Jolee dropped the Ebon Hawk out of hyperspace, "You did send that transmission, right?"
The copilot nodded, "Yes, before we left republic space. It should actually be arriving now…"
"Hope Carth listens better than Kyle," Jolee muttered under his breath.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Kel Algwin asked. Jolee glanced lazily over at his pseudo apprentice.
"It's a terrible idea," Jolee said bluntly.
"And why, pray tell, are we attempting it?" Lashowe Algwin asked over the com from the dorsal turret of the Ebon Hawk.
"Because I'm old, crotchety, and something here just won't stop itching, like that rash I got in the Shadowlands," Jolee grumbled into his beard, as he wove the nimble craft through the oncoming asteroids.
Kel carefully did not inquire as to the location of any rash.
"Peragus is signaling us. We aren't on their registry of authorized ships," Kel said, hand to his headset.
"If we dock they will impound our ship, pending investigation," Kel warned.
"See any warships?" Jolee asked flippantly.
"… no…" Kel said reluctantly.
"Then I don't care. Lashowe, you in labor yet?" Jolee called down the open corridor behind him.
The succinct reply that returned via the intercom told Jolee everything he needed to know.
"Jolee, they sound serious," Kel said, still listening to the transmission.
"Tell 'em we have a medical emergency," Jolee snapped, weaving his ship between a pair of asteroids, to avoid a larger storm approaching on the port bow.
"Lash isn't due for another couple of days," Kel said, startled, "That's not exactly an emergency," he said doubtfully.
"If she doesn't push that kid out soon, I'll murder her. Therefore, it's a medical emergency. Your wife's life depends on us getting into that facility. And I'm tired of catching babies. Especially hairy ones. Someone else can do it this time," Jolee growled.
"Oh. Alright," Kel said, taken aback.
Jolee glanced at Kel sharply, "Well? Tell them that."
"Right," Kel twitched, reaching for the transmission controls.
"And put some feeling into it," Bindo snorted.
((()))
Mavrel crouched at the edge of the blast zone, studying the forensic scanner, and the rough walls of the airless tunnel. He hated EVA suits. His nose was itching, and he couldn't scratch it.
"It wasn't their fault, chief. Goss and his team weren't sloppy, they always double checked their work," Xen, the delta-shift mine boss said uncomfortably.
"Course they did. Sullustants are compulsive that way," Mavrel grunted.
"Anyone see what happened here?" Mavrel asked quietly.
"This was a new claim. No sensors set up yet, all we have is what maintenance can pull off the suit cams, and anything off the droid's automated memory dump," Xen said, nervously.
"Droid?" Mavrel asked, "No one said anything about a droid."
"It was setting the sonic charges," Xen muttered.
"Apparently not very well," Mavrel grunted. He didn't even see anything that looked like it belonged to a droid.
Poor bastards.
((()))
Jolee walked down the Ebon Hawk's ramp, hands up, clearly empty.
"Hello, folks, we've got a pregnant woman," he said, flashing his most dazzling simpleton smile.
Two men, armed with stun batons and sonic pistols glanced at each other, then Jolee. They lowered the weapons more or less in unison.
"Can she walk?" the nikto guard on the left asked.
"I'd… fetch a chair, sonny," Jolee said doubtfully.
The nikto blinked, without comprehension. The human male though understood.
"Medical, we're going to need a hover chair in Hanger three-twelve," the guard told his comlink in clipped tones.
"She wanted to give birth at home. Problem is, home's still a week away…" Jolee rambled to thin air. Neither guard was paying attention.
Perfect.
Jolee stretched out with his senses. He couldn't feel anything here, as far as the future went. Something was blocking his sight.
They were in the right place, or else, would be soon.
((()))
The man was meticulously groomed, though no effort had been made to hide the graying of hair at his temples. His uniform was also meticulously pressed and folded, thanks to his personal protocol droid (a perk of being captain). At the moment, he was staring out the viewport of his cabin, at the empty star field beyond. It had been three years to the day… Three years since the Sith were broken above the raging star, their power shattered with the loss of Darth Malak, and the Star Forge.
Captain Raxton swirled the ice in his glass, before making a silent toast to the ghosts that stood at his shoulder, and downed the whiskey in a single draw. Republic losses had been heavy in that last-ditch offensive… dozens of experienced captains and crews had met their end there, leaving Raxton as one of the few relics that remained of the old guard, that had served the Republic fleet before the Mandalorian wars.
Raxton refilled his glass dourly, cringing at the word fleet.
Oh, there was still a fleet, of course, but it was half the size it had been before the wars. Too many crews, hulls, and captains had left the Republic's ranks, from battle, attrition, or even outright defection.
We're rebuilding, Raxton thought with dark humor, remembering the optimistic holo-ads that flooded the planetary civilian net, an almost psychological assault. It was propaganda, mostly.
Malak had hurt them badly, and the Republic had been weak from the Mandalorians to begin with…
On nights like this… Raxton wondered if the Republic would ever truly recover…
The Republic was holding on by its fingertips, on the edge of total collapse. There just weren't enough ships, and too much territory. Pirates and other criminal factions, emboldened by the scarcity of authority, had grown aggressive, and preyed heavily on the commercial shipping lanes… which was slowly strangling the Republic; commerce was their lifeblood. Fewer and fewer Hammer-head class cruisers were being built, instead, the smaller, faster, Foray-class corvette was coming into its own, as an economical stop-gap measure for combating piracy.
"Captain, there's a priority transmission coming in for you," Commander Torell said, interrupting his captain's dark musings.
"Route it through to my terminal," the aging officer sighed, setting his drink and bottle aside for next year's toast.
Captain Raxton stared at the encrypted transmission… this was from the top, he realized uneasily. He used his personal command codes to unlock the encryption on the feed. As soon as the man's face appeared on the screen… Raxton's gout began to flare up.
"Captain Raxton, it's been a while," Admiral Onasi said grimly. The admiral was nearly twenty years Raxton's junior, but Raxton didn't begrudge Onasi his rank. If anything, he pitied the man, forced by politics into accepting such a promotion… one of the burdens a hero had to carry, Raxton supposed.
"You look old," Raxton said, raising an eyebrow.
"All admirals look old," Carth said, but he wasn't smiling.
That wasn't a good sign.
"Captain, I have a mission for you…"
"Respectfully admiral, we have a mission. The pirates near Telos have captured three bulk freighters in the last month alone," Captain Raxton said calmly.
"I know how thin the pickets are near Telos," Admiral Onasi sighed, "But this could be far more critical to our efforts. It shouldn't delay your patrol significantly."
((()))
Jolee stared forlornly into his drink. It was alcoholic. Probably. It was also a rather unappetizing sludge of grays and browns. It did not appear to be something that had any business being near his mouth.
Damn droid bartenders. Jolee stared suspiciously from the corner of his eye at the droid in question. It didn't seem to be malfunctioning. No one in the mess hall appeared to be keeling over dead… but Jolee decided he wasn't that thirsty.
"Hey… I knows you… don't aye?" a man slurred, his hip bumping into the table Jolee sat at. The sludge in Jolee's cup didn't even ripple. Nope. Definitely not drinking that.
"Depends. Do I owe you money?" Jolee asked.
The miner's cheeks were quite red, and he was freely sweating through his brown coverall. The air was quite cool though.
But the man was apparently quite intoxicated.
"Money?" the miner asked.
"I owes peoples moneys… nobodies owes me moneys though," the miner confided, as if slightly mystified by the whole institution.
"Well in that case… want a free drink?" Jolee smiled, gesturing at the suspicious cup on the table.
The drunk leaned over, looked into the cup, then at Jolee.
"Whys you get a Rock?"
"No my friend. The droid assured me it was a drink. Not a rock," Jolee chided.
"Swot is called. Rock," the miner answered.
"Clearly the Force is thick with this one," Jolee mumbled into his beard.
Unfortunately, the miner was still bent over, one eye centimeters above the cup of fluid, and heard Jolee. His face lit up.
"I do knows you!" he squealed. Jolee stared sadly at the giggling, squealing man. Alcohol makes fools of all…
"Jeeda! Jeeda!" he crowed.
"Someone help Coras back to the dorm," a miner in the back corner of the mess hall grumbled.
"Saws you ona screen! Lossa metals! Jeedaye," Coras grinned, triumphantly standing upon the slain corpse of his ethanol soaked memories.
"On second thought young man, no more booze for you," Jolee decided.
"Hold on. Yeah… the old guy in the tatty robes! That big awards ceremony, five years ago," the miner that had named Coras to the room said slowly, staring at Jolee.
Tatty? Jolee scowled, and slowly stood.
"Alright tach-face, exactly who are you calling tatty?" Jolee rumbled.
"You don't scare me Jedi! There's a lot more of us than you!" the man said, slamming his fist into the table. His eyes were slightly glassy.
Hell. Is everyone drunk here? Jolee grimaced. Obvious answer. Stupid question.
"Coorta, shut up," a skinny man said insistently, tugging on Coorta's sleeve.
"You think I'm a Jedi?" Jolee asked, putting as much crotchety incredulousness on his face as he could muster (which was consequently, quite a lot).
He tossed off his robe, paring down to his boots, leggings, and leather tunic.
This was going to get ugly.
"See any lightsabers, boy?" Jolee guffawed.
That seemed to be a stumper for poor Coras.
"No," he slurred, staring helplessly at Jolee, as if asking him to make it all make sense.
"Don't mean nuth'in. Coulda lost it or sold it," Coorta sneered, jutting his jaw at Jolee.
"Okay if I'm a Jedi… then here's a taste of my force!" Jolee cackled, snatching up his abandoned drink with his hand and strong arming it into Coorta's face.
I do owe Coras an apology. That was indeed a rock, Jolee decided with a straight face, observing the spectacularly broken nose on the big, dripping miner.
And three, two, one… brawl!
Jolee was getting too old for this.
((()))
"We're supposed to be sinking fuel siphons into the 32-18 asteroid shelf right now," Jinas said nervously.
"Forget the siphons. You know that old man from the freighter?" Coorta hissed impatiently.
"The one that broke your nose?" Coras asked helpfully.
"Yes Coras, the one that broke my nose with a cheap shot, he's a Jedi," Coorta grumbled.
"If he's one of the Jedi… we can't have him walking around here!" Jinas panicked.
Coorta glared at Jinas until the cowardly little coreslime could get hold of his bladder.
"I thought all the Jedi were wiped out in the civil war. Weren't they?" Coras mused.
Coorta simply stared at the idiot, trying to see if the big man was trying to lighten the mood… or if he really was that stupid. If all the Jedi died in the war, who was at the award ceremony—
Coorta decided he just didn't care.
"Guess they missed one," he said. Coras nodded sagely, accepting the words as honest truth.
"Listen. I did some checking, and that bounty on Nar Shaddaa's still live. Two million credits for a live Jedi," Coorta said, a slow grin splitting his face.
Jinas stared at Coorta, dumbstruck, "You want to sell the Jedi to the Exchange? Have you been chewing spice?"
Coorta shook his head, "Not since last month."
Jinas shook his head compulsively, "Coorta… there's no way the officers will go for that."
"That bounty is our meal ticket off this damned rock," Coorta growled, his knuckles popping from the tightness of his fists.
"They'll lock us up for sure," Jinas sighed.
"We'll just have to improvise," Coorta said, revealing the trump card in his sleeve.
Jinas stared at it, eyes wide as saucers.
"We're all going to die," he decreed.
"Just follow my lead, idiot," Coorta snapped.
((()))
Lashowe sat up on the biobed, her face rigid, fingers clenched to the plastic frame.
"That… was unusual," the blonde woman whispered, blinking rapidly.
"Congratulations. You've entered labor," Brynna said, looking up from her datapad briefly, before returning to her scans of the comatose Choy, floating in the kolto tank.
"Scanner estimates your next contraction in… sixty-four minutes," Brynna said.
"That long?" the blonde woman demanded, irritated.
"Yes. That long. Your cervix hasn't finished dilating yet," the medical officer replied, uninterested in being drawn into an argument with the woman.
"Medical, we have wounded en route," a voice blared over the medbay's com system.
"Acknowledged, how many?" Brynna asked.
"Seven. Burns and shrapnel mostly," the voice answered. Brynna recognized the voice as belonging to Officer Mavrel.
Burns?
Brynna had seven additional kolto tanks primed and ready, just as the first of the wounded arrived. Two men and a woman entered. One of the men was being supported by the other two, and seemed to be bleeding from a leg wound.
"Oh-five, prep surgery," Brynna called. The skeletal medical droid nodded, and quickly clattered away, laying out surgical tools and sterilizing them for use.
((()))
"Sir, I don't know. It's like their behavior cores are undergoing binary decay, but I can't find the source... this shouldn't be happening."
Mavrel stared blankly at his victim. The man's left eye was twitching slightly.
"It. Isn't. Happening," Mavrel mulled over those three words thoughtfully.
Atton hid his snicker, from the holding cell. This aught to be good.
"Well. That is reassuring, Faro," Mavrel said, smiling, as he stood up from his chair.
Then he swept everything off his desk to the floor in a thundering crash of odds and ends. One was a repeater display. The small imaging unit cracked magnificently (in Atton's opinion), sending glass everywhere.
The maintenance officer cowered, trying to cringe into himself, it seemed, but didn't utter a sound.
Mavrel stayed behind the desk. It was the only way to keep from assaulting the idiot, " So the next time we nearly have a breach in the ventilation tunnels, I can just close my eyes and pretend it's my imagination?" the man roared, although he practically screamed the last word. Spittle actually hit Faro's face… from two meters away.
Impressive punctuation.
Mavrel grabbed the edges of his metal desk, veins bulging in his scarred hands, looking as if the only reason he wasn't bludgeoning the poor man to death with the desk was because it was bolted to the deck. After several seconds of angry breathing, Mavrel opened his eyes, glaring at the maintenance officer.
Mavrel's tone was deadly quiet, the calm making the violence all the more terrifying, "Faro. I want to know the damage these droids can do if they start mining us instead of asteroid rock."
Faro was frozen for several seconds with fear, before he whispered, "Sir, these droids aren't combat models... their mining drills are weaker and less accurate than sonic blasters. I doubt those droids could even hit one of us—"
"Are you blind? What about the miners in med bay?" Mavrel snarled.
Faro flinched back.
"I want these droids taken off-line until you can isolate, and fix the problem," Mavrel ordered.
"But, without the droids our productivity will drop by nearly ninety percent, we won't meet our quota—" Faro said anxiously.
Mavrel's patience snapped. He rounded his desk, and slammed Faro against the bulkhead, pinning him there.
"Shut. Down. The. Droids," Mavrel hissed through his teeth before he shoved Faro towards the door.
The maintenance officer didn't look back, scrambling on hands and knees out the door, shifting to two feet and breaking into a sprint.
Idiot.
Mavrel pulled out his comlink, "Torin, break out the ion weaponry, and issue it to the security forces. Spare sonic charges wouldn't hurt either."
[Do you want to issue a code three alert?] the aqualish asked.
"No… just make it clear a code three might be issued at anytime," Mavrel replied.
"It's probably sabotage," Atton pointed out.
Mavrel glared at him silently.
"The accidents started after that unidentified freighter docked…" Rand shrugged.
The security officer didn't argue, simply sat at the desk, and began drawing up contingency plans. Atton had merely spoken what Mavrel already suspected.
"You going to clean up the mess?" Atton asked innocently, staring at the debris on the deck.
((()))
"What did you want to talk to me about? I have to suit up and drill the 32-19K asteroid claim within the hour, so talk quick," Coorta said, shrugging into the heavy EVA suit, his comlink sitting on the nearby bench of the locker room. Everyone was pulling triple shifts with the droids offline… and they still weren't going to hit quota…
"I heard you had plans for the Jedi - about selling him to the Exchange," Faro said
Coorta snatched up the comlink, dialing the volume down, even as his heart beat wildly. He didn't see anyone else in the locker room, but it had several aisles…
"I'm not that stupid," he denied. I've got a rat in my crew…
"Really? I've seen the logs you've been accessing. Maybe the two of us could work something out," Faro observed quietly.
"It doesn't matter what we work out, we wouldn't make one hyperspace jump before what's left of the Republic was on us," Coorta challenged.
"I can cover our tracks and ensure the Republic is not alerted to our presence," Faro said dismissively, as if it were child's play.
Coorta frowned at the comlink, "Well... I may know someone. He works this system on special jobs. He may want to know details, but I might be able to arrange transport…"
"I've seen the logs. I know you've already asked him and given the details - once he agrees, I can handle the rest," Faro chided.
Coorta scowled at the comlink angrily, "Handle the rest? Like how?" Arrogant little—
"When the time comes, I'll contact you via comlink. Maintenance out," Faro said, as he cut the link.
Coorta angrily threw the comlink at the wall, breathing hard. It was a durable Arakyd model though, and easily able to withstand Coorta's abuse. It's why he'd purchased it in the first place.
Still muttering, the man retrieved his undamaged comlink, and stomped out of the locker room, never realizing a second pair of ears had overheard both sides of the conversation.
The diminutive, big eared sullustan trembled, cursing his excellent hearing, and the dilemma he now found himself in.
((()))
"Boss, why we really doing this?" an oil stained tech called, from the back of the tiny office.
"Everyone knows these droids needed upgrades months ago," Faro lied nervously,
"And with the recent malfunctions, safety concerns supersede productivity quotas."
Faro chewed his lip for a second, "Start processing the batches, and double check processor integrity, specifically for binary decay."
The room emptied of grumbling technicians, leaving a gray protocol droid behind.
"What are you doing here?" Faro asked. He didn't recognize the model.
"Statement: Apologies, master, I am a recent acquisition for your department, in light of the recent… accidents," the droid answered humbly.
"Why would maintenance need a protocol droid?" Faro asked, nonplussed.
"Statement: you do not, master, however I am not merely a protocol droid. I have extensive experience with maintaining droid subroutines, and troubleshooting…"
Faro realized after a moment that fate was smiling on him.
"You're a coding analysis droid?" Faro asked hopefully.
"Answer: correct, master," the droid agreed.
"Start analyzing the recovered mining droid, from the shooting incident in the tunnels," Faro said, pointing towards the nearby work bench.
"Reply: I have already done so, master. I apologize if it was presumptuous of me, but I began to carry out my duties immediately upon assignment to this department," the droid apologized graciously.
Faro smiled, relieved, "Not at all. Have you found anything? Coding isn't my specialty," he admitted.
"Statement: I have. This droid was the victim of intrusive software subroutines. Rather recent installations too, I might add."
Faro stared, horrified at the droid, "Sabotage?"
The droid nodded.
"Clarification: when a specified signal was received, the droid's mining protocols were keyed to switch to mine all organics. The signal was received at 1700 hours, which resulted in the injury of five organics, and the eventual deaths of two organics."
Faro was at a loss. This wasn't a malfunction, this was sabotage. He wasn't sure how to combat sabotage.
"Is there any way to tell who performed the sabotage?" Faro asked.
"Statement: Affirmative. I found a security tag on the access log, time-stamped when the installation was performed," the droid answered, holding out a datapad for inspection.
Faro eagerly looked over the information.
"But… this code is for Atton Rand. He's being held by security," Faro said.
"Observation: the suspect was apprehended six hours after this installation. There is also no means available to ascertain from current records how many mining droids may have been sabotaged since the suspect commenced operations at this facility," the droid reported heavily.
"It will take weeks to comb through our droids for this protocol cache command," Faro groaned.
"Correction: hours, master. Not weeks. I could be linked to the mining droid command overseer. It coordinates work assignments and issues updates to the droid host—" the protocol droid began.
"—and piggy-back off the signal to analyze the droids that are linked…" Faro realized, almost drowning in his relief. They might be able to have the droids back to work in less than a day, since the saboteur was safely locked away… work could resume. They might even make quota.
((()))
"It's probably sabotage?" Mavrel roared, shocking Atton out of his bored nap.
Atton stared guiltily up at the towering man, before remembering he wasn't actually guilty of that.
"You would know, wouldn't you?!" Mavrel snarled. He was clutching a stun baton. It was active. The energy field closing off the cell didn't seem quite so solid a barrier now…
"I am sorely tempted to introduce you to the air-lock," Mavrel growled, his faint Corellian accent becoming noticeable. Never a good sign.
He could do it too. Peragus wasn't actually aligned with the Republic, as it was a joint venture between mercenaries and entrepreneurs. As such… Mavrel was the law here.
"I admit I smuggled some merchandise on the side for credits, but I didn't sabotage anything. I live here too, remember?" Atton retorted.
"It's over. Your little plan has failed," Mavrel growled.
"Then it wasn't one of my plans," Atton sneered.
"Your droids won't be coming to free you," Mavrel said, before he reached over, and played with the cell's field settings. The hazy, gossamer gold distortion of the field intensified, until it was opaque… and soundproof.
Isolation. Great… back to mental pazaak…
The light would also make sleep difficult.
((()))
Sien carefully aimed his sonic drill, crumbling the useless rock that surrounded the ore seam of peragian fuel. The sullustan's mind was not completely focused on his task. Such inefficiency greatly distressed him, but not as much as solving his dilemma.
Sien feared Coorta. The human was big, loud, and unreasonable. Sien knew this from experience. Last week Sien had attempted to clarify a discrepancy in the work logs.
Sien had been careful to keep his words as inoffensive as possible, while at the same time attempting to remind Coorta, that proper time keeping was important, and without it, efficiency suffered. Sien was Coorta's superior, after all.
The careful talk had failed.
Coorta could not be reasoned with.
Sien could tell Administrator Landrow… but that would create more trouble, more inefficiency. Faro though… Faro was smaller… more sensible, more Sullustan. Perhaps he could be reasoned with? If no trouble, then no inefficiency.
Yes…
((()))
"I am pushing," Lashowe hissed, her eyes locked on Kel.
"Relax," the dark skinned medical woman said, "Next contraction in ten minutes."
Lashowe considered the applications of telekinesis in childbirth.
She also considered the likelihood of making a mistake in her current frame of mind.
"This is your fault," Lashowe snarled, glaring at Kel.
"It's always the male's fault," the medical woman observed, from where she now stood next to a kolto tank, checking its readouts of the occupant within.
"Yes dear," Kel said. His hand cupped Lashowe's neck, helping support her in the awkward position of childbirth… and eating her pain.
Kel was only mostly useless.
(((12 hours later)))
Atton stopped his mental Pazaak game as he felt the cell shudder slightly, and then everything went dark. But he wasn't unconscious.
"So, who turned off the power?" Atton wondered idly. Either it was a pinpoint strike against the security blister, or the entire Administration level had lost power.
More telling, the emergency back-ups hadn't kicked in…
Which meant the force field that blocked the cell opening probably wouldn't reactivate while he walked through.
Atton considered the ramifications for several seconds.
But in the end, there was never any question of him simply staying put in his cell.
Besides, if it was an emergency, and he threw in a helping hand, he might garner some gratitude from this rock's boss. Or find a way off.
And… he was bored.
Atton found the security desk with his shin in the dark, and cursed, rubbing at his injury, blindly feeling his way to a wall, then followed it until he felt the manual release for the doors.
As soon as he did, he could hear people screaming… and something that sounded like weapons fire of some kind.
"Hell no," Atton gulped, backing away from the doors. Someone screamed right outside the doors, followed by a wet gurgle, and the staccato of metal clattering on metal, like a giant spider. Atton hustled back to the security terminal, and blindly searched the drawers by touch. Two were locked, and he didn't have the tools to overload them, but the third was unlocked. He did find a glow-rod, which he promptly turned on, to get a look at what else was in the drawer.
He roughly tossed the useless bits out on the floor, pocketing a bag of sweets, and a silver flask of unknown fluid in his jacket pockets… and a comlink. Atton turned it on, but there was so much chatter he turned it off again. Sounded like the facility was under attack, by people with a no-prisoners approach.
Atton decided he'd better hide, quickly, preferably somewhere he could find out what the hell was going on as well.
((()))
Do they never clean these things? Atton thought darkly, inching through the ventilation system, feeling like a credit between a Hutt's fingers.
"Just two more centimeters, and I'd be able to breathe," Atton grumbled, his wiry physique saving him once again… then his belt caught on a poorly installed vent cover, halting him painfully.
"Oooh…" he hissed, trying to raise his hips enough to slip off the hook, but his hips were already smashed against the top of the vent to begin with. He backed up, then tried to ease over the protrusion, but once again, he was drawn up short. He couldn't even get a hand down there, his forearm was longer than the shaft was tall.
"Well, damn," he sighed. Atton back up, and put his eye to the offensive vent slats, peering into the dark room below. It was faintly illuminated by the observation windows, and the molten glow of Peragus II's exposed core. There were a couple of motionless bodies… but that was it.
It took him ten minutes to wrestle the vent cover off, but he lost his hold on it, and winced as the piece of metal clattered loudly on the deck.
Smooth, Atton, real smooth…
After five minutes, no one came to investigate the noise… and Atton realized the method he would have to use, to get out of the vent.
Suddenly, the deck looked much farther away.
((()))
Awaken…
Choy opened her eyes, gagging on dead air. A thick, viscous fluid clung to her, surrounding her in a suffocating darkness.
NO AIR!
She struggled against the cloth straps beneath her arms that suspended her in this fluid, trapping her.
NO AIR!
Her flailing, sluggish fingers found an unyielding surface above her, and she scratched at it in terror.
NO AIR!
Stop… calm yourself, or you will perish…
The voice that was not a voice broke through the animal terror that assaulted Choy, and she stopped moving, conserving her oxygen. Her vision was useless, forcing her to rely on touch. She traced the tube of her mask, to where it disappeared into the top of her tomb… but her fingers felt dry coldness near the ceiling.
Choy exhaled, and ripped the mask from her face. She braced her feet against the smooth sides of her coffin, and pushed up, pressing her nose and lips to the ceiling, where she found two centimeters of space, filled with air.
Choy inhaled greedily, taking in air, and bits of slime that clung to her face, but she fought the urge to cough, before her feet lost their precarious hold, and she sank back down… but her lungs had air, and she was awake now. Calmly (but quickly), she traced her fingers across the ceiling of the tank she found herself trapped in.
This eventuality had been foreseen by those that built this tank, and after several seconds, she found the handle of the manual release. Choy yanked down until the release sprang free, then she pushed up… and the ceiling moved…
The half-drowned mechanic hooked her knees on the lip of the tank, and swarmed out of the container like an ugly breach-birth, flopping to the hard deck, and screamed as fire erupted in her ribs…
She slipped back into the cold darkness, away from the pain…
No. There will be time for rest later. Now, there must be action.
Reluctantly Choy felt herself tugged back to the surface.
"Who are you?" Choy choked, coughing up bits of kolto…
But no one answered her.
Choy dragged herself into a sitting position against the tank, the kolto on her getting sticky from exposure to air as it dried. It was not a pleasant feeling.
Choy carefully felt her ribs, which sent out flares of pain and agony, so she stopped, light headed. She forced herself to think, to distract herself…
She had been wounded, and was now in a place that a kolto tank could be found… so probably Peragus's medbay.
She couldn't hear the hum or whine of any machinery, coupled with the impenetrable darkness, and the failure of her respirator… she guessed that power had been lost in this area at least. That meant, possibly, an emergency, here, or elsewhere.
Choy painfully pulled away from the tank she had begun to adhere to, and the pain lessened, so long as she moved slowly. The way her feet stuck to the floor began to irritate her, especially as the tiny jerk needed to separate her foot from the floor for each step jarred the pain in her chest back to life.
She slowly explored the circular wall of the room, until she found a door. Naturally, it didn't have power, but she found the manual release, and wedged her fingers into the gap, prying the doors apart. She managed to open the doors a handspan, before she had to stop, and breathe until the pain faded enough to continue, but she could see a fallen glowrod at the end of a hallway ahead of her. She hadn't been this badly hurt in… well, several years. She needed to find a weapon… but first, she needed to see. Woodenly, the woman limped to the tool… but she tripped several meters away, over something heavy, which felt in no way pleasant.
Choy crawled to the glowrod, and carried it back to (presumably) the man who'd dropped it.
His face (the half that remained) had the look of a soldier, clean shaven, closely cropped black hair, and… hard, even in death. Choy thought he was probably the Security Chief… but it was hard to be sure.
What was more important, was the weapon she found in his hand… an ion blaster. It left a tingling sensation in organics, but was devastating against electronic systems. He'd been shot, or stabbed by something in the chest as well… something that hadn't been immediately fatal. For a moment, she considered donning his clothing, for modesty's sake, but he was wearing the standard Peragus issue duty-wear jumpsuit… and he'd lost his bowels, judging from the smell. She wasn't that desperate. Not yet.
Armed with both a light, and a weapon, the tired woman walked with a little less caution…
((()))
Atton quickly flicked his glow rod on, scanning the room, ignoring his bruised shoulder. He kept a wary eye on the half-open door, crouching next to the first body. He recognized the man, but couldn't remember his name. He was one of the miners that worked the delta shift, though. He was as big as Coorta, but most of it was fat, not muscle. Atton rolled him over. Someone had taken a sonic drill to the side of the man's head, Atton could see the inner side of the man's skull, and it had made quite a mess. Concentrated sound waves didn't cauterize blood vessels like a blaster did…
Atton set the glow rod down next to him, and quickly pawed through the man's pockets. Aside from a few mints, an identichit (right… Janos…), and a handful of small denomination credits, the man didn't have anything immediately useful… well, aside from his pass card. Atton tucked his tunic into his pants, tightened his belt, and shoved everything down the neck of his tunic. Atton moved to the second body, a woman he didn't recognize. Something had cut off one of her legs, mid thigh, and punched several holes through her chest. She had a pass card, but more importantly, she had a recorder rod in her hand… and it was still recording. Atton glanced at the door again, before he hid behind a half shredded couch.
Let's see what happened here… Atton thought grimly.
He skipped back through the log.
"—swear they're never going to get around to fixing the ventilation systems – and if the food processors back up again, then next time the fumes start flooding the mess hall, we might be dead rather than just nauseous. I'll keep a few breath masks there just in case we have a repeat incident, end Mess Hall report 253-15…"
"Hey, Dressa, I'm catching a bite, want to join me?"
"Yeah, just a minute, I only have a… wait, did you feel that?" the woman, apparently Dressa asked fearfully.
"Felt like an explosion," the man said, worried.
"The lights!"
Atton listened through five or six minutes of whispered arguments, and searching for a glow-rod… then…
"Shh… do you hear that?"
"Sounds like a droid… but, what are mining droids doing on the administration level?" the man asked, confused.
"The explosion might have scrambled their thermal sensors. Maybe they're lost?" the woman suggested.
"Yeah, I can see one now, it's a Mark One. Think we should corral it for Maintenance?" the man asked.
"No. Let them do their own work for once," the woman said harshly.
There was a sound, then the woman was screaming… but not for long.
He was starting to get a familiar feeling… and felt it might be a good idea to move. Atton tripped over something in the dark, and whatever it was sent a lot of metal things skittering across the deck. Atton risked a little light, and grinned. A tool box… but metal was still clattering on metal… and the rogue realized it was getting louder.
Shit, something's coming.
Atton snatched up a fusion cutter, before ducking under a nearby desk. The clatter grew louder, than stopped… but Atton knew the droid was close, and looking for him. He fumbled with the tool settings of the fusion cutter, switching the cutting beam to its broadest setting, his thumb hovering on the activation stud.
He had an idea.
Atton pulled out the recording rod, increased the volume to maximum, then turned it on and tossed it to the side, where it rolled and clattered…
And the woman started talking, another report.
The dumb automaton fell for it, trying to find the speaker…
Atton silently slipped out of his hiding place, and snuck up behind the oblivious, crab-shaped droid. It wasn't very tall, but the sonic drills attached to its "arms" were deadly enough. Atton struck, cutting deep into the top of the housing, in a place near the optical sensor clusters. He kept slicing until the bucking droid stopped moving... and he heard the charging clatter of more droids.
Two, to be exact.
Atton dove for cover, behind the desk. They'd have to get in close to kill him, and at that range, he might have a chance.
The smuggler heard two short barks of blaster fire, different in sound than the more prolonged whine of a sonic drill, and metal crashed against the deck. Atton peeked out from behind the desk, spotting the motionless droids because of the residual ion energy that was frying their systems, outlining them in a tracery of scampering electrical worms. They were sprawled awkwardly on the deck in a mess of articulated legs. He slowly stood up, keeping the fusion cutter close to his leg, where it wouldn't be seen… someone was standing at the other end of the hall, opposite the direction he'd come from. Not that he could see them, but there was only one way into this room.
He flicked on his glow rod, aiming it in the newcomer's direction and saw bare feet. He raised the light, and the bareness continued, all the way up to a one piece undergarment the woman was wearing.
"Nice outfit…" he said appreciatively.
"What happened here?" the woman asked, sounding tired and vulnerable. He recognized her as the mechanic… the invisible one.
"Apparently everyone contracted a bad case of dead," Atton said sarcastically. He saw that she was trembling, leaning against the door frame for more than just cover. Way to go, asshole.
"Sorry. I don't know what happened here," Atton said quickly. The blaster started to dip in the woman's hand. Atton stepped forward, "Look, whatever's happening here, it looks like you need my help," he said.
The blaster snapped back up, and he stopped in mid motion.
"Who are you?" she asked sharply. Atton blinked. Women typically remembered him.
"Atton… Atton Rand," the rogue said, sketching a surly bow.
"What is your job?" the mechanic asked, carefully sliding down the wall into a sitting position, although the blaster didn't shift away from his face.
"Pilot?" Atton looked at the woman again, and this time he saw the thin, whitish flakes of peeling kolto, and the way her hair was matted was from more than just a hairstyle… her abbreviated attire… this woman had been in a kolto tank recently, which meant she had probably suffered some serious injuries.
"Uh, look, this isn't the safest place to talk, if anything heard our scuffle…" Atton trailed off.
((()))
Atton shoved the unpowered door closed, and engaged the manual catch. It wouldn't stop a person, but the mining droids didn't have hands… or at least, the mark ones didn't.
He checked out the room with a sweep of his glow rod. They were in the medical bay. The mechanic was propped against one of the bio beds, watching him.
"Are you hurt?" Atton asked casually, keeping his distance. If her weakness was a ruse then she was an excellent actress.
"What happened here while I was unconscious?" she said, ignoring his question.
She was the one with the blaster, and Atton didn't see any harm in answering,
"I'm not sure how long you've been unconscious," Atton shrugged.
"Best guess… and please, keep your eyes above the level of my sternum…" the mechanic sighed. Atton glanced up guiltily, "Something's been going wrong with the droids. There've been accidents… and then we lost power, there was screaming, and a lot of droids trying to kill anything that moved…"
Atton relaxed slightly, when he realized the blaster pistol she had aimed at him was actually an ion blaster.
"Look… there might be a way off this rock," Atton said.
"How?" the mechanic asked.
"If you can reroute the emergency systems to let us reach the hangers, I can grab a ship, and we can fly out of here," Atton proposed.
"Nothing with a hyperdrive. I wasn't finished repairing the Tympan-class freighter," the mechanic sighed.
Atton frowned, "How much work was left?"
"Just some heavy lifting, and grunt work. About two or three hours, if I have the tools, parts, and no interruptions…" the mechanic answered.
"I'm pretty handy with a hyperspanner… I could help speed up the repairs," Atton offered.
"And who will watch for droids?" the mechanic countered.
"I've got two eyes," Atton winked.
"Eyes above sternum. Now," the mechanic growled.
"Let's go get the tools," Atton suggested, distracting her.
((()))
Atton crouched over the scattered tools on the floor, while the mechanic kept an eye out for trouble. He began to wonder just how far a power calibrator could roll. There had to be one around here somewhere, it was a pretty standard staple of any tool kit. He shined his glow-rod under a row of work stations, trying to see if it was there…
"What are you looking for?" the mechanic asked.
"A power calibrator."
"You're looking in the wrong place," she said, directing her light off to the left. Atton looked where she was indicating and… son of a bitch.
"You could help me, you know," Atton grumbled.
"I'm not bending over," the woman said flatly.
"Come on. I won't look," Atton lied.
"It's my ribs," she replied sharply.
"Ah…" Atton decided further talking would only dig his grave deeper. He stalked over and snatched the tool up from where it had landed in a potted plant's base, and shoved it back into the tool box he'd kicked earlier. He flipped it shut and threw the carry strap across his shoulders.
"Great. Now to business. Let's get to the command console," Atton said cheerfully.
The woman nodded, and followed behind him, ion blaster at the ready.
"So, what's your name?" Atton asked companionably. The mechanic didn't answer.
That would have been too easy… Atton thought, annoyed.
Choy warily watched the pilot as they walked. She didn't trust a word he said… but she could hardly be choosy in her allies, at the moment. He seemed competent enough, she supposed.
"Droids," he hissed, flattening against the bulkhead, and turning off his glow-rod. Choy raised the ion-blaster, and the glow-rod warily.
"Their photoreceptors are thermal based. They can still see you," Choy observed coolly, as three mark one mining droids scuttled out of a hatch roughly fifteen meters away, and down the corridor towards them.
Choy squeezed the trigger, the weapon twitched slightly in her hands, and the lead droid collapsed. The two droids behind the first had to scramble around and over the disabled lead droid, buying Choy a couple of extra seconds to line up her second shot, which also hit. The third droid she dropped at three meters.
"Trade you," Atton offered, holding out his fusion cutter, gesturing towards the ion blaster.
Choy studied him skeptically.
"Hey, I'm a good shot with a blaster. Besides, my ribs aren't broken," the pilot smirked.
He was looking again.
Choy hated when people looked at her that closely. It was dangerous.
"Fine. Stay in front," Choy snapped, trading weapons with the man. He tried to touch fingers in the trade, but she had anticipated that, and he failed.
((()))
The corridors leading from the medical bay to the administration level were filled with broken droids, and dead miners… but no actual enemies. Even the administration blister was devoid of hostiles, the rows of command consoles looked like grave markers.
"Just keep an eye out, for droids," Choy said, crouching carefully next to a command console. She used the hyperspanner to open up the console, and worked the power calibrator deep inside, where she spliced it into the power circuits. The power supply in the tool activated, and the terminal whined to life, the only thing glowing in the room.
"Console's active," Choy grunted, "But someone activated the security lockdown. I don't have clearance to override it," she reported.
"Not a problem. Let me work on it," Atton said eagerly. He handed the ion blaster to her, and swapped places.
"All right… now this console is set on automatic hail," Atton said conversationally as he worked, using a datapad stylus to test some of the circuit connections.
"The asteroid drift charts are constantly being updated, so it sends out a transmission to incoming vessels so they don't get crushed into space dust," he frowned, double checking two circuits, but they were fine.
"The hail warns them to keep their distance until orbital drift charts are transmitted, and then provides docking instructions to incoming ships... usually freighters…"
He wasn't expecting the mechanic to respond, he was just talking to keep her relaxed, "Thing is, you can bounce that same transmission back to the comm here... and suddenly, you've got access to the communications system from the inside," he grinned, showing off a little.
"Now, all we need to do is re-activate the turbolifts, cancel the emergency lockdown... hey…" Atton frowned, double tapping on the command sequence again, but the same error message appeared.
"Did you break it?" the mechanic asked dourly.
"No…" Atton said sullenly, trying the sequence again. It still wasn't working.
"Give me a minute," the mechanic sighed, handing off the weapon. After six minutes ripping into the base of the console, and running fingers along wires and circuitry, the mechanic grunted in surprise.
"Fix it yet?" Atton asked.
"This system's been severed from the main hub - after it was locked down from remote," the woman said, holding up a fried circuit board…
"I can't even reroute the system, it's been cut clean," the mechanic said in disbelief.
Atton was getting a bad feeling again.
"Why would anyone do that? Especially during an emergency?" the mechanic asked in confusion.
"Someone tried to lock down this whole level tight, and leave us here. Trapped," Atton snarled, pounding his fist against the side of the console in frustration.
"Are you sure?" the mechanic asked him doubtfully.
"Think about it. Cutting off this console specifically from remote then severing the hub… it doesn't get any more deliberate than that," Atton growled.
"Was there a plan B?" the mechanic asked.
"Well… we could use the console to contact the miners… but if the miners are the ones trying to trap us up here, why not call them and chat?" Atton said sarcastically.
"Or we can just sit here, and wait for the air to turn bad, or freeze to death," the woman snapped.
"Fine," Atton grumbled, "Damned computer…"
((()))
Bryna heard something… the console was beeping. A message!
"This is Chief Medical Officer Bryna, I need help," she said hastily, for however long the link lasted.
"Bryna?" a man said, and she realized it was Atton.
"Rand. I thought you were in a cell," she said, startled.
"I was, look, the Administration level lost power, and droids killed everyone else. I'm trapped up here, and the air's running out…" Atton said, worried.
"Same thing here… we're all trapped in the dormitories. At our current rate, we have less than an hour left," Bryna said, on the verge of outright panic.
"Okay, okay, calm down, Bryna, listen to me," Rand said soothingly, "How are you trapped? Can't you just end the dormitory lock down?"
"No. Someone's sealed the doors from the outside, and the O2 scrubbers were sabotaged," Bryna said.
"Okay… is there anything you can do with your terminal. The turbolift is magnetically sealed, if you can unlock it, I can get to you," Rand said.
Bryna frowned, and tried to access the administration level command functions… power was down to that level, but the turbolift had its own power supply, independent of the Administration level systems.
"No… someone's rerouted turbolift controls to a terminal in the fuel depot. I can't access them," Bryna cried.
"Okay, that's all right…" Atton said calmly.
"We're going to die…" Bryna whispered, her hope crumbling to dust.
"You're not going to die, not if you stay calm," Atton said sternly.
"Is there any other way off the Administration level?"
"Uh…" Bryna pulled up the level's schematics…
"The airlocks have been locked down manually… but… wait,"
Atton crouched in the dark impatiently, clutching at this thinnest of lifelines.
"I can unlock the emergency maintenance hatch… it should get you to the Habitat level," Bryna said.
"Bryna, I could kiss you," Atton said happily.
"Hurry," was all she said.
It took less than five minutes to find the maintenance hatch.
"Couldn't they have made these things a little taller?" Atton complained. At least he was able to crawl on his hands and knees this time… but alas, he was in the lead, so the only thing he saw was dark, cramped wiring and pipes, instead of the backside of a rather pretty woman.
((()))
"Alright…" Choy said, peering closely at the console.
Atton stood guard with the ion blaster.
"You know, it's getting kind of annoying saying 'hey you' all the time. A name would be so much easier," Atton grumbled, as Choy jerked the access panel off.
"Or I could focus on saving the miners from suffocation," Choy suggested.
"True," Atton said grudgingly.
Choy glanced at the console again… something had taken exception with the terminal, and smashed it repeatedly.
"The interface for this thing is completely trashed," Choy hissed, "can you reroute the functions to a separate terminal?"
Atton frowned as he tapped commands on the console, glancing periodically up and down the corridor as he worked.
"No. Someone scrambled the network signature. It has to be this console," Atton growled, scratching his jaw.
"Could we cut our way in?" Atton asked, gesturing to the fusion cutter lying next to the rat's nest Choy had made of the console base.
"Maybe… but it would take a few hours," Choy said.
Too long.
"Actually… I have an idea," Choy said thoughtfully. She pulled a datapad out of the toolbox and popped the back of the housing off, exposing the circuitry. Something scuttled at the end of the hall, and Atton spun, leveling the ion blaster, and raising his glow rod… but nothing stepped into view…
"There… now, let's see if the interface holds…" Choy mumbled. Atton glanced over his shoulder. Choy had several wires and cables from the destroyed terminal jacked into the back of the datapad. She bit her lip… and the screen suddenly flared to life.
"It's working," she said in satisfaction.
"Alright, let me get to work," Atton said intently, trading his blaster for the datapad.
Choy turned her attention to where the droids were hiding.
Atton frowned. The interface was shaky, but operational… though the directories were scrambled, and nothing was labeled. He had to wade through several dozen information clusters, apparently work-shift assignments and duty rosters, he even found several live camera feeds, but it wasn't what he needed.
The ion blaster fired, making him jump, and something crashed to the deck nearby.
"The droids are getting bolder," the mechanic told him calmly. They were still too far away to hit anything, sonic drills had an effective range of slightly less than two meters… but if enough of them charged at once…
Atton redoubled his efforts…