"Motion on the horizon," Marren glanced back up at the viewport in response to the pilot's voice, modulated by his helmet.
"Confirmation on target?"
"Transponder's not active; Gazanti with Black Sun markings. Target confirmed."
"Watch them. Find their landing point." They should have just paid tribute. The Black Sun should know better. Marren's brow furrowed. The frigate's bow glowed red with heat as the atmosphere attempted to melt it. The ship slowed and the glow dissipated into a thin translucent haze. The craft turned, cutting through the air in the direction of the canyon.
"All right," Marren started, easily slipping into a commanding tone, "Send the probe out and start heating the engines. I want them to have their blasters holstered when they die." The pilots nodded once and quickly tapped some of the controls. A small access hatch in the crew hold opened and a ball detached from the netted cargo in the middle of the gangway. A red light flickered on and an antenna extended out from the top of the sphere. As he watched it go, Marren turned my attention towards the warriors, now locking their restraining bolts across their chests and donning their helmets. Marren felt a swell of pride at the sight of their professionalism. He could see in their eyes the same excitement he felt and the same cool restraint as they focused on the task ahead. Marren strode to his seat and grabbed his helmet from the wall. He slipped it on, and the visor flickered to life with a Heads Up Display marking all his troops as friendlies. He switched his channel to the all-troops channel. "Sound off." In an instant, the troops began to rattle off their callsigns.
A ping echoed throughout the ship cutting through the end of the roll call. Marren spun to face the holotable and a feed came on showing a small mining repository built into the rock of the canyon. In a dry riverbed by the repository sat the Black Sun's gazanti, just barely fitting in between the layered walls of sandstone. The narrow craft bulged slightly in the middle, in stark contrast to the sharp and almost surgical look of the gauntlet. Several of the Black Sun's masked troops were stepping down the Gazanti's ramp. There was something else. Through the monochrome of the holodisplay, it was hard to see, but there was something between the groups of troopers. Something small. Something, no, someone… Marren seethed. Children. Three of them. They all seemed to be separate from one another. Different races wearing different styles, like they had been picked up from very different places. Marren's blood boiled. The mercenary fucks. Children are sacred. No one takes children. He gripped his pistol, his knuckles turning white.
"We have the location. Get us there. They have children with them." Marren announced, keeping his voice carefully monotone. The gauntlet turned silent as every soldier froze and stiffened.
"Get the children inside," the large Falleen yelled at the Black Sun soldiers then muttered to himself, "I don't like being exposed like this." He glanced behind him, half-expecting a massive creature to crawl out from the canyon walls. What monsters lived on this rock? He didn't know. He shouldn't worry about the creatures. No, that was not the reason he was so anxious. What had him troubled were the owners of this system. The sect of airborne and armored warriors. The cult of war. The Mandalorians. He knew somewhere in his hindbrain that if they were to find him, it would be one of the last things that he would see. He glanced out past the gazanti, half expecting to see one of those long and dark ships cutting through the sky and equally hoping the absence of such a ship would calm his nerves. Neither happened. He looked away. The group shuffled through the repository doors and he began to follow, stepping carefully over the shards of sandstone that littered the river bed. Then he stopped and listened. That was strange. The canyon seemed to whistle with the wind. However, something tickled at the back of his mind. He froze. There was no wind. The Fallen felt an explosion of energy as every molecule in his body screamed at him to run. He scrambled over the broken rock and screamed frantically ahead of him. "MANDALORIANS! GET INSIDE! THE MANDALORIANS ARE-"
Marren's rocket landed perfectly, cutting midway between the closing door and the scuttering Falleen, blowing both into slag. Marren scoffed. Coward. That shut him up.
The gauntlet hovered above the canyon just out of sight, its seats extended from its belly. The only thing left of the troops on the gauntlet was the faint trail of spent fuel between the ship and the squadron dive-bombing the Gazanti with their jetpacks. The troops split apart, launching a salvo of rockets that carpeted the spine of the Gazanti. The thing bucked and detonated, sending man-sized shrapnel in all directions. In the wake of the explosion, Mandalorians began dropping onto the river bed, immediately searching for any sign of attack. Marren landed in the center of the group with his blaster aimed at the doorway. The rocket had done its job. They hadn't gotten the door closed in time, and the force of the rocket had bent the doors inward, leaving a sizable opening. Without taking his eyes off the door Marren commanded his squadron, "Hal, Ezel, take point. Two teams. Move." The soldiers sprang into action, quickly organizing themselves behind Marren and the two point men. Hal and Ezel approached the door from the sides, avoiding the opening while Marren covered them. They took black metal pucks from their packs and both men placed one on their side of the door. Marren held his fist in the air for a couple of seconds, then dropped it. The charges detonated with force. The doors, previously damaged from the rocket, came off their rails completely and flew into the room. The two groups sprinted in, following the flying doors.
The dark room was lit with bursts of red and yellow plasma. Bolts flew across the huge room giving faint impressions of the contents within. From what Marren could see, the room was mostly filled with piles of boxes and large machines. Most of the space was allotted to several pieces of industrial equipment that reached the warehouse ceiling. Marren ducked behind some nearby cargo with Hal, narrowly avoiding a cluster of blaster bolts aimed at his head. He positioned himself facing Hal and sent a series of rapid hand gestures his way. Hal gave a curt nod, then gave the signal. Hal lobbed a thermal detonator across the room and sent a volley of plasma in the direction of the previous barrage while Marren sprinted for the opposite side of the room. The orb moved gracefully through the air, its power concealed. It hit the ground, pinging as it made contact with the cement. The same sound echoed once more as the detonator impacted again and hit a crate, settling into a nook in the ground. Marren felt the heat from there. The bomb detonated and the soldiers hiding behind the crates were consumed in an inferno. Once the fires subsided, the only remnant was the smoke and ash of the thermal detonator. Marren slid for cover behind one of the industrial loaders. The diversion worked. Keeping low, he headed around the edge of the room. From his side of the room, the boxes the Black Sun troops were taking cover behind were useless. Marren opened fire, scattering them, and catching the slower soldiers with plasma shots.
Marren paused just over the din of blaster fire and shouting and listened closely. There was a tone, subverted by the more impressive sounds around, but it was there nonetheless. Marren focused. It was a light sound, high-pitched. Screaming! It was a child's scream. Marren spun around looking for the sound, momentarily forgetting about the battle around him. There! There was a small hallway off the back wall obscured by some vats. Marren made his way towards it, blaster in hand. As he approached the mouth of the hallway, hushed voices echoed from some room deeper in.
"What are we supposed to do?!" The first voice, throaty and sloppy in its verbalism, spoke.
"Ceetil was the one who spoke to the client, how am I supposed to know!?" The second voice was equally deep but with much more finesse. The second one spoke again, "We should just kill them. No one would get their hands on them that way."
The first grunted, then replied, "Less cleanup. I like that. We could say, uh, one learned his power, then attacked us. We were forced to kill him!" Marren gripped his pistol tighter. He had to time it perfectly.
The other one spoke, "Sure. We can do it your way. I wouldn't want P-" Marren dove across the hallway, sending two plasma bolts into the first soldier he saw.
"Freeze." Marren's voice exited the helmet modulated and menacing. The soldier stood frozen in place, his mask staring at his fallen comrade. He slowly turned towards the mandalorian.
"Y- You're gonna pay for-at." The soldier unconsciously stepped back, slurring his words, clearly surprised.
"I don't think I am, trafficker. Throw the rifle on the ground in front of you. I don't want you getting any ideas." Or hurting the foundlings. Marren began slowly moving towards the soldier. The gun dropped to the ground, the clatter echoing across the now silent repository. Marren spoke again, "What are you doing here? Why are you in Mandalorian space?"
"The Black Sun bows to no one." The Falleen seemed more sure of himself now.
"Don't do it," Marren muttered. The Fallen tensed and dove for the gun. Marren's first shots hit just as the soldier dove under them. The Falleen landed on the gun and fired off several shots into the room before Marren's second volley connected.
"No, no, no!" Marren ran into the room, quickly clearing it. He found himself staring at two small bodies curled on the ground. The third was still sitting, staring at the armored man in front of him. Yet, there was something about those eyes. There was a hardness to them. A hardness that should not have been in the eyes of someone so young. Anger.
The sky burned around him. The heat of the chaos silhouetted his armored form, a cloth sash swinging in the wind by his waist. His helmet was in his hands as he stared forward to the din of cataclysm and war in his home. The glass of the buildings was destroyed, the metal warping. His eyes focused and red, his eyebrows permanently bent inward. His hands held a blade of light the color of blood. His soul burning with rage.