The Gray and the Unchained: Limits of Liberty

[Lord_S_Gray]

*****This is a Sequel to The Gray and the Unchained: The Cost of Freedom  http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=37226.0 - My thanks to Karmack and TheDutchman for introducing the Sons of Kessel with such an exciting narrative - I hope this sequel can live up to it*****

Prologue

*Contributed by TheDutchman*

As the heavy industrial rains pelted the myriad dark structures of Skyslum, a tall figure stepped out of the downpour, taking up almost the entire doorway of the Nar Shadda-adjacent Comfort House, causing almost all conversation to pause.  Walking into the dim, neon light, the figure materialized as a Wookie, fur soaked and matted.  Not that such details mattered; all that was required was a larger infusion of high denomination chits and--like the poorly-backed singer lipsynching the song playing through the barely audible sound system mentioned--"anything goes."

Before the Wookie took more than two steps, one of the Comfort House's Paramours was beside him, intimately wrapping her arms around the Wookie's own.  "Hullo 'andsome.  Welc'me to Nu-topia.  I'm Qandi.  Wot's y'r pleas're?  Human’d? Rept’n? Arachn’d" Her unnaturally pink lips reflected the neon light, a simple trick of black-light reflective paint.

Simple but effective.

Looking down at Qandi, the Wookie's intense blue eyes seemed to stare straight through her.  After a moment, he pulled a datanode from his belt, the small monitor blinking.  With uncanny grace, his paws danced over the interface pad, typing the message into the dictophone while the datanode repeated it, first in Huttese and then Standard Basic.  "I want special request.  Dama Piella.  Full service, Optional Package 2 Aurek.  Half now, half later."  He then pulled out several chits worth tens of thousands from just what Qandi could see in the imperfect light.

"'Course, Sweetlin'  I'll see if she's 'vailable." Her tone now absent its sentimentality and all business.  "Foll'w me."  She sauntered deeper into the main lounge area, flashing lights reflecting off of several prisms suspended in the air with mini-repulsors, expertly dodging the bodies of her co-workers and customers alike.

For the Wookie, everyone quickly and silently moved.

Soon he was led into one of the Privacy Boxes where--only after the exchange of chits had occurred--the Wookie was instructed to take a seat.  The aircouch was overly comfortable and the lighting subdued...unlike the sweet scent of meiloorun fruit that pervaded the air.

A necessity given that the fruit's aroma had the lucky side benefit to mask the countless pheromones in the air, furniture, floor, and, incredibly, ceiling.

As the Wookie waited, he could feel more than hear the loud singing coming from the main lounge.  It sounded like someone was trying to start the booming tripartite intro to "We Will Rock You."  But for the most part, he waited patiently.

After a moment, another person entered the room.  She was taller than most sentients, a commonality found with every Kaminoan.  Besides the sheer robe with exceptionally wide sleeves that covered everything and hid nothing she had a bejeweled headband above her pale brow, a feather hanging downwards on the right side of her head, its plumage a panoply of colors.  Her intelligent, glassy, blue eyes bespoke of caution mixed with shrewdness...at least before she hid it beneath a mask of faux solicitousness.

"You are not one of my regulars.  If I may ask, who referred me for you?" Her gentle tone caressed his ears, intended to soothe.

Quickly he typed at his datanode, the dictation only in Basic this time.  "Ballo Jor.  Speaks highly of you.  Especially your skilled mouth."

Dama Piella smiled, the rest of her face blank.  "Ah yes.  Ballo Jor.  How is his wife?" She inquired unconcerned.

The Wookie typed.  "Which one?  The one with the limp, the loud voice, or the blind navigator?"

The Kaminoan visibly relaxed.  Turning, she punched in the door's locking code, 9 solid durasteel cylinders sliding into place completing the circuit causing the maglocks to engage.  The room was now secure.  "You're early.  But you need to get this to your people above you.  Word is Black Sun is trafficking some Alliance officers.  Prisoners for cash."  Her slender hands were folded so as to hide the calluses indicative of the lowest caste in Kaminoan society, an embarrassment that Dama Piella had yet to divest herself of.  But with everything else, she was serenity itself.

The Wookie nodded, typing on his datanode.  "Please furbish me with all pertinent details."  He held his massive paw out.

Dama Piella cocked her slender head to the side.  "...That's unorthodox."  Her hand strayed near her belt.  

"What did you say your na--" She began but her voice was immediately cut off as the Wookie seemed to teleport across the room, stiff fingers harder than quadranium striking expertly at her long throat.  In a vain attempt to draw breath, she tried massaging her neck but nothing seemed to help.  Starved for oxygen, Dama Piella desperately tried to breath, her vision fading along the edges of her sight.  Sinking to floor, she raggedly inhaled.  Or at least tried to.  But what happened next completely took her full attention.

Looking up from the floor, she stared in horror as the Wookie looked down at her.  Then deliberately, he pressed a button on his belt.  Suddenly, the Wookie was no more; in his place was another sentient, one just as tall and powerfully built.

A Talortai.

Sluggishly, her mind raced at the possibilities, coming to a startling conclusion: he had a face-scrambler.  Incredibly rare and equally illegal, the device could for a short time mimic the appearance of any sentient so long as the disguise was of similar size to the original.  That explained the choice of a "Wookie Skin:" the Talortai was enormous.

Reaching behind him, the Talortai brought forth an enormous blade from the cross-carry holster along his back.  "Look." He instructed.  What happened next, Dama Piella could hardly believe.  The Talortai punched his blade into the metal wall where the durasteel cylinder had slid to lock the door.  Nine times he did this, with nine locks broken.  He pressed the button to open the door.

Without pause it slid open, free of its locks.

Reaching down, he effortlessly lifted her bodily in the air with his other hand, grabbing her by the throat.  "Now: you will tell me everything that you know, leaving nothing out.  If I detect a lie, my blades will flay the skin first off of your legs, then your breasts, and finally your face.  If I sense that you are holding something back, I will flay you.  If you try to betray me to your confederates, I will flay you."  To illustrate his point, he placed his massive blade against the skin of her throat and, with careful precision, began to shave off her epidermal layer.

Anyone outside the room merely interpreted her screams as part of the package that he'd purchased.

Sometime before local midnight, the Skyslum cityscape was violently lit up by a large baradium explosion, the industrial rain burning off in the air as the chemical fires spread.  By the time the firefighting droids and biological members were able to smother the flames, the fire had completely consumed the Comfort House and the 4 blocks surrounding it.

However, one thing that the Talortai had not left were any witnesses.

At least none living.

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 1 – Choke Collar of Ambition

Scrubber

Six by Six the TIE defenders were loaded by the haulers into the Unchained’s docking cradles, the uniformity of the Imperial interior design at stark contrast to the diverse range of species that oversaw the careful operation and crowded the large hangar on the hundreds of different tasks required to keep an Imperial Star Destroyer running. 

Tutu oversaw the delivery operation, the Grans three eyes quick and alert atop a levi-platform as Scrubber watched below on his living Shadow hovering behind him as always.

The Simulators were fully booked for months as they got pilots up to speed, the few Imperial and Rebel defectors with TIE experience ragged from constant training flights. 

They had 36 TIE Defenders and not enough trained pilots, the Unchained and Justicar both with load outs of 24 fighters, the rest spread across 6 of their 8 Raider II class corvettes – 4 corvettes supporting each Star Destroyer.

Also being ferried across from the Cargo Haulers the Mak’Tor Carrier the Hornet had helped to defend were 12 TIE Phantoms and 30 Dark Trooper - Mark 3.5 - and the last of the weapons shipments, Charric rifles, Imperial E-11S and Grey Infantry Armour, heavy turrets.

Few independent systems couldn’t boast such materiel in such volumes   

Yet this was the last shipment, Black Armours…’Organisation’ under the name Artemis Industries… could provide. 

It was already a huge investment, Scrubber was astounded they could give what they had for free…they had turned the Sons of Kessel from a ragtag band of three dozen freedom fighters into a true army.

Yet now - apart from his direct bodyguard and a single emergency defensive vessel somewhere in the system…the Sons were on their own - and The Shadow across his back refused to allow Scrubber to forget the debt he owed.

All spare parts, fuel, power cells, food, raw materials had to be obtained by the Sons - they had around 6 months of supplies in store and their funding from private donors were substantial, but not enough to cover the scope of their operations for long – they had a store of wealth in the ultra-dense ores stolen from the last Deep Core raid for emergencies, but the shortage was looming.

Efforts to make Aestis Minor self-sufficient in food and mining had been…slow… even with Aertemis advice and technical assistance the jungle Mesa’s near Eurydicen Base resented development, after the first strong harvests output had slowed as indigenous pests became a problem. Promising mining sites in salt flats on the southern continent were not delivering ores in consistent quality.

And then there was the political situation – the split of the Empire made their task harder, Remnant factions increasingly doing deals with Black Sun, Zann Consortium and the Hutts – and the Sons growing success drew in more enemies within – that was why Scrubber was here – not to oversee the delivery of the TIEs but the latest batch of recruits.

The Zeta transport, repainted a garish yellow in defiance of bland Imperial grey, hissed out refuse gases as the small group wandered out.

“Welcome Sires and Sirra’s” he beamed, adopting his ‘Brotherly’ face as he shook hands or bowed as culture dictated.

Sullustan, Bothan, Gran, Human…half a dozen other species all here to help…and they certainly needed it. Every ship was running with a Skeleton crew, yet providing the sentient he already had was hard enough.

<That one> the dark whispered in his mind as he passed the six limbed Bosph - Amor Bundt. 

Scrubber repressed a sigh keeping his smile tight, shaking a Weequay's hand denying him the nervous tug of his lekku his hand twitched to complete.

As they passed to the orientation officer he sent a quick comm to Liberator Regiments, the Sons police, army, marines, and workers all in one. .

Every load of recruits seemed to have a spy amongst them despite their screenings – depending on how the ‘interview’ went this Bosph would either be spaced or handed over to Black Armour to be…’debriefed’…and then spread disinformation.

He wasn’t sure which was the worse fate

Black Sun or Hutts patsy Scrubber idly wondered as they past beneath the next load of six Defenders being locked into docking cradles overhead. 

<<<<>>>>

Zann

There was, Zann now realised, only so much celebrating one could do.

For nearly two weeks he’d celebrated his victory at the Battle for the Eclipse – in between keeping the Consortium running of course.

Now his Palace on Saleucami stank of alcohol and death sticks, the deep purples of the curtains and rugs thick with neur-scents, spills on the yellow tinged stone of the  Saleucami the fortress was largely made of. None could blunt the sharpness of Silri’s betrayal.

Shifting out of his seat he felt his long white hair oily from lack of care against his face.

For the last few years he’d been on the move constantly, making – and breaking – deals with Imperial Governors, Xizor, Jabba, building the Consortium up, his Defliers spreading corrupting influence across dozens of systems, creating a fleet to rival most systems with Marauder and Crusader class corvettes, Broadside cruisers Keldabe battleships with designs taken from Mandal Hypernautics, even Aggressor-class Star Destroyers using designs the Empire abandoned.

All this was the background to his masterpiece – the Battle of the Eclipse, capturing - however briefly - the Emperor's secret Dreadnought still under construction, looting it of credits, data, art works and more before getting out.

But somewhere in the tumult Silri, his erstwhile Nightsister ‘Ally’ had made off with a holocron he had spent a lot of blood and money to obtain.  Where she went and why he didn’t care – only that he ought not to let such a betrayal lie.

Long ago he had sworn he would kill every Nightsister on Dathomir if she betrayed him again…he ought to make good on it…

Sweeping back his long partially bleached hair he rubbed the overgrown beard on his face as he lounged on his throne, ‘used’ twi’leki and zeltron girls sleeping at his feet.

“Urai,” he called out in the post ecstasy silence of the ‘throne’ room

The ever present Talortai was soon beside him moving in from the shadows.

“You were successful then?” Zann asked his taciturn enforcer.

Urai offered little more than a whistle from his crooked beak, of course he had been, Zann’s only true friend and most competent agent always was.

“My blades would be better served severing the witches neck,”

As always Urai Fen knew exactly what Zann was thinking, perhaps the touch of the Force the ancient warrior possessed, his heavy arm blades glistening even in this dull light,

“As much as I’d like to see her gutted and fed to her own Rancor…” he chuckled, the beasts nickname Cuddles had always amused him

“We have to think of the Consortium first…we’ve just come off a major score…this is when most cartels go soft…we do the opposite, stay in control, tighten our grip and keep the momentum running,”

“You would allow that traitorous witch to escape,”

“At this point I don’t have much choice…I’m guessing you’ve already had our agents look for her,”

Urai’s beak twitched with a frustration stifled non-reply

“…and I‘m guessing they’ve found nothing,” Zann smiled viciously
“Don’t worry, she’s too much of a drama queen to stay off the grid for long, and when she does we’ll be there…but for now…”

He leaned back into his chair, fingers pressed together.

“...tell me everything your trip to the Pleasure districts has revealed about our next ‘Big Score’,”

<<<<>>>>

Scrubber

“And we don’t know anything more?” the Togruta’s steely eyes were harsh on the Siniteen who had delivered the report, but Kal’Etsp knew Scrubber fury was not to him, but whomever had been responsible for the death of Dama Piella and her crew.

The Kaminoan ‘comfort slave’ had been one of the first freed after Black Armour had joined - or rather as Scrubber alone knew rejoined after a centuries long hiatus - the Sons. 

Intelligent and resolute, she had volunteered to continue the trade once forced upon her, setting up a Comfort house on Skyslum secretly funneling information to the Sons from clients and acting as an intelligence hub.

Her death felt particularly personal, and left a gaping wound in their spy network.

“Nothing,” the Siniteen replied, his fingers never ceasing on his datapad.
“The explosion levelled a vast area, we cannot even be sure the Comfort house was the target,”

Scrubbers raptor-like gaze scanned the holo that lit the otherwise black conference room an eerie blue, short news reports from the Skyslum in Huttese, looking for something he couldn’t define as the shock and anger settled.

Gang warfare and assassinations didn’t usually reach that far into the ‘mid-market districts’, but it wasn’t unheard of - there were hundreds of petty vendetta’s and solemn blood feuds across the underworld the Son’s were utterly unaware of, thousands of beings in the nearby blocks who could have been a target, half a dozen names had appeared on Junk-Slips passed around as unofficial new, some even claimed it was a munitions accident in a Blue-Orion Mercenary Safe house.

“Shall I issue orders to investigate further?” Kal-Etsp asked his eyes, never leaving the constant streams of information.

“No…” Scrubber sighed, releasing a breath and grief with it, Piella joining an ever growing list of those lost to the Cause, but her contributions would not be forgotten.

“...any resources we have left need to start setting up another safe house and drop locations, the information needs to keep flowing, and I doubt they could find much anyway,”   There simply wasn’t the man power.

“One communique was transmitted shortly before the explosion regarding the Black Sun ransoming some Alliance officers from a point near the Nimabel Junction,” the Siniteen continued

“Put Ranger 14 onto that,” Scrubber decisively ordered - any sign of sadness buried beneath the absolute focus of a man who lived for a Cause beyond himself.

The chance to get skilled officers as recruits, or simply establish good relations with the Alliance could not be passed up, especially as the war turned increasingly in the nascent New Republics favour.

Indicators and chevrons besides the blue glowing dots that represented suns showed the dispersal of his forces, the largest of which were the two triangles representing the Unchained and the Justicar – the crowning glory of all the Sons efforts to date.

And an increasingly burdensome expense. Food, power cells, engineers, pilots, simple maintenance equipment were near beyond reckoning, forcing him to increase supply raids on the ever dwindling number of Hutt and Cartel bases in the Baxel sector where Teth III – Aestis Minor and Eurydicen base was located.

The Sons success was cutting into the Hutts profits enough they were now gradually pulling out of the Baxel Sector – profiteers to the core he had no doubt the Hutts had weighed their options and deemed a fight against two ISD’s unprofitable. 

It was a big move all things considered, but the justified execution of Myzm III had spooked them, and there were better pickings closer to the frontlines between the Empire and Alliance.

“How much do we have left…” he said quietly to Ziac’ch, one of the three in the room including himself, the Besalisk Logistics officer smelling of machine oil having recently undergone maintenance for his cybernetics – two of four hands, legs and face.

“Of what?”

“Anything…” Scrubber sighed
“Everything….”

The usually statuesque body of the hulking Besalisk dropped looking over a console on the edge of the room, white glow from the screen bouncing off the metal plate that covered half his face, old injuries replaced with cybernetics.

“Provisions for about three months…food for six, maybe a year if we ration…but its fuel and blaster gases we’re running low on, ordinance is also low, we have enough missiles and torpedoes for the new TIEs so we can reallocate some to the Interceptors…coolants and Coaxium are also a problem, each ISD takes as much as our whole fleet last year combined in a single month if they are making jumps.”

They needed sustainable, predictable supply lines, their long tradition of raiding for resources was no longer fit for purpose. 

Aertemis Industries could supply a lot, but the distance to their official Headquarters on Fresia was simply too great especially as the civil war continued across the mid-rim and colonies.

Scrubber tugged at his one remaining lekku flicking a toggle to overlay the latest combined intelligence overlays on the map of the Baxel Sector. 

The most populated planets were located along the Shag Pabol – the ‘Slave road’ from Teth to Ylesia to Nal Hutta or the Triellus run that was roughly perpendicular to the Shag Pabol. 

Yellow indicators on Styx, Rinn, Nadiem showed still active Slave encampments, mostly mines and agri-worlds.  Orange were ‘harvest planets’, impoverished systems that were raided on occasion for fresh blood, but left to their own devices otherwise.

And Red were actual Hutt military positions, Lirra, Glottal and Rampa Minor. 

With the resources they had they could at most attempt attacks on two of those systems. 

They offered material they sorely needed, Dilbana was a mining and manufacturing world with stores of industrial equipment and raw minerals…but it was on the wrong side of Rampa Minor.

Nadiem was closer, an Agriworld, if they could capture the space ports and have some of the slaves remain on the estates working to supply them here it could cover the time until the algal farms and mesa crops they had set up in the deep sub levels near the underground river beneath Eurydice base became more productive – assuming they ever did.

Yet that would anger some of the ‘Brutes’. 

Despite his best efforts there was a growing faction, centred on his elite Brute squad who favoured aggressively liberating and recruiting slaves – their core mission – rather than worrying about the niceties of supply and provisioning..

They would want to focus on any of the Reds, Glottal was certainly the best target, the humid world home to the Glottalphnibs also housed vast markets, notorious ‘breeding ranches’ overseen by the Hutt Garrison at the Akropoli – a vast citadel made by, according to rumour, the Infinite Empire, that had overseen slave breeding even millennia ago. 

The Akropoli stood atop a mountain chain plateau from which the Hutt Daimyo could control the lowland vassals and deliver quick retaliation to any raids. 

Of course if Glottal fell, the slow withdrawal from the other systems would speed up, forcing the Sons to look to raid further afield for other scant supplies.

“Round up the others,” Scrubber finally said
“Briefing in 3 arns,”

Ziach’c offered a curt nod, well aware Scrubber wished to confer alone with the third being in the room alone, swiftly heading out leaving Scrubber alone with his living shadow.

Black Armour remained as always barely a whisper of light in the corner, always watching.

“Where to from here my friend…” Scrubber asked knowing he would not get a reply.

What Scrubber knew, but the others did not was that Black Armour was not a single being, in fact there were three of them. 

The ‘First’ was the most frequent, stationed with Scrubber for 5 months in a row, then replaced for 3 months by the ‘Second’, there had also been a ‘Third’ for four months who had not returned since.

First was the tallest and strongest, steady and focused but utterly ruthless and willing to take on a higher level of risk.  Second was more staid, a relentless tank of a man that ploughed forward like an ATAT.  Third seemed temporary and somewhat less…certain…perhaps a younger member of the race placed for ‘work experience’.

First was with him now.

“We could take Glottal…but then how many months to liberate all the ranches and get them off world thereafter?  Nadiem could provide food, Dilbana material, Lirra would be a dramatic statement…”

As it was they needed to keep one of their ISDs in orbit near Teth at all times in case the Hutts tried anything, maintaining a permanent presence on three planets was out of the question, let alone four….

“..and could we hold anyone of them…”

It was a dream long cherished by the Sons to create in the sector a Freed Slave Nation, a dream that the limitations of resources and threat of a mass Hutt reprisal prevented them from ever coming close to achieving.

Yet he had to do something he could never standstill, not just to keep his grip as first among equals, but also for his own oath to all those he had seen die of acidic burns in the cursed factory that had been his place of rebirth from - it didn’t matter anymore - into ‘Scrubber’.

Never, I will never stop fighting for you, not one moment will pass in idleness while another is in chains…not one…

Releasing his grip he straightened up, he had three hours to work out a strategy, and no moments of idleness to spare.

Not one.

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 1 – Choke Collar of Ambition

Zann

The orange yellow orb of Saleucami hovered in the heat of the system's sun under his gaze as half his fleet paraded past.

Tyber Zann stood on the bridge of the Merciless the first Aggressor class Star Destroyer stolen what seemed a lifetime ago. 

Though his fleet now boasted Keldabe Class Destroyers far more powerful he maintained it as his flagship with a number of ‘special features’ he had installed himself.

As did in their way every ship of the fleet before him.  Vengeance frigates that traded shields for cloaking abilities, Crusader Corvettes brimming with anti-fighter turrets, and the space between them filled by Starvipers and Rz-52 Dekard tranpsorts, all under the watchful gaze of ‘Admiral’ Jerid Sykes, the clean shaven ‘officer and gentleman’ that stood beside him in a uniform of his own design.

You can take the man out of the academy… Zann thought of his Fleet master.

Still without Sykes, Zann knew he would be rotting in a hutt prison somewhere or toiling sweat soaked in a spice mine.

Yes the pirates, mercenaries and vagabonds that piloted and captained the ships all made their vessels their own with mod’s and upgrades, heraldry or riotous graffiti - but the naval discipline that was written upon the wrinkled frown lines of Sykes slightly space-pallid face was what kept them from being just another rabble.

“The Fleet is in fine order sir,” the Admiral reported, hand always clutching a datapad, commlink on his ear.

“MandalHypernautics has completed all repairs as contracted, I’ve assigned all vessels into three Fleets as requested.” He handed the pad across. The Consortium contracted is fleet maintenance and construction out, denying his enemies a central base to target - unless they wanted to get into a tangle with Mandal Motor and their notorious Mech-Commando’s as well.

Each headed by a Keldabe Destroyer, First Fleet, Ishtra would maintain position over his droid factory on Hypori, another Eanna above Saleucami itself, the third Ereshkiga with detachments from the other two would spread across the rim delivering Defilers and enforcing ‘contracts and agreements’ with his ‘business partners where needed.

For Zann’s true empire was not one of planets and governments, but favours, blackmail, invisible ownership, exploitation and market manipulation.

An Empire of Corruption.

Of course he needed the military muscle and more importantly reputation to enforce such, and his victory at Kuat under the noses of the Empire and Alliance had solidified both. 

Freebooters from across the sector were rushing to join the winning side.

“Including the new recruits,” Zann asked of the growing fleet

“The ones that showed a willingness and ability to comply with my requirements yes,” Sykes confirmed

“Good, we’ll need them ready,” he pushed the pad back into Sykes chest turning to the tactical monitor behind that the ever present Urai stood beside, the quiet avian always on the lookout for threats.

His Defilers had reported back a range of intriguing opportunities to further expand his power base and prestige, but perhaps no better than the situation in the Baxel Sector along the Shag Pabol, a once profitable slave trading route to Nal Hutta and its moon Nar Shadda. 

The tides of the recent civil war meant slave routes had changed to the battlefields between Empire and Republic, but Zann took a long view – that war wouldn’t last, the old routes would re-establish themselves when, inevitably, the Alliance came out on top, despite his erstwhile enemies Thrawns efforts.

“Here…our next ‘Big Score’” he pointed on the large glass panel cut with longitudinal white lines dividing the near Outer rim

“What the Hutts leave behind we’re gonna pick off, trade might be slow now, but wars move on, systems don’t, five years time this will be bustling again, and when it is I want the Consortium to be front and centre keeping the Shag Pabol flowing…and taking a tariffs along the route,”

He had no desire to cut the Hutts out entirely, oh no, they had the slave holding and working logistics,he just wanted to control the stopovers on the run and take a cut from refuelling and tack charges along the route in exchange for keeping the lanes clean of pirates….

Well….all except his own sanctioned pirates of course….

“The Sons of Kessel are strong in that sector,” Sykes cautioned
“They say they have two ISDs,”

Zann grinned,

“They’ve done well, got the Hutts on the run…but it’s plain to see they’ve pushed to hard too fast, and we need to keep our momentum from Kuat up – putting this ragtag bunch down will give us a pincer around Hutt space and the…glory?….of avenging good old Myzm III, plus…Sykes how would you like to be commanding from the bridge of a Star Destroyer?”

“A lifelong dream sir,” Jerid replied in utterly deadpan tones, but Zann was sure there was some truth to it.

Now Zann turned to Urai

“And the Defliers say they’re working with some Jedi outcasts, maybe you’ll finally find yourself a decent match Urai,”

Urai let out a soft whistle through his tilted beak.

“You’ve already started making moves,” Sykes surmised

“Sharp as always Sykes,” Zann laughed, clapping him on the back as he turned back to the fleet parading before him, glowering red of sublight drives on Vengeance Frigates and Aggressor Destroyers cut by new Mandal Hypernautics Skiprays sliding past at 500 kmph.

There was no rest and less freedom in ruling his Empire, he had to keep ahead of his enemies and his underlings, never be without a new prize he was seeking to win, and never fail in claiming it. 

He danced on the tip of a vibroblade.

He loved every minute of it. 

It wasn’t the women, wine or credits he chased, it was the race itself, the heart pounding, adrenaline pumping excitement of reaching for that next score, of out edging your rivals and coming away clean, an ambrosia only tasted by those willing to ante up their all and grin if they lost.

For now he was winning. For now he smiled with a slight confidence.

“First blood to us,”

<<<<>>>>

[TheDutchman]

Excellent: more of Scrubbers (in particular) and the Sons (in general) is revealed in the next cycle of "The Gray & the Unchained!"

While the first iteration was definitely an origin story (at least as far as the Sons exist after their near-extinction centuries earlier), now we find that Scrubber and his confederates are having to deal with the problematic logistics that operating an NGO like the Sons incurs.  Far from introducing mundanity, the adversity facing Scrubber has become manyfold, from necessary materiel to the infighting of disparate opinions within to the fact that the Sons have become too large now to ignore.  Case in point: after their own successes, they've emerged upon the Zann Consortium's radar, a development not for the better...

The problem with breaking the threshold that the Sons have just done is that they are now too large to ignore.  And when comparing the two organizations TO&E (courtesy of Rainbow.  Trust No One), we see just how dangerous this newfound attention has become.  Ironically (or perhaps not so much given the similarities between the two), the Consortium has its own Dread Enforcer in the person of Urai Fen.  Given what is known about the Talortai, we have to wonder if Black Armor (First, Second, or Third) has met a match in the dangerous assassin.  To further complicate matters, while the Sons' main supplier Artemis Industries seem to have capped the proverbial faucet, the Consortium has no such strictures courtesy of Mandal Hypernautics.  What's worse: the fact that the Consortium is a mobile entity versus the Sons dependance on Aestis Minor and Eurydice Base is an advantage that Tyber and Urai will almost certainly take advantage of, especially with Urai having gleaned actionable intel from the unfortunate Dama Piella.

One has the feeling that the Consortium's "Big Score" is about to set Hutt Space ablaze in renewed conflagration...

Meta-note: When LSG suggested to Karm and myself to do a joint collaboration based upon his outline for what became the first "Gray & Unchained," I have to admit that it was one of the best experiences that I've had as an author^^  Often times, Karm or LSG would come up with an idea that gave me a "Eureka Moment," allowing me to build upon it producing some scenes that I hadn't thought of before.  That's one of the best benefits to these collaborations: three minds can cast a MUCH wider net for inspiration and creativity    SO when LSG told us that he was working on a sequel, I couldn't wait to read what was to come!

AND now that it's here, it's everything that I had hoped AND more!

Once again owing to LSG's encyclopedic knowledge, the strings of SO much canon threads together in a wonderful tapestry here, all thanks to the contest between two impressive NGOs operating in Hutt Space, both with diametrically opposing ideologies (a reckoning was going to be inevitable given those circumstances).  Additionally, the poster just underscores how incredible this next story promises to be  

Oh, and the reappearance of Rainbow & the Bothan SpyNet looks & is better than ever^^

Fantastic (re!)introduction for the Sons and the Zann Consortium!  Hopefully Chapter 2 won't be too long in coming  

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 2 – Prodigal Son

Ken

“You’re sure?” The Kage asked as Ken stood to attention staring directly ahead, just over her seated form to the picture of ‘Revan’s Fall’ behind her.

He had only been in the office twice since Er’Lav’Racc had taken the mantle of Kage, but each time that picture seemed to say something different to him.

He suspected it always would – today the image of Revan taking up the mask he – or some said she – was recognized for spoke to Ken of new beginnings and finding yourself by helping others.

“Well I have no objections…”

No doubt happy to have the last Mack off world Ken thought but didn’t dare say out loud, not that the occasionally blunt Racc would’ve cared.

Yes the mask also spoke to him - tiny as it was on the canvas a handful of brush strokes it was the very centre of the picture - the putting aside an old identity, and creating something fresh, the past in the face forever hidden behind it.

He would always honour his father, but on M’tzigon, he could only ever be ‘Karmacks son’.  That was the face he wanted to hide and wear a new persona that was his own.

She took out her Electra-Seal, a cylindrical device that imparted her Electronic Signature and Authorisation to the flimsi document that contained a magnetic layer between the parchment like layers that set out in formal terms his request for reassignment.

“I assume Ry’lak will be going with you…” she said as she rolled the device across the bottom of the page then took out her pen to finish with an old fashioned signature.

“Yes ma’am,”

“Hmmm…give my regards to Doctor Wolfe, and Ash of course.”

Maenowan As’har’Lem had replaced Er’Lav as the Mak’tor Liaison, Doc Wolfe heading up the Sons growing medical teams.. Ken didn’t know much about Lem, apart from a chequered story of her being the sole survivor of an encounter between three knights and the Inquisition some twelve or so years past. 

Silman the former Kage, so far as rumour could be believed, held if not grudge ,then certainly a dislike her and kept her to distant missions assisting security of healing centres and the like - anything away from M’Tzigon.

“Yes ma’am,”

“So formal Koawan…” Er’lav sighed.

“I suppose I don’t need to give you the ‘talk’ before you reach Teth….”

Ken’s eyebrow raised quizzically, before he realised himself the ‘talk’ must refer to the warnings any force use should be given about Black Armour.

Whatever arrangement his father had come to with them on Ruusan was still unknown to anyone but Arnor, Chillum and the Kage herself.  While never openly adversarial Black Armour had remained a troubling presence, he hoped this time there might be more collegiality.

Especially as this time there would be no masquerade, Ken would act and fight openly as a Mak’tor Knight when the situation demanded it.

“I know what to expect,” he replied.

“ah…Ken…” Er’lav laughed

“…take it from someone older and hopefully a touch wiser – what you expect is never what you find,”

<<<<>>>>

Even though they were heading into months, possibly years of battle –assuming they lived that long, Ry could feel a sense of calm over her betrothed as he tinkered quietly with their Astromech R6-E3, ‘Ricky’.

She was certainly looking forward to getting into the cockpit of a TIE Avenger again, she never felt so free as when riding sub lights skimming out of the cloying grip of the tethers of terrestrial gravity.

For Ken though she knew freedom was of a different kind. 

He loved his father, but he couldn’t be his own man on M’tzigon without the constant comparison, something she understood all too well.

Yar'lyakomm'tla was herself the daughter of two captains and granddaughter of an Admiral and Syndic, every action of her life on Csilla was seen as trying to fill the mould chiselled by her forebears. 

To match them was assumed, to exceed them was expected. That was the way Chiss families worked, especially those in the CEDF, each generation needed to out rank the one before or the clan was ‘regressing’.

The same was somewhat true for Ken, his father was the Master Singer, adventurer and Knight who had defeated cultists and dark siders a plenty, his crowning achievement to finally kill the so called ‘Darth’ Mendax – and even though Karmacks motives and actions were often the subject of debate, none doubted his power  - and everyone acknowledged his infamy. 

Ken was saddled with the expectation and the consequences, arrested by General Cliff in a fit of pique at his father, sent on a fruitless pursuit of a revived ghost like entity Morrigan to get him off world.

Only with the Sons did Ken feel he could be looked on not as ‘Ken son of Karmack –lets-see-if-he-lives-up-to-or-redeems-his-fathers-reputation’, but just Koawan Ken’A’Nia Mack.

And despite the calm she knew that hurt him – because it hurt her that she couldn’t be judged on her own terms on Csilla either.

As the pulsing blue of the hyperspace corridor outside lit her azure skin she idly spun her engagement ring on her finger with her thumb.  It had been so long since Ken proposed, but the trip to Csilla then disaster on M’Tzigon kept them from arranging anything, getting the guest together was in itself a struggle, Arnror and Karmack were off on a trip, Jorya and her parents incommunicado for months, and Ry’s own mother and grandfather…

Well she never expected them to step foot outside the Ascendancy except on board a CEDF destroyer.

But they would have their time, their place, their family away from those restrictions – just like when she was full throttle in the chair of a TIE they would fly free.

<<<<<>>>>

“Ready?”
“Ready,”
As soon as they dropped out they needed to transmit the clearance codes within 3 standard minutes to the Sons patrol at the staging post on the edge of the Teth System, perpendicular to the systems plane to the gas giant Teth VII. 

Having briefly observed a strange BA ship within the chemical clouds of the vast planet on his first tenure he was sure that location was no coincidence. 

Certainly the Sons didn’t control the system fully, they had Eurydice base, a few outposts and orbital platforms, but not complete observation and traffic control. 

Much like the Empire's former Outer Rim outposts their presence was side by side with other civilian and ‘free agent’ groups, but they did keep a laser focus on the jump points and descent vectors that led to their installations.

Stars a spiralling blue-white spun back out into lines then dots as the Gryphon dropped out of hyperspace with a slight jolt despite the solid inertial dampeners.

A cacophony of speeding metal and blinking lights met them all backed by the doonium grey wall of an Imperial Star Destroyer, the frontal portion of the bridge painted over with two fists, one blue with four fingers the other green with curved tentacle like digits pulling apart a series of broken links of the chains that bound them.

“The Unchained, looks like they’re getting ready to leave,” Ry said even as she transmitted the clearance on the channels Er’Lav had provided.

Both remembered the difficulty taking the vessel, the naming as Scrubber stood triumphant before the Sons thanking them for taking it

“The day and the ship, friends is ours!  No longer the Imperius, this ship will henceforth be known as the Unchained!  And with it, my Sirs and Sirras, we will unchain our brethren.  With this ship we will move on those who continue to hold them in bondage!  With this ship, we will unchain all who are held as chattal”

Scrubber had been at his impassioned and enigmatic best, a moment of joy tainted in part by Jorya suffering in her capture, and the growing division between her and Ken.

“Ident 49-A Gryphon Please respond over!” an urgent voice came over the open channel.

“This is Gryphon over” Ken responded leaning forward and reaching out, feeling the excitement and tension before a mission fill the psyche of the Sons across a dozen ships.

“Is your ship armed and fuelled for another return 3 hour jump, over?”

He shared a slightly confused look with Ry

“It is, over?”

“Follow this course and prepare to be boarded, over and out,”

“Well,” Ry said with a hint of exasperation.

“Straight to it, Probie!”

<<<<>>>>

The path led them through the array of tugs and refuelling vessels to an ancient looking open platform covered by an atmosphere shield that bubbled blue, ranks of humanoids of all shapes and sizes pilling into transport vessels, the majority of which the long four finned Zeta Class shuttles, with a smattering of captured Zygerrian Aurore freighters and Tl-1200’s.

The controlled chaos as they touched down made Ken briefly regret his decision to come back or at least wish he had time to catch up with the situation, speak to some old friends.

No sooner had they lowered the boarding ramp than he saw on the security camera a gaggle of troops already crowding to get in.

Hurrying to the door he reached it just in time to see a burly Yinchorri in an amalgam of Storm trooper armour plates fused together to fit his large form.

“In, In, In!” he yelled to his squad, who promptly filled the cabin, each intensifying the smell of blaster-gas and metal, before looking down on Ken.

“Right take off,” he said without any kind of introduction, slapping a Navi-chip into Ken’s chest.
Seeing the confusion on Ken and Ry’s faces he relented a tad
“We can explain on the way,”

<<<<<>>>>

It wasn’t until they were back in hyperspace, much to Ricky’s consternation who had been denied his routine of checking the drives thoroughly and running the coolants through the filter after every jump, that the Yinchorri introduced himself.

“Bussra, Sergeant Tomahawk Squad,” he paused for a moment. Ken could feel the beady eyes in the back of his head.

“I know who you are,” the tone was stern, perhaps not all had been forgiven from Ken’s drumhead after all. At least he had the consolation that he was notorious on his own account, not his fathers.

“You were in the Brute squad weren’t you?” Ry said recognising him vaguely

“Yes, promoted to lead own squad, spread the experience Scrubber says.”

“So where are we headed Sergeant,”

“Nadiem, agriworld, we’re in the second wave South sector, loot and liberate.”

“Adversaries?” Ry kept it professional

“Our targets are three Villa’s and outhouses, regular slave drivers and guards, we don’t expect much aerial resistance to be left, the Unchained should occupy their whole attention,”

“Well it will certainly occupy their sensors,”

The taciturn Yinchorri didn’t say much more, either he didn’t know or had no interest in discussing the broader situation, his focus was solely on the mission at hand.

The troops in Tomahawk squad were a mix of humanoids species covered in Artemis manufactured Imperial style Stormtrooper armour, modifications to suit wiry Duros or bulging Barabel frames.

These were the Liberator Regiments.  Their light gray armor was supplemented by other pieces depending upon each sentients' speciality: comms techs had several pouches filled with tools, equipment, and diagnostics; demolitions techs wore a large satchel for explosives and necessary countermeasures; and grunts just had more weapons, armor, and ammo.

Left shoulder often pads featured personal touches, Runes, protective symbols, words of prayer and hope, kill marks, tribal hieroglyphs, as well as squad symbols - no were two alike, the Liberators were not an anonymous force of replicated soldiers, but proud individuals united for the common good.

Most carried the standard Son’ E-11S Rifles, slightly longer and heavier than standard E-11 with larger power packs, better range and accuracy as well as a burst fire mode.  A handful also carried Charric rifles on their backs, the advanced Chiss weapons were provided only to the best marksmen, in this case a Duro and Arcona.

Last time he had thought the Sons had gotten their Imperial weapons and fighters from raids, now he knew Aertemis Industries, the front for Black Armours…kind…had produced these specifically for the Sons, and while using Imperial designs in large part the materials and design modifications made them a better quality than Imperial standard - Artemis always opting for quality over quantity.

Now as to where Aertemis got their hands on Imperial designs and manufacturing moulds…

He put the thought aside as the ships pulled out of hyperspace to the spin of stars back into pinpricks of light against the veil of black.

Immediately the scanners lit up with contacts as the view screen filled with the green brown ball of Nadiem, to the far side of the planet to the Gryphons starboard he could just make out the grey triangle of the Unchained flashes of green all about it.

“Battles already started,” Ry stated

Bussra grunted,
“They took a shortcut to arrive an hour earlier, draw all the orbital defences to that side of the planet…”

“While we sweep in behind and start the groundwork,” Ken surmised

The Yinchorri simply sniffed and threw on the oversized, garishly bright orange painted Storm Trooper helmet marking his rank, dark green tribal symbols down the centre proudly showing his culture, then headed to the main hold.

“I think he likes you Ken,” Ry joked as she stepped up and hugged him round the shoulders planting a kiss on his cheek then checking her weapons.

Absently plotting the descent course Ken didn’t care if they liked him, if they still thought him a traitor or spy – just that they saw Ken and Ken alone in their opinions.

<<<<>>>>

Scrubber

His boots met the moist soil of the Ryza patties with a squelch, the Zeta Cargo ship’s repulsors blowing back the waters, then slowly lifting away the soaking wetness flooded back half way up his shins.

Barely had the image of the palatial villa resolved before he felt a palm push him down.

Black Armour knocked Scrubber to his knees, the hollow thvump of blaster bolts on Oblivion armour that would otherwise have hit him following. The Togruta began to crawl forward as the rest of the Eurydicen Guard advanced.

Armoured in Black Death Trooper designs with yellow decorations painted by the wearer, the Eurydicen guard was comprised of those former slaves and volunteers with the most military experience, former Slave soldiers, imperial strom troopers,  even a few Veterans of the Clone wars, all one brotherhood.

They made a swift approach through the paddies under a hail of fire from the Villa’s walls, poking up every few seconds to fire grenades from their rifles underslung launcher blasting chunks of the creamy white stone apart under the cool midday sun.

Scrubber was in their midst directing them to concentrate on a section of wall weakened by the Zeta’s laser fire. 

As soon as they had overwhelmed the orbital defences the Villa masters had gathered their slaves into their compounds, using them as living shields knowing the Sons would not bombard them.

Only Black Armour walked upright as they progressed to the round surrounding the Villa, taking cover positions behind Grain-Crates and Repulso lifters, the largely Klatooinian guards typical of Hutt Agriworld enforcers dressed Gamorite brown and bronze.

The Oblivion soldier easily sidestepped every shot fired at him, stopped missiles mid air and sent them flying back, only occasionally raising his vast rifle in one hand to blast a sniper's head apart, quickly having the desired effect of less staunch guards running from the walls throwing down their weapons.

“Breacher charge!” Scrubber ordered pointing at the main gate, three Eurydicens hunched against the wall scrambling over, two covering the others who locked the magma charge on the centre of the gate.  Pulling back there was a brief orange white flare as it detonated turning the gate to a molten heap that Black Armour indifferently rammed through.

Scrubber held his fist up ordering a pause as they crouched under cover.

They heard muffled blaster fire, screams, then a crack of inexplicable thunder and a wave of blue white light from the hollowed gate - finally an unspoken assent in Scrubber's mind to proceed. 

Rushing in guns up they saw half a dozen guards lying dead in various states of incineration, there was no obvious evidence of the fire that had engulfed them.  Three guards in the courtyard remained, one shaking in a foetal position, the second on his knees pleading for mercy, the third desperately trying to hack the inner gate to run to ‘safety’.

“Shuriken Squad requests armoured support, heavy resistance at Spaceport East, these bastards have a Gundark Tank!” the word came in Scrubbers ear.

“Shuriken Squad this is Unchained, Armoured Division 3 enroute 12 minutes,” Colonel Sala replied co-ordinating the battle on high

“There’s no time the….” the comm cut, Scrubber turned to Black Armour, knowing his ally could make the 70 kilometers distance in far less than twelve minutes with undefinable eldritch powers.

“Go, I’ll finish here,” Scrubber ordered, the Space ports were the key to the whole occupation.

Like mist Black Armour was gone.

The desperate guard finished overriding the inner courtyard gate opening, Scrubber shot him in the back.

“FORWARD!”

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 2 – Prodigal Son - Part 2

Ken

Action was immediate. Resistance, variable.

Tomahawk squad easily overran the first the Villa, barely twenty guards who surrendered at the first sight of the Gryphon hovering overhead, Ry and two Sons aiming Charric rifles from the ramp as the others jumped down.

The Second had been harder, after breaching the walls, and a quick skirmish in a Muung fruit sorting and boxing warehouse there was a stand off with the Overseer, a scarred thug of a Klatooinian with one arm who took to killing his former slaves as a ‘deterrant’ to the Sons approaching closer.

It made them only angrier.

Piling up crates and farm equipment they climbed over the wall, two Liberators falling just over the top, but the fire from the others reaching over the cleft took down a few guards before Ken and Bussra lept in, Ken pinned one guard with the force, his saber hurled at the legs of another as Bussra took on the Overseer, the Yinchorri finally getting the best of the Klatooinian but not before taking a stab wound to the gut.

Bussra finished the Overseer by crushing his skull in his wide hands.

The third was the hardest and the largest, it was less Villa than industrial depot, the sprawl of buildings sticking out like grey mushrooms on the otherwise large yellow-green flat plains of Nadiem’s fertile delta region where the fertile soils were enriched by numerous rivers flowing from southern mountains to the vast freshwater inland sea that was home to hundreds of aquaculture harvesters.

His back pressed to a wall he peered round the corner to a wide throughfare between buildings, another group of slaves slowly walking down it.

“Shav…” he whispered. This trick was being used all over, guards surroduned by slaves used as sentient shields to get close to the Sons or spy their positions.

Ry crouched peered round at his knee level, her Charric rifle sight clicking as it zoomed

“Two…maybe three in the group…”

The guards were armed in a mix of Clone wars era, and cheap generic weaponry, Nadiem had been attacked by the Confederacy 40 years before mainly because the Galactic Republic chose to defend it, pointlessly changing hands multiple times.
When the war was finally over and the Empire lost interest local Hutts swarmed the planet with Mercenaries to turn the previously subsistence farmers into outright slave plantations.

Even as an agri world it wasn't overly profitable, a steady source of cash crops to milk with little difficulty keeping an already war traumatized population under control.

The inheritance of generations of trauma was in the faces and defeated postures of the human shields shambling toward them.

Lips tight and teeth clenched Ken balled his fist tight drawing the Force, compacting the energy over and over again.

“Get ready,” he warned, his saber in his cybernetic hand at the ready.

Spinning out he hurled a wave of kinetic energy into the crowd bitterly aware it would hurt the very beings they were there to rescue.

Like Curl-Ball Skittles the entire group tumbled to the floor, limbs and heads banging and bumping as Ken and Ry rushed in, the snap hiss of his saber echoing off the Sepratist prefab walls. 

Easily identifiable by their outfits, Ken and Ry sliced and shot the guard in the legs and arms, disabling but not killing.

This was a brutal, bloody war, but if he could spare lives without compromising the mission, Ken would try to.

He knew that would rarely be possible.

But this was the war he had chosen and he would fight it on the terms given.

As they moved on leaving the battered slaves to recover and scurry off the familiar screech of TIE’s echoed overhead with a thrum of laser cannons then a flare of orange light. 

Over the comm they could hear the battle was being fought across scores of farms, villa’s and depots in small skirmishes, the sudden strike and overwhelming numbers allowing the Sons to trample through the majority, only a few pockets holding against them.

Building by building they advanced, Tomahawk squad gruffly pushing through.  The fighting was largely a series of ambushes, the vast size of the depot and ubiquitous rusted durasteel catwalks offering numerous opportunities for the defenders who knew the layout better.

Ken kept to the lower levels, his saber better able to deflect bolts, occasionally pulling a sniper out of place with the Force, a few even running at the sight of a Jedi - memories of the Republic dragging them into the war then alternately ignoring and occupying the planet made the Nadiemi response to his fighting as a knight caustic.

He was used to being judged in the shadow of other knights.

Charrics and E-11s peppered the cover positions, blasted through light walls and left heated molten holes in farming machinery as they advanced, Ry keeping Ken covered as he drew the guard fire onto himself by taking the lead, Tomahawk squad quickly following his lead, more than happy to let his saber take the brunt of blaster fire in each ambush.

By the time they reached the far end of the depot, a series of barn like tin sheds, by a smoking ruin of a speeder that the TIEs had hit earlier, Ken was covered in carbon and soot, limbs weary and head tense from using the Force a bit too much.  Tomahawk was low on power cells from one too many shoot outs behind cover.

They could hear the revving of old engines inside the shed, followed by painful sputters as outdated machinery failed, most likely trying to repair some old skiff or speeders to get away.

The Sons' reputation for ‘spacing’ slavers left them with little choice.

Something in the old machinery caught and the rumble within became constant.

The tin shed collapses as a mottled blue Trade Federation AAT burst out with scratched Confederacy insignia still on it, half a dozen guards clinging to the sides with one hand, weapons in the other.

Tomahawk dove for cover as the AAT fired its first Heavy cannon blast, a shed behind exploding into shards of metal, the light blaster ripping up the low wall two Sons had taken cover behind, eating the duracrete up and cutting them down.

He was already worn out from the fight, but Ken had maybe one more blast of Kinetic energy in him before he really started to feel faint.  crouching he moved swiftly between cover points as the tank kept blasting away, the side passengers taking shots where they could.

Tensing his fists he concentrated the force as much as he could into…

A vast crash and cry interrupted, over a rubble wall he saw the Tank on its side, guards scrambling as something massive and dark moved behind.

Black Armour Ken assumed, until the evening light lit a far different figure.

Chest etched with the crossed fists symbol of Brute Squad a massive warrior was taking the tank apart piece by piece without much effort, behind him three more Brutes living up to their name pulverizing the guards they caught, the others throwing their weapons away.

A cheer came close behind from the Tomahawk squad, Bussra foremost among them.

“RAVGE, RAVGE, RAVGE!”

The eponymous Ravge, a mountain of murky grey-pink muscle twice the size of even Zeric Vih’Torr with blood like spit pouring from between rows of fangs stood atop the fallen tank, a guards head in each hand bellowing to the sky.

<<<<<>>>>

Scrubber

The Eurydicen Guard swept through the columned courtyards, black wraiths against the white gauze curtains that billowed in the breeze, the distant rumble of explosions from the Spaceport as Black Armour arrived rapidly turning the tide, Scrubber could almost hear the cheers rise as some incredible feat was performed.

And he felt the bitter need to divest himself of that dependence all the stronger.

The outer yards were secured, not without losses to both Eurydicens and, unfortunately, slaves, the more brutal overseers well aware they would never escape alive had inflicted a final insult in murdering those they could before being shot down.

E-11S rifles raise high the Guard moved in groups of 5, checking corners, keeping tight formations and a view on every angle at all times even though resistance had fallen away, only handfuls of server droids and the odd house slave in attendance as they worked up to the main bedrooms.

Communicating by hand signals they surrounded large filigree doors, before a brutal front kick smashed it inward, blaster shots streaming out as they tossed concussion grenades in, Scrubber wincing at the use of the ordinance they were increasingly short on.

Shuffling low, blasters set to stun Scrubber followed behind noting the gaudy trappings of the Pasha who had nominal authority over the Delta, managing the region on behalf of a collection of Hutt and even some Pyke owners.

Drawers and cupboards flung open, clothes across the floor, a desperate attempt no doubt to gather collectibles before an escape - Sledge Squadron led by the Wookie Loftharr had already downed three ships trying to make a break for it, the TIE Advanced fast and keen to blast anything that looked like it was trying to lift off the ground in the region.

Muffled sounds from behind a door, likely to a refresher, at the end of the room.

“Come out,” Scrubber said stepping forward “We have you surrounded,”

The door slowly slid open, revealing the luxurious crimson length of a Zeltron’s leg, Scrubber followed it up the barely opaque cream Mhyyr-Lace linked by silver ringlets to the woman’s face, behind her a gaunt but resolved Pau’an with a blaster to her head.

The Euydricens tightened their grip, ready to douse the pair in stun shots, a grim necessity as slaves were increasingly used as ‘armour’.

“I was promised protection!” the Pau’an snapped
“What treachery is this?!”

Scrubber had no idea what he was talking about, no doubt raging at some unfulfilled promise from his masters.

“Liberation,” Scrubber replied to the accusation of treachery, raising his own sleek Naboo ELG-3A pistol, his dark eyes zeroing on the tall sentients upper skull, the height disparity between the Pasha and the Zeltron meant no amount of crouching could fully conceal him.  Scrubber's eyes were suddenly drawn to the Zeltron, her hand cupping her groin as if in modesty, yet something thin and metallic between her fingers.

“Now drop it, and, if you cooperate, you might be spared,” Scrubber offered very generously

It happened in the blink of an eye, the Pau’an tensed his gripped, the Zeltron’s hand swiped up, her front fingers delicately resting around a long thin needle. Scrubber fired, the bolt cauterizing a chunk from the side of the Pu’ans head, the Zeltron’s needle penetrating deep into the other.

A stray muscle twitch in the hand and the Pau’ans blaster fired, striking the Zeltron in the shoulder.

Scrubber leapt to catch her before she fell to the floor, lowering her gently, without need to ask a nearby Eurydicen handing him a bacta patch.

“It’s alright,” he soothed staring into her unusually rich sapphire blue eyes,
“You’re free,”

<<<<>>>>

Ken

‘Ravge’ had vanished as swiftly as he had appeared, but left awe struck Sons in his wake.

“Was that guy a Jedi or something?” Ry asked as they headed toward the others.
“I didn’t sense anything,” Ken replied, there was a humm of transports on the Horizon, Zeta landers flanked by TIE Interceptors, but far too few for all the rescued slaves.

“We’re not taking them off world yet?” Ken asked Bussra as the heavy Yinchorr pounded along the assembled slaves sat in small groups on a cleared patch of dirt for head counts and identification.

To the side a Duro with a charric rifle held a steady gaze over five guards who had tried to hide among the slaves, ousted by the kin-leaders as they realized the Sons had truly won and were promised no reprisals.

“No, Scrubber will explain it all soon, Faaro, light it up,” he called to an Arcona with a large comms backpack who was setting up a small projector.

A flickery image of the Togruta appeared as he spoke from the Pasha’s villa, confirmation from all the main Militias the Delta region had been secured.

Casualties had been minimal, just under a hundred all told, arguably the hardest part for the Abolitionist leader was what he now had to do.

“Sires! Sirras!” he beamed his face full of hope and confidence
“Today the chains of the Pasha have been broken, those who would claim dominion over your bodies, thrown off.  This day my friends, your freedom is restored,”

Every Militia group across the delta projected the image of the Sons leader, many wept, more were astonished the fabled Scrubber spoken of only in shed whispers by new ‘stock’ was real, let alone he would turn his eyes to this backwater world.   

“At last your future is yours to choose, those who wish to join our Militias speak to the Sons Liberators with Orange pauldrons, those who desire to arrange a return to their homeworld the communications officers.  I know many of you are natives of Nadiem and we will support you in re-establishing your society free of the tyranny of the slavery…”

You didn’t need the Force to know a caveat of some kind was coming.

“Unfortunately with our resources stretched it may be some time before we can arrange offworld transportation for all who wish to leave, in the interim I plead with you my friends be patient, and for the moment continue to work the farms and fields to help supply, out of your surplus, food to your fellow brethren-in-chains in nearby systems. We will institute a system of remuneration for your labour within the month, paying fair wage for work and produce, connecting you with traders to supply other needs,”

The promise of pay did little to raise the suddenly dashed hopes of slaves brought from other worlds, comprising at least a third of the Delta’s populace, or even the native populace so long under the thumb, theirs was a barter economy in which credits had no value to any but their former masters and overseers.

Scrubber was well aware of the limits to the liberation he had brought, but for the moment it couldn’t be helped.

“A small garrison will ensure your protection from the Spice miners to the north, and rock-grinders in the east as well as any attempt by the Pasha’s investors to reclaim this delta,”

The fact was they could only liberate the Delta, and the Western Ryza plains over the coming months, the rest of the planet would have to be left to the more disorganized bands of miners and Spicers for the time being.

“A new Pasha,” one girzzled Kin-elder sneered within Kens earshot.  The young Koawan understood the dilemma Scrubber was likely facing having just liberated several thousand, but could not deny this was appearing more like a change in management than a breaking of chains.

“The Road to Freedom is long and can be harsh my friends,” Scrubber surmised “But the more who walk it together the smoother it becomes,”

The holo cut out to largely apathetic sighs of resignation.

Ken couldn’t blame them.

<<<<>>>>

[TheDutchman]

Although it's been awhile, this is an excellent return to form for Ken & Ry^^  Now with them both returning to the Sons, they do so under several disparate perceptions.  To wit, Ken's own experiences are a double-edged sword: yes, he was effectively remonstrated by Scrubber (and the attendant trial) as being there under false pretenses--a not altogether untrue statement but one that is certainly qualified--but he can do so as his own person, not as an asterisk that leads inevitably to the ever-growing reputation of his (in)famous father.  But the question that presents itself is this: is Ken one whom is dedicated to changing his own reputation for the better or will he instead be content with anything that is NOT related to his father?  I think that if Ken's first experiences with the Sons (LSG's outstanding first "Gray&Unchained" story) is any indication, he has matured enough to secure the former of the two possibilities.

Ry is an interesting character: when first seen, she is mostly a mystery, a Chiss young woman whom is both clearly 1) interested in Ken and 2) trying to make a name for herself.  This parallel to Ken's own arc lends to a commonality and indeed a bond that the two can grow closer over...if they learn to listen to both their feelings and each other.

But the real pathos of the story is from Scrubber.  He has seen the absolute worst that the galaxy has to offer, avowed to correct the sin and stain that is slavery of every single sentient...only to run headlong into the harsh reality of his situation.  From logistics to supply to personnel, he is accosted on all sides by the eponymous limits of liberty, fundamental facts that with even the most flush of benefactors' monies cannot solve.  Is it any wonder that those "freed" see the Sons efforts as merely trading one yoke for another?

meta-note: Brilliant storytelling here.  I'm reminded of an argument that I once heard as to "Why" Bruce Wayne doesn't use his countless billions to help save Gotham: the baser character of those involved will doom such an undertaking from the start.  Even without such, and for those whose motives ARE laudable, there are often too many problems to deal with to effectively make any headway in a small amount of time.  That Scrubber and Ken both see the intrinsic obstacles that they are (unsuccessfully) trying to overcome is telling. 

...And Ravge MUST be a MOUNTAIN of a sentient indeed considering the comparison 

Looking forward to Chapter 3^^

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 3 – Voids

****My thanks to theDutchman for the creation of Qillov and the Consortium’s own Menace****

Qillov

With a flurry of pseudomotion, the TL-1200 freighter lurched into realspace amidst a cacophony of warning alarms.  Lieutenant Vyns Qillov gritted his teeth and not for the first time.  He'd hoped that Scrubber would've given him one of the newer transports the Togruta had acquired.  Or, better still, some of the TIE Phantom’s or Defenders would’ve been nice. 

But he was a realist; they had few fighters and fewer pilots, Argeni and Ranger 11 needed them far more than he did.

"Sorry, LT.  It's the navigational sensors; they're still not 'zeroed' yet." The co-pilot, Jense Talbot squinted as he worked furiously to silence the noise.  Vyns made a sound that Jense took as an acknowledgement and an inducement to hurry.

"Newebba jgotsht lwekneedi." Guenxa Guehs, the Sullustan pilot added.

"Yes, I tried that." Jense said patiently.  "That was th-- Ah, there." He smiled triumphantly as the alarms cut off.  "...And, sensors are now reading optimal."

"Gyunnde wonq twunda." Guenxa laughed while expertly flying the freighter.

"Oh, c'mon; you can't blame me for that!  I had to fix it en route!  Ornil said that this was the only transport that she could spare for now.  Plus: we need the cargo space for the equipment." Jense retorted in mock indignation.

"Lavibba pemmbe hrodlunni." Guenxa snorted.

"Yeah, yeah.  But you still owe me 50 for the Nal Hutta r--."

"Gentlemen." Vyns' tone silenced the two pilots.  "Just let me know when we're green."

"Will do, LT." Jense nodded respectfully; Guenxa said something that Vyns didn't understand but got the gist: "Yes, sir."

Walking from the cockpit, Vyns heard the pilots' banter pick up almost immediately.  They may not be military (or ex- like in his case) but they were damned good at their jobs.  Inhaling slowly, Vyns put on his "Officer's Face" and keyed the door open to the cargo bay.

In the large hold, there were multiple groups of sentients doing various things: a mixed group obviously comprised of soldiers and civilians were checking their Artemis produced storm trooper armor, blasters, and equipment; another group were standing around a holomap showing detailed blueprints; and still another group were practicing hand-to-hand combat.

Separate from them was a squad all in dark gray heavy-trooper armor, each with an insignia on their upper arm displaying the lightning bolt, star, and targeting reticle of the Rangers just as Vyns wore, beneath which was their squad number, - Ranger 8.

To a being, they were all reading a datanode summarizing the mission, logistical parameters, and objectives.  Good.

Walking towards the middle of the group, Vyns keyed his headset "On" and addressed the crowd.  "Fall in!"  In no time at all they had formed a fairly orderly semicircle around him, each set of eyes locked onto his. 

"Scrubber's given us the task of securing necessary filtration units for the Sons' ISDs.   With intel from Kal-Estp, Scrubber believes that 'Big Brain' has located us an easy source of Imperial equipment that is both unprotected and easily accessible."

Punching a button on his wrist-module, Vyns continued.  "We're approaching the Phaylenn repair yard.  'Big Brain' thinks that while the shipyard itself might have the equipment, he believes that there's a better chance that the super star destroyer that the Rebel Alliance  partially destroyed, the Enforcer, will still have the components that we need."  While explaining, a holoprojection of first the shipyard and then the star dreadnaught filled the cargo bay.  Vyns pressed another button on his wrist, zooming in on the aft section of the ship, stopping once the reactor core was highlighted. 

"Highlighted here are the Enforcer's filtration systems.  Scrubber needs two, one for each ISD.  With this equipment, we'll be able to use the lower quality reactor coolant that we currently have without damaging the ships."

Vyns looked around.  "Sensors indicate that the aft compartments have atmo and gravity.  Rangers will form a perimeter first, securing the area.  Once accomplished, Liberator techs will disassemble the filtration units, stow them for transport, and pull back.  As soon as the last Liberator is aboard, Rangers will finally withdraw.  In, out, zero presence."  He pressed another button, killing the hologram.  "Questions?"

Vyns was already nodding his head.  "'Big Brain' said that the 'probability was high that structural integrity was intact.'  Any others?"

"LT, any possibility that any Imps might still be alive?" Someone asked.

Vyns exhaled.  "While there was no report of any sort of casualty list from the incident--other than 'all hands lost'--I'm going to assume that there are enemy personnel still operating.  That's why we were assigned to back the Liberators.”

“Any other questions?"

When no one else moved, Vyns continued.  "We get in, do our jobs, and we'll be home in time for pod-racing.  Remember: follow your supervisor's orders.  And if you run into trouble, ping Ranger Squad."  He gave a brief smile.  "Let's move like you have a purpose."

Nodding, everyone gave a half-hearted, "Frell you, sir" before speeding to their assignments.  Vyns just hid the half-grin that the tradition always elicited from him.

He just hoped that this time wasn't the time that he would be...

<<<<>>>>

Argeni

They had to succeed. 

There was no better way to honour Dama Piella than to make use of the last intelligence she had forwarded to the Sons before the explosion that killed her and the rest of the Skyslum agents.

Piella had had not only been a critical source of information but a saviour to so many homeless runts on the streets of Skyslum - like Argeni.

The Mirialan woman tightened her grip on the hyperdrive control as the timer ticked down, the TIE Phantom that ferried her and Ranger 14 had been assigned to intercept the Black Sun hand over of Alliance Prisoners to a Remnant faction - hopefully not only scoring the Alliance officers to hand back as an act of goodwill, but also capture whatever credits - or more likely precious minerals - were changing hands. 

Her pale green skin featured none of the tattoos traditional to her species, as Argeni hadn’t been raised in that culture, or any at all, instead surviving on the streets of Nar Shadda, stealing, hustling, hiding from the Traffickers with the other Runts, the lost children of the undercities. 

By luck or fate she had found the bins of the Comfort house, a burning hunger in her gut having her climb up to dive in to chew on the leavings of the clients, bashing away womp-rats and kowakians that competed for the scraps.

There she had been found by Piella, at the time still a slave.  The Kaminoan had taken pity on her, leaving out small dishes when Argeni would come by, building trust before offering her a place to work and sleep. 

Argeni would clean, scrub, keep quiet and block out the sounds of the business that went on there, the Comfort House Hama indifferent to another scabby runt so long as she didn’t eat too much.

When she was old enough she joined the ‘business’ fully.  It was slavery, it was repellant, but the comfort house was safer than the streets. She didn’t blame Piella for bringing her into it - quite the opposite -  had Argeni and the others the Kanimoan took in stayed on the streets their fate would’ve been far worse. It was the only act of resistance Piella could manage.

The digits flicked to 4 seconds, Argeni began to pull back on the lever the Phantom, the three winged large fighter was far more sluggish than the Interceptors she had largely trained with in simulators, but maneuvered more smoothly, reverting to real space gently as she swiftly flicked the power from hyperdrives to the stealth drive, the view screen shimmering briefly translucent azure as the stygium cloak activated, small flickers to her peripheral vision as Ranger 9 and 10 did likewise. 

Checking her Quancomm, linked to it’s pair held by a nearby Raider 2 Corvette with TIE Advanced fighter support in the form of Breacher Squad she settled back for the sublight advance toward the rendezvous Piella had sent details of.

The Radio silence extended to the interior of the Phantom, Ranger 11, Mydgi, Toru, Beiro and Kkyrnsk packed into the hold - among the modifications to the Phantom the Son’s had cleared out all excess panels in the crew compartment to fit more bodies - it was still damn cramped -  Kkyrnsk a wookie almost in a ball.

“Two arns, I can just make it out,” Mydgi said, the diminutive member of the ranger team's thick spectacles snapping over her tiny eyes set in her large orange face.

Up ahead was a blocky light frigate, drifting in the high orbit of a satellite-less blue gas giant of an otherwise empty system off the Triellius Trade Route far past Rampa Minor. Zooming in herself Argeni made out Black Sun Insignia, a quick run through the databank matched it to Prince Xizor.

“Must be one of the break aways,” Argeni surmised, Xizor was long dead, but his extensive network and penchant for branding everything his own Falleen style outlived him, the Son’s alone had files on half a dozen Black Sun cells that had once been under Xizor's command snapping at each other for his increasingly depleted inheritance.

<They do have reason to dislike the Alliance> Kkyrnsk growled with a fanged grin, the former Vigo having been killed largely due, it was rumoured,, to Alliance intervention in his schemes, some even said it had something to do with the fabled ‘Luke Skywalker’.

“We’ll give them a reason to dislike us to,” Argeni added as they glided ever closer,

“Toru, Beiro, get the Worm ready, I don’t want any delays, who knows when the Imp’s will show up,”

The pair quickly complied. 

The Worm was a ship to ship docking tube the Sons had developed for the TIE Phantoms specifically - to make maximum use of the cloaking system they would get as close as possible then expand the Worm’s 10 meter length into the target vessel. 

Superheated elements on the end would fuse and cut into the targets hull, slicing open a door for the Rangers to board through - by the time any internal alarms went off at all the Ranger would already be inside along with reams of anaesthetic gases.

An array of shock cannons and stun grenades would knock out the Black Sun operatives and ensure that the Alliance prisoners were harmed in the process.

Of course Argeni knew there could be complications - there always were - even the day the Comfort house was liberated. 

She had been ‘on duty’ in the lineup when they came in, six figures, not unheard of but a lot, all asking for Dama Piella at once.  The Gammorean triplet guards had quickly realized something was amiss and called the Hama to arrange an appropriate price.

It was what the Sons had wanted. 

Throwing off their cloaks she had seen Scrubber for the first time, the nobility with which he bore his many scars, the boundless energy pulsing in his every motion as he fought hand to hand with the Gamoreans, grappling despite his comparatively tiny frame until his Dread Enforcer stepped in rending one of the triplets in half with his bare hands then dragging the Hama away to ‘convince’ them of the change in management..

She and the other workers had been so confused, but Dama Piella quickly took them aside - she had arranged it all, making a deal with Scrubber - the Son’s would free every one of the slaves and provide security - a dangerous affair in the heart of the Skyslum for what was then such a small abolitionist movement - in exchange Piella would continue operate the Comfort house under her own management feeding intelligence to the Sons and acting as a safe house.

As dark and unnerving as Black armour had been, the electricity between Scrubber and Dama Piella was inspiring, two beings who had dedicated their entire lives to freeing others, nothing of their bodies spared - it had a profound effect on Argeni.

Half the slaves took the chance to get out, ferried to the nearest relatively safe world, some funds from the Hama’s liquidated assets - a quarter opted to remain helping Piella, the rest like Argeni volunteered to help the cause directly, inspired by Piella and Scrubbers example.

She’d had her share of trials, learning to fire a blaster, fly a ship, years just running power cells between the Liberators before they even had that structured name, flying extraction, then part of a support squad, till finally leading her own and being given her own Ranger team.

None of that could’ve happened had Dama Piella not taken pity on a Nar Shadda street runt all those years before. 

“Coming up, charge blasters and prime grenades,” Argeni instructed, unnecessary really - Ranger 14 was always ready - she gently began to spin the Phantom into position knowing the other Ranger teams would be in place at exactly the same time.

“Frell you Ma’am!” Berio as always led the traditional send off of the Ranger, a tradition held from the more rag tag era of the Sons.

Argeni gave a curt grin and eye roll, focused on honouring Piella in the best way she knew how - freeing others and furthering the Cause.

<<<<>>>>

With a dull thud the plated hull section fell inward, a thin pink gas seeping inside behind it followed by a wave of blue energy that sent the only figure behind the breach toppling over.

Suits airtight Ranger 11 advanced swiftly, Stun-carbines overcharged to ensure they got through all but the toughest armour and shields, most with a stun grenade in hand to roll down every junction they found. 

Argeni knew they were running low on grenades and stun gases, indeed the three Ranger squads on this mission had been equipped with half the remaining supplies -  but Scrubber was clear no resource was to be spared in rescuing the Alliance prisoners, the long term benefits of good relations with the Alliance would massively outweigh any shortages in the short term.

Mydgi scuttled ahead, dark grey armour fitted to her tiny form only just visible in the gas haze as she sought a terminal to begin taking control of what internal systems she could, Kkyrnsk protectively behind her, her sleek bowcaster tight in the wookies paws.

Argeni pressed tight to the nearby wall as Toru checked the fallen body, purple and black overlapping angular plate with yellow trim consistent with Xizor's former Elite guards.

Peering round the corner, curious that no alarm had yet been activated following the hull breach Argeni heard Toru let out an audible wheeze of her throat gills, the Mon Cala tentatively removing the Black Sun guards helmet.

“Agi…” Toru’s gravely voice crackled with Argeni’s nickname, she turned to see Toru holding up a featureless pale blue plastic mannequin head that occupied the Black Sun Armour.

“Shavit!”

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 3 – Voids - Part 2

Brakhest Tahn

He was patient.  Patient as he had been for seven years in the freezing caverns where the cold numbed the pain of hundreds of cuts from the bladed methane-Ice as he dug for the dense rare but incredibly fragile maloderichium.

For seven years he had been a slave, biding his time, pooling his energy and resources.  A day, a week was nothing to him.

Cramped in the access way behind the walls he watched the feed from the surveillance snake as the targets stared perplexed over the bodies that dropped lifeless to the ground.

A wookie tentatively kicked one realizing beneath the Black Sun chevroned plate was another mannequin.  He could imagine the confusion, the dread that was now building in them.

He was precise.

With quick eye motions on the active HUD he detonated the Carbonite mines then kicked the weakened wall before him down.

Grey-brown blasts exploded over the Sons rangers as figures in bloody red armor burst from the deep blue walls.

The Carbonite flashed cold and liquid around their legs and arms, frost burning as it set, steam hissing off reducing visibility, the Rangers quick to activate thermal vision on their ocular implants or helmets.

Argeni and Kkyrnsk twisted around, the wookies bowcaser firing ineffectually, Tahn easily dodging as he raised his Stun-Rifle, the powerful blast rumbling through the Defiler armour he proudly wore as the intense beam struck the already pinned wookie.

Through armour and fur it sent Kkyrnsk reeling as Argeni ducked best she could hacking the carbonite blob on her foot with her vibro knife, the Red armoured attacker taking a measured pace toward her as more enemies appeared.

“Range 9 Under att….” the comm cut out instantly as Tahn jammed all communications with a flick of his eyes.

His plan was perfectly executed.  

Zann had provided the details, the Sons of Kessel given misinformation on a Black Sun - Imperial Remnant prisoner sale, Tahn repainted and laced one of his own vessels with traps, purchased some Black Sun armour once belonging to Xizor minions, and waited for the fool freedom fighters to come.

Her leg radiating numbness, muscles frostbitten, Argeni pulled her hold out blaster firing straight at the Tahn, his personal shield taking the brunt as he closed in.

All across the ship the three Ranger squads were unconscious or under attack, realizing too late this entire mission was no more than an elaborate trap

Yes he had been a slave himself - his mercenary outfit defeated by the Ailon Nova Guard and sold to Zygerrians - but he had found his way out and bore no grudge.  

There were masters and slaves, it was the natural order of things, the strong and cunning ruled the weak and foolish.  The Dharma’chakra spun for each being, from greatness to mediocrity to wretchedness, and so he bore the changes.

Such was life.

He escaped his slavery by wit and war and rebuilt himself in the service of as yet less than famous Tyber Zann, a hunch that paid off as he rose to Chief Deflier of the Lantillian Sector, operating his own network under Zann’s banner.  

Now Zann had called his Defilers to him, form across a hundred sectors they gathered their gangs, cliques and cadres heeding the call of their organisations primus inter pares.

Zann continued to do well, success and credits building around him, and so his cells and factions were more than happy to join him in putting these ‘Sons’ in their place, - reminding all of the fundamental truths of hierarchy he had endured on both sides.

The Mirlian swung vicious at him, his forearms blocking, then his foot sweeping in aiming at her cold-burnt lower legs, the heavy red plate slamming brittle frozen bone.

Argeni grunted as she felt her shin shatter within her frostbitten leg, the wookie recovering to swing at him from behind.

With a swift crouching spin Tahn shoved his Rifle hard into the wookies gun and fired point blank, voltage straight into the digestive system causing Kkyrnsk’s stomach to seize and expel a stream of vomit from her mouth over the Defiler, giving Argeni a chance to shuffle herself up and ram her blade into his neck.

Tahn bit back the pain, mid twist her thrust failed to cut into anything ‘important’ and left her arm outstretched for him to grab and snap.

His strength and size soon overcame the staggering Ranger, flooring her and tearing off the dark grey stormtrooper helm with green accents.  

He paused seeing the Mirilan’s light green features a smile on his lips behind the blood red Deflier helmet.  She looked familiar, from some Nar Shadda brothel or other.  

[Second vessel secured] his Prime Enforcer commed across the HUD
[Confirmed Make, TIE Phantom]

This was good, very good.  

Under his personal agreement with Zann he could keep a third of all profits and pillage, a TIE Phantom, a female wookies breeder and a now lame lin leg but still pretty in face Mirilan for himself, the Consortium could take the rest.

He dragged Argeni who continued to scuffle till he smacked her across the face till her green skin turned black.

“You should thank me,” the voice through the red helm was tinny and distorted

“Far better my bunk than the Extractor,”

“I’ll nev…” Argeni spat best she could, her voice whisked away as she saw more blood armoured mercenaries behind her captor one indifferently tossing Mydgi’s dead body to a corner.

“You will,” Tahn insisted dropping her only to fire a stun bolt straight in her breast.

“Take that one and the wookie to my ship,” Tahn ordered his Cadre Enforcer, each member hand picked by him bearing the symbol of the consortium in orange on their left pauldron, wrapped within a his own circular design.

“Prep two of the Phantom’s for delivery to Saelucami, we keep the third,”

His orders were swiftly executed as he made his way past the damaged walls and doors, stepping over the mannequins he had placed in the awful Black Sun garb.

The Mirilan really should feel lucky, even Tahn, hardened by years of war, slavery and the vicious climb up through the underworld, shuddered to think what would become of those beings taken at the Consortiums simultaneous ambush.  
  

<<<<>>>>

Qillov

Consulting his chronometer, Vyns had to admit that they were making good time.  Ship-to-ship docking & sealing had gone remarkably smoothly as well as the initial insertion.  Even the civies had done their jobs well, removing and disassembling two entire filtration systems and were now finishing on a third (just in case).

That's when Team Besh went completely dark.

"LT, I've lost comms with Besh.  How copy?" Corporal Diryk Sloane pinged him, her calm voice indicative of the competent soldier that she was.

"Good copy, Ranger 4.  How close are you to their last position, Diryk?" Vyns' mind went through possible scenarios and solutions, hoping it was just faulty comms but expecting the worst.

"50 meters and closing, LT."

"Acknowledged.  Ranger 3, Ranger 5: send your Liberator groups back to transport and redeploy to 4's position.  How copy?" Vyns knew that 3's & 5's Liberator contingents were all-but-finished with their objectives.

"Roger that, LT." Came identical responses from Rangers 3 and 5.

Vyns checked his chronometer again, satisfied that Diryk would be close to Besh's last known position.  "Ranger 4, sitrep1."

"Ranger 1, this is 4.  Coming up to the junction.  There are no look-outs on position.  Stand by, 1." Diryk's voice was still professional, if a bit tighter.

Vyns was patient but his trepidation increased by an order of magnitude.  He was about to ping Diryk's comms when he suddenly heard her voice over the Squad's frequency comms.  "What the frell..." He voice was quiet and disbelieving.

"4, this is 1.  Diryk, repeat your last."

"1, this is 4.  The...they're all dead..." Diryk sounded as if she were just waking up.  From a nightmare.  "How...who could...could do this?"

"Corporal, report.  What has happened?"

Diryk's tone switched becoming monotonous.  "Sir.  Besh has been wiped out, civies, techs, soldiers...everyone."  Vyns heard a noise in the pause.  It was Diryk gagging.  "The...bodies.  They're...eviscerated, strewn about as if their limbs had been...pulled apart.  Multiple lacerations...excisions...blood everywhere..." Her voice began to fade a bit as some static began.

And Vyns began to worry.

"4...Diryl.  3 and 5 are en route.  ETA..." He consulted his chronometer.  "45 seconds.  How copy?"

Nothing but static answered him.

"Rangers 3, 5.  Double time to 4's position.  Ranger 1 is also on the move." He calmly spoke despite hurrying, careful to check the doors and corners of the passageways.  That's when the static finally gave 'way to blasterfire.

And then screaming.

It was Diryk, clearly in agony.  "Bron, Grehl, ETA to Diryk's last known?" He demanded.

"10 seconds, LT." Bron answered, breathing hard but not winded.  After all, he was a Ranger.  "Rounding corner no--"

Bron's transmission cut off suddenly.  "3, report.  3?  Bron?"  He began to move faster.  "5, this is 1.  Report."  Nothing.  "3, 5 report.  Bron...Grehl...sound off..."

When their transmissions resumed, both men were screaming in anger and pain.

...Dammit... Vyns knew that something bad was happening, something that "Big Brain" hadn't foreseen.  "Ranger 2, Ranger 6: do you have all Liberator personnel back to the ship as well as equipment in hand?"

"Affirmative, 1."

"Affirmative, LT.  Cresh almost has the third filtration system ready for transport."

"Good.  Leave it.  Tell Guenxa to prep for take-off and double time to my position.  How copy?" He was mindful of his surroundings, blaster rifle in one hand while he held one of Kal-Estp's motion trackers in the other.  It only had a range of 25 meters but it was very accurate.

"Acknowledged.  6 and I are at the ship, 20 seconds and we're on the move.  ETA 2 minutes."

But Vyns only half heard; the screams that he'd been listening to for the past 30 seconds suddenly went quiet.

He didn't know which was worse: the blood-curdling screaming or the deafening silence.

The 2 minutes that Vyns waited lasted an eternity.

As Rangers 2 and 6 approached, Vyns' motion tracker picked them up as soon as they were in range, quietly beeping as they closed the distance.

"LT, Liberators secure along with two filtration systems, Guenxa is standing by." Ranger 2 reported, not in the least bit winded.  "Orders?"

Vyns checked his motion tracker before speaking.  "We've lost contact with Besh Team as well as Rangers 3, 4, and 5.  Sounds of struggle but no visual confirmation yet."  He looked at the remaining Rangers in front of him.  "Yewil, Syrin...be prepared for anything.  On me."

All three Rangers were fast but careful, covering the other two as they moved towards the compartments where Besh had lost contact.  Before entering the large engineering bay, Vyns consulted his motion tracker.

Nothing.

Giving a silent count down, the Rangers keyed the doors open entering the room, each one covering their sector of the vast yet cramped chamber.

Blood was everywhere, limbs and viscera punctuating the red lake surrounding multiple torsos, abdomens, and heads.  Of the personnel that had been assigned to Besh, there remained not one whole body.  It was as if a rabid gundark had ravaged the entire room.

No, not a gundark...something worse.  Far, far worse.

"LT..." Syrin's almost whisper helped break the spell.  When he looked at Ranger 2, she held up two things in her hand: the first was a blaster, one that everyone in the squad knew belonged to Ranger 4, the other...

Vyns had a strong stomach but he could feel his gorge rise in the back of his throat.

The other was Ranger 3's--Bron's--face, the skin flayed from his head.  Only, there was no way to tell which of the severed heads was his...

"...What the frell..." Ranger 6 whispered as he carefully toed a collected mass of intestines that had been deliberately arranged on the floor.  There, in bloody Aurabesh, was a single condemnation for all to see:

"Such Is Your Fate."

"2, 6.  Let's--" But before Vyns could finish his sentence, his comms began to ping furiously.  "This is Ranger 1, st--"

"Rangers!  We are under attack!  Teams Aurek and Cresh have engaged!  Multiple targets, no visual confirmation!  Taking HEAVY casualties!"  Vyns could tell that the tech was rambling.  "Pilot dead, cut in half as if a heavy blast door had bisected him...blood everywhere...seven Liberators were down before we could even get off a shot... No, there, THERE!  FIRE!!"  The tech had left the channel open as the sounds of multiple blasters opening fire continued, often punctuated by horrified screams belonging to the dying...

Somehow to Vyns, they were even worse than what he'd heard from Diryk.  Rangers expected to live a life of violence; many of the Liberators were civies: techs, and scientists, non-combatants all.

Consulting his motion tracker, Vyns saw that the only movement within a 25 meter radius were his Rangers.  "Let's go." He commanded.  "We've got to save our people."  With identical nods of determination, Yewil and Syrin took point, moving as fast as they could while keeping situational awareness.

For Vyns, the couple minutes transit allowed him a few moments to wonder if 1) how many enemies they were dealing with and 2) how was it that they didn't show up on any sensors, nothing on the motion tracker, not even a visual confirmation.  "Switch to infrared." He said, keying a button on his wrist, the nano-cybernetic node in his eyes allowing him to see beyond a human's limited sight in the electromagnetic spectrum (all Rangers had undergone the surgery for such, able to see from infrared to ultraviolet, radio waves to gamma waves if they wanted).

Unfortunately during that time, the comms had gone completely silent, no sounds of blaster fire or even screaming.

That was truly the most disconcerting: the line was open but there was absolutely no noise at all.

Coming to a halt, the Rangers readied themselves as Vyns wordlessly directed fields of fire for each of them.  Consulting the motion tracker, they could see that nothing at all moved beyond the door.  

That would change soon enough, Vyns knew.  With a silent hand command, the three Rangers breached the hanger bay where their TL-1200 freighter was docked.

At least, that's what they remember.

Vyns stared disbelieving at the sight before him: blood was everywhere, body parts, viscera, and offal covered almost every square centimeter of the hangar bay.  Doing a mental count from the amount of limbs and blood everywhere, Vyns was convinced that every member of Aurek and Cresh Team was grisly accounted for... Not one person had survived.

Incredibly, that wasn't the most incredible sight that Vyns beheld: the TL-1200 freighter looked as if it had been field stripped or had been worked over with a group of demolition droids.  Fuselage plating, transparasteel windows, even armor looked like it had been deliberately cut into and sliced up.  It had only been a few minutes since his people had pinged his comms...

How in the frelling hell had something done...this?!

"What the h--" Yewil began to say when he suddenly stopped, his eyes large and frightened, "LT GET D--"

With reflexes honed by years of experience, Vyns ducked before Yewil's mouth could open.  Something hard hit his helmet at a glancing blow, saving him from serious injury although his durasteel helmet now had a large dent in it.  

So it was that Vyns was shocked to find himself covered in a spray of blood.  Cleaning his eyes quickly, he stared hard.

Yewil had been completely bisected by a single, slanting cut from his right shoulder to below his left hip, a huge blade buried deeply in the metal decking.  With a sickening, slithering wet sound, the top part of his body slid down slowly before splatting onto the floor.  With his head cocked at an odd angle, Yewil's unseeing eyes were wide with shock.

"C'mon, LT!" Syrin shouted, her repeater laying down suppressive fire as she targeted along the vector the blade had come from, Vyns' own blaster rifle joining hers as the far wall was blasted apart.  After a moment they stopped, eyes scanning the hanger bay.  They saw nothing.

Approaching slowly, Vyns was amazed at the amount of damage that their blasters had caused...yet there was nothing there.  No bodies, no expended ammunition or dropped equipment, no bl... Vyns looked closer, seeing a small, dark drop.

It was a drop--no, three drops--of thick, viscous, black blood.

"Reload." He said unnecessarily, seeing that Syrin was already doing so.  Good.

If...whatever...they were up against bled then it could be killed.  But how?  Nothing had shown up on sensors, nothing on the motion tracker, and they'd seen nothing.

Except for a huge blade that had cut into the doonium deck as easily as a lightsaber.

"LT..." Syrin whispered, gesturing almost imperceptibly with her neck at the large blade.  "I...I think I know who we're up agai--"

Before she could even finish her word, an enormous blade exploded from her chest, the large edge dripping blood.

Rolling, Vyns squeezed off several tight shots, a few going wide but most hitting their target.  Unfortunately, he noticed that the plasma bolts seemed to dissipate in a splash of spent energy.  ...Dammit... He cursed, recognizing the effects of nano-weave "heat-sink" mesh armor.  He knew that it would fail under sustained fire but doubted that its owner would stay motionless in one place.

He was, of course, correct.

The blade holding up Syrin's body ripped upwards, the bisected halves of the Ranger's body opening apart like some gruesome blossom.  But before the blade could disappear, Vyns was able to get a bead on it, or rather its owner.  With precision fire discipline, the Ranger lieutenant's shots hit center-mass, the "heat-sink" armor beginning to attenuate, creating a rippling effect in the air.  ...Got you now you bastard...

Unbelievably, the rippled air...moved.  Faster than Vyns could track, the still-visible blade seemed to bounce up- and backwards several meters.  Still, Vyns' expert marksmanship held true, several more blaster shots splashing against the mesh armor, its protection almost spent.  But as Vyns saw the blade curve upwards, he knew that it was about to be thrown his way.

Rolling from his position, Vyns felt more than saw the blade fly past him, still scratching his exposed neck.  Targeting the ripple in the air, Vyns squeezed off several rounds in rapid succession.  The first few bolts splashed against the mesh before giving out, the last striking true.  The ripple fell to the ground.

Not dropping his guard, Vyns approached the ripple now close to the deck.  Carefully, he kicked at the armor, expecting some resistance.  Instead, the toe of his boot kicked the mesh into the air.

It was empty.

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 3 – Voids - Part 3

Qillov

Moving completely by instinct, Vyns was able to mitigate the glancing blow that attacked him on the side that he'd rolled away from.  Even though it had only clipped him, Vyns felt as if he'd crashed fully against a bulkhead.  He shuddered to think what damage would have occurred if he'd been hit squarely... That's when he noticed that his rifle was no longer slung across his shoulders.  Instead, he saw two broken halves of the now-ruined and useless weapon upon the deck.

Focusing on the present, Vyns finally got a good look at who it was he faced.

His opponent was huge, well over 2 meters in height and broad of shoulder, a large beak below cruel, intelligent blue eyes.  But that's not what gave Vyns pause.

Ranger armor was designed for durability, able to withstand small-arms fire as well as indirect concussion blasts.  In short, effective.  But every strike that the Talortai landed felt as if he was being hit by a small explosion.  Vyns knew without any doubt that absent his armor, he would be dead merely as a result of his opponent's incredible strength.

Still, Vyns had skill.

Grabbing his vibroknife in a downward grip, the Ranger used it in tandem with an energy shield he activated from his left bracer.  Vyns couldn't be sure, but he thought that the Talortai smiled.  Determined, he feinted left, then right, drawing his opponent off-balance with an attack to his exposed flank.

At least that's what Vyns had planned...but the Talortai was simply too quick.  Before he could deliver his second feint, Vyns' right wrist erupted in pain, bones grinding in the sudden vise he found his wrist engulfed in.  Biting back the pain, he released his vibroknife, deftly catching it with his left hand and stabbed upwards.  He felt some satisfaction as his blade hit true, sinking all the way to the hilt.

Suddenly, he was lifted bodily into the air by his right hand, the crushing agony multiplying manyfold where Vyns found himself face-to-face with the Talortai.  Then he knew for certain: the bird-like sentient did smile.

"It's been years since anyone's drawn my blood using blades." There was no sign of pain in the Talortai's tone.  "I commend you your accomplishment."

Vyns found himself crumpled in a heap upon the ground, his mind struggling to keep up with the last few seconds as pain in both of his arms exploded forth.  Still uncertain, he looked numbly at his hands.  Or rather, where his hands had been.

Bloody stumps ending eight or so centimeters from his wrist oozed thick blood--his blood!--the excised hands on the floor before him.  And Vyns knew: somehow, the Talortai had retrieved one of his blades and used it to cut the Ranger's hands and forearms off.  Detached, Vyns knew he had to act, to try...something.

Loudly, he vomited upon the deck.

"Well now, that's fine.  The place was a mess anyhow." The Talortai quietly hissed.  Again, faster than could be believed, Vyns saw the Talortai move.

Again, pain radiated up his arms, a literal burning sensation as the Talortai pressed an electrified tonfan upon Vyns' stumps, cauterizing them.  Between pain and shock, Vyns' confusion must've been evident.  The Talortai stood tall before the Ranger before grabbing him in one hand, again lifting him entirely off of the deck.  "Can't have you dying on us, now.  Not before the Extractor's done with you..."

As Vyns slipped from consciousness, he knew beyond any doubt that he would eventually tell this "Extractor" anything and everything that they wanted.

Everything.

<<<<>>>>

[TheDutchman]

And so we see the tactical genius of the Zann Consortium as it implements surgical ambushes in their opening salvo(s) against the Sons.  In many ways the Consortium is the obverse of the Sons; unfortunately, this means that Tyber Zann has his own enforcer: the Talortai, Urai Fen.  Not only is he competent, he is patient, utterly ruthless, intelligent, and incredibly dangerous.  The fact that he is the Unseen (both literally and figuratively) for most of the chapter underscores just how threatening he is; after all, the Rangers ARE an elite spec ops fighting force.

I believe that the Black Armors might have met their match...

But what also contributes to the Consortium's success is the fact that it has a de-centralized power structure, Tyber Zann's lieutenants operating independent of direct command, the Consortium's Defilers more than a match for all martial forces in the galaxy.  Case in point: Brakhest Tahn epitomizes just how dangerous they are, not only as combatants but also as a contributing arm of the Consortium.

This is why the Sons find themselves in such a precipitous position (and I believe that Zann himself put it succinctly): they became too large too fast, attracting too much attention.  And since they operate in Hutt Space, there is small chance of any "momentous rescue" or the like.  Hopefully, the Mak'Tor can help tip the scales in the Sons' favor because the Consortium has everything that the Sons have PLUS a reliable supply chain WITHOUT the weaknesses of one (courtesy of Mandal Hypernautics).

Meta-note: LSG comes up with some fantastic storylines and plots, so when he gave me the opportunity to take a whack at the encounter between Urai Fen and the Rangers, I couldn't wait to try!  Of course, the problem became "How do I make Urai as scary as Black Armor?" (in the first "Gray&Unchained").  Thankfully, LSG had given me some great ideas and after a serendipitous viewing of "Aliens," the chapter wrote itself 

Once again, this is precisely why these collaborations are so enjoyable, incredible, and IMHO successful: sharing ideas REALLY gets the creativity working 

[Lord_S_Gray]

 


<<<<>>>>

[TheDutchman]

Thanks to Rainbow and the Bothan SpyNet, we now have a precise handle on the two groups and their strengths, assets, and disparities.  Looking solely at numbers, it seems that the Zann Consortium has a definitive advantage (not to mention that their supplier remains constant in contrast to the Sons and Artemis; one wonders if that will change at all).  Additionally, we've seen that both sides possess an "Ace" card up their sleeves...and both are forces to be reckoned with.

Of course, the TO&E can only elucidate so much; there are ALWAYS unseen factors (not to mention luck) that influence conflicts, much arising from individual convictions, actions, and even cultural bias.  Just how determined one (or both) groups are will arguably be a deciding "X factor" that cannot be foreseen.

Meta-note: As I've said before, I absolutely LOVE bios with given specs (appeals to the stats-nut in me  ).  But beyond that, I appreciate the resource that LSG has given us, establishing an excellent reference for us to consult as the inevitable war between the Sons and the Consortium progresses.  Of course, if our own history has shown us, numbers can only take one so far; experience, tactical acumen, assertiveness, and luck play HUGE roles in battles and war. 

That said, these tables are just plain awesome 

Oh, and Rainbow's SpyNet submissions have never looked as good as they have in this story 

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 4 – Winning Streak

Scrubber

“How long,” his words curt as his strides were fast down the corridors of Eurydice base,

“Big Brain indicates Three to Four hours, I err on the Three,” Kal’Estp, the bulbous headed Siniteen confirmed, one hand on a datapad, long finger weaving expertly, the other flicking between channels on a head set providing contact information in real time from numerous spies across the sector.

Many favors were spent and many risks taken to get this perfect, he knew many spies would get caught, he couldn’t let the sacrifice be in vain.

“That may be…” the Kel’Dor, Ornil carrying a box of power cells -every hand and tentacle put to work - almost complained
“The Unchained will be ready,” she affirmed

Barely an hour since returning from Nadiem, yhey had exactly four hours before they had to regroup, resupply and then leave Eurydice base to the next target.

They were all carrying what they could, the full ‘command’ of the Sons.  In a band of brothers rank was an invisible thing, they were all to be equal, yet the need for organisational efficacy demanded some hierarchy, Scrubber tried to ensure it was built on respect for competence.

Half stumbling round a corner were two familiar faces,

“R’ylak, Ken!” Scrubber boomed gesturing for them to join him, the pair having to half jog to keep up.

“You arrived just in time, Ry’lak go with Ornil immediately,” the Kel’Dor already turning toward Duke Hangar as the jostled in the motion of dozens of Sons rushing to their next posting.

“We need every pilot we can get, Ken, meet Captain Ernst Harm,” he gestured to the former imperial officer in his entourage of senior officer, his upright posture and firm gait speaking of he best the Imperial Academy could produce
“You’ll join him with the Rangers in the next mission,”

“Already?” Ken stammered still strung out from Nadiem

Still walking Scrubber put a hand on the Koawan’s shoulder

“The cause demands it, Ken, you well know I regret how we last parted, and you have my deepest gratitude for giving us a second chance, Harm will explain on the way, but this opportunity is time critical and cannot be missed. We will speak later,”

Understanding Ken headed off with the taller human as the way ahead for Scrubber was blocked by the massive form of Ravge and his Brutes.

“How much longer,” the Gen’Dai ‘leader’ of Brute Squad growled at the Troguta stopping him in his tracks.

“Barely a few hours, take what food and supplies you need then board immediately,” Scrubber replied

“Hrrrnnnn…” Ravge growled then pushed past, Scrubber and his advisors continuing on.

“You really need to do something about him,” ‘Colonel’ Jyna Sala, another former imperial who Artemis had helped escape Coruscant with her lover Harm noted, voice crisp as her tightly bound steely brown hair and sharp High Coruscanti features. She acted as an informal ‘Chief of Staff’ with all the professionalism expected of an Imperial Officer, and had a suspicious eye on the ‘leader’ of Brute Squad ever since he joined. 

“Ravge’s neuro-tubules are firing in the right order,” Scrubber offered of the Gen’Dai.  Ravge had been a Pit Fighter for the better part of three decades - that was all his damaged mind coils remembered - but Gen’Dai were able to live for millenia  - he could well have been enslaved for centuries.

Ravge’s star had risen quickly, his species incredible strength and durability made him an obvious choice for the Brutes, his unparalleled skill and vociferous demands to maintain an unrelenting attack on the slavers had made him popular with the more military minded Sires and Sirras.

Hierarchy was still an informal affair among the Sons, notwithstanding the formation of the Liberator Regiments, but  among the Brutes especially his ‘elevation’ by the mob had been very quick indeed. 

They arrived at Deuce bay, repulsors already firing, the smell of coolant and carbon exchange thick in the air from the quick turnaround.

“Once more into the fire my friends,” Scrubber declared.

“Enjoy it,” Sala said heading to a nearby ship
“Now…I have to do my makeup,”

<<<<<>>>>

Battle of Glottal

After such a rush the methodical focused process of performing her pre-flight checks was a blessed relief.

Power flows - White - Air scrubbers - White -  Charge buffers - White Intertial Dampers….

Head deep into the belly of spherical TIE Interceptor a low rumble summoned her out

<Ry’lack,?> Loftharr called, two other pilots behind him, whisked away with Ornil she had been taken to the Unchained and placed with Sledge Squad under Loftharr Clever Flyer. 

<The rest of Sledge,> Loftharr gestured
Ry raised her hands, palms out, in the greeting of equals for wookies that Ken had taught her,
“Greetings Shorykam, lethal dancer of the Kashyyyk.  I welcome you,” she said to the second wookie pilot who nodded in return, his thick dark fur featuring significantly more ‘War braids’ - entwined for each ‘kill’ he scored - than when she had last seen him. 
< …and this is Sledge 4, Teiro,>
The light green skinned Mirilan had extensive intricate facial tattoos of dark velvet black on his slim boyish face.

“Look forward to flying with you,” She said tentatively, offering a hand that he did not accept except to glance at it, Ry paid it no mind, many former slaves disliked any form of touch.

“You as well,” his voice was demure as her eyes followed the incredible curves of the lace work tattoo’s so different from the crisp geometric designs typical of his culture.

Looking somewhat uncomfortable he turned back to his ship, bending to lift his helm from a tool cart.

As he did Ry saw how the beautiful tattoos merged at the back of Terio’s neck - and morphed into an elegant Hutt Kajidic symbol.

These were not body markings with a cultural or self expressive purpose - they were decorations imposed on the delicate skin of the prized ‘house boy’ by his former master to beautify him further and make it known to all which Hutt Kajidic owned him.

Her lips tightened in annoyance she hadn’t realised earlier,
“Teiro…sorry about staring I didn’t realise,” she apologised

“It’s alright,” he said quietly helmet poised just over his head before bringing the black heavy helm down.

“You couldn’t have known…” he looked up to his Interceptor, Ry uncertain what expression was on his face but from his posture seemed one of longing and anticipation of relief.

“...when I fly…I forget…” his words barely audible through the helmet as he began to climb the cold steel to the hatch his voice drifting off.

<Some things heal…others dol not…> Loftharr added with a consoling rumble.

“So what is the mission?” Ry switched

<Fly in formation and try to look Imperial> was his toothy grinning response

<<<<<>>>>

When he finally had time to breath, he found the rear of the strangely elongated TIE too cramped with other Rangers to do so.

Harm was piloting with a Givin, the rest of the crammed in group included a Snivvian, Weequay and Tattooed Nautolan.   

“What kind of fighter is this?” Ken asked squeezed against the Weequay

“TIE Phantom,” Harm replied as he kept his eyes dead ahead travelling through hyperspace, the human male the very image of an Academy Recruitment poster, tall, well built, short cropped black hair, the refined features of the Core Upper classes and a the slightly clipped tones to match.

Ken looked puzzled
“Never heard of them?”
“Few people have,” Harm went on
“They were made shortly after the Battle of Yavin, using a Stygium based cloaking system, tested in the Dreighton Triangle.  Only a few hundred were made, most destroyed in a terrorist raid on the Super Star Destroyer Terror which containted the factory…”

He flicked a few switches nodding to the Givin to take over.

“Artemis bought the salvage rights to the wreckage from the Empire, Colonel Sala was in charge of the sale, the Imperial Exchequer wanted quick credits for new projects…Somehow Artemis pieced enough of it back together to start producing new TIEs,”

“That…explains an awful lot,” Ken noted, now understanding just where all these TIEs were coming from - Artemis salvaging Imperial wrecks from the war and refurbishing them.
“Do we have many of them?”

“Three dozen, the Rangers have most of those, the Stygium Cloak is good, but takes a lot of power, and the Crystals they use are hard to come by and risk burnout…we have to use it sparingly” 

Harm shifted round in his seat to face him

“I should introduce everyone, this is Ranger 1, Dhul, Scaari, Yekeht and Hosto,” he named the Givin, Snivvian, Weequay and Nautolan in turn, each in dark Grey Trooper armour, the only decoration a lightning bolt, star, and targeting reticule mixed symbol speaking of the Rangers more formal approach.

“Rangers 1 through 7 are tasked with infiltrating the main fortress on Glottal, shutting down the orbital defences and making an opening for Brute squad to come in an hour behind us, so we’ll need to work fast…Timing is everything on this.” The Former imperial eyed Ken up and down.

“I hear you're a Wizard, you use one of those laser swords?”

“A Knight,” Ken corrected taking out his saber “...and yes, but just as familiar with a rifle or pistol,”

“Jedi…” Scaari whistled through his long bucked teeth with a hopeful tune, glassy black eyes looking at Ken with awe.

It made him feel uncomfortable, he wasn’t anyone's saviour, didn’t want to be, just another soldier fighting a just cause.  But he had to accept the Force, his saber, made him a symbol for some, whatever he felt in himself.

“A…Knight - I can use the Force, if I have to,” he replied cautiously,

Harm nodded, “I welcome anything that gives us an edge…”  the Stars swirled back into view, Dhul flicked a number of switches and a massive humm of the Stealth Generators powering echoed through the cramped cockpit built for two, crammed with six.

“...We’re here,”

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 4 – Winning Streak - Part 2

Battle of Glottal

The starboard edge of a perfect Diamond formation Ry smoothly followed Sledge leader, Loftharr in advance of the Unchained after it had dropped out of hyperspace, the jump barely an hour; they had to be somewhere very close to Teth.

Her green glowing onboard console showed a Gas giant far to the ‘West’, more prominent were a number of medium sized refuelling stations, the systems star barely visible in the distance.

Barely had they reached escort distance from the Star Destroyer, two Raider II’s on each flank, when her scanners lit up.

<Contact> Loftharr growled as over a dozen ships dropped out in front of them in twos and three, the magic of hyperspace travel making them seem to appear as if by magicians trick.

She gripped the stick tight, finger feathering the trigger as her computer identified them needlessly.  The bulbous curvature of the hulls immediately marked them as Hutt Kajidic vessels, mostly a mix of whasoka and pahdipa - Corvette and Frigate analogues, a bloated Kapa Teesaw - a ‘Heavy Cruiser’ equivalent seemed to be the Flagship behind three Capa Seesaw’s, Medium Cruisers that fronted the enormous ISD.

An all channel broadcast scratched across her comms board.

“Unidentified Vessels this is Admiral Natasi Daala, I claim this system and all its citizens and materiel in the name of the Empire Reborn!”

<<<<>>>>

Towers kilometers high, dark black-green and crenellated with innumerable defensive redoubts, layer upon layer of walls with kill zone courtyards in between, all ending in a monolithic blocky Citadel that stood like a Wroshyyr sprouting Turbo-laser emplacements and Planet-grade Shield generator petals.

This was the view Ken had of the Akropoli of Glottal as the TIE Phantom had sped toward a distant outer wall.  

Once within within the enormity was visceral, he could feel the vast weight of ancient towers above him, the kilometer thick foundations below as if intended to choke its occupants and attackers of life.

“Who built this place?” he whispered as they moved steady and smooth through the deep trenches.

“No Being Knowing,” Yekeht replied behind him at the end of Ranger 1, Harm in the lead.

“Rakatta say some Being, Other Older Being? Not Hutt Being,” The Weequay noted, his seclusion braid, grown for every year away from his homeworld wrapped like a turban beneath his light Gamor helm, indicated he had been away from Sriluur for decades at least.

More sobering Ken thought, was just who such a vast fortress had been built to resist, but that was likely even more a mystery.

The sheer size was an advantage in that to fully staff the enormous complex would require hundreds of thousands is not millions of soldiers, something the Hutt Daimyo of Glottal clearly lacked - only the innermost ring and Citadel of the Akropoli was occupied.

Ranger 1 was to make an entrance for the Brutes who would be arriving at any moment in their own overburdened TIE phantoms, Ranger 2 would make an entrance for another relief squad, while the other Rangers would disable defences.

They seemed to Ken the opposite of Brute squad, subtle, taciturn and skilled, their approach cautious and controlled.   Even after only a few hours Ken could see Captain Harm was a good pick to lead them, his focus was absolute, and the rest of the Rangers recognised his expertise.

Holding up a fist Harm checked a boxy tracer that looked older than Chillum.  Quick hand signals and Hosto took one corner of an intersection, Harm the other, the rest of the Rangers falling back behind the previous corner.

Ken peeked round just in time to see the humans and Nautolan get the jump of two Klatooinian sentries, vibro knives slitting throats as hands muffled mouths, the Sons quickly dragging the bodies back, checking for any useful resources before shunting them in a partially eroded crack at the wall and floor join.  

This was a very different Sons of Kessel to what he had left.

<<<<>>>>

The tension was building as each silent second passed.

Ry sat at a dead float in her formation trying to look ‘Imperial’ to go with what was obviously a Sons bluff.

About five minutes after the announced ‘annexation’ more ships had arrived on the enemy side, comms had gone private, she had no idea exactly what was happening, only that a large number of laser-turrets were probably fixed on her position.

Exactly what was being said didn’t matter, obviously the Sons were buying time for some other ploy they hadn’t time to update her on.  She checked her Concussion missiles were primed, eyeing her first target, the prow laser turret of a sleek Hutt  pahdipa Frigate equivalent.

In a single breath everything changed.  

Even before the near blinding flash of Green-white that caused her canopy auto tint to blanche black she felt the change.

The Unchained unleashed without warning its full array of forward facing Turbo lasers into the lead Capa Teesaw the shields resisted for a precious few seconds before the sheer enormity of and Imperial Star Destroyers concentrated fire power annihilated it.

Before Loftharr had even growled the order she was jinking as anti-fighter fire streamed out, she loosed her concussions straight into her computer locked target, a satisfying red scratch on her targeting computer indicating a hit.

The Hutts counter fired on the Unchained a blizzard of far smaller red and yellow blasts as Ry spun out of the path of tracer fire that peppered the void with fist sized burning bolts of energy

<Evasive maneuvers, pull back to the Unchained then come about, bombers incoming>

Foot slamming the accelerator pedal, her shields double back Ry felt the rush of the TIEs speed push her back into the seat,

Now she was really back.

<<<<>>>>

When and where the detection had occurred would never be known, the fact was all that mattered.

Dhul held the rear while Hosto and Yekeht covered Scaari, the diminutive Snivvian using his small stature as a weapon, moving with incredible speed on all fours beneath the fire that crisscrossed the winding paths of the mid-Akropoli fortress, bolts smacking into the walls tearing chunks of a dark green quartz like material.

Scaari slammed into the low cover wall the Klatoonians hid behind, delicately lobbing over his grenade on a very short timer - the frag sending vicious nails into the Brown leather and faded gold Gamroite Armour they wore.

Harm and Ken followed straight after leaping in behind before they had a chance to recover, Harm with two vibro knives, Ken with his saber cutting them down, a deep thrumming Battle-Song at the back of his throat, the tune no-one else could hear over the blaster bolts both guiding and being guided by his motions.

“Keep moving!” was the immediate order from Ranger 1’s leader.

They were on a damn tight timer if everything was to work.

Rounding another large corner Harm fluidly pulled his blaster to fire point blank into another guard, Ken knocking the other two flat on their back, Scaari showing no mercy, the Charric rifle that seemed oversized on his back then in his paws an instant later pumping shots into their chests.

“UP!” was the next order as Yekeht grunted behind them.  

Their legs burned as they raced up a large spiralling staircase with multiple recesses in which Guards could lurk, fortunately only two were occupied, the first shooting Harm in the chest, his personal shield took the brunt but was overloaded as a result, the second struck Scaari in the hind leg before Ken cut him down.

The Snivvian could barely walk, a cauterized wound of flesh and melted plasteel on his side.

“On my back!” Ken knelt down so Scaari could climb on, the Snivvian darn heavy with his kit, rodentia claws puncturing Ken’s own plate to get a solid grip.

Drawing on the Force with a suppressive rhythm Ken felt a wave of numbness radiate over his legs as he pushed up the dozens of stairs, the others holding the rear, grenades bouncing down behind them exploding and filling the increasingly narrow stairwell with acrid smoke and the scent of burnt blood.

Harm was already at the doorway to the large Tower top, half lying on the steps firing at the Gamor-Armoured Guards legs as they began to respond, Ken’s saber quickly snapping to deflect bolts back at them.

The top of the tower was as large as a Razor Ball field, carved of the same dark green stone as the whole Akropolis, Hexagonal in shape at each corner was a vast Shield Generator that bathed the sky in a shimmering artificial glow.

The Force quivered with a rising timbre, vibrations Ken felt keenly as as his Saber smashed back blaster bolts,  - those generators were their targets, and the beep barely heard on Harm’s tracker told them time was running out.

<<<<>>>>

Pulling hard port she pushed the Interceptor at the very limits of what the jagged wings could take without the sheer force ripping them free as yellow bolts harassed her.

Hammer 3 was already spiralling away a slagged wreck, Mallet 2 had lost a wing, in Sledge 4 she was trying to round on two blast-boats tailing Sledge 1 where the Wookie Clever-flyer was earning that epithet surviving in the dog-fight with two kills to his tally already.

The Hutt ships were starting to grind down the Unchaineds shields, drawing nearer as they gained confidence, the Interceptors had taken down most of the bombers but three had gotten through leaving bruins holes along the lower starboard side of the ISD, disabling one Turbo laser.

Still the vast power of the Imperial Weapon of Intimidation could not be ignored, blasting another corvette to heated chunks, but the Cruisers counter fire was starting to take its toll.

Weaving through the torrent blast of her own pursuers the targeting reticle barely flicked yellow before Ry squeezed the trigger, green laser blasts peppering just ahead of the Z-95, her blasts striking exactly where she knew it was headed, the shields flickering before two slammed in taking the pressure off Loftharr.

With incredible dexterity the Wookie performed a loop coming straight at and over Ry, blasting her pursuer head on, sailing through the quick burning wreck before the air died out.

Jetting port reverse thrusters to tighten her own turn, Ry came round just under the last of Sledge leaders pursuers, her cannon quad linked overwhelming the shields and cutting straight into the hull.

The Four Raider Escorts were drawing back, the ISD was powerful but being overwhelmed by sheer numbers, and so were the Interceptors.

For a brief doubting moment Ry wondered if the Sons had underestimated their enemy, overplayed their hand relying on the intimidation of the ISD to do the work for them.

“All Fighters regroup, vacate the following areas immediately!” the warning came over the broad frequencies, Interceptors scattering and drawing close to the Unchained as the Hutt fighters, smelling weakness pushed ahead, the Capital ships scoring more hits on the ISD.

In the midst of a gut churning loop back Ry saw from below the rough ‘plane’ of the battle the Justicar stutter into existence from pseudo Motion aimed like dagger up into the underside of the Hutt ships, as she levelled off dozens more ships plunged like spears down from the ‘top’ of the plane.

Loftharr roared with excitement as the Sons fleet arrived at the crux point of the battle, the Hutt ships shields all double front to take the Unchained’s fire left their aft exposed to the Justicar and other Sons Corvettes, Frigates and Cruisers that slammed them from above and below, targets picked by Tactical officers on the Unchained and transmitted through to them.

Dozens of TIE Advanced and Defenders poured from the Reinforcements headed straight at either the Blastboats and Z-95s or on bombing runs launching proton torpedoes into Hutt Cruiser engines.

A master class worthy of the Chiss Academy Textbooks on Void Warfare, the Sons of Kessel trap for the Daimyo of Glottal’ naval force was sprung.

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The grenade bounced along the ancient stone, rolling just beside the Generator where it bloomed into an orange ball of superheated magma, liquefying the Shield Reverberator Coils and causing the rest of the bulky hover-car sized device to spark and smoke.

Ken felt the backwash of the heat on his back as he ducked a force-pike, half forgetting Scaari was still on his back - fortunately the Snivvian was just as quick unloading his charric rifle into the attackers face.

Ungainly as a blue sabered Knight with a Charric wielding snivvian on his back might look, they made a good team, Ken keeping the blaster bolts back, Scaari lobbing grenades and covering Ken’s back.

Hosto was bleeding out badly, crawling to a corner but still snapping pistol shots where he could,  Dhul wasn’t moving, the Givin had taken out the first Shield Generator with a near suicidal run clutching a beeping magma mine that made the guard very unwilling to get near him.

Harm and Yekeht had overturned a portable defence barrier, the Weequay pushing it forward as Harm snapped shots with his E-11S over the top.  The trigger clicking the former imperial twisted the power cell on the rifle causing it to tremble, then hurled the blaster over top, the black weapon exploding in a red overload as Ken rushed to help them.

Only four guards left but they were holding the last Generator like their life depended on it - chances were it did - one of them screaming for assistance, flood lights beaming all over the Akropoli Inner fortress as the other Ranger squads made their presence felt with acts of slaughter and sabotage.

“Assist Jedi!” Yekeht called, Ken rushing to help.  All three men pushed the barrier scraping  forward like a long battering ram that soaked up their fire, Scaari popping over Ken's head to keep the pressure on.

With a final Force enhanced burst they lifted the barrier off the ground and slammed into the Guards cover, tumbling the whole lot of them over and into a vicious scrapping melee.

Guns were cast aside for knives and short swords, Scaari viciously climbing one Klatooinian tearing at his throat, Harm in a knife fight with another, Yekeht was overcome by a shallow Vibro blade to the gut, Ken’s saber spun through one and took vengeance for the Weequay in a decapitating arc.  

A muffled shot was heard as Ken rounded on the next, Scaari falling limp to the ground, blood pumping from the torn leathery throat, smoke hissing from a hold-out pistol barrel in the Klatooinians hand.  

Seeing the snivvian twitch Ken felt a surge of fury, his Saber ramming like a spear into the enemies chest, then pulling up through to the throat and out in rage filled overkill.

“Get the Generator!” Harm demanded, his face covered in his own blood from a cheek and forehead cut, Ken spun his saber into a high grip and sliced straight down into the Power cables, the Generator spluttering and the shield over head flickering off at last…

Just as more blaster fire came from the stairwell.

Ken had only deflected one hot when his ears near burst front he pounding thvump of ship grade fire behind him.

Flickering out of a Stygium cloak were two more TIE Phantoms, blasting the guard reinforcements to heated chunks, their rear hatches open and massive forms dropping out.

With a guttural cry Ravge and Brute squad rushed straight past the remnants of Ranger 1 and into battle.

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Weaving along the horizon of destruction Ry notched her fourth kill.  

Tasked with keeping the fighters and transports boxed into the Kill zone the Sons had created, the Interceptors were taking a vicious toll on any who were trying to make a break for it.

The initial shock of the Sons surprise attack had worn off quickly, the Hutt ships repositioning as fast as they could - but the overwhelming force of two ISDs and dozens of other vessels meant they could never be fast enough.

Sons ships at the rear launched Zeta landers which micro jumps toward the planet, no doubt the invasion force.

Ry could scarcely spare a glance as more orders came over the comm to tighten their grip.  

Rounding once more, feeling the real kick of the Ion Engines and rumble of the hull, the Interceptor an extension of her body she saw the Raider IIs begin to move into the broken Hutt formation, each of them siding up to a Capa Teeshaw aiming to isolate them as flights of the TIE Defenders made run with icy blue fire - Ion cannons to disable the ships.

The Sons had picked which ships they wanted to capture carefully, Sledge Flights new heading at the edge of the battle clearly designed to pull attention away from them.

<New Targets, Blastboats, YT’s> Loftharr noted as he fell into formation with her pinpointing a Pahdipa expelling its compliment.

Leaning forward she flicked on her auto targeting seeking locks on the transports before they gathered too much speed, the targeting reticle a steady yellow till the satisfying red clicked..

Loosing one concussion missile she hit the accelerator full power, briefly matching the missile's velocity before it pulled away.  The Blastboats scattered, half to intercept half to flee as Loftharr fired his own last missiles, Ry spinning to avoid the YT’s turret fire.

A burst of countermeasures from the rear of the Half moon YT detonated her missile prematurely, but the shields flickered off white in the explosion, giving her an in, deftly flicking power from engines to lasers her peppered the ship with lasers two by two till the shields cracked and the green energy began to eat into the metal, the Turret her first target bursting apart with half a body flinging out into the void and zipping past her port wing.

She briefly saw the dazed Klatooinians face stunned and blackened from her attack, reminding her of the visceral impact on flesh the battle between ‘screeching metal coffins’ inflicted.

With cool detachment she still curved over the YT’s hull to continue firing into a blastboat, it was moving too swiftly to catch, but she forced it to dive down into Loftharrs path, the Clever flyer snatching the opportunity and blasting the doomed bomber, trapped between two Sons craft, just like the whole Hutt fleet had been between ISDs, into so much spiralling metal fragments.

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