Chapter 37
For Gormaanda, the adrenalin from having been caught still hasn't subsided, nor has the pain from the smash she took to the face from the butt of that stormtrooper's carbine. Her brain is foggy, but her clarity of purpose remains intact. She and Rohrchun must move to the Central Mess' kitchen and gather who they can.
As she and the Wookiee push a pantry cart, covering up the weapons they've stolen with as many bags of flour they could gather, she recalls the demonstration of Slake's staggering abilities. The switching off the lights was one thing—telekinesis. But what was stunning was the speed of her movement.
Gormaanda's homeworld is far from its central star, and its people are cave-dwellers, possessing full darkvision. She watched Slake attack as though she too could see in the room plain as day. While the troopers swiveled their heads from side to side, panicking to find her, Slake knew exactly where to go, avoiding their guns, swiping the carbines from their hands, and then killing with seamless efficacy.
Gormaanda knew the girl was force sensitive, but in truth, she is a weapon. A fully-fledged jedi, whether she's been trained or not. She's never seen anything like it.
Once in the kitchen, Gormaanda assesses the staff in the room, most of whom are poking at their recently unlocked slave collars. There are handful of Kubaz, Claren, a Rodian troublemaker, and a downtrodden smattering of four former pirates with whom Claren associates. Also, Neelaw Aluk, a Togruta linguist academic, who's also talented baker.
Gormaanda and Rohrchun don't know all their languages, but she bangs two pots together to get everyone's attention. She reveals the guns and sets them on the long prep table.
"Holy shit," says Neelaw.
"Do you know Rodian and Kubaz for 'armory'?"
"Sure," says Neelaw. "Are we killing some bucketheads right now?"
"You're not," says Gormaanda. "You're going to collect as many indentures as you can from the bunks and maintenance, and you're going to bring them to the armory."
"Fuck that, I'm going with you."
"Listen," says Gormaanda. "I don't have time to argue. You'll get your chance to shoot at some Imperials, but we're all going to die if you don't get as many people as you can to the armory in less than five minutes. You speak more languages than anyone else."
Neelaw pouts but understands. He speaks in a series of hums and clicks for Claren the Rodian and the six Kubaz in the room. Claren grabs a carbine, pumps and charges it. She nods at Gormaanda. The Rodian will follow her lead.
Gormaanda doles out a pistol to Neelaw, and in a flash, he's gone. He's one of the older indentures aboard, and he has the respect of the others. If Gormaanda and Rohrchun buy the farm in the next few minutes, Neelaw can likely keep the revolt going.
Gormaanda looks to Rohrchun, "Are you ready?"
The Wookiee baroos. It's time.
The dozen indentures leave Central Mess through the kitchen exit, trotting side-by-side in two columns of six. With Slake and Neelaw each having taken a carbine and a pistol respectively; they only have five guns between them. Rohrchun, using a series of easy-to-understand gestures, tells everyone to slow down at the corners so he can check them before crossing.
They're lucky. No patrols are on their floor. Hallways are clean.
At the turbolift, Gormaanda pushes the button, while Rohrchun directs Claren and a Chiss pirate to flank the door. Rohrchun crouches and aims his rifle on the lift.
When the lift opens, Gormaanda sees a young female officer studying her datapad. She doesn't know her name, but remembers the officer always says "please" and "thank you" in the Central Mess.
Rohrchun shoots her in the face. She crumples, and double-time, the Wookiee drags the woman's body out of the lift. Gormaanda attempts to avert her eyes from the woman's charred face but isn't quite successful. This is war. It is never good or just, and this is an important lesson to accept before she has to start shooting.
Hesitation will only bring Gormaanda to this young woman's fate.
Rohrchun waves his arms, telling everyone to get into the turbolift. He reaches up and tears down the security camera and then presses the button for the armory. It's on one of the lower decks, aft-ward from the hangar.
Almost no one understands basic in this lift, but Gormaanda speaks anyway, hoping the message somehow sinks in. "Don't wait for them to shoot first. We're not trained like they are. We don't have armor like they do. All we have is surprise. So kill as many of them as you can as quickly as you can. They'll try to flank us. Don't let them. We own the sides, the periphery. If you see them try to flank, point it out and shout."
Rohrchun uses hand signals to communicate to the rest, and Gormaanda is quite surprised at how good they are. Then again, who knows if these gestures make any god damned sense at all to a Kubaz.
"Understand?" she asks Claren.
"I… doooo," the Rodian says in her garbled bleat. She speaks to her pirate friends. One of them speaks Kubaz.
Gormaanda has to laugh. How critical must translators be to the Rebel Alliance? The fate of the galaxy probably depends more on liberal arts language majors than it does on X-wings or Ion Cannons.
Seconds from the doors opening, Gormaanda adds, "Whatever you do, do not forget to take cover."
The doors open to the armory before there's time to translate. Three members of the armory staff hover over the lobby desk, struggling to make sense of what they're seeing on the screen.
They look up, stunned.
Gormaanda fires three quick pinpoint blasts. Today, slow reactions buy fast deaths.
There are no other troops on this deck, so Gormaanda and her improvisational mutiny raid the armory. They've moved quickly and decisively so far, and now, this is their reward. But the ship isn't theirs yet. They take carbine after carbine, quickly laying them out on the floor, each with two extra mags for faster distribution once Neelaw gets here with every slave he can muster.
Rohrchun yips with delight when he finds a traditional Kashyyyk Bowcaster, obviously a leftover from the previous owners of the Profundity. He shakes it at Gormaanda in triumph.
"Make sure it still works," she warns him.
He tests its charging feature, and it hums with energy. "Raw waggh aroww." Ye of little faith, he says. This is expert craftsmanship.
Gormaanda smiles but feels incredibly anxious. The longer they stay in one spot, the more vulnerable this revolt is. She orders the rest of their group to take what they're comfortable shooting and head up to the bridge.
Claren steps forward, "Nooo. Nee…lawww. The… many slaves… more."
"We can keep two back to wait for them and guard the guns.
"Too soon!" the Rodian says, stamping the floor with her foot. "We wait for many. Then. Then we ALL go!"
Rohrchun, tired of the bickering, towers over the Rodian and issues a full-throated roar in her face.
Claren stumbles backward and nearly falls over a crate of service pistols. "'Kay. We kill now."
Gormaanda chooses a Twi'lek pirate and a Kubaz to wait for the others. She gathers the rest. 10 slaves. Some criminals, some just cooks. And, in her own case, a little of both. These are the people she'll lead to the bridge. Not ideal, but with Rohrchun, anything is possible.
She looks to the Kubaz who's staying behind. "Tegri Kai," she says, referencing the young boy whom Slake met in Virta's lobby. He apprenticed with an astrogator before he was captured by the Empire. "If he comes, keep him safe. No guns for Tegri Kai. He knows hyperspace jumps."
The Kubaz looks puzzled until Claren speaks to his Chiss friend who knows the insectoid's language. A quick rattle of clicks and hums, and the Kubaz nods in exaggerated understanding for Gormaanda's benefit.
Gormaanda hears the scream of an Interceptor leaving the hangar. Slake is doing her part. Time is of the essence.
An alarm immediately sounds all over the ship. "Attention all personnel! Profundity is under attack!" shouts a breathless, youthful sounding officer. "Vice Admiral Virta is dead. I'm executive officer Geoff Harvin, and I'm taking command of the ship. Arm yourselves and follow defense protocol A. Repeat, defense protocol A is in effect. This is not a drill!"
Gormaanda dives into the crate of pistols and puts one in each of her four hands, switching off each of their safeties in rapid succession.
"Let's go home," she tells the others.