The Gray and the Unchained: Limits of Liberty

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 4 – Winning Streak - Part 3

“Join the others, I’ll take care of them,” Harm insisted as the Zeta Landers finally arrived.

The strategy was clearer now, the Rangers had made the opening for Brute squad, Brute squad was even no diverting all the guard efforts to the Citadel, and now the main Sons Liberator Regiments were arriving to shore up the Akropolis.

Ken had used all the Bacta patches and Kolto Injectors he had on Scaari, flowing the Force best he could to keep the Snivvian stable as they had waited - Brute Squad had not stuck around.  

Over the parapet he could just see Ravge rushing like a Rancor up a large promenade from the innermost Akropoli wall to the Citadel, Brute squad, assembled from the various drop sites now behind him providing covering fire.  

Gripping his saber and breathing heavily Ken obeyed running through the now empty corridors and stairwells, past broken bodies, mostly Klatooinian, a handful of Sons here and there, the pause in the fighting and the silence of the ancient Fortress allowing a final chance to wonder about how Ry was faring, no doubt happy to be in a TIE again, his consolation was if the lightly armed Zeta’s could start landing the space battle must be in the Sons favour.

Entering a far more elaborately decorated area he looked up the massive sloping promenade from the walls to the Citadel, the Brutes already halfway up, the guards making a last stand with heavy repeaters and mortars firing down.

Ken rushed out saber lit, the Song flowing through him, a sonorous blend of offensive high and defensive low notes that moved his limbs in time to the ineffable music of the Force.

He stretched out to bash two whistling mortar rounds from hitting three Brutes he passed, the massive Sons armed with equally enormous Plasma rifles like he had Artemis Dark Troopers equipped with.

All the blaster fire was concentrated on Ravge in the lead, the Gen’Dai utterly indifferent to the punishment from small arms, easily dodging the larger shots.

When he reached a cover point the violence was incredible, the almost formless biology of Gen’Dai Tripled the number of Ravge’s limbs in an instant, four muscular tubes slamming and bludgeoning the hardy Klatoonians into the dark green stone.

Mounting a fallen pillar Ken was more methodical, his saber slicing through one neck, then caught on the force-stave of another, the Klatoonian hissing in their short sharp duel until force enhanced reflexes allowed Ken to cut him off at the knees.

By then Brute squad was rushing past him, Ravge at the Citadel doors, two of his limbs prying the monolithic rectangular slab doors open, three more bashing Klatoonians.

The Burtes lived up to their moniker in the last fight, rifling butting and vibor-knifing the Akropolis last defenders, the Citadel doors barely moving even under Ravge enormous strength, his body spider like, four limbs on the ground for stability, four at the door to open it just enough for his shifting figure to slip in.

The vast doors slammed shut not quite behind him, leaving a warbling piece of the Gen’Dai’s flesh cut off, disconnected from the body it staunch the leaking fluids then passively squeezed itself as Ken reached the door.

There was no motion, no sound, no fighting for several minutes, the Burtes simply secured the entrance, checked over the dead for resources and waited as a squad of Liberators escorting Engineers arrived.

They weren’t needed -  the Citadel doors gasped open of their own accord, the vast bloody figure of Ravge stepping through holding the bleeding foul smelling head of a Hutt high over his head, licking his lips as the viscera dripped on him.

<<<<>>>>

The Citadel of Glottal, the crown jewel of the Akropoli was a Fortress within a fortress, nearly two kilometers on its hexagonal length corner to corner.

In it’s midst was a vast courtyard built around a statue long since broken, only the feet remained denying Ken any further clue as to who had built this vast place or why.

What wasn’t in question was the brutality of the former Daimyo.

Around the courtyard were two different kinds of remains.  Plush, now blood stained cushions and carpets strewn with half eaten foods and spilled drinks, surrounded by pikes on which bodies were impaled with placards around their necks detailing their crimes.

The vast majority were ‘Fled from Bondage’, one ‘Murdered Honoured Master’, and the three most recent, two ‘household’ and one ‘pleasure’ slave - were ‘Traitors’.

A squealing cry broke Ken’s investigation, a Klatoonian who had surrendered cowering best as he could, his hands and feet tied before a semi formed hand gripped and crushed his skull in.

Ravge’s hand retreated back as he continued his ‘inspection’ of the dozens of captives.

Ken marched straight toward the Gen’Dai,
“There was no need for that, he was tied up, he wasn’t going anywhere,”

Ravge said nothing, his back to Ken, simply strolling along the assembled ‘household’ slaves his enormous face sniffing them, a low growl in his throat.

With incredible speed he plucked a figure from among a crowd of male labourers, the Nikto writhing under the Gen’Dai’s muscled extensions.
“No tracker,” he grunted with a dismissive twist snapping the creature neck,

Now irate Ken reached to grab the Gen’Dai’s shoulder and turn him round,

“Stop right…”

“Jedi…” Ravge growled, turning slowly before the young Knights hand even reached him.

Ken remained firm
“I’m not a….”

“You SMELL like a Jedi” he shouted blood and spittle spraying sticky on Kens face, the Gen’Dai’s vibration in the song was an enormous percussive clang repeating over and over again to an intensity that made Ken want to flinch away.

The Mak’Tor would not be intimidated.

“Regardless, I won’t let you murder captives,”

Ravge’s mouth opened as his muscled body tensed, the Song reaching a peak of percussion….Ken’s hand itched to reach the safety of his saber…

Then the beady red Gen’Dai eyes looked above Ken's head, Ravge swaying backward a low thrumming growl that mirrored the sudden drop in the beat through the Force, unsaid words caught in Ravge’s esophageal tubes.  

With a frustrated grunt, Ravge sidestepped Ken and stalked away.

After waiting till the heavy boot crashes on the green courtyard floor died Ken finally turned round to see what had stopped Ravge’s next utterance.

Black Armour stood twenty meters behind him, arms at his side as if waiting for a mag-bus.

Ken nodded to Shadow Warrior.

Whether Black Armour nodded back, or it was one of the innumerable visual perception tricks of his light absorbent armour, Ken couldn't tell.

Attended by a group of Engineers in Artemis Industries overalls, a number Ken Recognized from the clean up on M’Tzigon, Scrubber came in behind his Enforcer.

The Togruta took in the scene in an instant, issuing swift commands to his nearby staff then briefly pausing beside Black Armour, the Sons Primus inter pares leaning in as if to listen, then nodding headed toward the impaled bodies.

“Nadiem is the breadbasket of the sector,” Scrubber said, voice resonant in the Courtyard directed to Ken,

“The Daimyo of Glottal holds suretyship for its protection, as soon as we attacked he was bound to send his forces to retake it…we knew it would take a few hours to muster his troops from the Akropoli, our spies provided minute by minute updates so the Unchained would arrive just as they reached the edge of the system jump point to Nadiem.”

He paused at the bodies labelled ‘Traitor’ a mournful expression flitting across his face

“These are those spies…” the Togrutan bowed his head to the honoured dead before continuing.

“The Unchained held the line, Sala playing the Admiral a little too well, drawing the Hutt fleet into an overconfident position primed for our surprise attack while you disabled the ground defences, the vast majority of the Daimyos men were on those ships, the perfect chance to take the Akropolis…” he tugged his remaining Lekku briefly as he walked along the line of bodies, bowing his head and closing his eyes before each one.

“...Victory never comes swiftly enough…” he sighed, turning fully to Ken,

“I’m glad I caught you Ken’Mack, I wished to apologize again for…”

“It’s fine,” Ken said swiftly extending his hand

Scrubber gratefully took it.

“My thanks Sirra, I’m glad you’ve returned, as you can see we need every sentient we can find.  Head back to the Inner Wall, you’ll find Captain Harm assembling the Rangers, your talents will be put to best use with them,”

Ken nodded, accepting the role he had been given, but determined nonetheless to make it his own.  

He briefly thought to tell him about Ravge’s executions, but knew Scrubber was undoubtedly more than aware.

With a final salute the Mak’tor Knight headed out, Scrubber circling the broken statue in the centre of Courtyard, idly sizing up the walls and openings determining the best layout for fortification with engineering skills he had used in another war so long ago.

They had scored two very major victories, but he was well aware they held only a toe hold with the farming Delta’s of Nadiem and Akropoli of Glottal, not even full control of the planet much less the system.  Holding them as well as Teth would require a careful distribution and rotation of Sons forces as they waited for the inevitable Hutt response.

Stretching across the plains beneath the Akropoli were hundreds of ‘breeding ranches’ and small manufacturing and industrial sweat shops that needed to be liberated, thousands of slaves that would need food, transport, healing….

Doctor Wolfe of the M’Tzigon Mission to the Sons of Kessel and his crew entered from the side as Black Armour vanished.  

The Sons Enforcers role was an ever less prominent figure, Ravge and Brute squads' vicious effectiveness was such that Black Armour could be assigned to more clandestine tasks, in this case he had taken the Orbital weapons of the Akropolis offline while the Rangers went for the shields - one or the other had to go for the invasion to succeed, at least with the weapons still operational they had some defences.

As the nurses and medics filed toward the huddled Household slaves rescued Scrubber felt a gentle tug on his hardy overcloak, turning round to a red skinned figure with deep black hair wearing the simple off-white of the Nursing Corps.

She looked up to him with eyes of the same deep blue as the glittering Ai stars of the Togrutian Zodiac on a dark night.

“Sire, I wished to thank you for rescuing me,” her velvet like voice flowed smoothly into his ears, a balm to one so used to the cries of pain and din of battle.

“Rescued…not I but all of us,” He replied recalling her from Nadiem

“And as I recall you were swift to claim freedom for yourself,” he smiled, recalling how she had stabbed the Pasha during the stand off.

“Yet without you, my opportunity, and that of so many thousands would never come,” She stepped forward placing both her hands on his chest, bowing her head in what he assumed must be a Zeltron custom of thanks.

“You are a hero and inspiration Sire ‘Scrubber’, as soon as I could I volunteered my body to your service - should I contribute only a hundredth of what you have to the Cause, I will join the Stream with my Dignitas glowing,”

Her hands lingered a moment more, the Sons leader only shaking from a silent reverie in her deep eyes when she finally passed him to attend to her nursing duties.

His eyes lingered on her a while longer before his sharp gaze turned back to the broken statue.  Perhaps the genius who had designed the Akropolis, their name and image lost while their monument still stood?

The Togruta saw himself in that absence, or rather what he hoped to be.  The Sons would go on and he needed to be forgotten.

It wasn’t for his own glory or legacy he was building the Sons, it was for all the other Scrubbers still left behind.

<<<<>>>>

[TheDutchman]

The Sons are on the move, their ambush of the Glottal fleet and Citadel giving them not only a much-needed win but also a strategic&tactical foothold that will enable them to pursue their offensive deeper in Hutt territory.  Of course, no plan survives first contact in battle.

Between the Sons' flight wing and the ground forces comprised of Rangers and Brutes, Scrubber once again demonstrates his acumen with their victory but at a devastating cost: regardless of the fact that they volunteered, the spies' deaths as "traitors" is a horrible reminder that even the best of intentions can lead to the worst of circumstances.  Just as bad: Glottal may be under nominal Sons control but it is far from secure.

And it's this pathos that assails Scrubber on both sides: his actions (and the Sons) have already compelled a response from the Zann Consortium but will almost certainly guarantee reprisal from the Hutts themselves.  If this wasn't bad enough, we see that the Sons' logistics are problematic as well: between the disparate forces (which goes beyond any sort of jurisdictional posturing) and actions (consider the Brutes vs. the Rangers) as well as supply issues, Scrubber is forced to negotiate through hostile waters as a result.

It's telling that both Ken and Ry are able to reintegrate virtually seamlessly back into the Sons, but this underscores the maturity and effort that they possess, especially from their initial time with them.  I find it reassuring that Scrubber seems to have come to terms with Ken's circumstances (or perhaps he recognizes the necessity of the Sons/Mak'Tor Alliance).  Nevertheless, like Ken's experience with Black Armor, he finds himself in these ambiguous situations that might require more than just a cursory glance.

Meta-note: I've said it before but LSG's action scenes are always the best, especially taking multiple POVs and combat theaters and thrusting us into the chaos, intensity, and ambiance of the story.  Plus it's nice to see Ken and Ry back in action again 
Wonderful image detailing the ambush tactic; yet another example of a visual that works so well in conjunction with tight, exciting storytelling^^

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 5 – Out of Tune - Part 1

Scrubber

With a grimace at tugging too much Scrubber released his remaining lekku, the ‘bad news’ delivered by Ornil and Thun grating.

“...the coolant leak was not substantial, but the crew was too stretched to patch it in time,” Thun, captain of the Justicar, a one eyed, and some said one minded Ikotchi, explained via holo, Scrubber face lit by the two blue images of his ISD captains as he sat beside Ornil on the Raider II Vcgru’s Whore back to Teth.

“We have 30 percent below safe levels for a Jump to hyperspace,” was the conclusion and key fact.

“Position the Justicar over the Akropoli, Thinker’s Dream can take the lead of our Second Fleet instead,” Scrubber decided quickly

The plan had always been to leave a small group of Capital ships over Glottal to remind the Ranchers not yet liberated of their presence, and provide cover as the Citadel was fortified, but certainly not the Justicar.

Damn it! they needed both ISDs mobile to ensure the Hutts, or anyone else, remained wary of coming up against them both - one ISD you could work around, two deterred even the most aggressive of commanders.

“As you say,” Thun nodded, Scrubber certain the scarred but unflagging Ikotchi captain of the Justicar would oversee the fortifications competently, once he had a task set to him the Captain would stop at nothing to see it done.

“Is there any word on the filtration systems?” Sala asked, the Unchained too was little better off in terms of Reactor Coolant, Air Scrubbers and other consumables.

“We’ve had no report from Qillov yet,” Ornil replied, eyes narrowing over the Kel-Dors breathing mask

“We should check with Kal, they are at least a day overdue…nor have we heard from Argeni and Ranger 11 regarding the Black Sun sting”   

Normally Scrubber would have Kal send a TIE Phantom and a Ranger Squad to check in with each, but the urgency of obtaining those filtration systems had just tripled.

“Find out what has happened,” Scrubber said to the seemingly empty corner across from him.

Black Armour would get there in half the time, and the Togruta had a growing sense of dread, Qillov was one of his most diligent and ‘formal’ commanders, missing a check in was unheard of. 
 
The Enforcer silently left.

The discomfort of being shackled by something as seemingly innocuous as inadequate quality reactor coolant and repaired leaks - the most immediate of a number of looming shortages - remained.

<<<<>>>>

Ken

“How is he Doc?” Ken asked amidst the vast row of gurneys, the air musty with bacta and antibacterials as Nurses checked on patients of all sizes, shapes and species in what had once been an artillery shell store room.

The diminutive form of Scaari lay face buried beneath a much too large mask. Yekhet and Hosto had gotten away with flesh wounds, Dhul’s hard Givin skin scarred but healing, leaving only Scaari of Ranger 1 still out.

“Recovering, slowly,” Doctor Wolfe of the Mak’Tor mission noted in his usual no nonsense tones. A Veteran healer previously training adepts, after the Council adopted some of Ken’s recommendations from his first Tenure with the Sons, Gray had volunteered for the role. 

It was an open secret much of his motivation was to leave M’tzgion and the memories it held - his wife having died barely three months prior to the call for a Mission, it was painfully obvious to all he was burying his grief in work.  And the Sons always had a lot of work to offer.

“The on-field healing you provided likely saved his life, stabilised him,” Wolfe tapped Ken’s arm with his Data-Board then headed to the next patient, the older man in constant motion, as if to stand too long would force him to remember what he had come here to forget.

“One more thing Doc,?”
“Yes,” Gray replied slightly irritable

“Do you know anything about Ravge?”
Wolfe still hadn't turned back round, his fingers working the data-board for several moments, long enough Ken thought he might not have heard.

“Keep your distance from that one Mack,” was his curt warning

No more enlightened, Ken remained watching over Scaari, eyes drawn back to Wolfe as he did his rounds, contemplating the similarities to Ken's own reason for returning as he sub-vocalized a calming motif - as much as he would like he didn’t have the energy to help Scaari anymore - and this was his first opportunity to breathe and really reflect since getting back.

He could feel his body weary with fatigue, mind jumpy with overstimulation, if Wolfe wanted a distraction from his grief this was certainly the time and place. And if Ken wanted somewhere he could be his own man well…

“Keep fighting Scaari,” he whispered before heading out, noting with some interest Scrubber was in one of the curtain screened booths speaking to another injured soldier, a Zeltron nurse with him.

The Togruta was a good leader, personally checking on his brethren, fighting from the front, taking on the burden of unenviable choices - certainly not perfect - but Scrubber had earned every ounce of respect with blood and sweat, not because he was someone’s son or had some title.

Walking along the long pitted duracrete halls of Eurydice Base beneath the yellow lights past the handfuls of Sons on various chores, Ken’s brows were furrowed in contemplation that deepend with each step.

Scaari had called him Jedi with hope, Ravge used the word as a curse, Ken just wanted none of it.  Though no one looked at him as ‘Karmacks Son,’ or, less charitably, the ‘Mad Singers kid’, they still saw his saber first. 

He had been naive thinking he could relive the ‘freedom’ he had felt during his first tour with the Sons as ‘Ken Belanger’, where every chastisement and commendation was earned by his actions alone, but he still hoped to be something other than a just ‘the Jedi’.

Surely he could use a saber as a tool, and not be a symbol….

Loud voices broke his contemplation. at an intersection up ahead, the largely drab brown walls broken here with elaborate chunky tribal art painted on the walls.

“...our ‘pace, away from joiner’,” an especially grizzly looking Nikto at the front of a posse of five others - two with the Brutes Symbol, another in Artemis Engineering Utilities - snapped at a smaller group of four led by a Arconan, the triangular head leaning back as vast eye muscles narrowed around the large pinkeyes.

Ken recognised him as having been one of the Charric Marksmen on Nadiem.

“[Our assigned bunks are in this section]” the Arcona replied via a small translator for the Arconese

“ ‘ ection for real brethren only,” the Nikto insisted

“[We are all volunteers - I do not Comprehend?]”

The Nikto became increasingly indignant, his posture aggressive as he snapped back.

“You not part o ‘uz, you ‘ad choice, we’a’all ‘uffered he chain!”

Now Ken understood the dispute was between freed slaves members and volunteers.  He knew the Sons had originally only taken former slaves as members, bonds stronger for shared suffering, while Scrubber had, by necessity or conviction changed that, cracks remained. 

Stepping between the groups Ken raised his hands in a peaceful gesture, his arms protesting at the movement, shoulders finally feeling the weight of carrying Scaari and the Song quieting as his connection fatigued.

“Hey, let’s calm this down, we’re all on the same side, fighting the same enemy,”

“‘Tay ‘oo, Traitor,” the Nikto sneered

Ken breathed deeply, another time a calming motif might have helped but he was far too spent.

It seems the Drumhead he had faced during his first tour here had not been forgotten either.

“I’m sorry for not being honest with you all,” Ken admitted “But I’m here, now, to make that right.  I can’t ever understand what life as a slave must’ve been like for you, but give us…” he nodded to the Arcona and the other volunteers
“The chance to prove ourselves your allies and help others,”

“‘oo wanna fight da’ ma’ter’z, oo, fight da ma’ter’z, ‘till not one of uz,” was the Nikto’s gruff rebuke.

At the end of his physical and mental resources Ken didn’t have the energy to protest further, simply guiding the Arcona away.

<<<<>>>>

Scrubber

“...you need not answer,” the soft feminine voice with a deep accent on rounded vowels spoke as they walked toward the supplies cabinets at the end of the Hospital.

She had already been in the wards when he had come to visit the injured from Nadiem and Glottal - together they had visited over two dozen injured brethren before time demanded he leave - the care and attention she showed to each of her patients, her utter dedication to the Cause, the wit of her words, the smell of deep black-blue hair…

Jal’ina even her name was like gentle music to his ears…stirring feelings he’d not known since…

“...but I wonder why you do this to yourself?” Jal’ina finished - Scrubbers face for once something other than sharp and focused as he looked perplexed.

“You dedicate every waking moment to serving the Cause, sleep only the absolute minimum - and only then, I’ve overheard, because of Doctor Wolfe's insistence.  Is there no time to relax your body and mind to enjoy the freedom you have fought so hard to win?”

The question struck him dumb. 

Dozens had asked his story, wondered at who the man behind the moniker had once been, or tried to pry from him the secrets of how he had brought the Sons from barely a half dozen beings clinging to a dying name and dream to owners of two ISD’s…but never had anyone asked about him as a man.

They all took his boundless energy and obdurate determination to the Cause as a given.

“While others remain in chains, there is no time,” Scrubber replied with his deepest conviction

Her deep sapphire eyes blinked behind scarlet lids

“Such selflessness and nobility,” she breathed as the galaxy seemed to vanish around him, her soft ruby skinned hand caressing his face, his heart beat for the first time in so long something other than frantic
“Yet borne of so much pain…so much loneliness…” 

She pulled her hand away

“Forgive me…I must…attend to my rounds…”

“Of course,” Scrubber replied, righting himself,
“I…the Cause waits on no man,” he excused himself moving gently past before pausing,

“Perhaps when next I visit the injured, we might…speak again?”

“I would welcome it deeply,” Jal’ina replied, her luxurious blue-black hair tipping with her nod.

<<<<>>>>

Ry

“Little cramped, but with a nice rug, some downlights…” Ry smiled looking around their new quarters.  Their old rooms had long since been given to others, all that was left was a tiny rectangular room with a single cot, sink, refresher and one cupboard that was more prison cell than bunk.

Dumping her bag she flopped on the clean but tiny bed, wondering how both of them could possibly fit unless their limbs were slotted together…that brought a wry smile to her face.

“So…on top or underneath Probie?” she added.
Ken staggered in after her.

“Either so long as I don’t have to stand up,” he pressed the auto door to close and lock with old clanking hiss then squeezed beside her on the floor, observing the industrial duracrete colour of the cell.

She reached out to take his hand, both finally able to take a moment to think and reflect. 

Weary and aching as they were they managed to heat a few portions and take quick steams, Ken able to remove most of the sweat and blood from his hair, tinkering with his cybernetic hand, clearing the responsive learning cache that was a bit too eager to stay at a ‘combat’ level of grip strength.

“Did you notice any kind of, tension between the volunteers and former slaves?” Ken asked as Ry brushed her long dark hair cross legged on the cot.

“No, but everyone was pretty ‘task focused’ on the Unchained...it’s a huge ship and they are massively understaffed,”

“Yeah everything feels very…thinly spread,” Ken agreed sniffing his thin vest with a grimace at the encrusted dried sweat. “I hope Scrubber knows what he’s doing,”

“I’m sure he does,” Ry assured, setting her brush back down and sliding up behind Ken, her arms wrapping around his waist, then turning him to face her before he got lost in concerns that weren’t his.

“Now why don’t you show me you know what you’re doing Probie…” she went on fingers walking up his chest

“And I might just give you a promotion,”

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 5 – Out of Tune - Part 2

Scrubber

“...when your opponent is bloodied you strike harder!”

Ravge’s voice echoed off the distant walls of the Briefing room, holo’s of the Baxel Sector glowing around them, reams of text beneath fed from their burgeoning intelligence networks.

“Here,” he thrust a ‘finger’ the width of Ziac’ch’s one remaining flesh arms at the image of Dilbana.

“We surround the fort of Rampa Minor, starve them, harvest the resources of Dilbana for the Cause,”

The Leader of Brute Squads suggestion was typically aggressive, but not without a predatorial wisdom. 

Any attempt to counter attack the Sons recent gains would likely come from Rampa Minor, especially now its main food supplies from Nadiem were cut off, and Dilbana did offer many of the Industrial and Technological resources the Sons were sorely running low on - Power cells, spare parts, cables, gas exchange filters - none of which could be reliably supplied in the quantities needed by smugglers alone.

The Sons' growing success was causing them to starve.

“Our forces are already spread thin, trying to take and hold Dilbana would make it far worse, especially with the Justicar all but grounded,” Sala cautioned, one of the few who didn’t shrink away from the bestial Gen’Dai, though standing next to Scrubber probably had much to do with her confidence.

“But we are critically low on supplies,” Ziac’ch had to concede, his numerous cybernetics glinting in the halogen lights above
“The stores on Glottal were far below our estimates, insufficient even to replenish what was spent capturing it - we are rationing E11 Power cells as is”

“What is the latest intelligence on Dilbana,” Scrubber asked, his gaze sharp as he sought all the information he could before making a decision.

Kal’Etsp always a little way off from the others, the Siniteen ever avoiding any chance of tactile interaction replied,

“Last report four days ago from Agent Aleph is now obsolete, troop and naval disposition will have changed following our recent engagements,”

“How long before we can get an update,”

“If I send a request now, Agent Aleph usually provides a comprehensive response in 36 hours, a less detailed one in 18.” the Siniteen’s disgust at the thought of incomplete information obvious from his tone.

“There is no time to wait, strike now!” Ravge demanded

“...before they have time to muster their resources,” he added tactical gloss to his boiling rage, untold decades Fighting in the Pits of Lirra for the entertainment of the Hutts had engraved a vicious aggression in the Gen’Dai, and a preternatural ability to sense weakness and viciously punish it - lessons necessary for his survival against beasts and gladiators that did not always translate to the needs of the Sons as they were now.

Scrubber needed resources, was riding a wave of success, but was well aware how quickly it could be ripped from away if they were not shrewd.

Yet his thoughts were not for the cause alone…he felt a tingling anxiety to see Jal’ina again

“Send the request,” he said breaking from the reverie, he leaned to the shared console bringing up the Tactical Scenarios Agent Aleph had already suggested for a raid.

“An invasion may not be possible but a large scale raid can net us recruits, resources and free hundreds based on the last intelligence reports,” Scrubber added his voice then tingend with concern

“Also I fear with our recent success there might be a firmer eye on our agents and collaborators across the sector, we need to leverage those assets while we can,”

The Leadership group noted their broad agreement, a solid middle course to achieve multiple goals, spending the next twenty minutes on the necessary work of organizing squad and regiment formations to cover for losses, working out which and how many ships could be ready assuming Alephs report was positive.

“We will reconvene in 12 hours,” Scrubber finished, “Till then rest all you can, you have all earned it,”

<<<<>>>>

Ash

Dilbana was more of a prison than a mining and industrial world.  With only a handful of space ports, a near complete lack of potable water, it wasn’t hard to hold the masses of slaves in place with a handful of soldiers controlling the critical flow of food and water.

The abundance of durasteel barred windows and doors on the ubiquitous blocky grey buildings seemed completely unnecessary except as a further psychological reminder of the slaves submission.

As’har’Lem slid in the narrow gaps between block houses and barracks of what appeared to have once been a massive prison labour camp in centuries past.  At some point instead of prisoners the Hutts simply began sending purchased slaves to work the mines and heavy industrial factories - cheaper and less inclined to ‘damaging’ other stock than gangers so violent even Nar Shadda couldn’t stomach them.

Her tight fitting black Obscura-weave allowed her to appear effectively invisible to most beings peripheral vision, that added with a lullaby like Song of Avoidance allowed the Mak’Tor Silver to slide past the bored patrols with ease.

She had two contacts to check in on, Yora-Gul, the leader of an ever growing band of slaves within the Dry-Lands mines united under the Sons banner.  They had formed years before she arrived word of the Sons success spread across the Shag Pabol.

They heeded the call for slaves still in captivity to ‘Prepare a Plan’, establish small cells of look outs, workers and warriors who could, in the event of a Sons raid, help the Abolitionist army by sabotaging the Masters from within.

Yora-Gul had nearly 2000 slaves in cells of twenty prepared for just such an occasion, ready to bring down shield generators, unlock blast doors, poison Guard food stores and cause general chaos.

Sliding down through a narrow gap between the gravel ground and a half buried window she landed quietly on an old catwalk, stalking toward a large round handled door.

With a careful knocking sequence the seemingly rust locked door opened to admit her.  Removing her Tri-ocular head piece the guards recognised her world weary expression over slightly tanned skin, warmed from years on planets hotter than M’tzigon, and chestnut brown hair tied tightly.

She’d been on Dilbana nearly five months helping them prepare, and, most crucially, trying to arrange an alliance between the ‘Civilian’ Slaves lead by Yora-Gul and the ‘Prisoners’ - nearly 6000 hardened criminals from nearby Hutt worlds, fragmented but if they were to succeed against the Hutt force here would be critical allies.

“Aleph,” Yora-Gul, a world weary Kyuzo greeted her. She had always gotten on well with Yora, Kyuzo had a fondness for rogues, many of their myths and stories featured outcast heroes who are forced to oppose the social order. 

Fitting as Ash hardly got along with her own Mak’tor order.  She'd taken the role of Sons Liaison from Er’lav, after a long time posted to various Medical missions, rarely returning to M’Tzigon where she knew she wasn’t wanted, especially under Silmans tenure as Kage.

Years before she had been apprenticed to Silman’s former master, but an encounter with the Inquisition had ended badly with their capture. 

Ash, a teidowan at the time caught the lecherous eye of the younger of the Inquisitor brothers - she was used, repeatedly, an experience that gave her a taste of what these slaves experienced each and every hour of the day. But the young inquisitor slipped up, and she managed to escape, naked, alone armed with only a vibro-dagger. 

There was no time and no chance to rescue her master. 

She had felt ashamed of what she had done to escape, less than forthcoming in the debriefing when she finally reached M’Tzigon. While most were understanding, some masters, and especially Silman, held that her delay had cost them the chance to mount a further rescue attempt.

“Yora,” Ash nodded,
“Control is looking at moving on Dilbana in the next few days, I know you will be ready, but have your lookouts reported anything unusual we need to be aware of before?”

“Only two two things,” the Kyuzo replied as other members of her cell variously sharpened shivs, scraped wires for charges and kept an auditory sense on short wave radios used to communicate with other groups.

“A ship we haven’t seen before arrive at the Pasha’s palace two days ago,”

Ash shrugged it could be a new client, a merchant or anyone innocuous catering to the local Hutt Pasha’s needs.

“Second Marduu has missed the last two check ins,” Marduu was the nominal leader of a party of the Prisoner slaves.

You had to be a special type of scum for the Hutts to imprison you rather than just a fine, a career killer he was the least untrustworthy of an awful bunch.

“I was headed to check in on him next, hopefully someone hasn’t knifed him in the back,” Regardless of the Sons growing strength, for a raid or occupation on Dilbana to work they would need the Prisoners to mount a simultaneous break out and riot to divide the Hutt Garrisons attention, otherwise they could easily hunker down in the vast stretches of thick-ferrocrete watchtowers and prison blocks until reinforcement from Rampa Minor arrived.

“Call signal is “Vcgru”,” Ash whispered to the Kyuzo,

“Everyone will be informed by next Shift,” there was no time on the stilted Dilbana, everything was measured in shifts in the mines and factories of the gravel scorched dry lands away from the more temperate and verdant equator where the Pasha held residence along with local elites.

She grabbed some water then headed on, mag-latching the rear of the familiar old 47-Esk under-rail to get to the distant prison zone. 

Security was relatively sparse, the Hutt forces concentrated on controlling the space ports and doling out food-portions, the infrastructure tired and replete with cracked walls and traversable voids.

The Prison mines produced copper-oxirite and Iron-Duratium, the refineries and presses nearby melting them into more useful wires and notably Duranium, not especially high quality, but prison labour made it far cheaper than better quality alternatives from closer to the core.

Ash slipped easily through the familiar tunnels and gaps. 

She enjoyed the quiet of times like this, silently moving through the passageways, using the force to give her just enough of a boost to leap to otherwise inaccessible locations on pathways she had puzzled out.

Working alone suited her, no subtly condemning stares, difficult questions or uncomfortable chatter, she’d been more than happy to be an ‘active’ liaison for the Sons rather than hanging around Eurydice base, she was used to moving around on her own.

Coming down through a large chimney that had once vented mining released gases out to prevent the miner suffocating she landed in the dank labyrinth of the prison service and maintenance levels, pitch black she flicked her Tri-ocs onto a mixed thermal and infra-red sweep, a blister of red in the green misty vision ahead indicating light and heat.

Creeping closer she heard voices and the familiar bitter hiss of Marduu’s rasp sliding the rail door with a creek she announced herself.

“What's with the silent treatment Mar…?” she stopped as she saw the other figures she was with were not fellow Prisoners of his gang as usual.

There were three humanoid figures in thick red armour, each sporting a different array of pouches, bandoliers and weapons, what looked like high end rifles and thermal detonators.  There was no way the Prisoners could get gear like that, and, none of the Hutt guards used anything like it.

Marduu, scarred grin wide on his scaly hybrid - some said part Falleen - face replied.

“That’s her,”

<<<<>>>>

Ry

“...Thinkers Dream will lead the raid, supported by our Guardian Class Cruisers, two Raider 2’s and 3 DP20 Frigates,” Ornil explained to assembly of TIE pilots in Rook hangar, a battle formation laid out on a large Scribe-Board behind her.

Ry was only half paying attention, her face still slightly flushed with a purple tinge from some ‘one on one’ time with her Probie when they’d finally woken up. 

If she and Ken had slept 9 hours, it seemed the rest of the Sons hadn’t, already planning another raid, though instead of being led by one of the ISD’s, the relatively newly captures Thinkers Dream, an Ajuur Class Heavy Cruiser, would be taking point - it seemed with the ISD’s had come a lot more ability to capture larger vessels.

“Mallet and Hammer flights will patrol the formations rear flank, focused on these vectors,” Ornil indicated to zones either side of Dilbana’s single moon

“The most likely direction of any counter attack from Rampa Minor,”

Ry’s attention sharpened for a moment looking at the ingress vector for the Sons fleet,

“Flight Commander, a question,” Ry asked out loud

“Go ahead,”

“Our entry vector takes us between the Moon and the Planet, there doesn’t seem to be any ships assigned to round the moon.  I know it's unlikely anyone is holed up there in numbers but, it goes against the grain of Academy caution not to check every satellite of substance.”

The Kel-dor checked over the battle plan, then swiftly nodded to her lanky Gado assistant to make the change,

“Noted pilot, the Emancipator and Sledge Squadron will take a longer arc round the moon to do a precautionary sweep, we haven’t had much time to draw up these plans. As noted we are still awaiting final contact from our agent on Dilbana, but on the assumption everything is in place, you’ll board your ships in an hour's time and head to Hyper-Jump Zone 3 for deployment.

 

<<<<>>>

Scrubber

“You are leaving again so soon?” Jal’ina asked as they walked along the open air stretch of balcony, the mesa’s waterfalls casting rainbows in their mist that caught the light, the Zeltron woman’s red tinged skin seeming to glow radiant in the morning sun that filtered through the foliage concealing the Sons base so operations so well.

She had noted the bustle of beings heading here, well aware that here among the dozens of tables and chairs was where Scrubber, wherever possible, broke his fast among the Sons, the tables usually crowded were only half tier usual occupancy as the pilots and Liberator Regiments assigned to the next mission prepared.

“No, this mission will be led by Colonel Sala and Ravge,” Scrubber replied, pleasantly surprised to have run into Jal’ina once more, as he took a warm bite of the hydrate Nutri-portion, a handful of locally grown curved lentils beside in a thin sauce, a reminder that the forested Aestis minor could still not provide all they needed.

“Do you not always lead the Sons' battles?,” Jal’ina asked, her blue eyes seemingly richer in natural light.

“No,” Scrubber smiled “I cannot be everywhere at once, nor would I be, as we grow it is essential leadership is disturbed, the Colonel and Ravge are both far more expert in the field of warfare than I…”  he paused contemplative for a moment, the briefest flicker of worry over his face that the Zeltron attuned to other sentients emotions picked up on swiftly.

“You are worried? I have heard that ‘Ravge’ is disinclined to work with volunteers,”

“Perhaps a little reluctant,” Scrubber admitted, he still held out hope Ravge would come around, and show the former Imperial officers a little more, if not respect, then grudging courtesy. 

The Sons could be, and needed to be, bigger than such rivalries, and expand beyond the leadership Scrubber could provide. 

He had led them for many years, but he knew every day he was one stray blaster bolt, or a talented assassin's blade, away from death, and the Sons needed to be able to go on without him.

“But bonds forged in battle will dull rough edges,” he added

She smiled deeply at him, then giggled slightly. The Togruta looked puzzled

“Forgive me Sirra, your boundless hope never ceases to fill my heart with joy,”

He could say the same of her company.

 

<<<<>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 5 – Out of Tune - Part 3

Ash

The Obscura weave ripped against rusted steel as she skidded beneath the beam, the hot backwash from the thermal detonator making her skin swelter.

Rolling back into a crouched run through the under-rail she snapped her hold out pistol behind her, willing the Maker to guide it to someone's head.  

She had interrupted Marduu probably only a few minutes before he and the three Red armoured assailants had set up a more potent ambush.

In the ruckus of the fight she’d managed to injure one, but only just avoided a Carbonite grenade that had nearly ‘ignefieid’ her feet. Whoever these bastards were, they had some damn nasty specialised tech.

And they knew how to hunt force users - using grenades, gas and darts rather than blasters, hounding her to exhaustion over the last half hour.

Coming to a skidding stop, her lips humming a twisted tune of confusion she unleashed a rhythm destroying wave behind her to confound her opponents, who remained frustratingly out of her below average kinetic grasp.

Shimmying into a narrow gap between hissing pipes and ancient valves she squeezed through fast as she could not even sure where it led, apart from ‘away’.  By now she could sense five pursuers, a vague sense of a dozen or so more behind them.  

Maker what is Marduu up to? And who are these guys? Regardless there was absolutely no way she would give the go ahead for a raid - she needed immediate extraction.

The bouncing bang of metal on metal signalled another grenade.  She drew the force to her, stilled her breathing, letting the oxygen in her lungs settle and absorb more efficiently allowing the Force to power her cells in anticipation of the gas.  

A barely visible shimmer like a mirage appeared across her eyes confirming the colourless anaesthetic gas was being used again - it seemed to have a limited active time before it settled into glassy beads on the pipes, but it was still enough to keep her Force skills occupied.

Finally popping out of the warren she flipped up to the next high beam she could to gain vertical distance.

The Under-rails were long and dark, and she could feel the vibration of nearby Mag-Loaders ferrying ores to the surface at several hundred kilometers per hour, any one of which she would have barely any warning of coming given the near pitch black - emergency lighting lumens long neglected and burnt out.

Muffled voices came from behind and a chill went down her spine, she rolled off the upper walkway to the dangerous ground below as a sniper blast struck where she had been with a blue sparking crackle.

Stun blasts…gases… they wanted her alive.  

After what had happened so many years ago with the Inquisition…and the reports from Yora of what happened when the Prison gangs got hold of a female slave of any species.

She couldn't let that happen, still running she pulled her hold out blaster not to shoot but to prime the power cell to overload, it should just be enough to kill her if they got too close.

The rumble of nearby train intensified, it could hit any second, she pivoted toward the wall looking for a niche or access corridor, finding nothing but more footsteps coming from behind.

She bobbed and ducked beneath more blaster bolts, following an avoidant pattern in the Song with her body, well aware it was only a matter of time until.

“Aarrgh!”
The shot didn’t hurt - it just made her left leg below the knee utterly numb,

It was tripping and falling into the metal and gravel, her arms just covering her face, that hurt.

An alcove was just up ahead, an old rust door to another warren of forgotten maintenance ducts, she scrambled up, but fell back down an instant later as her left foot just refused to move and the numbness from the stun blast began to trickle up to her hip.

Grains of rock were wobbling in front as she crawled and clawed, at any second she would either be grabbed or splattered, she knew which she would prefer.

Her world was dragged backward as her feet were latched onto.  

Spinning round best she could, she saw the worn, cursed helmet of her attacker in the dimmest light the single lumen that lit the maintenance corridor could offer.

He pushed a shock-prod toward her chest, she slapped it back and hurled a blast of kinetic energy straight into his face  - the head snapped with a satisfying crunch and the body flew back - but another replaced him, grabbing at her torn Obscura mesh.

As she tousled and kicked a warm sharp blade slid into her numb leg, there was awareness of the injury but no real pain - for now - she kicked and booted, the knife went up cutting through her belt.

A bright light suddenly appeared deep into the tunnel, the attackers noticed the oncoming train, trying desperately to drag her; they succeed only in tearing off her already scratched and cut pants and belt.

With a final bitter grunt Ash Force pushed herself off the ground and into a tumbling crash as the attacker dove to the opposite side of the track as the Train arrived, a blur of motion as she crashed into the alcove.

<<<<>>>>

Brakhest Tahn

The Defilers waited the onerous three minutes for the several kilometer long train to pass, leaping across the gap they activated their Life-scanners, but detected nothing.

“She won’t last long…” Raskhent, Defiler of the Tapani Sector growled beneath his mask

Tahn had to agree still, it was a nuisance she had escaped.

Flicking between his helm’s active scanning setting he detected a small blip of heat and moisture.  Hopping along the track he quickly grabbed a prize of sorts - torn Obscura weave pants sweat and blood smoking off in the underground heat - and a belt of small pouches filled with various miniaturized equipment.

Shuffling through the contents Tahn found something more valuable than the Witch herself.
 

<<<<>>>

Zann

Dilbana was nominally under the rule of Durga Besadii Tai, who had acquired the planet in an infamous personal combat under the ‘Old Law’ with Jiliac Desilijic Tiron, in which Durga had beaten Jiliac to death, in turn a result of Jiliac poisoning Durga’s father Aruk in the never ending feuding between Hutt Lords.

Durga’s ambitions however were far greater than a strip mined slave labour world, the deaths of Jabba Desilijic and Xizor of the Black Sun left a vacuum in the Underwrolds Durga was even now focused on exploiting, leaving Dilbana and Rampa minor to a lacklustre self-indulgent second cousin, Durga content so long as yearly tithes from both kept dribbling in while he tossled for power against other Kajidic on Nar Shadda and the Black Sun remnants across the Core.

It was arguably this very fact that had allowed the Sons of Kessel to expand in the Baxel Sector, the arse end of the Shag Pobol - all eyes that mattered were on richer pickings elsewhere.

But the Sons were not alone in picking the low hanging Goja any more.

The Merciless peered over the dust grey curve of Dilbana, the choking chalk filled atmosphere the result of centuries of strip mining through the grey calcite crust into the mineral rich mantle, the calcite cracked and crushed spread on fast winds around the planet, added to with every pick that cracked the surface.

The bulky vessel was black with white trim, murals of a Krayt dragon adorned either side of the rectangular blunt fore.

Tyber Zann lounged comfortably on the Command throne, the stiff ‘Admiral’ Jeryd Sykes rigid as the support beams, distinguished only by the blue tunic uniform of his own designs, issuing quick two word commands to his officers while he awaited Zann’ orders.

Sykes was certainly no ingenue when it came to space warfare, he had commanded his preferred ship, the Keldabe Battleship End of Days well against the Veiled Sorority Pirates, and wherever Zann couldn’t personally attended, but his tactics and strategy were Academy stiff at times, making him best placed to implement tactics rather than direct strategy.

A small red indicator on his chair control blinked, Zann pressing it to hear the disembodied voice of one of his Defliers on the planet.

“The Jedi escaped, but we have adapted, we will arrive soon,”

It was Brakhest Tahn, a reliable operator out of Lantilles Sector, the first to answer Zann’s call to gather for a big score he had been rewarded by being given the ‘Black Sun Snare’ Mission then broad freedom on how to secure ‘resources’ on Dilbana.
He had asked only that Dilbana be prepped for a bait and ambush, not specifying the how, knowing full well the delfiers would act in his best interests without him, for their own profits share depended on it.

Tahn had made a deal with the leaders of the Prison gangs, Raskhent supplied them with ‘special’ weapons, all they had needed to finish the job was to capture the Son’s agent.

A small grimace crossed Zann’s face, for a moment second guessing if he should have sent Urai instead.  

He quickly dismissed the doubt, his Enforcer's current task far more important.

“Fine but this better be good,” Zann replied, the turned to Sykes,
“Keep us behind the moon, minimum power, we keep waiting.”

Just over an hour later two of the three Defilers he had sent to spread corruption and secure influence upon Dilbana returned.

“The Son’s agent escaped, however she left this behind,” Tahn reached to give the the tiny prize to Zann, eyeing Urai Fen.  Every Deflier knew if they tried any kind of coup, Fen would have their brains for breakfast - quite literally, the beaked Enforcer was the threat of punishment when the promise of profit wasn’t enough to keep the Defilfers loyal.

 Zann rolled the tiny comm link in his palm.

“Child's play,” he smiled, tossing Ash’s comm link, an advanced model that no doubt stored records of the Jedi’s voice print, and while encrypted wouldn’t take long for  Dol-Sernos, his top Crypthacker, to break and manipulate - two of his favorite pastimes.

Using predictive software they could determine from old message what a ‘go' signal from the Jedi witch would’ve been and send it.

“Tell the Sons what they want to hear,” he grinned.

<<<<<>>>>

Ken

“All Squadrons, Agent Aleph has confirmed ‘All Go’, uploading jump trajectories now,” Ornil confirmed across the fleet wide comm, to Ry in her TIE Avenger cradled with the rest of Sledge Squad on the Emancipator, and Ken with Ranger 1 in tier TIE Phantom, the young Mak’tor eyeing past Captain Harm at the controls another TIE Phantom in which he could feel the barely contained rage of the Gen’Dai, Ravge just waiting to be unleashed.

Stay away from that one he recalled Doc Wolfe’s words.

Gazing past to the Raider 2’s he whispered a small prayer for Ry, his mind brushing her presence in the force, the affection between them impossible to diminish even by a distance of hundreds of kilometers.

Yet something felt wrong, amiss, a wavering discordant note every few beats of the Song, the source of which he couldn’t pinpoint - was it the Mission, was it Ravge and his anti-Volunteer cadre within the Sons, his own fear for Ry, or own uncertainty in himself t just how to comport himself - should fight as a Ranger or a Knight?

“See, something I can’t Ken?” Harm asked as he keyed in the co-ordinates, the question was genuine, the former Imperial knew little of the mysteries of the Force and Jedi and Sith, but he did know their premonitions and powers were nothing to trifle with or ignore.

“I’ve just got a bad feeling about this,”

Harm smirked
“Welcome to the club,”

<<<<<>>>>

[TheDutchman]

Even with the most recent victory, more cracks are forming within the Sons, from disparate avenues of attack to the emotional schism between "freed slave" and "volunteer" (the latter of which seems relegated to 2nd-class status amongst the freedslaves, some even going so far as to associate them one rung below the slavers themselves).  Even with a unifying motive, the Sons are reverting to type: a heterogeneous mix of multiple groups that are convinced that their way is the best.

It's almost ironic: given the totalitarianism of the Zann Consortium, they've been more successful as a result.  Certainly the agents of the Consortium are seen working towards a shared goal, instituting each part of Tyber Zann's (and Urai Fen's) plan to infiltrate, undermine, and ultimately destroy the Sons. 

One of the problems with the Sons is that, at least for now, the Sons ARE reliant upon Scrubber keeping them both relevant, operational, and thriving.  It's no wonder that he finds his time with Jal’ina so refreshing.  But one wonders: how truthful is she being?  Is it possible that she is a honey trap/trojan horse sent to infiltrate and undermine everything that Scrubber has done?

Hopefully Ken finds himself (and the Song) before the Sons succumb to either the Consortium's attacks or their own internal turmoil.

Meta-note: Really love the inter-personal scenes with our characters (Ken&Ry, Scrubber&Jal’ina, Ash&her attackers).  Throughout the chapter, we're led further towards the inevitable violence that is already erupting between the Sons and the Consortium.  And we know that it WILL be bloody and violent.

Oh, and I just love Rainbow's latest communique (not to mention the specialized font; I'm going to have to PM LSG for that...)

[Karmack]

Catching up...   I have to echo Dutch, the inter-personals are rich and varied and really drive the story.  The Sons are fracturing, which is probably inevitable as they transition from a small and very tight-knit group of freedom fighters with a common experience into what amounts to a small nation-state.  The problem is, as we see with Scrubber, many of the more militant freed slaves (looking at you, Ravge!) are far more concerned with smashing their oppressors and freeing more slaves than with things like maintenance and logistics.  Zann has a sophisticated support structure, but it is CONTRACTED.  He hasn't built a base nor is he trying to feed his people out of his own resources.   He corrupts and controls and has income from those sources that he uses to fund his activities.  The weakness is that he is like a shark - move, eat, grow or die.  He has to keep growing, keep moving.  But he knows this and that's what he lives for.  When Zann himself is gone this Consortium will undoubtedly fracture like the Greek Empire of old, with the most powerful Lieutenants forming their own organizations.   But that is in the future.  Now?

Now the Sons and the Zann are on a collision course, and they are evenly matched.  And Ken, Ry, and the others are deep in it.  One has to wonder, where will the pressure of supplying his people and defending them from Zann push Scrubber?  And what will he eventually have to do to get Ravge and the other "Brute Squad" members under control?

Tune in next post to find out!  LOL

Love it guys.  This is way advanced from the collaborative ideas we kicked around a while back.   LSG, my complements!   You have once again proven your mastery at plot lines and story arcs!  :-)

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 6 – Intersection - Part 1

Black Armour

Crimson fluid still and wet blanketed the Star Dreadnaught Enforcers Cargo bay, the Skeleton of a TL-1200 was decorated with the cleaved remains of the Liberators and rangers that had been sent here.

Blackstone boots treaded lightly over the blood as superhuman sight enhanced further by Artemis-Chiss Technology scanned each piece of meat relaying confidence levels of the owners species, cross referencing it to the checklist of Sons Rangers that had been deployed here.

A being built for endless warfare, and had lived centuries of it quickly reconstructed what had occurred. 

A single attacker armed with two bladed weapons at least 1 and a half meters in length, either a Stealth field or ‘Buried Presence’ equivalent - most likely both - and possessed of physical reflexes at least 2.5 times humanoid standard.

Drag lines and tracks through the blood indicated that the filtration systems the Sons had been sent to acquire had been looted by others after the slaughter - a clear message We know what you came here for added to the larger message. 

It seemed to be directed at the Sons, certainly their intestines spelled out the words Such is Your fate, but the true message, unwritten, was to Black Armour himself.

We have Our Own Monster

Kneeling down he felt the message tremble through the Aether as his eyes spied the tiniest object in the viscera, inconsistent with the racial pattern of the other victims remains, it looked like a hair, but no this was different, this was…a feather.

Snapping up he raced back to his silent hovering Oblivion vessel, hoping the second wave of this approaching storm had not yet reached the Sons.

<<<<>>>>

Ken

The Phantom swung in low amongst the tailing piles long forgotten by the current Pasha as they moved operations to the more productive end of the vast copper-oxirite and Iron-Duratium vein that ran under the Dry-lands - the Artery of Dilbana they called it for its vast size and productivity despite generations of efforts to mine every ounce of it.

Kens boots crunched on ancient dry gravel, Yekeht, Hosto and Harm behind, Dhul staying with the ship.

Flipping open his tracker Harm took point, following the tracer to Maenowan As’har’Lems signal nearby, their task to make contact then proceed to join the prisoners overthrowing the guards and securing the tonnes of raw resources for transport - in exchange for their help the Sons would provide the prisoners with two freighters to leave wherever they wished.

It wasn’t ideal dealing with criminals so awful the Hutts locked them up, but without their help it would cost the Sons a lot more lives.

Ken had never met As’Har’Lem - few had - she had barely been to M’Tzigon since Silman became kage, snubbing even the election of Er’lav. While Ken had heard vague whispers about the rift between As’Har’Lem and Silman he had never learned exactly what caused it, indeed he doubted even his parents knew. 

Perhaps it was wishful, but he hoped in meeting a Mak’tor who retained their status as a knight but divested themselves of muh of the trappings he might get an idea on how he could settle into a more authentic role with the Sons and as a knight away from M’Tzigon.

“Hold up, life signs, round the next pile,” Harm indicated, Ranger 1 cautious in their approach. They rounded the next tailings pile and an old Ore hauler long since corroded into a half melted blob, spying a group of men with rifles waiting for them.

Kens gut tightened, Yekeht noticed
“Inauspicious perception?” the Weequay gun-nut asked, his custom rifle ever in his hands, back and hips covered in an array of equally modded weapons

“Very,”

The guns in the Prisoners hands all looked new, their faces all variously scarred and tattooed, chests covered in scavenged armour belonging to Gamorreans or Nikto guards, standard Gamorite design.

One of them swaggered toward them, the rest slowly walking in a semi circle as if intending to surround them.

Before the ‘leader could speak there was a blaster snap and his head turned into a black whorl of carbon.

Chaos followed.

<<<<<>>>>

Ry

Barely out of hyperspace Ry peeled her TIE Avenger smoothly from the docking cradles along the rear port side of the sleek Emancipator as it glided on an arc away from the main force, the bulky red drives of Thinkers Dream dominating the view toward the dusty upper crest of Dilbana.

<Sweeping formation> Loftharr ordered to Sledge Squadron, comprising himself, Ry, Shorykam lethal dancer of Kashyyyk who had just finished a course of training new pilots, and Teiro, a new Mirlian pilot recently promoted to flying the Advanced.

“Good hunting Clever Flyer,” Twenty-Two called over the comm, the male Gran leader of Hammer squad was escorting the Indomitable Will, known only by the number usually shortened to Tu-Tu. 

The scarred Tu-tu was rarely so jovial, but despite the late notice everyone on the Emancipator had been upbeat about this raid - coming off victories at Nadiem and Glottal spirits were high. 

The only ‘crease in the ice’ Ry had seen was the rationing of a few items -  airscrubbers, heat sinks, a few patch-over jobs on the TIEs dented solar foils.  Nothing serious but it reminded her how much they needed the resources Dilbana had to offer just to keep going.

They arced round the edge of Dilbana’s moon, the light dying as the curve of it crested past them just as the rest of the Sons fleet engaged the handful of Geo-synchronous stations and the two small frigates patrolling.

“Haru-se and Haru-Nos, bring them in,” Ry heard over the global comm as Colonel Sala quickly outmaneuvered the limited opposition, two of the three DP20 frigates named for constellations native to Aestis minor would be more than enough on their own to deal with the opposition. 

Her scanner picking up the small flotilla of transports and Interceptor escorts heading to the surface before the moon completely blocked off all signals.

“Activating Rad-Scryers,” Ry noted, diverting power from weapons to the stronger sensory suite her ship was equipped with in lieu of the usual missile pods.

With a gentle dip she swung low toward the lightless surface of the moon, feeling only a minor tug from the satellite's paltry gravity as the rest of Sedge Squadron set up an escort around her, the Emancipator further ‘up’ keeping a keen eye out, though they doubted they would find anything at all.

Adjusting the toggles to tune the scanners to ignore the moon's background radiation, she flicked on the transmitter to relay the data to the Raider 2 for the Tactical officer to analyse.

A whole bunch of rocks and nothing more than the odd piece of ancient scrap it seemed.

Her mouth moved with a bored idle chew as she continued the fly over.

“Sledge 3, note upcoming cleft, seems like a larger overhang depression, might need to get in closer,” the Emancipator signalled.

“Confirmed,” Ry replied, checking the topography on her console, wondering how the rest of the battle was going, somewhat regretting her suggestion to sweep the dark side of the moon.

She saw the lip of the large overhang up ahead, an odd natural formation where some large comet had drilled into the surface at an odd angle aeons past creating a sheltered bowl several kilometers wide.

Theoretically, she imagined, someone could hide half a dozen ships in there….

As she moved over the lip her scanner went wild.

It wasn’t just a theory.

<<<<<>>>>

Ken

Ken’s saber wove in controlled arcs bouncing back shot after shot after shot as Harm on  his belly rolled and fired his E11 into legs, Yekeht unleashed his Rifles incredible automatic mode and Hosto kept to close to Ken picking his targets.

They were helped by someone on the hill like tailings piles nearby till after a vicious few minutes the Prisoners were dead.

A skidding sound announced their helper.

Ash landed with a grunt at the bottom of the pile, her legs covered in grazes, an old rag wet with blood around a thigh wound.

“You must be Karm’s boy…” she said by way of introduction.

Damn even here… Ken thought despite himself before rushing to the Maenowan flowing healing energy straight to her.

“Maenowan Lem, let me help you,” he scrambled for his med-kit.

“Just tape it, no time to clean, we need to get out here,” she said, struggling to walk but still managing to reach the Prisoner leader, giving him an angry extra shot to the groin before spitting on him, the seeming opposite of everything Ken pictured of a seasoned Maenowan doing.

“Frelling scum,”

“I take it the Prisoners have reneged on their deal,” Harm deduced as Hosto and Yekeht climbed another tailing pile to search their surroundings.

“Worse, they're working with someone, not the Hutts, someone else…I’m glad you came but sorry you’re here…It’s a trap.”

<<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 6 – Intersection - Part 2

Dilbana - Slave Barracks

Zeta landers slammed down just outside the workhouses kicking up the ubiquitous gray dust and gravel of the Dry lands.

More nimble Aurore Freighters dropped Sons Liberator Regiment Troops in their gray Stormtrooper style Plas Armour on the rooves to secure the high ground.

Within  Yora-Gul and the slaves had begun their uprising, the Sons found doors unlocked, turrets deactivated or malfunctioning.

The Hutt guards, a motley bunch of Gamorreans and Nikto were fighting the slaves armed with makeshift weapons and the handful of arms Ash had smuggled in.

The Liberators came in from behind and sliced them down without mercy or restraint, E11-S rifles set to triple burst fire punching through the durasteel back plates on the third shot to lay the slavers low.  Vibro swords plunged into the backs of knees and necks.

The Labour camps were rapidly secured, the TL-200s close by with the Interceptor escorts heading into land, Yora Ghul’s cell ensured there was minimal confusion and crowding, they had planned for this for months, the youngest and their mothers or primogenitors were hurried out holding metal sheets over their head for minimal cover as the Liberators ushered them along with comforting words.

It was then the lookouts spied something odd - dozens of wheel-like objects as big as a man rolling from a store house and through the camp gates.

Unsure what they were they took aim and asked for orders, until one hoary old veteran of the clone wars recognized them.

“Droideka’s!”

He immediately opened fire, the blast bouncing off the metal shell of the Destroyer Droids, three of which quickly snapped into firing mode shields bubbling round them then unleashing rapid torrents of anti-infantry fire.

Across the camp the Liberators on the roofs were forced to take cover, those caught on the street faring even worse as the Mark II Battle Dorids produced by the Consortium on Hypori in the hundreds unleashed.

The E11-S rifles Aertemis supplied the Sons with were more accurate and harder hitting with a burst fire mode than Imperial standard make E-11, but still struggled to breach the modernized shields of the Destroyers without a dozen or more shots.

Ion and charric weapons fared better but were limited to a handful of troops, fragmentation and thermal grenades slowed and blasted a few, but were a limited resource.

Slaves halfway between the cell blocks and the landers fled in panic, dozens were ct down by the droids programmed to kill any bio-lifeform not within a meter of a ‘Ignore Tag’.

Ignore tags were taped to the chests of the Mercenaries crammed into Stealth field shielded F9-TZ Repuslor transports in advance of a small force of Canderous Tanks and MZ-8 Mobile Pulse Cannons.

The Sons expecting a smash and grab had brought only a small number of tanks and speeders to secure the slave barracks for a few hours while evacuation was completed.

These were now occupied blasting the Droideka’s where they could, the nimble droids rolling to outrun the tanks cannons, but allowing the Sons infantry to pin them up long enough for the tanks Spread Missiles to lock and shatter them six at a time even when out of direct line of sight.

Slowly they were regaining ground and whittling the droids numbers down, but the price was high, scores of bodies of those they had come to save littered the ground, barely two dozen were on the ships, the rest fleeing back inside the thick walled barracks houses, peeking behind the bars.

Then the Mercenaries arrived.

The Pulse cannons fired curved blasts into the Son landing craft, the Canderous Tanks rolled in simply blasting bunk houses apart, the slaves within crushed or exploded apart, screaming and fragmented when by horrid bad luck they didn’t meet a swift death, the tanks repulsors rolled over pounding them into the ground.

Mercenary Assault squads and a handful of Red Armoured Defilers leapt from the cloaked transports in the midst of the Sons cordon, carbonite grenades and Plex missiles firing in between shots from high powered rifles.

Cries for air support were frustrated as the Interceptor escort was harried by the appearance of a Flight of StarVipers, and the Pulse cannons on the ground took shots at them.

Zann’s forces quickly put themselves between the barracks and the Sons ships to cut off their escape, the Canderous tanks far more powerful mass driver cannons blasting an A5-RX battle tank apart, its ordinance of missiles detonating and blasting another huge chunk of the barracks apart.

Chunks of ferrocrete and bodies rained down as the Consortium forces cut the Sons up.

<<<<>>>>

Ry

As soon as the TIE Avenger had detected them the cloaks were shed.

Vengeance Class frigates were costly unshielded vessels, but their cloaking drives were exceptional. In addition to turbo lasers they used four mass driver cannons.

All twelve of these across three ships now unleashed their bladed Doonium projectiles, nearly five meters in diameter; they were enormous bullets silently fired from the barrels on the ships starboard sides.

“Collision impact alert!” the Tactical officer on the Haru-Se called, quickly looking over the scans to see what it was.

“What is it, debris, a satellite?” The captain asked perplexed.

The Sytthan, Vetrae and Carnaash had been waiting by a refuelling station since the Sons arrived, bruning through their energy to keep the cloak active.

Unfortunately for the Sons their rapid achievement of naval supremacy meant the Vengeance Class frigates still had over half their rapidly draining power remaining, allowing them time to position for the devastation that was now delivered as twelve doonium bullets struck two DP20 Frigate through shields tuned to block energy not kinetic weapons.

Duranium hulls ripped asunder and the Corellian engineering corporation ships speed bodies and atmosphere as they sliced through the narrows points of the elongated frigates, cutting the Haru Nos in half, and leaving the Haru Se a pock marked wreck as alerts rang out across the Sons fleet.

On the other side of the moon Ry’s ship was nearly smashed in a head on collision as a swarm of 24 Star Vipers spewed from beneath the overhang.

Slamming reverse thrusters she barely had time to switch power back to full shields before the rest of the Zann consortium force flew straight past her, Aggressor class star destroyers in lead unleashed two charged plasma shots straight into the belly of the Emancipator.

The Raider 2’s shields took the brunt of the first, but couldn’t survive the second, the super heated energy melting into the core of the ship, chaining explosions and structural failure across it in an instant.

Ry didn’t think, didn’t contemplate the sudden loss of life, the strategic damage losing one of their key ships, with Csilla Academy cool and instinct she spun up into formation with her Wing and cut power to the sensors and back to lasers as the battle truly began.

<<<<>>>>

Ken

“Shav…” Harm grunted as they crouched overlooking their Phantom, now surrounded by Prisoners and three men in Red armour.

It wasn’t the fact their TIE phantom had been captured, or that Dhul was bound on the ground in front of the ship being beaten by one of the Red Armoured men that caused the curse - it was the fact every comm channel seemed scrambled, he couldn’t reach the other Ranger teams, the Fleet or even the Brutes.

“...no luck, the scramblers must be damn good,” He whispered to the others.

Ash had already informed them comm’s to her local contacts were out, but that wasn’t hard given the old tech used.  That the Rangers more advanced Crypto-comms were down was sobering.

“What are those things…” Hosto growled his head tentacles swept to the front of his face as he etched with an ancient Chordata bone and Cephlapodon ink three new rings around one of them, each ring representing a kill - Hosto had a lot of tentacles, and a lot more rings.

“Hypori, T-3,” Yekeht replied regarding not the people but their guns, inspecting one he had taken off the prisoners at the ambush
“Perplex. Remote Lockdown…” he showed them all the circuit board, the tiniest chip, barely visible, tiny offshoot lines to the inductor.
“Could Override, but no Tools” the Weequay added

“Nine…ten…eleven…” Harm counted on the macrobinoculars.

“Captain we really need to get her to the ship,” Ken noted feeling, Ash's consciousness slipping as she slouched on him, whatever energy she had was expended on helping them survive the ambush, and it looked  like she had lost a lot of blood.

“Twelve of them, three in armour…” Harm finished “They are the only ones I’m worried about…” he looked to his team, then the increasingly pallid face of Ash, her otherwise rounded features sagging beneath sweat-matted and smoke stained dark hair.

“Ken, anything you can do to make things easier?”

Ken’s eyes narrowed as he crept to the small ledge they were looking down from.

“Maybe, but I need to get in closer,”

“Understood this is how we’ll approach.”

<<<<>>>>

Dilbana - Low Orbit

“Concentrate fire on the frigates, I want the Cruiser intact if we can get it,” Zann ordered from the Merciless as his fleet sped from the Dark side of the moon to support the Vengeance Class Frigates - without a shielding system they were incredibly vulnerable, even with incredibly thick armour to compensate the Sons Ajuur-Class Heavy cruiser could knock one out with a single broadside.

Time was of the essence as his ships curved dangerously close to the moon's surface, using the gravity to sling shot them round and into the Sons flank at a far greater speed than their sublights could normally deliver.

Sykes turned Zanns broad orders into specific actions as they saw the field of battle, the Sytthan was hemorrhaging from turbo laser shots, but the other formerly cloaked ships had managed to disable one of the two Guardian cruisers, but not before its TIE interceptors had scrambled.

Regardless, the Sons force had already lost half its capital ships and were vastly outnumbered. 

The Vengeance Class ships quickly retreated behind the protective wall of Crusader Corvettes speeding ahead as the Aggressors lined up their shots, Star Vipers sprinting ahead followed by blast boats, about to hit a far smaller but aggressive posture combination of TIE interceptors and Avengers.

“Viper 3 divert to our rear, finish off those Avengers,” Sykes commanded noting the destroyed Raider 2’s escort flight was harassing their rear, it would mean they were slightly outmatched fighter to fighter at the front, but the Corvettes would make up for that, already moving fast ahead, their advanced anti-fighter point defence cannons and concussion missile launchers seeking the fast but fragile TIE interceptors.

Sala kept the Dream at the center as she quickly repositioned the few ships she had left, her own angular features staring back at her against the black of the Transparisteel as the Consortium ships came into visual range through the wreckage of the frigates, the tiny red lights of the Interceptors engines peeling away to engage the fighters.

She felt herself standing on a knife's edge - she couldn’t hold her position long enough for reinforcements to arrive and she wasn’t even sure she could hold the Consortium ships long enough for the ground forces who had barely touched down to get back.

The whole thing was a bust.

She slammed the force wide comm starling the twi’leki comms officer.

“All ships draw up in overlapping grid Epsilon, fighters hold those bombers back, all ground forces begin full retreat. We are jumping in…” she looked to her helmsman and navigator in the relatively small bridge of the Ajuur class heavy cruiser that still held the brown blobby aesthetic, a pungent scent, of its former hutt owners.

The Rodian held up all fingers then three more

“...thirteen minutes,”

<<<<>>>>

Dilbana - Slave Barracks

“Still noffin!” J’Kim roared over the fire and the thrum of tank repulsors, his twin J’kam rounding off shots from his heavy Charric rifle into the back of a Canderous Tank,

Brute squad had quickly redirected from their primary mission of securing the pallets of goods for extraction to helping the Liberator Regiments - not because of any transmission as J’Kim with the comms system on his muscled back was finding, but simply Ravge ‘smelling’ the change.

They had arrived none too soon providing some relief for the Liberators, but nowhere near enough.

“Yrrrnnnahhhhh!” Ravge screamed with fury jumping onto an Infantry support platform, tearing the Merc in their mottled grey camo-gear out and slamming them against the metal till body and machine broke.

“FORWARD!” he demanded, a cheer rising from the Liberators hunkered down as they heard the Gen’Dai’s voice. 

Ravge was not an inspiring leader, not a symbol of hope or nobility, for the Sons he was Justice made manifest, a simple uncomplicated hammer crashing upon slavers, his visceral fleshy body, unnerving as it was, more accessible than the mysterious and aloof Black Armour could ever be.

J’kam took up the cry with his fellow Brutes, while J’kim kept trying to work the comms to get any signal, above them TIE interceptors zoomed past Starvipers, Pulse cannons taking a toll on the Sons Slicer Squadron as well, stray blasts from the battle above stirking Consortium and Liberator alike on the ground, an errant missile blasting a vast elongated warehouse into two ruined chunks, slaves sheltering within vanished into glass and rubble.

It was they who were suffering the most in the failed rescue, the Consortium had no qualms about firing on buildings to dislodge the Sons, a good half of the vast labour camp was demolished, perhaps a third of the slaves dead.

A Zeta lander lifted off to try and gain aerial advantage, Liberators tethered to the wings ready to fire down - it barely made it 20 metres before the Consortium tanks blasted it with a barrage of concentrated fire - they were not letting anyone escape.

The Consortium forces were tightening their grip, pushing the Sons into a smaller and smaller area by simply blowing up building they could shelter in.

Overhead a TIE spun out of control and in a last desperate effort the Kubaz pilot rather than eject slammed the entire ship into a Canderous tank to die in glorious battle for a Noble cause thus earning his place thrice over in the Ancestral Curiate.

The largest explosion yet washed heat over a vast area, the Incerceptors wings splintered and became deadly spinning blades of metal that killed as many Sons and slaves as they did Mercenaries.

“Still nothing, what da’ we do boss!” J’kim yelled to Ravge, who even now was half inside another Infantry platform, ripping an Mercenary in half, entrails and organs spilling out, causing another nearby to vomit in terror, J’Kam exploiting the visceral reaction to blast his head part with the Charric.

Ravge growled with fury, the despair in his voice going unnoticed as his damage chords could no longer carry inflections of emotions.

“Fight…run…Fight another day”

<<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 6 – Intersection - Part 3

Ken

It felt like a dozen hands were pushing his arms and overlapping and squeezing his fingers as he burst out.

A thrumming Battle tune pulsed through Ken’s veins as he unleashed, a blaster rifle in each hand, the larger on the left nearly overbalancing him, but the Song kept him steady and guided his aim with unnerving precision, blasting the chests of the lightly armoured Prisoners two at a time..

Hosto and Yekeht came in from the other side, the Weequay’s bespoke rifle firing off a torrent of shots shredding the legs from under the Prisoners, Harm, shielding Ash, fired from a high point nearby.

The Defilers acted immediately, taking cover behind the Phantoms landing gear,, adding to their already formidable armour.  They were crack shots, Yekeht hit in the knee within seconds before he could reach the second clever point, and Ken forced to dive out of the way.

But the young knight adapted, his original plan would no longer work, but another presented itself, keeping low he reached out with the Force balling his energy strongly as he could, feeling the chill on his spine that attention was about to turn back to him, even as he felt Hosto’s pain from a wound erupt in the Song, a discordant red.

The Phantom wobbled slightly, a motion ignored by the Defilers beneath as just the result of being hit by stray shots.  Ken grunted in effort feeling as if he were carrying a rancor on his back, it was said ’size matters not’ and perhaps for some Knights that was true, but, like most Mak’tor he knew, the larger the object you tried to move the more of the Force you had to draw on, and the more strained your connection became, an elastic band stretched ever closer to snapping.

His teeth began to chatter,, eyes blinking and milky about to turn back into his head  Is this how Dad felt when he healed me? his slipping mind wondered.

Then it snapped.

The three landing piston valves he had been pulling broke open, the gas jetting out and the pistons collapsing - taking the ship down with them, crashing it atop the Defilers.

The whole weight of the TIE phantom came down on two of them, crushing them into the gravel, the third half out managed to scurry out just in time but his leg was caught.

Sensation and lucidity flooding back Ken rose, his head and body feeling so light they might float away as he took up his saber, body moving by rote muscle memory rather than intention to block two bolts then bounce one straight into a prisoner's un-helmeted head.

Harm began to move up as his team finished the last of the Prisoners, glad to have a Wizard on his side.

Yekeht limping badly headed to untie Dhul, the Givins exo-skeleton showing no obvious damage, but his balled posture and torn clothes indicated he had been severely beaten.

As Harm guided Ash down, Ken groggily sliced through the last two Prisoners, the leg crushed Deflier taking shots at him, without even thinking Ken sliced down taking off the hand then plunging his saber into the neck, the armour resisting but not impervious.

Clambering round the back to the Phantom’s open hatch Ken felt a warm cut along his cheek open up with a splatter of his own blood.

A fourth Deflier was waiting inside the Phantom for him.

<<<<>>>>

Dilbana - Low Orbit

“Hacker 2 Eject Eject!”
“Mallet 8 on your six!”
“Coming round!”

“Ringo cover!” Tu-tu demanded as he swung round toward the Crusader class corvette, thruster burning red.  The Mandal Hypernautics vessels were designed to  savage star fighters and had precise point defence turrets that had blasted the missiles fired to try and break the relatively smaller ships.

If they were going to take the pressure off they neede to get in closer, Tu’tu wove the nimble Avenger through the yellow crossfire, Ringo close behind on the watchout for Starvipers, both glad to be flying the Avenger rather than the less shielded and slower Interceptors that were taking the absolute brunt of the punishment as the dog fight moved around the Dream.

His auto target clicked yellow as it began to lock onto two of the point defence turrets, the beak like face of the Corvette glaring him down as a few shots bounced against his shields.

Trusting his instinct Tu-Tu waited till the last possible moment

“Hammer 1 Vulpes 1 and 3!” he launched two concussion missiles, now relying on the bespoke Aertemis Industries multi-lock adaptive missile guidance software to ensure the missiles avoided counter measures.

Sheer weight of counter fire blasted one, but that redirection let Tu-Tu and Ringo open up with thor lasers on the now more easily seen firing points, the second concussion missile scored a direct hit as their green cannons blasted two more, cutting the Corvettes firing capacity by a quarter as they overshot to come in for another pass.

“Vipers, at our 9!” Janno called,

Damn it Tu-Tu could curse but kept himself and his ship level,

“Peel off we need to get out of range of the Corvettes, Sledge where are you!”

<Making headway> Loftharr replied as the TIE advance squad spun round the face of the moon, the wookie flight leader wiggling his wings as Starviper tailed him, jetting counter measures to detonate a concussion missile on his tail

Ry spun in from the side, her cannons charged punching green energy into the Viper, tracking along its path that mirrored Loftharrs, blasting two of its extended wings and sending it into a spin the pilot controlled.

She had no time to finish it off, swerving back to assist Teiro who was cutting and weaving around two vipers, the X shaped upright vessels well armed and well piloted, they’d all taken hits, but none critical yet, the TIE Avenger’s shields holding well enough, but the swap of her SFS M-g-2 general-purpose warhead launchers for the advanced sensory system was now galling her more.

Limited to her laser cannons the best she could do was short-wire the sensors into the targeting system to create a faux ‘missile lock’ signal and harass the enemy a little.

Teiro pivoted between the Vipers, using every meter per second the Avenger had over the StarVipers to keep them from scoring solid hits. hard banking in Ry activated her ‘missile’ targeting system to try and line up the first Viper, the pilot no doubt feeling her breath jinking away from Teiro.

While the wookies fended off four others Ry now found herself coming face to face with the Starviper, seemingly intent on playing ‘chitlik’ with her seeing who would blink first.

Holding her nerve Ry accelerated slapping shields double front taking a battering from the Vipers two lasers as she flicked her cannons power setting to over charge the next shot, her main worry that the bastard was softening her shields to launch  concussion missile or worse proton torpedo.

Barely 3 kliks apart both moving at  45 meters a second Ry gritted her teeth and held her nerve till the last moment as her shield flickered dead and the flare of the torpedo launched from the Viper.

All four of her cannons burst near white beams into the Vipers face, the enemy pilot swiftly using the highly maneuverable wings to perform a slide to port, two of her blast glancing but the other two hitting hard taking the shields and through to singe and melt the starboard wings.

In the same quick moment she slammed the reverse thrust and killed the dampers, at least six gravities pushing her into her seat, as she performed a ‘hand break turn’ the Proton torpedoes crashing into the rear tips of her wings, the impact bashing her to the side, sher shoulder smashing into raw titanium of the cramped cockpit, an ache shivering up her arm as the Torpedoes mercifully swung past, the impact not enough to trigger their explosion.

Accelerating on her new course she lost sight of the Vipers for a brief moment as she looped round, the dampers still off her body wheezed under the sudden inertia, till coming around she just spied the tip of the Vipers pointed wings and pulled the trigger.

The minute delay between the trigger and the cannons firing was the moment in which her guns lined up with the upper wings and top of the main canopy, the four less powerful but still strong blast all striking, the Vipers top wings blasting off and the cockpit canopy becoming a scorched mess.

Stabilising she saw the Viper fly in a tailspin away, unbalanced without its upper wings.

Shorykam was helping Teiro break free, Loftharr sweeping in a wide arc to give himself space to target, but her HUD showed they were all depleted, only three concussion missiles left, Six Vipers still on their tails, and the Consortium fleet between them and the rest of the Sons, and the Emancipator that had carried them here now so much wreckage floating over Dilbana’s moon.

<Dream This is Sledge leader, we need to retreat, we are under pressure can’t make it to you,> Loftharr said in a pained growl, knowing they could not help

<Acknowledged Sledge, salvage what you can,> was the quick empathetic reply.

Ry angrily kicked the panel above her feet as she banked away.

<<<<>>>>

Ravge

He roared his frustration and unleashed it as three massive ‘limbs’ for muscular fiber into the Mercenaries, rending their torso’s apart as their shots indifferent bounced off his integrated cybernetics and thick hide.

Ravge could see them with his incredible Gen-Dai eyesight, the disappointment on their faces peering behind the bars of the workhouse as they saw the Sons, barely thirty meters away, forced to retreat.

The only semblance of peace Ravge ever experienced from the nightmare need to fight and kill drilled into him over centuries in the Gladiator Pits of Lirra, Outland Station and a dozen other arena’s was in the vicarious satisfaction of the relief and joy felt by those he freed.

He lurched back as a PLEX missile struck deep in his chest, the elastic ability of his muscle cords bouncing it out, but not quite in time, the explosion cauterizing a good fifth of his body.

The pain meant nothing, he deserved it all. 

There was no forgiveness for the things he had done, he had become numb to the suffering he had inflicted on the innocent in those years, younglings, elders, scholars, holy-women, priests - all thrown in to be destroyed for sport, cowering as the massive Gen’Dai was tasked to perform ever more elaborate executions using his flexible body.

He saw no way out, it was the way things were, he tried to convince himself he had no choice.

There was always a choice, he could have resisted and died. 

He would never find peace or forgiveness, he could not and would not fight for himself and the life he did not deserve, only others - it was the least he could do - to save the innocent from beings like him.

And so he raged in bloody frustration against the Mercenaries, rampaging through the pain as the Sons cried for succour from the Mobile Pulse cannons that even now burst a flare of energy into a Zeta lander, the Imperial ship and all aboard cracking into a yellow flare.

He indulged the suffering of his body to ram his bundled fibers into the underside of the hovering vehicle, prise it up and tear it open, frantic mercenaries firing point blank into his face, his jaw dislocated to gnash off their faces.. 

Sparks and shards of metal that sliced into him ratcheting the agony that reminded him he was alive still.

The rout was complete as he pounded toward the remaining ships, Brethren with less strong constitutions falling from shots in the back as they tried to escape with him. 

He expanded the width of his body to cover those he could, dozens of blaster shots searing into him before crashing into the last lander, much of his body a smoking charred wreckage.

The Ship rocked and tumbled as small arms fire hit it, but with the Pulse Cannons destroyed it could actually lift successfully.

The handfuls of shattered Liberators that remained rushed toward the three landers, risking the cross fire of the mercenaries for chances to escape, the Brutes gripping those they could and pulling them on board, some slipped their grip - the lucky ones were shot swiftly by the Mercenaries, the less lucky would be captured.

Pounding through the now empty cargo bay, once full of troops, Ravge grabbed a pintle mounted repeater with one hand as the ship reached beyond the chance of any to leap onto.

With his face set hard as stone he did what few others could, delivering a Gladiators Mercy to his un-saveable Brethren rather than let them be tortured and re-enslaved by the Consortium, the night falling his bloody red spots lit the smoking ground as the Zeta accelerate fast as it could.

He didn’t stop until the power cell clicked depleted, his sins added to, his rage intensified, and the Peace he sought slipped through his fibers once more.

<<<<>>>>

Ken

Sheathed in crackling energy the Defilers fist struck Ken’s shoulder hard and numb.

In the tight confines of the Phantom there was no room to safely wield his saber, Ken stumbled back under the armourer soldiers blows, his own plas-plate not faring well.

Falling back on his close quarters fighting Ken ducked and grabbed the Song-steel Gurka from his boot, a gift from his father which in a backhand grip he went for the leg, the blade biting but not cutting through.

The young knight's head was still spinning from dropping the Phantom, the Song raw and scratchy in his mind as he tried to let it guide his actions. While he felt slow Ken was keeping pace avoiding the worst of the energised fists the Defiler threw at him, but struggling to land his songsteel blade.

Their blows did more damage to the ships cramped interior than each other, the song steel cutting the chairs, the energised fists denting the walls until Ken finally drove his blade under the Delfiers arm, lodging in he couldn’t pull it out and suffered a blow to the head for trying.

Dazed he lurched back, the Delfier drilling him in the ribs before Ken could respond half leaping half falling onto him with all his weight. Fumbling on the floor, banging into the chairs, grappling and twisting Ken managed to get underneath trying to lock the Defilers helmeted head in a choke grip.

A needle-dagger jetted from the Defilers gauntlet into Kens arm, followed by three thvumps of blaster shots.

Harm stood over the pair E11S smoking, the Delifer twitched and he fired again until it stopped.

“We’ve got no comms, we’re leaving,” the former Imperial said, reaching out to help Ken up.

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 6 – Intersection - Part 4

Dilbana - Low Orbit

There was no fleet left to speak of; yet Colonel Sala directed its full fire power onto the Aggressor Destroyer.

“Redeemer jump NOW!” Colonel Sala ordered over the static filled comm.  Communication with the surface had been utterly cut off, but for now inter-ship comms held.

The Guardian Light Cruiser, belching bodies and gas along its starboard side didn’t waste a moment in leaping on its auxiliary hyperdrive, whether it would make it back to Teth at all another question, at least they wouldn’t die here.

Thinker’s Dream was holding the line as long as it could, its shields were gone, she was relying on the increasingly shot punctured hull to survive.

“How much longer,” she called out

“Three minutes, Interceptors are en-route to escort,” the officer reported back, they had picked up two Zeta landers and one Aurore Freighter from the surface rushing toward them - three of 14 landing craft.

It was clear the surface had been a trap likely worse than orbit, she wouldn't abandon them.

“Hammer can you assist?”

“Tied up!” Tu-Tu replied instantly, the TIE Avengers the only fighters that were giving a good account against the Star Vipers and Corvettes,

Pursing her lips Sala tried another tactic, slicking her alrighty tightly bound in an officer bun hair back as if to push away the stress.

“Will break formation and move between the transports and the Corvettes, then jump when you can,” she directed their last Raider 2 Corvette, better armed than the Crusader class corvettes of the enemy it could handle the two that remained - for a little while.

To her port the Relievance fired a paltry underpowered volley into an Aggressor's  shields, the second Guardian cruisers power systems had been damage leaving all its cannons operating at best 50 percent charge.

The Dream followed up with its own forward Turbolasers, the blunt faced aggressor taking some serious damage, but there were three more where that came from, and it was all she could do to avoid their charged plasma cannons.

Point defence batteries blasted another Skip-ray out of existence, the Dream bearing the scars from more successful attack runs.  Almost every Interceptor was now down, either retreating back into their docks, or fragmented by the Consortium Corvettes, powerful overlapping anti-fighter fire.

“Ma’am we have a jump solution, minimal risk,” was at her left as she scrutinized the tactical map looking for any way to buy a few more seconds as the Aggressors closed in.

“Incoming ships, Boarding vessels!” was at her right

Her sole objective now was damage minimisation, preserving as many vessels, men and materiel as possible. 

That required sacrifices.

Zann watched carefully as the Sons made a fighting retreat as best they could, sending their last handfuls of TIE interceptors to try and head off the Dekard boarding ships, Sykes quickly repositioning the Anti-fighter corvettes to catch them in turn, which reduced pressure on the last Raider II which managed to make a dangerous low orbit jump.

“Carnaash and Tahka, move to the gap,” Sykes ordered

“Belay that,” Zann countered, his Admiral stiffening at the loss of a perfect chance to dig the blade in deeper by wiping out the last of the ground forces. 

“Concentrate your fire on the last Light cruiser,” Zann offered instead, Sykes turning his board direction into specific vectors to nail their 4th capital ship into the ground.

The Zeta’s and Aurore pushed hard as they could to the Dream, Skiprays diverting round to chase them, Tu-Tu and Hammer squad peeling off to starboard, blasting two skip-rays, but not before the missile loaded boats destroyed one of the Zeta’s before having to retreat back out of range of the Dream’s handful of still operation turrets.

Relievance found itself under too much pressure, the Light cruiser an eroded wreck of how it had started the day.

“Colonel we can’t continue, I’ll buy you a few more moments,” Captain Llassa of the Relievance commed to a grim faced Sala, already hitting the afterburners heading straight at the Crusader Class Corvette Tahka, three remaining turbo lasers firing.

“Appreciated Captain, Hammer pull out when you can,” Sala replied, Tu-Tu wasting no time to round behind the Dream but still taking another Viper and Skip ray on the way before his Hyperdrive equipped Avengers jumped.

The Dream shuddered as the first of the transports all but crashed in the hangar, the second following moments later.

Zann leaned back contented, he needed at least some survivors from the surface to carry the trauma of the ambush there back to the Sons base.

“Jump now!” Sala ordered, within moments the Ajuur Class Heavy Cruiser pivoted hard, the thrusters and damners along with the doonium skeleton itself crying in pain as rivets and bolts popped from the maneuver as damaging as any hit they had taken.

The last whole vessel of the Sons fleet vanished in a blur of pseudomotion as the Relievance pushed into the gap between the Consortium vessels, firing hard as it could with what little it had left.

“Hold fire and redirect the boarding ships and Skiprays to disable,” Zann said, “I want as many of them alive as possible…”

They had already captured nearly a dozen on the surface, a Captain would make a nice….

The white flare of the Cruisers reactor going critical ended his plans, the Tahka turned to glass shards in the heated explosion.

Zann didn’t miss a beat, the suicidal action confirming his suspicions.

“And that is the game with rebel products, push the right button’s hard enough and they’ll kill themselves rather than be taken back…and now we know which ones they are,.”
 

<<<<>>>>>

[Karmack]

Its a trap...    Always a trap.

The elation of success followed by the pain of defeat and loss.   The Sons are going to be feeling this day for a LONG time.  Even Ravge impotent against a powerful and well-positioned foe.

Zann has the initiative and a huge advantage - he knows his opponent (mostly) and he knows that they are in fact fighting.  The Sons have known neither of these things.   They are becoming aware now and will begin to recover and regroup.   The question now is can they react fast enough to first save themselves and second respond?  And whether Zann really appreciates it or not, his Consortium has locked itself into a life-and-death struggle with an opponent that simply will not quit.  They may be beaten, but they will not be defeated.

The next moves will be critical.   I can't wait to see what Scrubber and Zann do next.

[TheDutchman]

And so the trap clamps shut.  Even with us knowing that it's coming, the Consortium's response to the Sons is absolutely brutal, made all of the worse given that while the Consortium can absorb the losses, the Sons most certainly cannot.  But that's just the tip of the proverbial iceberg.

With tensions being what they are within the Sons, the fractured loyalties and disparate comradery, a loss of this magnitude can lead to two probable outcomes: 1) the already fragmented Sons split further along the lines, chaos ensuing or 2) it serves to galvanize the Sons against what they would deem yet another slaver organization.  Both are more the possible and with logistics and supplies being what they are, the Sons are going to have to make some very poignant decisions going forward from this.

This is precisely why Scrubber is the way that he is, feels the way that he does, and acts they way that he acts.  He's already been broken, shattered beyond his constituent parts, and slowly rebuilt himself from the rubble, making him all the stronger for it.  Of course, even diamonds can be broken given the right tool and strike.

Still, those members of the Sons continue to do their part: Ken, striving for his own identity absent of any association to his (in)famous father and Ry from her family (indeed her very race) prove themselves during the conflict, motivated by their own laudable rationale and not the hollow clang of "glory."  But the most introspective POV comes from Ravge: from his own reasons, self-regret, and chagrin, we see just how and why his commitment to the Sons is all-consuming.  Hopefully he does not lose sight of his purpose through either the fires of zealotry nor the storms of contrition.

An interesting juxtaposition betwen Col. Sala and Admiral Sykes: they're undeniably career military yet they are more than just obverse sides of the same coin.  Just how loyal are they to a cause rather than to extrinsic rewards?  Time will tell.

But for now, the Sons will have to regroup, nurse wounds, and rethink everything.  One thing is for certain: this is all FAR from over.

Meta-note: the TO&E along with the visual tactical analogue is just awesome; really goes to highlighting how well it supplements the awesome dramatic scenes^^  Besides: who doesn't love seeing TIE Avengers in action 

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 7 – Fracture - Part 1

Zann

Urai glared at the Nikto, his beady black avian eyes causing them to back down as Tyber Zann strode confidently forward flanked by three of his Defilers, his bleached white hair wild and unrestrained as his demeanor toward the Pasha’s throne amidst the more fertile reaches of Dilbana’s equatorial cities, far as possible from the Slave camps and prison mines.

The Hutt pasha, a patsy of Durga, tried to look diffident but the scent alone indicated he was sweating bullets, the vermillion cushions under its fat form wet.  Around him in the audience room, decorated with Lirran weaves typical of this end of the Shag Pabol were holo’s from close circuit systems showing the chaos of the Prison camp now filled with hundreds of free murderers and gangers armed with T-3 Rifles.

Rifles that Zann’s Defliers himself had supplied to the Prisoners under a promise that, in exchange for their help, Zann would recruit them all into his forces.  He had no intention of honouring that, but the Pasha didn’t need to know.

 “Well Pasha, the Sons are off with their tails between their legs, but you still have one hell of a Prisoner uprising on your hands. And I,”

He held up a blocky antenna bearing remote

”...Have the solution.  All those blasters have a master override linked to this controller, one press and they are switch off…’course they can be hotwired, but that would take some nifty tools and a lot of time - during which your guards can re-establish control…so…”

The Hutts watery eyes kept looking round as if for an escape pod from his situation

<What do you want for your…services> It jittered at last finding some form of spine 

“Influence, a favour…and a cut - 15 per cent of all the Duranium you produce per quarter, unmarked, forged into bars, grade Besh or better, ready for export and sale,”

The Hutt gulped, already he had to give 28 per cent to Durga as his vassal, another 15 lost would make the operation barely profitable…unless he worked the slaves and prisoners much harder.

<And that is all?>

“Just the start,” Zann smiled with a sneer, sticking his hands in his long coat pockets as if casually arranging to buy some death sticks.

“The Consoritum has the exclusive right to sell you the first 5000 slaves you buy each standard year, at a price I will set, and we’ll need access to check product logs to ensure you don’t squirm out of it, and you agree to a further 500,000 credits per month to employ the Consotrium as a defence contractor for the system against the Sons of Kessel for the next four months - and only the Sons of Kessel,”

The deal was patently one sided, but Zann had his fleet in orbit, and if the Pasha were to complain to Durga the most likely outcome is Durga would have him flayed for allowing Dilbana to become so vulnerable in the first place.

<You must agree this arrangement is kept discrete,>

“Durga will never know so long as you keep your end of the deal,” Zann affirmed leaning over the Hutt.

<You guarantee the Sons will not attack again for four months…but what happens after that?>

The truth was simply, Zann could not pay his Mercenaries for any more than six months - his campaign limited by his credit lines, the need to recoup costs, and provide bonuses to the contracted Mercenary Brigades - and his Defliers had their own business to attend to, none could stay out of their own Territories for more than a few months, nor would Zann want them to - the diversification and spread of his Empire of Corruption was its strength - a concentration of power was a great boon, but only ever temporary.

He would act quickly and brutally, gain Prestige, Profit and a few fitting Prizes - then move on to the next Big Score and leave the Baxel sector to Durga once more. 

Zann lifted the remote for the T-3s and with a single click rendered the Prisoners unarmed once more, giving the Hutt ‘control’ of his world once more.

“The Sons will be gone in four months,”

<<<<>>>>>

Ry

“We were betrayed!” the voice of Ravge boomed across the Heavy Cruisers Hangar as pilots struggled out of their cockpits, the few medics helped the wounded.

Ry landed on the hard floor with a jump due to a lack of ladders, the impact shooting up into her sprained shoulder as the Gen-Dai hunched and predatorial swung his head in rapid motions seeming to interrogate every being.

She had docked with the Dreamer at the first emergency Rendezvous point, all of Sledge squads Avengers depleted and damaged. 

“Who….who….” The Gen’Dai growled pacing toward her where by happenstance she stood with a few other being who were mostly volunteers rather than former slaves.

His neck elongated by the incredible power of his expansionary muscles toward them

“Not True brethren….one of YOU?!”

Ry could feel the blood - or whatever forsaken equivalent powered the Gen-Dai - boiling within the heat washing over her.

He quickly turned on another group, his stride extraordinarily rapid, the kind of speed she’d only seen Mak’tor and Black Armour use, but his voice bellowed like the roar of a primal storm god shaking the overhead loader rails and nyal-steel cables hanging loose or locked to crates and cargo containers.

“I will find the traitor…you will not hide from me….” his voice vanished out of ear shot and she released a breath she didn’t realise she had been holding, the pain in her arm shooting back, the knock more serious than she had thought.

<Ry’lak,>  Loftharr interrupted the wookie looking haggard as the extent of the defeat became more and more apparent
<Are you injured?>

“Ugh just my arm…I think I popped my shoulder,”

<We will find a medic…> the wookie looked down to Ravge, the bestial Brute Squad leader still sniffing at Volunteers as if treachery were a pheromone.

<This suspicion of our own…does not bode well,> the wookie finished.

<<<<>>>>

Scrubber

Lurching forward he caught himself on the desk staring into the blank table top.  The war he had dedicated himself to fighting had never been without losses, and he had known his share, but this had hit harder than most.

He breathed deeply, eyes closed trying to steady himself, drawing his breath to not speak, but yell at the top of his once silenced voice.

“How did this happen!” Scrubber slammed his fit on the desk in a rare display of utter rage, the lists of the dead from the manifest of the lost vessels scrolling past on a holo as the vista outside his office of the verdant water fall replete with chirping dactyls seemed to insult the solemnity and tragedy of the moment with its aesthetic beauty.

“You are meant to be able to foresee things like this - avoid them!” his raptor like features sharply stabbing at the silent figure opposite.

Black Armour stood unmoved arms across his chest.

“This was deliberate, our plans leaked, our agents compromised…months of planning, hundreds of good sires and sirra’s…HOW did YOU not see this!”

The Togruta’s rage quieted as he breathed deeply, a solace found as the image of Jal’ina came to his mind.

“I’m sorry my friend,” he apologised to Black Armour

“I know you are not omniscient, if you had forseen such a disaster you would have forestalled it…this loss is - harder than it might otherwise have been - after such success…”

He stood straight once more wiping a handful of tears from his eyes, each death cut him, they always had, and always would, as unavoidable as they were inevitable, he could never become inured to the suffering of his brothers and sisters in the Struggle - should that day come he would truly not be fit to lead.

Scrubber was beginning to doubt he was as is.

“The Enforcer...Qillov, Argeni…I assume given they were not here when I returned they did not secure the Filtration systems” he added grimly
“Was it Zann?”

Black Armour nodded.

Scrubber felt he was about to faint, Qillov, the Liberators, Argeni, the Alliance Prisoners - if they had ever existed at all - and above all the Filtration systems…the Justicar would remain bound for weeks now when they needed it most, to say nothing of the loss of some of his best Rangers.

“I will…address our brethren in 45 minutes, if anyone asks till then tell them…” he looked at his friend up and down, remembering Black Armour's mere existence negated the need for excuses if anyone came knocking.

“...I need to settle myself first,”

Scrubber passed with a rapid gait leaving the Oblivion clad figure alone. 

Eyesight far greater than most magnifiers noted up an oddity on the chair across the table. 

Stepping over, Abyss clad fingers lifted a strand of dark blue hair with finesse none could imagine for such a large warrior.

The man behind the mask that was Black Armour observed the Zeltron hair with curiosity.

<<<<>>>>

Ken

“She’s lost a lot of blood, I did what I could,” Ken blurted as he helped Harm lift Ash from the collapsable bed onto a proper gurney, Doc Wolfe sweeping a scanner over her.

“We’ll take care of her from here,” the professional mask was over the older mans face, his eyes quickly darting to Ken

“Get yourself seen by the Nurses at Bay 12, looks like you’ve suffered a few hits,”

Ken could hardly disagree, his head had been swimming the whole trip back.  Fortunately the TIE Phantoms cloak had enabled them to avoid the Consortium patrols of Star Vipers, but they’d only caught up with Rangers 3 and 4 on the way back, Ranger 2 still unaccounted for.

He staggered toward the non-emergency treatment section, his eyes moving constantly trying to see if he could see Ry anywhere.  He had no idea what had happened to the fleet, or even if they were back yet, there had been no time to catch up on anything.

Slumping into a steel chair along a row of eight others he was struck that, whilst the med wing was busy, it wasn’t as busy as after Glottal…meaning…

Meaning less of us got out alive

Head flopped back he hummed a healing and calming motif, the Song scratchy but not as raw as before, he could now feel the deeper pain of the charged punches he’d taken in his chest.

A Zeltron nurse without even asking took his head, shining a scanner-light in his blood shot eyes, then pulling up his body glove, her warm delicate hands pressing at his ribs and sternum.

“Any injury below the waist,” she asked matter of factly, he shook his head as she scanned his stomach..

“Concussion, abdominal and chest bruising, minor lacerations on arms and face,” she pulled off the bacta patches Hosto had applied, the taciturn Nautolon member of Ranger 1 skilled with a med-kit.
“Healing well, reapply the patches, no flying or operating vehicles for twelve hours then reassess, do you need a Anas-stimm for the pain?”

Again he shook his head, the Song would calm the physical stabs, seeing Ry again would calm his darker fears.

“Good,” she finished moving to the next in line.  As Ken idly looked around after slapping on new bacta patches he saw Scrubber at an almost half jog heading toward him, he’d never seen such an unsettled look on the Togruta’s face - Dilbana must’ve been a bigger disaster than he thought.

Scrubber went straight past him and the others to Jal’ina

“Oh, Scrubber, apologies,” she said her tone completely different to the way in which she had spoken to Ken and the other patients moments before, the cool, indifferent clipped words replaced with long vowelled crooning.

“My work, as you can see…”

“Yes…yes of course I came here to…to check on everyone…by the Navi so many wounded…”

“And more coming in,” Wolfe said, moving past as the far doors opened to admit another stream.

At the centre of the large group was the unmistakable Ravge, his enormous body looking more dead than alive, yet even before Ken's eyes he could see the Gen’dai’s incredible physiology instituting self repairs as he carried four beings, including J’kim and J’kam the two burly humans who had ‘arrested’ Ken during his first tenure.

Ken wasn’t even trying, but for the first time he felt something beneath the wall of rage in the Gen’dai, something convicting and hateful, not directed outward, but within.

It was soon gone, hidden beneath fury as the Gen’dai laying his comrades down pounded toward Scrubber, Ken just noting the tall wookies coming in behind, feeling Ry among them.  relief he should have felt replaced with tension as the Gen’dai interrupted Scrubber and the Zeltron nurses whispers.

“We are betrayed, our brethren slaughtered,” Ravge vast maw was right in Scrubbers face, toxin laced saliva dripping from his fangs.

“The traitors must be found, this new enemy struck viciously and quickly,”

If not obvious before, it was clear Ravge thinking was still that of a Gladiator, you could never ever show weakness, wounds were ignored, the opponent hounded without respite no matter what toll it took on you, for in the end only one could survive the bout. 

Larger scale warfare was not so simple,

“Agreed,” Scrubber replied as Ry slid round the edge of the growing crowd surrounding the pair toward Ken, her right arm in a sling her left hand caressed his face

“Every effort will be made to find those responsible, and they will be considered no better than the slavers they have helped, for make no mistake, this ‘Zann Consortium’ is not a new enemy my Sires and Sirra’s, but the same one we have faced since the beginning.  The Evil of slavery, the belief that one can own the body mind and soul of another manifests from the Throne of the Hutts, the seething desks of pimps, to the whip-master of Fathier stables, this Zann was always our enemy,”

The Sons leader looked askance genuine remorse in his eyes, though Ken noted his hand was behind him, the Togruta clutching the Zeltron nurses hand as if for succour.

“Hundreds of our brethren have fallen, their names will not be forgotten, and the greatest honour we can give them is to fight ever harder for the Cause they gave their lives for,”

The words were stirring, the assembled crowd impressed no doubt, even Ravge seemed mollified, yet Ken felt something off about Scrubber.

The confidence and determination that surrounded the Togruta was always to Ken's senses a sharp and rapid percussion, almost painfully intense at times, that now seemed somewhat dulled. 

The Knight guessed it was the intensity of the shock of the defeat, yet looking past the crowd he noted Black Armour in the corner, his faceless helm unusually focussed on Scrubber rather than dissecting everyone else for threats.

The Oblivion Soldier's gaze turned to him, Ken felt an unspoken question, as if asking Do you sense it too?. 

Ken nodded in reply, although not sure if the ‘question’ he sensed wasn’t just his concussion rattled mind imagining things.

Scrubber finished with a rousing recital of the Sons ancient axiom of threat and hope.

“And I assure you all, that for this Tyber Zann - the Sons are Coming.”   

<<<<>>>>

 
“It’s fine, keep that for yourself,” Ry half chastised as she felt the touch of Ken’s powers of ‘triage’ on her, her shoulder popped back in was a little off but perfectly functional.

He was lying back on their tiny cot, fed and washed once more, hoping they had more time to recuperate this time than after Glottal, his head nested in Ry’s lap as she ran her fingers through his hair that still smelled of the coppery water of the sanisteamers.

“So what happened on the planet?” she finally asked.

“The Prisoners we were meant to team up with were armed, turned on us, Ash helped but was already injured, comms were down, our Phantom captured, poor Dhul got beat hard, he’s with Scaari now…Maker each mission we seem to lose someone else…”

“We were lucky we were in Avengers…” Ry said solemnly regarding Sledge Squadron
“The Corvettes demolished the Interceptors, From what saw I on Thinkers Dream on the way back only 5 fighters made it back…most of the fleet was wiped…so easily too.”

“There has to be a spy, or multiple,” Ken sighed closing his eyes, allowing the Song to gentle chime through his body repairing the damage and soothing the fatigue, yet in the background discordant notes interrupted the normally thrumming determined beat of Eurydice base.
“Things aren’t right…”

“Credit where it's due, if it is a spy they must be damn skilled to get past Black Armour…and suicidally brave not to be afraid of what Ravge will do them if they get caught.” Ry shuddered at the thought, Ken sensing a deeper fear.

“He’s scary,” Ken admitted of the Gen’Dai
“Black Armour is intimidating, unnerving, but…even when he rescued Jorya - she said he was incredibly brutal - but always in complete control…Ravge…” his closed eyes squinted
“...Ravge feels like he could explode at any moment…”

“Especially at Volunteers,” Ry agreed.

“Things were already tense between some of the Freed and the Volunteers…I’m afraid this will make it worse,” Ken grimly noted

“Oh Probie…I’m certain it will.” 
 

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 7 – Fracture - Part 2

Scrubber

“What do we know…” Scrubber asked his gaze sharp at everything and nothing all at once as the Sons leadership met, Ornil just back from deploying ships to ensure lines to Nadiem and Glottal remained secure.

“The Zann consortium, currently riding high after outplaying the Hutts and the Empire for a few years…” Kal-Estp explained

“It has a substantive fleet, mostly Mandal Hypernautics craft commanded by Jerid Sykes, a lifelong fleet officer with experience stretching back to the clone wars, doesn’t care who he serves so long as he has a fleet to command.  Dozens of frigates and corvettes, Aggressor Star Destroyers comprise the core – a unique variant they developed themselves, small but potent, and at least 3 Keldabe Class Destroyers…” he gestured to Colonel Sala to continue the briefing with a more tactical focus

“On their own a Keldabe isn’t a match for an ISD, but two onto one, given how undermanned the ISD’s are I wouldn’t rate our chances highly…”

Punching a few buttons on she brought up holo’s of an array of vehicles, infantry and devise, the holo spreading across the table of the Briefing room casting blue light up on the faces of the Sons command.

“The main threat though is the wide array of very nasty tricks, they control the black markets for weapons across a dozen sectors, have access to jammers - which we already suffered from on Dilbana, almost all coms between the fleet and the planet were cut - cloaks, Carbonite missiles, bio weapons – and willingness to use them.  Their troops have outclassed Hutt, Imperial and Republic forces a number of times, their Defilers and Mercenaries backed by some solid tanks and Mark II Droideka’s…”

The vicious looking rounded combat droid occupied Scrubber attention the most as the animation went through its movement and fixed firing cycles.

“In comparison to what we have…well in terms of fleet they Quantity we have the Quality if only marginally.  Ground forces have they have Quality and Quantity in their hired guns.  The Artemis made Imperial style weapons and armour are solid but not especially advanced, and the few Charrics don’t make up for all the nasty gadgets the Defilers whip out.” Sala turned to As’har’Lem, the Maenowan in a simple jump suit, her arm in a crutch, a bulbous mess of bandages beneath the suit around her leg wound.

“Our thanks to M’tzigon for the detailed intel out of Ryltoh on this one,”

“What do they have to gain…” Scrubber wondered out loud “..the Consortium, from what I’ve seen has fought against the Hutts and Black Sun as much as with them, they are competing crime empires…why turn attention on us…”

The gently tugged on his remaining lekku, then with his other hand pointedly fixedly at the icon for the Unchained hovering above Teth at the present time while the Justicar - by necessity of being unable to perform any jump to hyperspace - oversaw operations securing Glottal.

“That’s what they want, our destroyers, he has a strong fleet, but with those Zann could run a protection racket across the Shag Pabol on every minor Hutt Pasha and Daimyo, soak up a cut of their slaves, manufactures and raw materials…with the added prestige of having crippled us, Durga, the Kajidics and the Black Sun would turn a blind eye as profits go back up in the medium term.”

Scrubber’s sharp mind once more cut through to the heart of his enemies' thinking.  But it still left him none the wiser on how to deal with the Consortium.

“If that is the case, the question is when they will come for them and how.” Ornil noted

“And that is what we must discern, Kal I want every one of our agents to redirect their efforts to uncovering all they can about the consortium.”

“We need to destroy the spies among us before any further action,” Ravge growled, his silence up till now solely due to fluid transfers necessary for him to fully heal closing his vocal tubes.
“Give my Brutes two days and we will find the traitor among the ‘choosers’,”

Sala, despite her academy etched facade leaned slightly toward the safety of Scrubber and Black Armour behind him at the thought of Ravge and his Brutes being set loose to ‘interrogate’ the ‘choosers’, the derisive term for volunteers rather than former slaves.

“A more subtle method might be better, our friends among Artemis and the Mak’Tor, now Ash is with us, can use their Arts to not only identify but possibly feed misinformation to the enemy,” and do so without inflaming divisions Scrubber left unsaid in his reply.

Ravge scoffed at the prospect, glaring at Ash,
“Your Jedi magicks are weak,” he then turned with more caution to look at Black Armour, even the Gen’dai dared not antagonize the Sons Abyssal Enforcer.
“And you are only one, even you can’t put every one of the thousands of Choosers among us to the question,”

The feeling in the room turned sickly,  Ziac-ch visibly recoiling from the thought of a spy-hunt within Eurydice base.

“Scrubber,” Sala whispered uncharacteristically vulnerable
“Don’t let him,”

The Togruta’s gaze hardened, tiring of the division among the leadership as he was, he had no desire to try and solve it now, the Chrono on the far wall reminded him he was hungry…and how long it had been since he had seen Jal’Ina…by the Constellations he needed a break from this!

“Ravge is correct, until these spies are rooted out, we are paralysed…” Scrubber conceded

“The Brutes loyalty is beyond reproach…,” he looked into the blazing hate of the Gen’Dai and saw the incorruptible power
“Ravge, Do what you must, but do it swiftly,”

<<<<>>>>

Ry

She’d barely had breakfast when she was summoned to Rook Hangar, Sledge and Hammer squadron assembling as Ornil waited, their TIE Avengers in docking cradles waiting for them, repair welds still deep orange as Ground crew loaded Proton Torpedoes into half the ships.

When Tu-Tu and Ziac’ch arrived, the Gran’s three eyes bleary, the briefing began.

“Hammer and Sledge Squadrons are being reposted to the Keison and the Freeblade respectively,” Ornil stated a weariness evident even under the breath mask of the Kel-Dor woman,

“You’re to leave within two hours for Nadiem to provide additional protection to the first large shipment of grain and meats…”

Ornil didn’t need to explain why the extra protection of two Raider II corvettes was necessary, every Sons operation now had to be on the lookout for, in addition to regular Hutt reprisals, an attack by the Zann Consortium.

“These supplies are critical,” Ziac’ch added, the Cybernetics on the Besalisk’s face dull in the off yellow glow of the hanagars lights
“Our stores of fresh foods are running short, we’re already dipping into to our emergency ration packs…and our supply routes from Aertemis, M’Tzigon and our other backers…must be assumed to be compromised.”

<It is likely the Consortium will try and cut us off from our allies,> Shorykam noted

“Which makes Nadiem and Glottal all the more critical to hold and keep safe routes to. Our TL-1200s are finishing up loading the harvests, their escorts  C-ROC Gozanti’s Succour and Hopespring along with a dozen Z-95 irregulars…” Ornil continued

It was a light escort for a critical supply Ry thought, but then, up till 30 hours ago they had no idea the Consortium was even a threat.

“...with the extra Raiders and your Avengers equipped with Proton Torpedoes, you should be able to at least hold off any ambush…hopefully it won’t come to that,”

<<<<>>>>

       

Scrubber

Her presence was a soothing warmth that washed away the tensions and stress of the days before.

Scrubber sat opposite Jal’Ina in the small living are of his quarters, whilst near his office and the War Rooms he had been careful to choose one no larger or better furnished than anyone else's, not only to avoid any impression of aggrandizement, but also as he so rarely spent any time there.

It had only three rooms, the living room and kitchenette with two chairs and a table that folded from the wall, refresher and bedroom, a large gun locker and complete absence of decoration.

Sitting at the fold out table this was the first time he could recall eating here, always joining his brethren in the mess hall…but today, after all the trauma he felt he needed…space…quiet, and in the sapphire eyes of Jal’ina, undistracted by the din of the Medical Bays or the laughter and conversation of the mess halls he found true calm in the Tempest.

Setting her omni-tensil down having finished the simple dish of heated Ryz-Grains in a thin sauce Jal’ina patted her fulsome lips with the napkin, Scrubber taking in each detail.

“Thank you for the meal,” she said coyly, the Togruta noting the Zeltron’s quietness throughout the dinner.

“Is something wrong Jal’ina?” he asked

“I…I enjoy our time together so, I do not wish to taint it…I must be candid, yet I fear you will think ill of me…”

“Never!” he protested immediately almost leaping from his seat

“That is, nothing you can say can ever upset me,” he settled back.

Jal’ina’s deep blue eyes looked askance and she swept her lustrous hair back. 

“I must confess this Truth…” she swallowed hard obvious anguish on her face.
“My twin and I had barely Flowered when we were sold…our first master we were with for some years before…before he was killed before our eyes by…by…Tyber Zann…”

Scrubber kept his face empathetic as he heard her tale.

“I don't think he was so wealthy as now…my master…no my first abuser…had been a minor death stick pusher, he injected it into my sister and I to make us…compliant…After Zann murdered him he and his Talortai…used us both…repteadly…then…then he sold me on a few months after…I feared to tell you this in case you might think….”

“Think that you were involved in informing Zann of our plans, no, never,” Scrubber replied with warmth even as icy hatred for the leader of the Consortium boiled in his breast, as if he didn’t have enough reason to hate Tyber Zann before…were Jal’ina’s presence not so calming he would be in a rage.

Ironic, she comforted him when it was she who needed the empathy most, without though his hands caressed her face, her red hued skin wet with tears.

“I am so sorry for what he did to you, that fiend will know Justice I swear it,”

“There is more…” she pulled briefly from his touch to lift her nurses smock, Scrubber at a loss as to what she was doing till she plucked a small emerald colored jeweled stud from her belly button.

“This…this is Tal’Ryj Stone, bonded to another…my sister and I both wear one, none of our masters seemed to pay attention to it…but the stones are linked, the vibration of one is mirrored by the other, my sister and I…when we can, use an old dot and dash tapping to commune…last I heard of her she was still in Zann’s harem…”

She placed the jewel on the table, eyes wet and wide staring at Scrubber

“Please I swear I am no spy, I have not heard from my sister in months,”

He raised her face to his, tenderly holding her

“I never once doubted, there is no suspicion, you have opened your wounds, your pain to me, and I will always seek to heal them,” he embraced her ever closer astonished at her strength and conviction, to not only disclose what had to be painful memories, but freely submit herself to scrutiny, he needed no more proof than that openness that there was no cause for concern.

“You…you do not suspect me…”
“Never,”
“You…you do not find me…soiled…”
“Impossible!” he assured
“What you have suffered is the sin of others, you survived Jal’ina, I can’t imagine what you had to do just to live, yet I am glad you did, that you can be here now helping me…helping the Cause…in so many ways,”

Their faces were close, every scar, wrinkle and scratch carved into Scrubber's face visible.

“Never was I allowed to choose a Tenderer to embrace my Blossoming,” her voice was low and sweet, a musky aroma about her lips as they formed the words

“Yet if I should, it would only be you Honoured one…you’ve give so much love, so much trust to all…yet you are so alone…so tired from the War you fight ceaselessly” now she cradled his face

“Please…let my Blossoming bring you Union and Joy….”   

<<<<<>>>>>

Ken

The Door nearly caved in from the banging as he stood from his healing trance, the Song thrumming hard and focused with vicious intent had made his meditation hard enough as is.

“Just a sec…” the two steps to the door and Ken opened it on two familiar faces.

“Maker, not you two again,”

It was J’kim and J’kam, the two Brutes who had arrested him in his first tenure, not the sharpest blades in the armoury but fanatically loyal.

“Outta da way Jedi!”
“Yeah We need to see everything you ‘ave in there,” which one was which Ken couldn’t tell.

Before he was grabbed Ken stepped out into the hall, looking down at the other doors, most open, the meagre possessions thrown along the duracrete floor as Brute squad members seemed to ransack each room, always in pairs, one pulling pillow,s mattresses and bags apart, the other running a blocky scanning device over them.

Ken had sensed the tension since the Dilbana Disaster sure, that was expected, but this…

“What are you doing? Does Scrubber know about this?”

“He told us to find da ‘Spy!” J’kim, or was it J’kam called from the tiny Refresher, squeezing empty a tube of Ry’s only real affectation, Csilla made cosmetic hair cream suited to her dark blue locks.

“And we're gonna find Da’Spy,” the other twin finished.

Just then an Arcona was thrown bodily against the wall by a Brute, a rough and vicious pat down ensuing.  The same Arcona volunteer Ken had defended from Brute squad just before the Dilbana mission - Ken didn’t even know his name, only that he was a brother in arms, and this could not stand.

“HEY!” Ken yelled stomping forward, he didn’t like them raiding peoples possessions, but he could live with that, even a frisk search, but this was something more vicious.

“Get off you’re hurting him,” he pushed himself in between them, the Crolute Brute growling, glossy flabby skin rippling.

“What you a spy with em ey!?” was the suspicious reply, the Crolute trying to intimidate Ken by leaning over him, more of the Brutes noting the ruckus coming to join in.

“Please…I came to fight with you…” the Vocalizer squeezed out, Ken looking him over seeing the Arcona marksman had been severely bruised.  Ken felt the anger bubble inside, because He had come to fight with the Sons too, but Maker, they were making it hard.

“Head to the med bay and get checked out,” Ken said lifting him up,

“I haven’t finished searching him or the others!” the crolute reached out to grab him, Ken smacked his hand back with a force enhanced palm.

“And you’re not going to, I don’t know what Scrubber has ordered but I know he wouldn’t allow this,” Ken had no illusions Scrubber was a paragon of peace and virtue, Maker he’d seen first hand the summary executions and felt the full ire of his suspicion, but the Togruta, even when merciless, was never unjust, nor disrespectful of those who sought to help the Cause that was Scrubbers whole identity.

“Now you can search the rooms, have people empty their pockets, strip if they have to, but I will not allow you to brutalize anyone anymore,”

Ken felt iron behind the words even as a part of him was astonished he was even saying it, it sounded so much like something his father would say, and in the same firm tone.

Now four Brutes had assembled behind the Crolute in the narrow corridor between bunk rooms.

“I think he’s buying time for people to start hiding stuff,” one growled,

“I think you’re right,”

He could feel the rising chords, the clash of percussion. Five onto one Ken sized him up, they certainly had brute muscle and vicious skills, but with the Song, and righteousness on his side he could….

No…that wasn’t the way he would approach this situation.

Raising his hands palms open Ken gently lowered them exuding calm first across himself and then through the Force around him.

“I’m not hiding anything, we are all on the same side, if you need to search, do it, but you’ll go a lot faster if you ask instead of forcing,”

Whether his words, or more likely the Calming he tried to project through the Song, mollified them, the rest of the search of the section was far more peaceful, albeit possessions still ended up littering the floor.

When the Brutes finally moved onto the next section, an area of mainly freed slaves, Ken helped the volunteers clean back up, before heading to follow to make sure the Brutes didn’t repeat their treatment of the Arcona on anyone.

He understood the frustration, the need for the search - but not the anger.

As he turned the corner to catch up he paused looking behind him to a short ended path where the lumen over a cleaning droid hatch was out leaving a blank black hollow.

For a moment he thought he saw a large silhouette in the shadows watching with something approximating approval barely sensed in the Force…

He shook it off and headed on.

<<<<>>>>