Chapter 59

Pantora

The knife blade bit into the wires and twisted them apart. Sparks flew from the panel, and the lights went dark. Tarrok flipped down the night-vision goggles and watched the green-illuminated hallway click into view. He still moved carefully, the surviving members of his clan following behind him. There were few left. Each would fight to their end before letting anything happen to him, he knew.

But Tarrok also knew that if he died, the other leaders of the Tribunal would get his men from him. Thankfully, one of those Tribunal members was beside him. Kolraresh Bel Sheelal, the Kaleesh who had been guarding their mining platform in the Harshplains. Now he and his droids had come slinking back to meld with the Tholothian's forces.

The droids were spread about, their only order to cause chaos. Already, one had taken it upon itself to open the cell doors. Another had taken control of the armoury and was handing out weapons. The rest were hunkered down in the corridors, preparing to lay down covering fire while Tarrok and his men completed their task. Their true task. The only reason he had agreed to lead their forces here.

Each of his men were wrapped in the same shimmery black robes that the others were, all made from dyed Mooncalf scales. They had a short barrelled blaster strapped to their hilts and an electropike gripped in both hands. Six throwing blade poked from sheaths sown into the sides of their uniforms. Each had three thermal detonators clipped to the rear of their belts. It was the standard uniform of a Spirit. Tarrok, one of the three Geist's, carried something a bit more… unique.

The Tholothian bandit rounded the corner, and found a massacre. With the prisoners being freed, the few guards had been fighting back with what weapons they had, mostly blaster pistols. The assassins had come across a few dozen of these chokepoints earlier, when a group of the prison guards had holed up in a corridor and used the thin walls to take out as many prisoners as they could. It was tedious getting rid of them really.

This time there were three guards, each in the navy and white uniform of the prison security force. They had moved boxes into the corridor for cover, and one had also grabbed a riot shield from somewhere. Scattered across the ground were a dozen bodies, all in the orange jumpsuits of the prisoners.

The guards raised their pistols as Tarrok rounded the corner. But before they could finger the triggers, he raised his own weapon. A spray of airborne gas erupted from the nozzle, the tiny wire poking out from the nozzle igniting it. The Pantoran guards screamed as the flames washed over them.

The flamethrower, a design he had made and modified himself, could be switched between gas and fuel emitters depending on which flames he wanted. The gas would wash over people, but was quickly burnt away. It was useful for large targets within a short-range. The fuel was better for medium range attacks. It lasted longer, sticking to walls, floors, ceilings, even victim's clothes. Then it would burn until people were nothing but a crispy corpse. It also had a long-range mode, which would activate the grenade launcher on the bottom of the weapon. Heavy fuel pods were fired from the launcher, designed to explode upon contact with their target.

The Pantorans fell to the floor as three smoking, crispy corpses. Kolraresh hurried forward, his mechanical legs clacking against the stone tunnel. He bent down and nodded, before signalling that the guards were indeed dead. The cyborg Geist stood up straight again and was walking back when a stray shot clipped his shoulder. The Kaleesh's reflexes were better than any of the other Clan members. Kolraresh spun and threw one of his electropikes. The plasmatic end slashed into the torso of a large guard who had been hiding in a side corridor. The man let out a strangled cry and fell to the stone floor. Tarrok hurried forward, pushing past Kolraresh. He knelt beside the man, noting the plague on his shoulder.

The Pantoran was older than the other guards, with a thick goatee that was speckled with grey. The pike had punctured the man below the heart, but the shock had clearly damaged the organ. Tarrok grinned as he recognised the man. "You are Warden Militar Groose, aren't you?"

The man let out a groan, one that grew to a scream as Tarrok pressed down on the pike. Tarrok listened for three long seconds, then released the weapon.

"I am looking for a gifted Givin surgeon that you have locked in your cells, Warden. Where is he?"

"Why would I tell you?", Militar managed to gasp out. "A common thug?"

Tarrok laughed bitterly, which was caught by his mask and distorted into a rasping chuckle. "You believe me common, Militar. I am not. I am just like you, a leader of soldiers. And because of that, I respect your loyalty to your cause. But you are bordering on foolishness now. Tell me, where is the man that I seek?"

Militar hesitated for a moment more, and Tarrok pushed the pike again. The older Pantoran gasped in pain, but thankfully didn't scream this time. Instead, he stared up at the Tholothian and whispered, "Solitary."

"Thank you.", Tarrok stood up and gestured to Kolraresh. The Kaleesh nodded and pulled a long hunting knife from his belt. Tarrok turned away as the blade severed Militar's head. He never had much of a stomach for beheading. That was always the Kaleesh's thing.

Kolraresh shoved the blade back into its sheath. "You should not have shown him such mercy, Tarrok."

"Was it mercy to die having given us exactly what we need, Kolraresh?", Tarrok replied. "Now come, we need to get to solitary confinement before the Jedi catch us. Our true leader needs us. Our Clan needs the Grievous. Kolraresh, go to the central tower. Watch for any incoming ships or landspeeders that we can commandeer. Otherwise, get us one of those gunboats. We need to leave once we have the asset.

The Kaleesh nodded, then ran towards the nearest elevator shaft and hurried up to the surface again.

Fay walked carefully through the tunnels, her footfalls so light they practically didn't exist. She, Hondel, and the rest of the RSF team were slowly making their way through each passageway. When the lights had gone out, one of the team members had offered her a light. She had declined. A Jedi could rely on their own instincts, not technology.

Any prisoners they came across were quickly gathered and thrown into whichever cell was nearest. They had started on the cafeteria level, adjacent with the yard, and were working their way down one tunnel at a time. The most technical of the crew, Luca, had cut the turbolift power, forcing most prisoners to use the sloping ramps. Unfortunately, another problem had arose. The lights flickered out.

"It isn't me.", Luca told them. The man's face was lined with sweat, and he wiped some from his brow. "Must be the droids, trying to cover their tracks."

Which was a possibility. Whatever these droids were doing, letting out the prisoners, it had a certain maniacal genius to it. A chaotic glean. But the blasted things were everywhere. The only place they hadn't yet gotten to was the Overseer's tower. Located in the centre of the prison, it had control over the exterior turrets, the floodlights, the defences, the cameras and even the doors inside the tunnels. Which apparently meant that whoever was up there could see everything that was happening inside the prison.

They were entering Tunnel C-78 when Fay's commlink beeped. Bultar appeared above the clawed disk. "Someone just got into the tower."

As it on cue, a thick blast door slammed shut in front of them, quickly followed by the one directly behind them. The commlink's hologram fizzled out. As they slammed closed, the RSF team leader growled in frustration.

"I hope you are enjoying the accommodations, you fools!", the voice was emitted from the six black boxes hanging from a fixture in the ceiling. "I now have control of this station, and you have no way of stopping me."

Fay stared up at the device. She knew this model of security sensor was often used in prisons. They could not only generate holographic recordings to the central spire, but also monitor life signals and even scan ID cards. The voice that it projected was not that of the Warden she had spoken to earlier. Somewhere deep in her gut, she knew that Militar was dead. Not, this voice was deep and guttural, and almost sounded savage. She personally did not want to speak with whoever the voice belonged to. Reaching upwards, she harnessed the Force and pulled the sensor from the wall.

Her commlink again beeped again, and again, it was Bultar. Apparently, whoever was in the tower had broadcast his message around the prison. Every prisoner in the background of the transmission was cheering, and Bultar reported as much.

"That voice belongs to the same Kaleesh warrior who was in the Harshplains, Master Fay.", she reported, "The man with the cybernetic limbs."

Fay considered that for a moment. That man had taken Bultar out in minutes, according to the Jedi's report. If he was in charge of this riot, it could lead to more unnecessary deaths. He needed to be stopped, and preferably placed in one of the cells below. The solitary ones. She frowned at the younger Jedi, "Are you up for a rematch?"

"Not in the slightest, Master.", Bultar replied, her voice disappearing behind a burst of static. When the signal cleared again, she said, "Sorry, but we have our own problems here. The prisoners are firing on our shuttle and trying to get to the Gunboats. I need to go."

"Understood.", Fay cut the transmission and turned to back Hondel. "Which way, Sergeant?"

The goateed soldier gestured to the closed door. "I can have Luca rig an explosive charge if you want. We need to keep going this way though."

"That will not be necessary, Sergeant.", Fay felt a smile flicker at the corners of her mouth. "There have been enough explosions on this planet to last a decade."

She studied the door, feeling the metal with her mind. Focussing, she could picture the locking mechanism hidden somewhere inside the impenetrable metal, feel the way that they fit perfectly together. Reaching out, she grabbed at the moving bits, the gears and wires and hinges. Then she pushed with the Force. Most Jedi, even probably Master Yoda, would have tried to move the lock itself.

Fay, on the other hand, had felt what she needed to. With the door locked, the edges of the door were weaker than the centre. It was a common design flaw, and one that she knew how to exploit. With just the right amount of effort, she would be able to move the entire door in one push. So she pushed, and the door wrenched free. It went flying end over end until it stopped, embedded half it length in the stone wall a hundred metres away.

She turned to see the slack-faced expressions of the RSF operatives, but those quickly faded as each remembered their place. Hondel stepped forward. "Alright. Deacon, I want you and Strit to head towards the main power terminal. Darkness is not our friend in here. We cannot keep using torches. Get those lights back on, but keep your blasters up."

"Got it.", the two men answered, and peeled off, blaster's raised. Fay watched their torch beams disappear around the far corner.

"In the meantime, Luca and I are heading towards the weapons supply room. Try and stop the prisoners arming themselves.", the sergeant turned to look at Fay, "What about you? Where do you want to go?"

Fay grimaced. "Unfortunately, I seem to have a date with whoever is in charge of the Overseer's Tower."

Aayla listened to the Force as it surrounded her. She could feel the distress of the people in Zenton. There was a small portable radio set up in the main kitchen area, and they were all huddled around the device, eagerly listening to the reports. A huge ship had arrived in system, destroying the Republic flagship Helios and forcing their remaining forces into hiding. Some maniac had seized the opportunity to take control of the prison near Gronas too. It all led to one conclusion. War had come to Pantora. Already a prayer circle had begun on the docks, the people praying that Zenton would be spared.

Aayla knew better. She had been prepared for war by her Master long ago. She and Quinlan and Tholme had fought in the battles against the Spice Cartels. She knew that once a battle began, it rarely missed impacting a member of the planet. She began to walk the village streets, straying towards the bombing site once more. Qutee had already scanned the site completely, but for some reason, she felt the closest to the Force here. She knelt and placed her hands on her knees, reaching into the Force and trying to sense where she needed to go. A presence at the edge of her mind flickered. Someone had followed her. Her eyes opened and fixed on the wither form of the town's Elder.

"You meditate to find your place in this conflict, Jedi.", she stated. "But it is already clear."

"You mean the prison, don't you?", the Twi'lek frowned. "I know that they need help, but so does the air battle."

The Elder moved closer. "The Force is indeed mysterious, my friend. It can often give you the answer that you do not want. But you must answer its call. Perhaps the battleship will be defeated, or perhaps it will not. But your fellow Jedi need you at the prison now. Follow the Force."

Aayla shut her eyes. "I have no way to get there."

"That is not exactly true, sir.", Corrant's voice called from near the edge of the town square. He was fully decked out in his Senate Guard uniform, including the open-faced helmet and the white marked shoulder guard. "The prison is a lot closer to us than to the Capitol. My men found several transport skeets to the south. They may be fast enough to carry you and me the prison before it falls."

"That sounds like a dire solution.", Aayla smiled at the man, "But I suppose that these are dire circumstances. Very well, Corrant. Take me to your skeets."