speared him in the thigh with the pointed tip of his axe.
Atton shifted fire to the next target, then the next, and then there were no more targets. Three of the gamorreans were down, two of them clearly dead. The last standing gamorrean let out a roar of fury and triumph, which meant he wasn't even paying attention as Atton shot him right between the eyes. He didn't want any witnesses to this conversation.
He took his time about it, cold eyes checking over the bodies. One of the gamorreans was somehow still alive, though not for much longer. His blaster pistol cracked once more, and all that was left was to search the bodies.
Nothing much of interest. A handful of credits, some rolled up spice packets, a couple of clearly bogus identity papers. The usual junk. No, the only thing really worthwhile was the leader's blaster pistol. He stole the man's leg holster and tucked the pistol into it on his left leg, matching the one he'd stolen from the Republic cruiser on his right leg.
Then he checked his wound with a grimace. Not great. Burned pretty badly, and the raw impact had left a deep bruise, maybe even bruised the collarbone. He cracked open a kolto salve and dribbled it down his shirt, then closed his jacket again.
He pinged the Slusk's office door com system. "I think we need to have a talk, don't you?"
"Docking Bay 3, Docking Module 126. It looks like this is the place." Marina replaced the datapad in her pocket and walked up to the rodian guard. "Jana Lorso sent us."
The rodian gave her a scrutinizing look, then nodded. "She sent word ahead. Please step inside and board the shuttle heading down to Czerka surface operations headquarters. It departs in the next hour."
Marina and Kreia walked briskly through the crowded Czerka shuttle bay and boarded the lone heavy cargo shuttle that was even now being loaded up with stacks of supply crates by a small army of droids. The crew quarters were cramped and primitive on the utilitarian ship, but they'd be enough to get them down to the surface in one piece. Marina flipped her duffel bag up into the overhead compartment and sat down to wait.
Atton stepped into the office cautiously, hands hovering over his blaster pistols. No immediately obvious weapons. Big, heavy desk, good cover. Slusk sat at the desk, hands concealed from view on the arms of his chair. Not good. He stopped a few steps from the desk, hopefully close enough to the door to fall back quickly, and waited for Slusk to make the first move.
The quarren considered him once more, taking his time. "You've handled yourself well getting this far. But you should think things over carefully. I can be a very valuable ally. Just what is it you want? To join the Exchange? Money?"
"That depends on who's asking and what's on the table. For now, I want to know what secret you're protecting for Czerka."
Slusk laughed. "Oh, is that all? Ah, no more time for pleasantries—our guests have arrived." He tapped on his desk and opened the door to reveal Luxa with two more gamorreans. How many of those things does she have? And what makes Slusk so confident to let her walk right in? Atton moved sideways, out of the line of fire between Slusk and Luxa.
"I assume this was all your doing?" Slusk asked calmly.
Luxa's eyes bounced back and forth between Slusk and Atton, trying to read them. She didn't dive right in, instead trying to hedge. "I may have had a hand in this, yes."
A mistake. Making a move on an Exchange superior meant death, no matter how small the role. Better to show strength, false confidence.
Slusk shrugged casually. "I suppose I should have known. You always were an ambitious one."
Luxa glanced between them once more, off put by Slusk's apparent unconcern.
"On to the business at hand. I don't think it's possible that all of us will be leaving this room alive. The question remains, however; will Mr. Rand join me, or choose to die along with this upstart?"
Well, so much for avoiding getting caught in the middle. Slusk is smarter, and if anyone knows what's going on with Czerka, it's him. Let's hope he's not overplaying his hand here. "That sounds like an offer I can't refuse. You've got a deal, Slusk."
Luxa sighed dramatically, covering an emotional response. Anger? Fear? "I guess it's just like they say. If you want something done right, do it—"
Three concealed turrets popped up out of the floor and opened fire in a hurricane of light and sound that scythed through Luxa and her pets. Atton instinctively ducked and half-turned away, though the reaction was too slow. If he'd been included in the targeting parameters no doubt entered by Slusk's hidden hands, he'd have been as dead as the shattered wreck of the zeltron.
"Now, Mr. Rand, it's time we had that talk you mentioned. I see you are not as foolish as Luxa, which suggests you may be useful to me. I had suspected her for some time, but I thought I'd let her show her hand first, commit all of her resources, before cutting her off. I don't like leaving problems only half resolved. Now, explain to me how you are part of the solution, and not the problem, Mr. Rand."
"Deniable asset," replied Atton instantly. "You're worried that Czerka's secret will get out. Well, I'm an outsider, with no connection to you. I also have access to, and the trust of, Jana Lorso, so I have inside access to their systems, though she doesn't know what her bosses are doing behind her back here. I also have the trust of the Jedi, and I know you're friends on Nar Shaddaa are willing to pay quite a bit for a living Jedi."
The quarren nodded slowly, fingers steepled in front of him on his desk. "Interesting. I believe I like you, Mr. Rand. To answer your question, I too have resources inside Czerka, but they also have failed to tell me what it is that Czerka is doing. I know pieces of it, but not the whole. However, my employer on Nar Shaddaa is Goto. He has information sources that I do not have, and has ordered me to stop their operations on the planet at any cost to the Exchange, with the single condition that under no circumstances may their operations be made public. I do not know why, but I have never seen Goto willing to expend resources at this rate, and without a clear short or long-term return before. I suspect that it is of paramount importance that I succeed."
Slusk leaned back in his chair again, and Atton fought the urge to tense up as his hands went back to the arms of his chair. "To that end, I have inserted a large force of mercenaries into Czerka's personnel. They are preparing even now to move on Czerka's primary facility on the surface of Telos. Whatever their secret, it is held there. And I know that the source of the weapons they are smuggling out to defray their operational expenses is there, on the surface. Their base will be heavily fortified and well-armed. As such, it seems to me that our interests align, Mr. Rand. You want to know what Czerka is doing, and I want another skilled weapon to ensure the success of this raid. So, Mr. Rand, what do you say?"
"I don't know. That sounds like suicide to me."
Slusk nodded. "Perhaps. Would it make a difference to know that your Jedi 'friend' has just departed the station bound for that same facility in a Czerka shuttle supplied by Jana Lorso? Or that her departure and destination are known by more than just me?"
Atton froze. She was going to get herself killed down there! She didn't have the slightest idea what she was walking into. She would have waited if she'd thought I was coming back. She thinks I abandoned her . . . but what does that matter? I don't care about her or the witch. I was doing my part, damn it, she's the one ditching me!
And even as these thoughts ran through his head, he heard himself speak.
"I'm in."
Marina watched the pilot carefully as they broke away from the station and eased themselves down into atmosphere. He was competent, but he didn't have the easy mastery that Atton had. Yeah, but he's not a sleazy rimmer-scum slimeball, either. So knock it off, Marina. Get over it. And stop feeling all nostalgic about him just because he's safely gone. She shook her head, trying to clear it of the pointless thoughts just as the Force twinged.
She didn't react for almost a second out of sheer surprise. Kreia was faster off the mark. "Move!" she hissed urgently to the pilot. He had just started to turn when the target lock warning pulsed crimson with a shrill alarm. The pilot swore and jerked on the controls just as heavy turbolaser fire arched up at them, so powerful that it left green streaks in Marina's vision.
The fire continued, tracking their single evasive maneuver easily, and she felt a cold shiver wash through her as she recognized the the weapon as a military heavy anti-aircraft turbolaser emplacement. And she had no time to wonder how in the galaxy they'd gotten their hands on one, or gotten it down to the surface.
The pilot did his best, but he was no Atton, and bare seconds later the heavy weapon clipped their right wing. The impact shook the shuttle like a giant reaching out and slapping at the annoying gnat. Marina was thrown against the restraints, then slammed back in her chair, and darkness crept into the corners of her eyes, held at bay only by the unexpected cocoon of the Force.
Their pilot, unfortunately, was not as lucky, and hung limply from the restraints. She started reaching for the releases on her restraints when she looked out the window and changed her mind. "Hang on!"
Not even the Force was enough to protect her from the impact as they plowed into the ground.
Atton paced restlessly in the "public" shuttle bay run by the Exchange, ignoring the small army of heavily-armed mercenaries around him. He'd gone back to check, of course, but their apartment had already been leased to some very startled newcomers as he'd busted in with guns ready. So now he was stuck here, waiting. He checked his chrono yet again. Sixty-three minutes.
So he paced, and a small part of him in the back of his mind kept questioning what he was doing here. My part in this is done. It's time to go, time to wander on like always. Why are you still here, Atton? What's the Jedi done for you to make you do something this stupid? Hell, what's she done to you? Leave, Atton! Turn around and walk away!
But he couldn't. He didn't know why, couldn't understand, which scared the shit out of him, but he could not turn around and walk away. Every instinct he possessed said he needed to get there, he had to find her right now, and he was still alive because he'd listened to those instincts. No matter how much trouble they'd gotten him into, they'd always seen him back out the other side of it.
Only, they'd never told him to do something this stupid before, either.
So he paced, and he worried, and he paced, and he worried.
He checked his chrono. Sixty-two minutes.
Marina groaned. Stars, her whole body hurt. She twitched, tried to role over, then jerked open her eyes as the memories started to return. Light burned, too bright, and she squinted, covering her eyes with an arm and tried to sit up, only to slide back down with another groan as her head seemed to split in half. "Auurgh . . ."
"Good to have you back, General."
She started again at the voice, reaching for a weapon, then paused in confusion. Wha . . . who . . . Her eyes crept open again, tearing against the light, but she could make out a dark shape in front of her, too close. She tried to scramble back, but her arm collapsed under her and she flopped back down on her stomach.
"Easy now. You survived one spectacular crash. It was lucky I was here to pull you and your friends out of your shuttle, or you'd be more than a little crispy. But it's only fair. I owe you more than one, General."
His words all squished together into a soupy nonsense. She struggled to think, frustrated at her own confusion. "What . . . what are you . . . talking about?"
The dark blur shifted, a nod? "You must be in shock from the crash. Have to expect some long-term memory loss from that. Too bad she's not a droid, huh?"
Another blur separated from the first one, hovering in the air. Droid? It beeped back at the first, which was gradually coalescing into a humanoid shape.
"Heh, we can't all be that lucky."
Marina tried again, struggling through what she was beginning to realize was a bad concussion. "Who . . . who are you?"
"Alright, I'll humor you, General. My name is Bao Dur. I was one of the iridonian mechanic corps. that was at Malachor. I can see how you'd forget me, seeing as I was the only one."
"Wha . . . Mala . . . Malachor. I don't . . . oh." It came back.
The figure, Bao Dur, seemed to understand. "Don't think too hard. I'd rather not talk about the war, if we could. We all went through some tough times after Malachor. And maybe we all did a little 'forgetting.' Guess that's one thing we've got better than droids. They can't forget anything. But then you give them a memory wipe and they forget for good."
Marina tried again to sit up, this time successfully. She was on dirt . . . grass. She turned, trying to take in her surroundings and fighting off a wave of dizziness. A large trench, mountains of dirt thrown up on either side. . . . ship wreckage, virtually pulverized.
"How . . . unnnngh . . . how are . . . the others?"
Bao dur grimaced. "The old woman, well, she's tougher than she looks. She'll be fine. I'm afraid the pilot didn't make it." He paused for a second, considering. "You know, I never thought I'd see you again, General. The galaxy's a big place, and this is the last place I'd thought I'd bump into you. So I have to ask, just what are you doing here?"
Marina didn't answer, instead putting her hands to her head. It was starting to clear now, and she noticed with a start that she could feel the Force pulsing through her, healing her. She looked up again, her eyes clearer, and actually looked at her rescuer. He was indeed a iridonian, the tell-tale small horns curling up and out around the crown of his skull. He was wearing what looked like dark coveralls, cinched up by a heavy utility belt that sported an impressive array of tools. A small spherical droid hovered near his shoulder protectively, but the most noticeable thing about him was his left arm—or rather, the lack thereof. In its place was a bio-mechanical replacement that thrummed with enough power that it could have been a miniaturized backup generator. In fact, she rather suspected that it had started off its life as just that. And it would certainly be useful, having that much power available on demand.
Oh right, he'd asked a question. "I'm . . . it's complicated. Actually, no, it's not. I'm looking for a ship to leave this place."
"Got some news for you, General. That shuttle of yours is done for, scrap."
Kreia stirred, and Marina glanced Bao Dur sharply. "Don't call me that," she hissed.
He looked surprised, but simply nodded.
The old woman sat up slowly. "That was not the most pleasant landing I've endured. Next time we should perhaps seek out a more reputable pilot."
"Well, he's dead," Marina responded repressively, "so he's paid for his sins. Are you alright?"
She tried to stand and quickly reconsidered as her legs trembled beneath her. "No. But I will recover shortly. You seemed to have acquired a new friend."
"His name is Bao Dur. Speaking of which, do you know who shot us down?"
Bao Dur shrugged and stood from his crouch, reaching down to offer Marina a hand and pulling her to her slightly unsteady feet. "I don't know. The fire came from the primary Czerka facility, but they are not supposed to have anything like that sort of weaponry. It seems they're doing more than we were led to believe."
Marina stretched, once again surprised at just how quickly the Force could put her back together again. "Whoever they are, they're going to send someone out to make sure we're really dead. We need to get out of here, then find our ship."
Bao Dur offered Kreia a hand, who ignored it and climbed to her feet herself. He glanced at Marina, who shrugged. "If there is a ship down here, then it must have some sort of hangar facility to protect it from the periodic acid rain. If there is such a place, it will be connected to the power grid that supports the shield network. I have access to the grid, I just need to find a secure terminal to tap in."
"And where can we find a secure terminal?"
Bao Dur gave Marina a crooked smile. "The closest one is back at Czerka's compound. It's the old ithorian research station turned into a salvage team staging area. The next one is over a hundred kilometers away. But even reaching this one won't be an easy hike."
Marina sighed and covered her eyes with a hand, bracing herself for yet more bad news. "And why is that?"
"Well, first there's a mercenary team looking for me. If Czerka has secured the compound there could be quite a lot of them out there. Second, there's all the cannocks."
"Leaving aside why a mercenary team might be looking for you, what's a cannock?"
"Vicious, wide-jawed predators the ithorians imported from Dxun. They were meant to keep the herbivore population in check."
Marina opened her eyes and looked around with a frown at the wide, beautiful field of grass that was remarkably free of herbivores, even despite their rather dramatic entrance. "I don't see any herbivores around."
"Right. The cannocks ate them all. Now they'll eat anything they can catch, including us. Without the ithorians to maintain the accelerated ecosystem's balance, everything here is falling apart. Czerka's killing the restoration project piecemeal."
"One crisis at a time, Bao Dur, one crisis at a time. Let's get going. Ah, which direction did you say the compound was?"
Lieutenant Grenn looked up from a particularly troubling status report and rubbed blood-shot eyes. It was coming to a head. He wasn't sure what 'it' was, but he could feel the pressure mounting on the space station like a pressure cooker ready to explode, and he would have given his left arm to know what 'it' was. He felt powerless, like has on a free-falling shuttle with no-one at the controls, bracing himself for impact without any idea of when they would hit.
His com lit up with an incoming call, and his eyebrows rose as he saw it was tagged with the highest priority. He rubbed his face one more time, gave himself a shake, and answered the vid-call.
"Citadel Station, this is Admiral Carth Onasi of the Republic Cruiser Sojourn."
Grenn felt a relieved smile start to form, then it died as he remembered the news he had to deliver. Still, it was good to see Carth again, even if it looked like he'd climbed further up the ladder yet again. "Admiral Onasi? This is Lieutenant Grenn, TSF. We've been expecting you."
"Grenn? You still kicking down there? It's good to know the TSF hasn't gone to shambles in my absence."
"And how about you, an Admiral! Unfortunately, you might change your tune after you see what the situation is like down here, Carth. I've got some bad news for you."
Carth nodded, all business once more. "Well, it can't be that bad, Grenn, I think that Telos has already been through the worst."
Grenn took a steadying breath and waded in. "The one you came all the way out here to pick up, well, she managed to escape the station. We're not exactly sure how it happened."
Admiral Onasi frowned, but he didn't look nearly as upset as Grenn had feared. "That's . . . unfortunate, but luckily it still fits our plans."
"What? Am I hearing this right?"
"I'll tell you more when I arrive, but the Republic has decided not to detail the Exile and adopt a wait-and-see approach."
Grenn's jaw dropped. "The . . . the Exile? Then—"
Carth cut him off with a telling glance. "Like I said, Lieutenant, we'll discuss this privately when I've arrived."
Grenn gave himself a shake. "Of course, sir. I'm uploading the approach vector to you now. See you soon, Admiral."