Chapter 8
Near engineering the Thalassian negligence extends to their cruelty. As the Grand Commander leads his troops down the main corridor, the horror escalates. Marching through the midship, near the crew compartments, grotesque monuments became commonplace. Pirates mark territory with obscene graffiti, bloody trophies, and memorials to past conquests.
The ghoulish displays peak at four intersecting passages. A slumped figure nailed to the wall forms a grisly X over a pile of skulls. A spacetrooper activates his lights, illuminating the bloody shrine. Hundreds of scars, bruises, and injuries overlap his slate-grey flesh. Some scars are faded while others still ooze blood. He's emaciated, bald, and his flesh is drawn tight across his bones. Seeing him, the commander wonders if his wounds or starvation killed him.
Above the tortured soul is a portrait protected by thick transparisteel. A brutish and fierce-looking Thalassian glares at them, wearing a uniform covered in medals and ribbons.
Everyone stares. It worries the Grand Commander but he can't blame them; he can't tear his eyes away either. The sight is haunting, unbelievable, and tragic. The commander can't imagine what sin, what crime could ever earn this punishment.
Gary turns suddenly, pulling his helmet back to vomit. The instant he does, several more imperials break. Some dry heave while others drop to their knees and puke.
"Get back on your feet!" A sergeant snarls. "How dare you lose your bearing! No one gave you permission to…!"
"Stop!" The commander orders. The sergeant stiffens immediately and the commander pats him on the shoulder reassuringly before moving to Gary. "The first time I boarded a Thalassian vessel, I felt the same way. Steel yourselves, then look again. This is the evil you can't describe, you must experience it firsthand. Now that you know, you know our enemy."
Stomping forward, he carefully weaves between the troopers. As Gary struggles to breathe, Iona places a hand on his back.
"Gary, are you ok?" She asks.
"The pain! The pain! Sir, he's…he's not dead!" Gary points.
Everyone turns, breath held, unable to believe it. The impaled man twitches, unblinking, before raising his head. His black eyes are depthless pools mirroring oblivion.
"Whoa!" They jump, flinching away as Swanson adds, "That's not possible!"
Focusing on the Imperial forces, his expression changes. Hatred and anger rolls off him in waves. Impossibly, the lights dim as if he's absorbing the shadows with his fury.
"ERRROUU!" Captivated by the prisoner, the viper's shriek breaks the enchantment. Suddenly the probe droid plows through imperial ranks, shoving men aside. BLOO, it intercepts a blast, falling to the deck. Nearby, an old astromech with a rifle mounted on it whistles sharply.
In the darkened hallway and their attention fixed on the prisoner, hundreds of pirates had crept up on them. Discovered, they open fire, filling the hall with blasts.
"Everyone down!" The commander yells, and his troops immediately drop to the deck. "Spacetroopers form a line! Weapons free! Attack!"
Imperial discipline and training take hold. Seamlessly, the massive spacetroopers form a wall of armor, standing between the pirates and the imperials. This time there is no volatile reactor and the hallway is packed with pirates. Hundreds of the raiders charge with more arriving, but there's not a bit of cover.
Deafening cannon fire obliterates them. The masses of pirates can't escape the devastation, compounded by the grenades landing among them. Explosions shred the raiders and warp the decking. Yet, the pirates don't break. They push harder, driving the first wave of bodies at the troopers. Gary and several more stormtroopers crawl up to the assault armor feet. They use the immense power armor as cover, blasting as quickly as their trigger fingers can squeeze.
In moments, mounds of pirate corpses pile high. While the armor protects the imperials, the mounds protect the pirates. But where the assault armor absorbs the pirate barrage, nothing can withstand the cannons. Not even the mounds can protect them as corpses fly to pieces, yet more pirates fill the gaps. Without warning, a red stream brightens the hallway. The incinerator trooper torches vast swaths. The pirates scream and try to escape but the mass drives them on.
A sharp whistle, another boatswain's call, carries down the hallway. The sound causes a partial pause, before a guttural roar, "Gulluck hurrn abboug!"
"Behind us!" Gary yells a warning. "He's ordering them to attack from beh-"
Gary fires, his blast brightening the aft hallway before it hits a distant pirate. The second front howls, dozens of pirates charging. They're a mere fraction of the force ahead but more than enough to swarm the imperials. Automatically, the imperials split, dividing their fire.
The commander roars over his comm, "Close the bulkhead ahead and behind us! Imperials in engineering, form ranks and push forward!"
Just before the intersection, yellow bulkhead lights flash, and the huge door descends. Recognizing it, the pirates redouble their efforts to reach the imperials. The commander turns away from the battle in front of him and fires his cannon at the pirates behind. The blast lands just ahead of the pirates, forcing them to stop, even as the second bulkhead lowers.
The first bulkhead thumps shut but pirate waves continue blasting. The imperials turn and fire, driving the pirates back. The second wave halts, unwilling to face the imps alone.
"Vent the forward decks!" The commander orders. "Open the airlocks!"
Muted by the bulkhead, a soft pinging continues as the pirates keep firing. Suddenly the ship shakes violently and muffled screams replace the tapping.
"Whoa," Swanson mutters. "That's…not how I want to go."
"Will any survive?" Iona inquires.
"Some, they're born to this," the commander replies. "Everyone reform, facing aft. Astromechs, open the aft-facing bulkhead. Troopers form a line, lay on your bellies facing aft. Check your target and what's behind it, I don't want any friendly fire!"
Gears grind and the imperials open fire, with the bulkhead barely open a hand's width. Beyond it, the wounded and two spacetroopers cautiously engage the second pirate wave. The pirate counterattack neutralized by the bulkhead; the raiders turned, focusing on the smaller force. As the blast door opens, the tables turn. The pirates break, fleeing for the doors where they'd hid earlier. The imperials give no quarter and soon only they and the dead remain.
"Return to the reactor," the commander orders the second team. "Gather our wounded and take them with you, then lockdown until you're reinforced. We'll continue to the bridge."
Miraculously, only six were wounded, with a seventh dead. Those already injured earlier make every effort to help their comrades, ignoring their own pain, before returning to the secured area. The sight of his Endor survivors struggling and wounded stings the commander deeply.
"Form up," the commander orders hoarsely. "We have to maintain our momentum."
"Sir," Gary calls. "This viper can't continue."
"So?" The stormtrooper officer shrugs. "That's what it was made to do."
With a pair of scorch marks on his lower chassis, one a gaping hole. The huge dome head swings side to side, declining retreat. Unable to fly, it wobbles on its many legs, limping forward.
"We're spread too thin to throw anything away. Easy, you've earned a break," the commander pats it affectionately. The droid shakes its large dome again. "What are you called?"
The droid whistles and Gary translates, "He's V7D3-E4."
"That's not a name, that's a designation," the commander grumbles. "You need a proper name, how about Scorch? Scorch-2, for the blast you've taken in battle?"
The incinerator trooper chuckles making everyone nervous.
The droid whistles and lifts two legs uncertainly as if to say, "Ok?"
"Return to engineering," he switches on his comm. "Engineering, send your viper to us; Scorch-2 is returning from the main corridor. Then close the airlocks."
"Understood, sir, the other viper is already en route." The Spacetrooper lieutenant replies.
Turning to his remaining troops, he orders. "Lights on, they know we're coming but they probably locked down to survive. If we move quickly, we can catch them before they rally."
All of the spacetroopers turn on their lights, as well as the troopers with carbines.
"Sir," Iona points. "What about HIM? We can't leave him…like that."
Everyone turns to the impaled figure; the grey-skinned man continues glaring hatefully.
"We can't do anything now. With all those injuries even removing him might kill him."
Unafraid, the man tears a hand free. The commander flinches, feeling a biting cold, a feeling he hasn't felt since Endor…and Gary's use of the force. Goosebumps race across his skin.
The grey man yanks his legs free. Finally, he struggles with his last hand. He places both his feet against the wall. Then yanks, breaking loose, and falling into the pile of skulls.
After the battles, the commander thought little would scare his men. He was wrong. His troops retreat from the grey man, even now, dragging himself free of the skulls. He seethes with hatred, clenching his fists before advancing toward them. The commander steps through his shocked forces and blocks the man, who looks up at his towering assault armor, unconcerned.
"Hey!" The commander demands his attention. "Want to kill some Thalassians?"
The question distracts him; the grey man pauses to consider, then nods slowly. His flaring anger lessens corresponding with the cold sensation the commander feels. Croaking, as if he hasn't spoken in a long time, the man asks. "Who…killed Ulrulg? He had a bladed spear."
Immediately connecting the weapon with the pirate champion from the reactor, many imperials look at Gary. The stormtrooper shrinks from the sudden attention but the grey man's black eyes jerk towards him. With a hint of disbelief, the grey man sneers, "You?"
A trooper nearby eagerly adds, "Yeah, Gary stabbed him with his own spear!"
"Shut up, Kyle!" Gary snaps before sheepishly adding. "We did it as a team."
"They follow you?" The grey man demands abruptly, looking at the commander.
"I'm as surprised as you; someone give him water," the commander orders. "If you're coming, grab a weapon. Everyone form up. Engineering open the forward bulkhead."
With a thump and screeching metal, the massive door opens.
"What's wrong?" Captain Keel asks.
Serrano crouches over three Thalassian bodies, "These aren't normal injuries. That one has a scorch mark from a blaster but look at these two. They were seared straight through, something superheated and exceedingly sharp. It went through their armor, flesh, and bone."
Captain Keel isn't certain why that's important but respects the royal guard; he knows Serrano wouldn't waste their time.
He leans closer, "Plasma torch?"
"The burns match but the wound is too deep."
Captain Keel looks closer, then a leans little more.
"What is it?"
Captain Keel flinches, how'd he know? "I've seen a lightsaber wound like that."
"A reasonable assessment," Serrano points. "The wounds are similar but it's too narrow, typically, lightsaber beams are wider. Additionally, the exit wound is smaller than the entry wound, indicating the weapon tapers to a point. Lightsaber impalement leaves a perfect cylindrical wound; well, if the wielder draws it straight out."
Keel nods, following his logic, "Why shoot the second and then stab the third?"
Serrano stands smoothly, moves to the side, shifts a little, and then again until he's leaning against the wall. He explains, "The attacker was here, look how the body fell straight back. I think he was caught by surprise. I believe the shot was from that pistol lying on the ground there. The attacker stabbed the first, then shot the second, with the first pirate's pistol. That's why his hands are empty, unlike the second and third."
"That doesn't solve why he stabbed the third."
"Perhaps the attacker wanted something, but his pockets don't appear rifled."
Keel wonders, "Could it be revenge? Pirate on pirate violence, settling an old score?"
"Possibly," Serrano points. "Why would the pirates get so close? An imperial would have been shot or forced to submit. The deck plate is scorched too, the third pirate was stabbed while lying on the ground. My concern is that the weapon is too advanced. These pirates are unsophisticated; while this weapon is obviously for assassination. A common dagger would have sufficed, save for penetrating the pirate's armor. Which occurred twice; hence, my concern."
"Captain Keel, respond," Captain Shilling calls over the comms.
"Whatever happened, it will have to wait," Captain Keel declares. "Go for Keel."
"Report to the bridge for an officer's meeting."
"Sir, we've secured the Inevitable but there's a lot of work to be done," Captain Keel replies. "The commander is still fighting on the battlecruiser, or so the last report stated."
Suddenly, Serrano jerks, spinning before staring at a wall.
"What?" Keel demands with alarm. "What's wrong?"
"I-…it's difficult to describe what I'm feeling," Serrano whispers uncertainly. "A concentration of anger so strong, it's impossible to ignore."
"I-I don't know what to say to that," Captain Keel replies. "Wait, you can feel it?"
Shilling replies sharply, "You have your orders. Captain Keel."
"Continue investigating," Captain Keel grumbles. "I'll find out what's going on."
The imperials push through the battlecruiser when suddenly they become weightless. For a moment they're surprised, but all of them quickly activate their magnetic boots. With a thump, they reattach to the deck. After the walk on the ship's hull, they're experts.
"Com…der," the lieutenant calls from engineering. "The bridge *shhhhht* gravity generator. They've lock-shhhhht- think they cut the comm lines-shhh-jamming us…"
"Understood," the commander replies. "Keep trying to restore-"
"Get back here!" A woman shrieks from an adjoining hallway. A blue-grey furry creature rolls from a hallway, grabs a handhold, and yanks itself forward. A heartbeat later, a long-limbed creature covered in yellow scales emerges from the same hallway. Desperately, the Trandoshan drags itself around the corner with thick, clawed fingers. Caught by surprise, the Imperials stare, but the fear driving the pair is unmistakable. Discovering the imperials, they freeze. Eyes narrowing, the Trandoshan looks over its shoulder and pleads, "Help ussss! She'sss a pirate!"
A woman launches out of the nearby hallway, thick red curls dancing as she soars to the ceiling above the alien. Deftly, she plants her feet before hurling herself at the Trandoshan.
"Moira!" The smaller furred alien cries. "No! Please!"
As the Trandoshan raises its hands defensively, she swings. Lit solely by their headlights, her pale skin glows in the shadowy hallway, offset by her filthy and shredded flight suit. Her spiked club shatters the lizard's skull, splashing green blood. Without gravity, green droplets fill the air, undulating. The furred alien screams, only to be snatched up by the towering woman.
"Hey!" The commander interrupts as the creature struggles. "What the hell is going on?"
"Sir!" Swanson calls, motioning in his assault armor towards the adjoining hallway. There, an enormous flat-bodied primitive watches them. Its central line is yellow but turns greenish along its back and striped with brown. Two narrow red eyes peer at them, above two slits for a nose, and thick wide lips. A stubby pair of arms and legs end in enormous hands and feet. Hiding behind him, a petite blue-skinned Twi-lek wearing rags squeaks before jerking back.
"Ack, imps! Listen to me!" The red-maned woman yells. Her thick accent mauls her words "Face the facts. The Empire is dead, your dedication is noble, but this road ends only one way. I'm leaving this cursed ship. Come with me and I can promise you credits, glory, and the freedom to make your fate. Isn't that better than having someone make it for you?"
The imperials stare, before shaking their heads. A few laugh half-heartedly.
"Wow, she's good," Gary admits, then turns. "Hey, commander, we found you a wife!"