Brothers

[TheDrunkenConsular]

This chapter was brought to you by the letter P for Procrastination and the Number 12 for Redbreast 12 Yeear Old Cask Strength Irish Whiskey.  Hope you all enjoy it!


CHAPTER 16: Less Elegant Weapons
PART 1
     The interior of the bright blue hovercar was packed uncomfortably tight as it wove through the thick traffic of Coruscant.  Half a dozen Mandalorians in full combat gear and armor were packed into the back, alongside Sahka Tekk, who was looking dangerously close to biting at the elbows poking her in the ribs.  In the front, Marz sat with Rawbacca, a quiet Wookie Templar.
     Apart from Sahka’s wordless but incessant grumbling, the cab was quiet as the mercenaries did their final weapon checks.  This was meant to be a simple weapons buy, but it didn’t take Force intuition to tell that the Mandalorians expected trouble.  They were headed to a private hangar in an upscale district.  Once there, they’d take control of a freighter loaded with Verpine Shatterguns; a nasty surprise for the saber-wielding Revenant.  Eventually, the silence was broken.
     “How far?”  Sahka asked.
     “Only a few minutes, boss.  Everybody clear on the plan?”  Marz replied.
     “We land this matchbox, get onto a slightly bigger matchbox full of guns, pay the slimy man and leave.”  Sahka shot back sarcastically.
     “And?”
     “And, this one will use the Force as a trite lie detector to further ensure we aren’t being cheated.”  The grumpy Barabel said, before softening her tone as much as she was able.  “This one is sorry for being irritable.”
     “I understand, don’t worry.  And look, we’re coming up on the hangar now.”  Marz pointed out the viewscreen towards a tall building ahead of them.

…

    Nadia and Tasrii were in the cockpit of the Fugitive, slowly cruising around the Orn System, which contained the Archive and not much else.  Archive sensors had detected something entering the system a few hours ago before promptly vanishing, and they were trying to find it using the aftermarket high-powered sensors the freighter was equipped with.
     “Anything?”  Nadia said.  It was one of the few words she’d spoken since they’d launched, indeed, since Anton had died.
    “Not yet.”  Tasrii replied.  They both knew that an alert would sound when they finally found what they were looking for, and Tasrii could sense the turmoil within her partner.  “Nadi, do you want to talk?”
     She was silent for a long time, but reached for Tas’ hand, grasping it in her own.  Silent tears began to run down her face, and Tas gently rubbed her hand, her own heart breaking at the pain her lover was in.  Finally, Nadia spoke, her voice cracking.
     “He was bad, Tas.  I saw him do things that…  He killed.  He tortured.  And he made me kill, and torture, and steal.  He made me as bad as he was.”  She choked.  
     “But he was your brother, and you loved him anyway.”  Tasrii’s reply was gentle and  understanding.  Nadia nodded her head fervently, biting back a sob.  Tasrii stood, and drew smaller woman to her feet, wrapping her tightly in her arms.  “You aren’t bad, Nadi.”  
     “I am, Tas.” She said, her face pressed into the taller woman’s chest as the sobs finally came.  
     “I love you, Nadia Stark.”  Tasrii said quietly to her, and they stood there just like that for a long time, the stars shining through the viewport behind them, until finally, the ‘ping’ of a sensor alert filled the cockpit.

…

     The hangar was lit with brilliant white light, and the small freighter loaded with shatterguns was old, but remarkably well cared for.  Standing around it were a dozen armed guards, and a sharply dressed, impeccably groomed man stood at the loading ramp with the poise and bearing of a high ranking officer.  
     “Alright, gents, let me do the talking.”  Marz said, as the group piled out of the hovercar and took up a relaxed but ready formation around it.  Marz and the two Templars approached the man.  
     “Vergio, how the hell have you been?”  Marz said jovially, extending his hand.
     “I don’t want to hear it, Arronak.  I know you played us on the Naboo job.”  Vergio, the sharply dressed man, said in an imperious tone.  He stood a full head taller than Marz, and used that to his advantage, glaring grimly down at the Mandalorian.
     “Come on, Verge, he was just a kid.  Besides, the Empire’s gone now, isn’t it?  It’s the dawn of a new day in the galaxy!” Marz pleaded with him, maintaining his amicable tone.  Vergio just sighed and lowered his head, rubbing his brow.  The man suddenly looked very tired.
     “Very well.  We have the weapons.  Do you have the credits, is it your intent to rob us yet again?”
     “That’s up to my client.  Madame Tekk?”
     “Yess.  Upon inspection of the weapons, to ensure your guarantees, this one’s associate will transfer to you the credits you’ve been promised.”  Sahka said, with a toothy grin that was far more intimidating than reassuring.
     “That’s acceptable.”  He said with a look of distaste for the Barabel, and stepped aside.  “Please, inspect away.”

     Sahka clomped up the ramp, still not entirely accustomed to her prosthetic leg, and took a look around the hold.  Her tongue flicked out from between her teeth a few times, tasting the air.  She’d sensed no deception from Vergio, but his disdain for non-humans had been clear, and she felt obligated to inconvenience him as much as possible on behalf of her species.  Walking over to one of the crates, she popped the latches and opened it.  Ten Verpine Shatter Rifles, sitting in neat racks.  Another crate contained five of the rare sniper rifle variant, and yet another held fifteen pistols.  There were at least a dozen such crates in the small hold; far, far more than enough to suit the Order’s needs.
      “Master Rawbacca, pay the.. gentleman.”  She half said, half hissed, descending the ramp.  They still had much to do. They would be taking the shipment to the spaceport where they’d left the Mandalorians’ ship, then unpacking the weapons and loading them onto that ship before departing to ensure that the provided vessel wasn’t being tracked.  It was likely going to be hours before they’d manage to leave Coruscant.

…

     The Orn system was comprised of four planets orbiting a yellow dwarf star.  Of these planets, two were molten rocks, entirely uninhabitable due to their proximity to the star.  The third planet, creatively known as Orn 3, was a gas giant orbited by half a dozen moons.  One of these nameless moons was home to the Archive.  The fourth and final major celestial body was an icy planetoid, and it was on an asteroid orbiting this faraway planet that the sensors had pinged.
    
     As the Fugitive approached, they could see the object with their own eyes.  It was an RTF-3 Mobile Reconnaissance Station; essentially, a listening platform with a hyperdrive engine.  These hadn’t been used by any major galactic military in quite a while, but they were still effective, and, importantly, capable of hiding entirely from sensor scans.
     “Nadi…” Tasrii started to speak.
     “Something isn’t right.” Nadia finished for her.  
     “I don’t sense anyone on board.”  
     “Neither do I.  We need to suit up and investigate.”  

     They set the Fugitive down a safe distance from the RTF-3, and vac sealed their armor; the suits did not hold very much air, but they were designed for situations exactly like this one, where fifteen minutes was more than enough.  They picked their way carefully across the surface of the asteroid, and, surprisingly, found the airlock door open on the reconnaissance craft.  A knot was beginning to form in Tas’ stomach; something was very wrong here.  She asked Nadia the question with nothing more than a tilt of her her head.
     Should we go inside?
     We might as well. Nadia replied with a shrug, and they made their way up the ramp into the airlock.  Tasrii hit the activator with a closed fist, and the door snapped shut behind them.  They drew their lightsaber hilts without activating them and shared a concerned look as the chamber filled with air.  

     The door in front of them opened with a hiss.  The chamber before them was exactly what was to be expected; there were surveillance readouts and panels lining the walls, but, strangely, no sign of life or any disturbance.  Nadia was passingly familiar with the craft; she and Anton had sold a couple of them to a Hutt back in the day.  There were four rooms on the ship.  The biggest was the one they stood in, then there was a cockpit ahead of them, cramped sleeping quarters with bunks for four crew to the right, and an engine room under them.  They stepped forward into the main room, and as the door snapped shut behind them, a dark presence revealed itself, hitting both of the Templars like a brick wall.  They activated their sabers in unison, frigid blue glow fighting with blood red for dominance of the dim room.  
     “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”  Tasrii said, her voice barely louder than a whisper, and stepped forward, raising her saber into a guard.
     “Don’t talk like that, love.”  Nadia replied, stepping up to stand by her side.  Without warning, the door ahead of them hissed open, and a figure appeared.

     He was tall, and one side of his face was covered in tattoos, a complex chain of crimson circles.  His head appeared to be shaven entirely, eyebrows included, but he wore a hood so it was hard to tell for sure.  His eyes burned a sickly yellow, and his skin was pale and sagging.  Each hand held a long gilded lightsaber hilt, but he did not activate them, not yet.      
     “You’ve been naughty girls.”  His voice was mockingly playful and sinister, and seemed to ring inside the Templars’ skulls.  He punctuated his words by activating his lightsabers one at a time, each long silver blade coming to life with a gentle cry.  “The Master will show you the error of your ways, little Templars.”

     Tasrii was the first to move, bringing her saber to a high guard and stepping forward.  Before she could set her forward foot down, a wall of electricity hit her.  She collapsed to her knees as the Force Lightning coursed through her, her jaw working in an unbidden attempt to cry out in pain.  No sound came, until after what seemed like an eternity to Tas but was likely not even a split second, Nadia responded with lightning of her own, distracting the Revenant Master.  He caught the electricity on his saber, but as she heard the weak cry of pain escape Tasrii’s lips, Nadia screamed in rage, charging forward.  Her red saber was a blur as she attacked, landing rapid attacks that forced her foe to take a defensive position, but it wasn’t enough, and with a sound like thunder, a blast of Force slammed into her chest, and she flew across the room, crashing into a display panel and slamming her helmet against a bulkhead.  
      By that time, Tasrii was on her feet, her hands shaking but her resolve strong.  She allowed the Force to flow through her body, steadying her grip as she activated her saber again.  The Revenant was striding towards her, languidly spinning his sabers in circles.
    “My name is Arius.”  He said cooly.  
    “I don’t give a shell!”  Tasrii snarled back, bringing her guard up as he circled her.
    “That’s fair enough.  I simply don’t like to be impersonal when I take a life.”  He said, and lunged forward, thrusting with one saber and swinging the other at Tas’ helmet.  She sidestepped and sent a Force push at him, causing him not quite to stumble, but forcing his to reconsider his footing.
    “You won’t be taking a life today!”  Tasrii shouted, bringing her saber around in an uppercut, but before it could make contact, the lightning returned, again bringing her to to her knees, where she knelt, panting.
    “Perhaps I have already.”  He said with a small laugh.  “Your friend…”  He took a moment, searching her feeling in the Force, and an evil grin spread across his face.  “Sorry, your lover over there doesn’t seem to be doing too well.  I may have played a bit too rough.  It’s a shame; I’d have loved to make the two of you watch one another suffer.”    

     He took a step towards Tasrii, and as she tried to stand, he electrocuted her once again.  He reached out with the Force and snatched the lightsaber from her hand, casting it aside.
     “You’re going to die, Templar.”

     He placed his sabers back on his belt and reached out savagely with the Force, grasping Tas entire body and holding her in place.  She attempted to struggle and fight, but it did no good.  She was held tight, and he walked towards her with purpose.  He put the palm of his hand on her forehead, and dug into her mind.  It wasn’t like the merciful probe Rakham given her so many years ago when she’d snuck up on him on Tattoine, this was rough, brutal and invasive.  He tore through her memories like a rusty blade through flesh.  Soon she couldn’t even tell which memories he was sifting through, she only knew she couldn’t survive much more of it.
     Finally, he found what he was looking for, and released her.  She collapsed into a heap on the floor, unable to move, drifting in and out of consciousness rapidly.  Across the room, she could see Nadia, who didn’t seem to be in any better condition.  She was vaguely aware of Arius’ voice across the room, speaking into a holofeed.
     “I found something.  Coruscant.  Hangar 22-F807.”

     Then, the sound of footsteps, until he came back into view in front of her.
     “Well, Tasrii Kepressa, I can’t say I’m impressed.  Let’s finish this up.”
     This time when the lightning came, she mercifully blacked out.

…

     Sahka’s long forked tongue was flickering nearly constantly in and out of her mouth as she looked nervously around the hangar.  Something was wrong, she was sure of it.
     “Marz!”  She shouted to the Mandalorian, who was halfway across the hangar, overseeing the last of the cargo loading.  He winced in pain.
     “Sahka, we have commlinks.”  His voice came through the one stuck in her ear.  “What do you need?”
     “Sorry, this one forgot.  We need to leave soon, this one has a bad feeling.”
     “Alright, we’re on it.  You heard her lads, get this wrapped up double-time.”  

     Marz’ ship was named Narudar, a Mando’a word meaning ‘enemy of your enemy’ or ‘temporary ally’, something he considered to be a sly reference to his profession.  It had been built for his father when Hit Squad was first founded, and she was not a vessel to be trifled with.  With a one hundred and twenty meter ‘V’ shaped fuselage, it was armed with six blaster cannon turrets, placed on the top and bottom at each point of the fuselage, a dozen torpedo tubes, a bomb bay, two turbolasers on the underside, a powerful tractor beam and probably a dozen other sneaky weapons known to no one but the bridge crew and the gunners.  Internally, it had cramped, utilitarian living space fit for one hundred mercenaries, storage space for carrying small amounts of high value cargo and a speeder bay.  
     All in all, it was plain to see that the Narudar was not a vessel to be trifled with, and that’s why it was so strange that, as they made their way out of Coruscant’s gravitational pull, a passing light freighter fired something at their hull.  Alarms went off on the bridge immediately, signaling that something had made impact.
     “Go to battle stations and give me a damage report!”  Marz ordered from his position on the bridge.
     “No damage sir, I think it was a tracker.” The pilot replied.
     “Get me a scan on that freighter.  Who are they?”
     “They aren’t transponding anything, it doesn’t look like New Republic.”
    “Alright, go to hyperspace, but drop out before we hit the Archive.  Let’s see who follows us.”  Marz ordered as the ship’s lights went red and a message in Mando’a emitted from speakers across the ship.  Within seconds, every weapon and emergency station was manned.
     “What is happening?”  Sahka asked, bursting onto the bridge.
     “Someone appears to have pegged us with a tracker.  We’re going into hyperspace, leading them away from Coruscant, then we’ll see what the meaning is.  Please, return to your quarters and see to it that Master Rawbacca does the same.”  Marz replied, never looking up from his instrument panel.  Sahka thought about protesting, but remembered that the Mandalorian knew what he was doing aboard his own ship, and she most likely did not.  As the door slid closed behind her, the viewports were filled with the blue vortex of hyperspace.

…

     Nadia blinked, over and over again, trying to get the haze out of her vision.  She was almost certainly concussed, but that didn’t matter as she watched the electricity arc from Arius’ hands down to Tasrii’s limp form.  He seemed to get frustated as she failed to respond,  but Nadia’s vision went black again.  She shook her head, and her blurred vision returned.  It felt like she was encased in molasses as she tried to stand, and she didn’t quite make it to her feet before collapsing again. She watched helplessly as Arius used the Force to drag Tasrii into a sitting position and undo the clasps of her helmet.  Tasrii came awake with a gasp as the helmet was snatched off her head.
     “Good.  It really is better if you’re awake.”  Arius said, his tone unsettlingly upbeat.  He drew a vibroblade from his belt and knelt.  “Now, this’ll only hurt a.. Little.”  He brought the humming blade to Tas’ cheek, and suddenly, Nadia’s mind went crystal clear.  Hatred flowed through her veins like red lightning, and she sprang to her feet, her muscles empowered by the Force.  Her entire body crackled with electricity as she strode across the room silently and wrapped her slender hands around Arius’ head, her fingers digging into his eye sockets, and slammed his head against the floor.  There were bright red blisters on his head and face where she’d laid her hands, but she didn’t waste her momentum, immediately leaping onto his chest and wrapping her hands around his neck.  His back arched as electricity flowed through his nervous system, and his eyes went wide as his brain struggled for oxygen.
     She slammed his head into the floor, again and again, never loosening her grip.  She continued even after the life left his body, caving his skull in.
     “Nadi.”  The voice sounded far, far away.
     “Nadia.”  It was closer, but sounded weak.
     “Nadi!”   Finally, Nadia snapped out of her rage, concern flooding her mind.  She spun around and faced Tasrii.
     “I think he’s dead.”  The Zabrak said with a wry smile.  Her face was gaunt and pale, but she was alive.

...

[TheDrunkenConsular]

CHAPTER 16: Less Elegant Weapons
PART 2
     “That’s… not what I expected.”  Marz said in as understatement for the ages.  Outside of the viewport, three Carrack-class light cruisers were barrelling towards the Narudar[/].  “Shields up, engines full power.  Try and hail them.  Gunners, prepare Doomsday, but stick to primary weapons until my mark.  Navigator, prepare for Doomsday protocol as well.”
     “No answer to our hail, Commander.”
     “Alright, so be it.  Let’s do this thing.”

     To an observer, the battle that followed would have seemed very, very one sided.  The Carrack class cruiser was a vessel in a league of it’s own, tougher, more dangerous and more agile that any other ship it’s size, and in groups they could take down vessels many times their size.  Facing down three of these ships, a tiny MandalMotors Corvette. 
     At first, the Narudar held her own.  The Carracks may have been fast, but she was faster, and the smaller ship zipped around them, blaster cannons and turbolasers roaring as they strafed the larger ships’ weapons and repulsor drives.  However, the Narudar[/] paid dearly for every hit she landed, taking one in return each time.  The harder they fought, the more obvious it became that the Mandalorians were losing.
     To the professional eye, it could be almost be made out that the Narudar was baiting her targets, herding them into positions that her commander chose.  However, that notion would be discouraged by the fact that as the Mandalorian ship bobbed and weaved, begging the other ships to turn towards her, it was making it even easier for them to hit the small ship, forming a perfect cone of fire, with the lager ships forming an inward facing semi-circle, with the smaller ship in the middle.  Of course, if that hypothetical professional could see the maintenance droid on the hold, clinging to the tracker that had been placed there for all it’s life but not releasing it into space, or heard Marz’ next order, he may have realized that there was more to this fight than there seemed to be.

     “Initiate Doomsday.”

     The first thing that happened; the tracker was released into space, and the little droid darted back inside the ship.  The second; every torpedo tube fired at once, three Proton torpedos arcing towards each Carrack’s bridge.  The third; two packages were released from the Narudar’s bomb bay.  The first package was a prototype smokescreen device developed by a Hit Squad engineer.  When it detonated, it would scatter hundreds and hundreds of flashbombs, each of which would detonate with a blinding burst of light and an ion pulse capable of confusing both enemy sensors and eyes.  The second package was much more insidious.  It was a cluster of seismic charges, most likely capable of destroying every ship in the battle.  The fourth, and final action of the Narudar; at the moment the Smokescreen device detonated, the ship lept into hyperspace. 

     Every step of the Doomsday protocol happened in the space of a second and a half, and as such, no one aboard the Narudar would find out what happened to the thee Carrack Class cruisers.  However, the show that they missed was quite impressive.  The proton torpedoes did their job of hammering the shields of the cruisers.  The detonations had blinded the bridge crews and weakened the shields to the breaking point.  The subsequent Smokescreen detonation both scattered the sensor arrays of the ship and served to dazzle any onlookers who hadn’t been temporarily blinded by the proton torpedoes.  At that moment, the [i}Narudar left the fight, but there were no sensors to read that, and no one to see it, and the tracking device still floated in between the three ships.  Their positioning made them a perfect target for the final detonation; the seismic charges.  The effects were devastating.  The forward portion of each ship was crushed completely, leaving only the rear halves intact, and the force of the blast scattered them, flinging the debris deep into space.

…

     Nadia and Tasrii were sitting on the floor of the reconnaissance station, leaning on one another and trying to regain their strength when the door hissed open.  They both grabbed their sabers immediately, but breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Mandalorian armor, the Mandalorian mercenaries sweeping the craft with machine-like precision as Berra and Stikes swept into the room behind them.  They were safe.

…

     The Narudar was looking a lot worse for wear as she sat down on the Archive landing pad, but casualties had been minimal, and morale was high as the mercenaries carried their new weapons down the ramp.  Inside the Archive, Tasrii and Nadia floated in Bacta tanks, and a somber conversation was being held by the remaining Masters.

    “We don’t know for sure that it was the Revenant who attacked the Narudar, but it’s a safe assumption.”  Dala said.
    “And there’s no doubt about what happened to Tasrii and Nadia.  The Revenant laid a trap for us right outside our front door just to prove they could, and we got lucky that a Master was sent to investigate instead of a Knight alone.”  Berra added.
    “And we still haven’t figured out how the Revenant found this place.  We have to be more careful.  From this point on, any expedition needs to be accompanied by me, Heditt, Sam or you, Berra.”  Rakham said.  “It’s clear that their best warriors are a match for our own.”
    “It’s more important now than ever that we gather our allies.”  Dala said.
    “You’re right.  There’s someone I need to call.  Someone from a long, long time ago.”  Rackham said with a small smile.  “We’re going to win this thing, I promise you both.  I even have a plan.”

CHAPTER END

[Lord_S_Gray]

Wow what a chapter - explosive (literally) and hard hitting (literally).  The flip between the two scenes and different POV's was well done in particular.  These Revenant are odd...got some powerful guys...but crummy equipment...strange combination. I always like Saba Sebatyne in the EU so seeing another barabel 'This one'-ing was a bit of a treat too!

[Taegin Roan]

Yes, a wonderful chapter all around. Sometimes books and shows have a hard time keeping themselves together when the switch POVs often, but you have done very well. I loved "Doomsday", it was absolutely beautiful (that sounds really weird, but you know what I mean). Well done. I know very little about the Barabels, and especially their manner of speech, so I'm wondering if you (or whoever first did them) took some inspiration from the Argonians of Tamriel?

[txdarkjedi]

Can't wait to see who Rakham calls! I love reading your stories, keep up the amazing work.

[Karmack]

Awesome chapter!  I love the space battle.  I am SOOOO stealing that ECCM torpedo idea though.  Nothing like effective counter-measures...

I looked up the shatter-gun on wookipedia.  I am shocked that these haven't had more play.  Seems like the perfect weapon to use against a force-user...

[TheDutchman]

One of the reasons that I enjoyed this chapter is because of the raw, visceral brutality of the fight(s) between Nadia&Tasrii and the Revenant as well as Hit Squad and the Carracks.  It's not often that I've read about such savage hand-to-hand tactics like Nadia employs (good for her!) but it really envelopes me into the scene.  Well done TDC!

But then, a second treat: the space battle.  You've got a great handle on merc tactics IMO and such a sly strategy works perfectly as a part of Marz's Mando training 

BTW: LOVE the title

And better late than never!

[TheDrunkenConsular]

Thanks guys, I’m glad everyone liked it! 

As for the Barabel speech inflection, I’m not certain where it originates.  I believe it predates the speech patterns that we now associate with Khajiit, but I don’t know which if any real world language it’s based on.

Also, I’m not sure what went so terribly, terribly wrong with my formatting, and I’m not able to edit the post, so sorry about that.

[Taegin Roan]

Thanks guys, I’m glad everyone liked it! 

As for the Barabel speech inflection, I’m not certain where it originates.  I believe it predates the speech patterns that we now associate with Khajiit, but I don’t know which if any real world language it’s based on.

Also, I’m not sure what went so terribly, terribly wrong with my formatting, and I’m not able to edit the post, so sorry about that.

Right, Khajiit, not Argonians, sorry. I was thinking of the lizard-people parallel. I don't know where the "This one..." thing comes from, but the Khajiit clearly have (what on Earth would be called) Russian accents.
Anyways, back to the SW fandom. 

[Karmack]

By the way, I just have to point out...

This chapter was brought to you by the letter P for Procrastination and the Number 12 for Redbreast 12 Yeear Old Cask Strength Irish Whiskey.

Love it!  :-)  But if you start bringing out 'letter people' with sabers I may revolt...

[Illyiss]

The sheer, unbridled willingness to use the Force to such direct, painful, and brutal effect is something I love to see, and feel is missing in most SW media, especially canon.  Good to see a group willing to bring that to bear, and it's a good thing our protagonists have those at least capable of the same.  Nice to see the respect to the Mandos as well, the well trained bastards they are.

[TheDrunkenConsular]

CHAPTER 17: Prep Work

     Edda looked grimly into the mirror in her quarters.  Staring back at her were kind green eyes set in a Hapan face that had once been astonishingly beautiful, but was covered in horrible burn scars from below her nose down.  Even all these years later, the sight still took her back to the day her ship had crashed on Varris XII.  She’d lost everything then, but on that planet she’d eventually found a new life that was just as fulfilling as her old one.  A smile came across her face, but vanished as her eyes landed on the lightsaber sitting beside the sink.
     Rakham has given it to her that night after inviting her, Stikes and Porin to dinner with himself and Dala.
     I built this during one of the times in my life when I was challenged most. He’d said.  I know that you prefer to avoid violence, Edda, and that’s why I think it’s appropriate that you have this.  It was born of desperation, and should only be used in case of desperation.  The days ahead may push us all past the limits we’ve set for ourselves.

     A heavy feeling formed in the pit of her stomach as she picked up the metal hilt.  It had very obviously been cobbled together from disparate parts.  The emitter was a blackened exhaust tip with round vents drilled around it, moving down to a heavily worn focusing chamber that was striped black and yellow, possibly originating from some piece of heavy machinery or a guard rail. Below that, the body of the saber was formed by a corroded black tube with grooves running down most of it’s length.  The pommel, which anchored the crystal assembly, was formed by an old sprocket that showed somewhat less wear than the other parts, but was obviously well used.

     She was a pacifist by code, just like her old friend Gra’porin, but the masters had insisted that she keep some method of defending herself on hand.  She had to admit, she like the feeling of the lightsaber in her hand, but the idea of actually using it turned her stomach.
     A glance at the time was enough to end her pondering.  It was midnight, and that meant it was time.  After running a hand through her wildly unkempt but thankfully short hair, she donned a dark cloak over her black robes and hung the saber from her belt.  Stikes and Porin were waiting in the hallway.  Stikes greeted her with a disarmingly boyish grin, and Porin yawned.  He was an old man, after all, and he needed his rest.
     “You ready?”  Stikes asked in a conspiratorial whisper.
     “Absolutely.”  Edda responded, her voice rasping from the old burns as she pulled up her hood.
     “The guard changed ten minutes ago.  As long as everybody stays in their beds, we should be good to go.”  Stikes said as they marched swiftly but quietly down the hallway.

     As they ducked through the empty dining hall and came out into the great hall, they came face to face Choh’leni, a heavily tattooed Twi’lek Templar with green skin.
     “You got ‘em, Stikes?”  Choh’leni asked.
     “Don’t worry Cho, I can handle these two angels.  Just make sure nobody sneaks up on us who isn’t in on the scheme.”
      The trio took a look around the Great Hall.  The lights were dim, and Edda was almost blind, her Hapan eyes not accustomed to low light.  That perhaps was a mercy, as Rakham and Tasrii were rapidly undoing the painstaking work she and Porin had done organizing the Archive Backup.
     They were making their way around the room, Rakham emptying the contents of the crates into sacks as Tasrii replaced them with blank holocrons and datapads.
     “You know, Master, if we didn’t already own this I would say it’s one hell of a smooth heist.” Stikes said.  Porin merely shook his head, a disappointed groan escaping his lips as he took in the destruction of their efforts.
     “Sorry, Porin, but we don’t have much time, and this is better than losing the Backup altogether.”  Tasrii said in an attempt to reassure the elderly Wookiee that seemed to have little effect.
     “I need you three to start carrying these bags to the Fugitive.  Don’t worry, it’s all clear out there.”  Rakham said, and the three obliged.

     The plan was simple.  Ever since the Archive had been attacked the first time, the Masters feared a leak.  They all hated the idea that one of their own comrades could be responsible, but that didn’t change the fact that it was the most likely answer. 
     The first part of the plan was simple; the Mandalorians, who, despite their exemplary performance, could not have their loyalty guaranteed against an enemy like the Revenant where given the night off.  Instead, a handful of Templars who were above suspicion took over guard duty.  Using this window of opportunity, the Backup was to be replaced with a fake, unknown to all but a few.  The real backup was to be spirited away to the planet Oros, where it would be hidden until things calmed down enough to construct a second Archive.

     It took two hours of running back and forth between the Fugitive and the Great Hall to move the entirety of the Backup, but finally it was done, and Stikes was warming up the ship’s engines to leave.
     “Do you think this is going to work?”  Faradi, a Twi’lek Dark Jedi with hardened features and a scarred face asked Rakham as the pair stood alone on the landing pad, watching the ship.
     “I hope so.” Rakham replied.
     “I still think you should sent me with them.” 
     “Stikes can handle it.  We’re going to need you tomorrow.  I have a feeling that task is going to require a firmer hand than many of us have.”
     Faradi flashed a smile at the perceived compliment, several gold teeth glinting between green lips.
     “I can’t believe you’re going to miss the party.”
     “We have allies arriving tomorrow night, it’s important that Berra and I be here to greet them, otherwise I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

...

     Part two of the plan was even simpler than part one.  Load the ‘Backup’ onto the Narudar, cram the ship with mercenaries and Templar warriors and shoot the whole thing at a relatively nearby star system, and see what happened.

      They were gone before noon, leaving Berra, Tasrii and Rakham at the Archive alone.  So, naturally, Rakham and Tasrii decided to make the most of it.  They spent the better part of the day sparring, and as it wound down, they eventually found themselves sitting with their legs dangling off the edge of the landing pad and a bottle of Corellian whiskey between them.
     “It’s nice, isn’t it?”  Rakham said after a few minutes of easy, comfortable silence.
     “It’s just like the old days.”  Tasrii answered with a smile, not needing to ask what he meant.
     “Do you ever miss those days?  Back on Oros?”
     “Living here is amazing.  The lives we lead, for the most part, are amazing.  We’ve got everything we could ever want.”
     “But?”  Rakham pressed with a sideways smirk.
     “But, I’d trade it all to go back to lifting boulders every day and living in Koloa huts.” She answered with a smile of her own.  “That was the first place I ever was that felt like home.”
     “I think I know what you mean.”  Rackham’s smile stayed on his lips, but there was a familiar sorrow in his eyes.  “Before the Purge, Heditt and I lived in an old warehouse on Coruscant.  It was simple, but it was home.  No matter where we went in the galaxy, it was always going to be there.  Our things, our beds, our very own roof.  After the Purge, it was was a long time before I learned to find that feeling in the people I loved instead of in a place.”
     “Dala.”  Tasrii stated the question as an assumption.
     “Dala.”  Rackham confirmed, the smile returning to his eyes as he took a sip of his whiskey.  “Would you believe me if I told you she was the first serious partner I ever had?  Before we fell in love, I had never felt about anyone the way I feel about her.”
     “I had the opposite problem.”  Tasrii said with a sad smile.  “I loved, I loved with all of both my hearts, but I always loved the wrong people.”  A bitter expression came over her face.  “There aren’t a lot of Pit fighters who are... like me.”
     Rakham put a comforting hand on his old friend’s shoulder.
     “You found the right one eventually, Tas.”
     “Yeah, it looks like I did.”  She said, her smile returning, and downed her whiskey before pouring both herself and Rakham a fresh glass.  “So, tell me about this old friend of yours.”
     “She and I go way back, but I can’t tell you everything about her, because those secrets are hers and hers alone.  You know that back in my Jedi days I helped people, especially Force-sensitives and Jedi, out of tight spots.  Well, one day I ended up getting herded into a diplomatic party sent to Hapan.  She approached me there and asked me to help her get to a safe place off-world. She was already powerful in the Force, so naturally I took her to the Jedi Council.  She was a teenager, so the Council gave the same old song and dance about her being too old for training, and I was barely into my twenties, so my protests fell on deaf ears.  That didn’t stop me from trying though, and believe me, the Council just hated getting yelled and sworn at by a twenty-one year old Knight.  But, it all worked out for the best.  I had contacts within a far more open-minded group of Force sensitives, and they were more than happy to take her in.”  He stopped and drank deeply from his glass.  “It’s funny, if I’d managed to convince the council to take her in, there’s a decent chance she’d be dead right now.”  He finished, and gulped down his drink.
     “That didn’t happen, Rak.”
     “Not to her.”  He said sorrowfully.

      After a moment of silence, he placed his middle and index fingers to his temple suddenly, and closed his eyes in concentration.  Suddenly, the omnipresent fog began to roll away, a long clear column forming in the grey clouds.
      Tasrii watched as a brilliant sunset was revealed, the sky streaked purple and orange in in the small clear spot Rackham had created.  He gasped as he released his grip on the Force, and opened his eyes.  Orange light shone on their faces.
     “Here’s to the ones who didn’t make it, Tas.” 
     “Here’s to them.”
     
     They downed the last of their whiskey and watched as the fog rolled back in, almost as suddenly as it had been pushed away.

CHAPTER END
     
     

[Illyiss]

When a mole is known to exist, a trap must be set, but only with those you trust to not be the mole.  We all know that traps for vermin must end in struggle, and this gears up to be an epic one indeed.  In contrast, the moment of peace, reflection of times when things were different, capped with a scene of beauty.  Wonderful, balanced work, DC.

[TheDutchman]

I have to admit: I really enjoyed this particular chapter.  As the eponymous title suggests, the set up is fantastic, foreshadowing an epic pay-off!

One thing that I feel compelled to laud: TDC, your skill at having such a large and detail-oriented cast is incredible!  And the more that I learn about them, the more I WANT to learn MORE    Consequently, that's why Anton's death was poignant.  Well done!

P.S. Hey I know that place that Rakham's talking about!   

[TheDutchman]

Special thanks to TDC for trusting me with his characters as well as the opportunity for this collaboration  

So this chapter is dedicated to TDC  
**************************************************
Chapter 18: Friends, Old & New

Then…
As the door opened to admit the lone person in the hall, drops of blood began to pool on the floor as the teenage girl leaned heavily upon the wall.  Even as her head rested upon her forearm, her eyes kept constant vigil along both sides of the hallway.  It was blessedly empty.  Her breathing faltering, she stumbled into her private chambers, almost colliding with the ornate Zsajhira table as she tried to get to her bed.

Or rather, what lay behind it.

Touching a button that only she knew to be there, the bed slid silently from the wall, exposing a darkened passage which led to a secure room.  Incongruous with the ornate antique furniture of her bedchambers, the saferoom was ultramodern: it had emergency rations, several blasters with primed battery packs, numerous edged weapons, and—most importantly (at least for the moment)—a fully functional med-bay.

Slapping the button to close the door, she sealed herself into the room as she fell to her knees.  Gritting her teeth, she pressed her closed fist against her abdomen to staunch the flowing blood.  Simultaneously, she coerced the Force into Healing weaves by pure strength of will.  And slowly she crawled the rest of the way to the medical pod, rising to her knees and with a final push, falling onto the table.  

Immediately activated by the tactile contact of her olive skin, the med-pod began administering triage, injecting several syringes of poly-bacta, adrenaline, and amino-chains, all with the intent to fortify the body.  The arms of the table carefully removed the blood-drenched clothes that clung to the wicked laceration that had opened her belly from hip-to-hip.  Finally, the med-pod’s droid surgeon began its work, making micro-sutures joining capillaries, nerves, and stem tissues.  She soon learned that their were even limits to anesthesia.

As waves of pain coursed through her, she knew that unconsciousness would fortunately take her.  Most injuries could be fixed if not completely repaired but she knew that this one would forever scar her.  And as the surgeon continued its work, tears of loss began to flow from her eyes.  The would-be assassin had not been able to fulfill her task but she’d killed a part of her.  She knew that no amount of skill, surgical or otherwise, would be able to repair her disintegrated womb.

But she was strong, stronger than anyone else knew.  She would cry later, a lamentation to the furies for the loss that she would bear forever.  But she would live.

Live…and no one would know of her plans until it was too late.

And as the oblivion of sleep took her, she smiled.  Whoever had sent the assassin obviously did not know her.  But they would.  And they would say her name, either in reverence or in dread.

Il'liyanav Lana’A D'Aylanna Vih'Torr, Marquesa ta’a Chume.

            <<<<< >>>>>

Ta'a Chume'Dan was not a particularly large metropolis, its population numbering only a few hundred-thousand, yet the dealings that occurred and the people who made them influenced almost a trillion citizens within the Hapes Consortium.  And all of them were subject to the empress Queen Mother, Ta’a Chume

Completely matriarchal, the House Royal Court was rife with political intrigue, aristocratic feuds, and assassinations, including regicide.  Of course, this was all kept “in-house” and woe to the foreigner who voiced that such a spectacle could occur.  Usually, these “alien dissidents” quietly disappeared, never to be seen again.  And that was if they were lucky…

Aside from being matriarchal, Hapan sentiment concerning the Jedi was barely-concealed contempt at best and anti-Jedism at worst.  Nevertheless, even the House Royal would entertain the occasional Jedi contingent on their annual political forays into the cluster.  And after having received an audience from the Queen Mother herself, the Jedi were then unceremoniously shuffled to a minor dignitary and summarily forgotten.  Having been on-planet for almost a week, the individual members of the Jedi delegation had gone off to engage in their own pursuits.

So, despite the fact that most Hapans considered a male Jedi to be only a half-step above a dog, Rakham had to admit that he’d had a good time considering he was surrounded by a bunch of man-hating, imperious tralks.  As one of the courtesans of the Lux’x’l House filled his pipe with his favorite Cavendish blend, another one was filling his glass with some excellent native Agavinol t’Korish, so named for the time of distillery of the reigning Queen Mother, Empress Ni'Korish.

Good drink, good tabac, and the scenery was just to his liking.  The courtesans of Lux’x’l House represented the best.  And they should; they were endorsed by House Royal.  The Queen Mother—may Her Radiance illuminate eternal—had lent her personal Seal as attestation of her approval.  As such, the courtesans were amongst the most beautiful creatures in the galaxy, which was saying something as they were surrounded by Hapans.  Rakham smiled; he hadn’t realized that most Hapan women had so many different colors for their—

He abruptly felt a hand upon his shoulder, one that didn’t belong to either of the two courtesans.  At least, he didn’t think so; he knew that he’d had quite a bit of Agavinol to drink, so even as he mentally counted the tally—yes, that made five hands—he was half-convinced that he’d somehow gotten more inebriated than he thought possible.  Of course, he hadn’t been this drunk since Nadia and Anton’s…

“Excuse me, master Jedi…” The voice that came from behind him was sonorous, if slightly…haughty?  No, Rakham thought, that’s not quite right… “Stately” was the description that came unbidden to his mind, allowing him to recover at least some of his propriety as he steeled himself.  Gently disengaging the arms of the courtesans, the tall Jedi Knight squared his shoulders and stood his full height.  Whatever he’d expected, what greeted him wasn’t that.

Standing in front of him was a diminutive, exotic, and darkly beautiful young Hapan woman with the bluest lips he’d ever seen.  …I wonder if she’s blue there too… the thought crossed his mind before the small sober part of him could bury it.  Suddenly her dark eyes flashed, a dangerous look upon her face, almost as if she’d read his mind…

But instead, she shook her head, the look gone and replaced by one of concern.  And determination.  “Master Jedi…I am…that is, I require your help.  Please.”  The last word came out as almost an afterthought.  Still, the sober part of him took notice.  That…and something about the young woman’s demeanor.  Very quickly, the effects of the Agavinol was giving way to his instincts, and they had almost never been wrong.

“…OK.  I’m listening.”  Rakham’s mind began to work and he found himself presented with what he already suspected was a conundrum.  And if he was right: a complete clusterf—

“I…require sanctuary.  Additionally, I must needs beg your indulgence concerning a bit of…dissembling.”  She hesitated as if her breath were caught within her mouth.  But then, having made a decision, she continued, the conviction in her voice unmistakable.  “I…I am Force-sensitive.  I…I would like the opportunity to learn from the Jedi.”  Suddenly, her mask of confidence fell revealing the teenage woman-child that she was.  “Please, master Jedi, please…I…I need your help…else my life is forfeit…”  Unshed tears threatened to overwhelm her but she stalwartly continued.  “Please…”

Rakham said nothing, the silence stretching minutes  …Yep…a cluster— “I will help you if you tell me why a member of the Royal Court wants to escape.”  Rakham saw her recoil slightly.  …Ah, didn’t expect for me to recognize you, eh Marquesa…?  Rakham’s sharp eyes saw her blue lips purse, a decision made…

“…I…one of my family attempted to kill me, sending an assassin…” She hesitated for a moment but Rakham was certain it had nothing to do with any weakness on her part.  No, this young woman—girl he reminded himself—was anything but weak.  Well…he’d heard the rumors…

“You don’t need to continue; I…I understand.  Yes, yes I’ll help you, Il'liyanav…” And although he said the name almost as a whisper under his breath, the young woman hissed, instinctively looking around to see if anyone had heard him.  As she did so, her small, delicate hand touched his.  Just as soon as their skin touched, her body went rigid, her face impassive and her dark eyes blank.  First squinting his eyes and then ducking his head to look her in the face, Rakham was about to shake her by her shoulders when she suddenly and almost violently inhaled.  Looking around with her eyes, they suddenly came to rest upon his, staring deeply into them.

“…Thank you Knight Rakham, I am indebted to you.  And please, do not ever mention that name again.”  Her head sunk low, hiding her eyes from Rakham.  After a moment, he was certain that she was silently crying.  “…Il'liyanav is dead, the assassin successful with her work.”  She suddenly raised her head, her eyes red but firm and full of resolve.  “Please call me D’Aylanna.”

Rakham nodded, casually looking around.  “OK…D’Aylanna.  Don’t worry, I promise to help you.  I’ll take you to Coruscant and bring you before the Jedi Council.  You will be as safe as anyone can be.”  

Visibly relaxing, D’Aylanna put a hand on Rakham’s elbow.  “Thank you so much, Knight Rakham.  And…I…can offer you remuneration.  Please, take it as a token of my gratitude.”  She emphasized the last as he shook his head, holding up his hands as if to refuse the proffered reward.  “Please Knight Rakham.”  Her eyes were pleading.

Looking down, Rakham realized that—for all of her eloquence, her assuredness, her strength—she was still a frightened girl.  A voice in his head that sounded annoyingly like his brother Heditt reminded him that he’d not been raised to ever turn his back on a frightened girl in need…or deny her the courtesy of her dignity.  “Alright, D’Aylanna.  But c’mon, I have a better place to conduct our discussion.”  Suddenly, a lopsided grin appeared on Rakham’s face.  “Besides…this is no place for the Marquesa…”

As he led her out of Lux’x’l House, he realized that he must still be drunk; he had not remembered ever telling her his name or rank…

*************************
Now…
As Fenris’ Dirge emerged from the thick storm clouds, dropping low into the troposphere, D’Aylanna expertly piloted the Infiltrator through the rocky terrain, their destination on one of the high mountaintops capped with snow.  “Mother…I’m getting no reading at all; no life signs, no technology, nothing…” Jorya’s voice sounded perplexed as she leaned over the instrument panel in the co-pilot’s seat.  Next to her, D’Aylanna smiled knowingly, looking at her adoptive daughter from the corner of her eye.

“Trust me, Dear One, he’s here.” The small Hapan woman said distractedly, focusing on her stickwork as she hovered above the plateau’s flat surface.  Finally, Fenris’ Dirge came to rest upon the natural dark, shale-like stone quay.  Soon afterwards, the rear-hatch opened, both women jumping off the ramp before it made contact with the ground.

The lone sentry, a tall dark figure stood against the thundering backdrop of the gloomy mountainous terrain, his dark brown robes hooded.  As Jorya approached she noticed that he was a big man, easily as tall as Master Karmack if not so wide as Father.  But it was her Mother’s actions that truly shocked her.

Smiling warmly, the diminutive Hapan woman stopped for a moment in front of the tall man and then, uncharacteristically, flung her arms around his waist.  A deep laugh echoed from within the hood as the man enveloped D’Aylanna in his arms, his hood falling off as he looked down at her.  “I see that the years have been kind to you, Marquesa.”  His fond tone was unmistakable as was the affectionate look in his eyes as he gathered both women to him and led them inside the ancient looking fortress of the Templars Archives.

            <<<<< >>>>>

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t make it to the wedding; no good excuse really other than Vader trying to kill me and Order 66 being enacted and whatnot.” Rakham said around his pipe, a wry smile upon his lips.  

Joining them were the only two other Templars left in the Archive: Tasrii, a Zabrak and Berra, a rare Miraluka.  Jorya noticed that within minutes of meeting, all three women had scrutinized, weighed, and measured the other, sizing each up and filing such information as only a perceptive, intelligent woman could do.

They liked one another other immediately.

While sharing anecdotes of themselves—punctuated by Rakham’s good-natured respective comments—Berra, Tasrii, and D’Aylanna carried on like fast friends.

“How is ol’ Zearic these days?”  Rakham finally got a question in edgewise.  “Knowing how you cook, probably fat, content, and doing ‘un-Jedi’ like things?”  All five sat around a weathered but comfortable table, Rakham playing the consummate host with providing refreshments for all of them, though instead of the Hapan Pogam-Blood wine he’d provided the women, he’d poured himself some Agavinol and left the unstopped bottle within easy reach.  

Jorya could not believe what she was hearing, moreso when she heard Mother give a hearty laugh.  “My Shakal is well, Rakham.  And was it not yourself that told me that a man who gains weight is the sign of a happy marriage?” D’Aylanna’s eyes reflected the smile that hadn’t left her face since the tall Templar had met them at the landing pad.

“No, I said that it was the sign of a ‘successful one.’  Otherwise, marriages the galaxy throughout would have ballooning spouses filling every planet from here to the Core.”  Rakham looked sideways at Jorya, winking at her conspiratorially.  “I’d always wondered who would be crazy enough to marry your mother.  I’d even told her that she’d have to search the entire galaxy before she found someone that could understand her.  Foolish me; it seems she went the opposite direction and went for someone ‘simple-minded.’”

Despite herself, Jorya laughed.  She’d often heard Father doing his self-deprecations when joking and they sounded exactly like what Master Rakham was telling to Mother.  Still, she felt that she should behave like a “proper” daughter and stand up for his character.  “Master Rakham, my Father is one of the smartest people I know…” Jorya trailed off as the tall Templar burst out laughing.

“Don’t I know it?!  That man somehow got your Mother to marry him!  Now that’s a trick I’d like to see…” Shaking his head, he refilled the cup in front of him, chuckling softly.  It was infectious and soon all five of them were doing likewise.

It was D’Aylanna that sobered them.  “Rakham, I must say that it was an unexpected pleasure to hear from you especially after all of these years but you’ve been cryptic concerning your motives for asking us here.  And as much as I would like to wax nostalgic and catch up, I know that you did not just call to see how that ‘girl you saved’ was doing.”  Jorya’s eyes looked as if they were going pop out of her head; she’d never known anyone to speak to Mother like…and for her to… Jorya had thought she’d heard everything.

Rakham quickly disabused her of those considerations.  “D’Aylanna…the Templars have run into trouble and, at least at this time, too much for us to handle alone…”

            <<<<< >>>>>

Rakham spoke throughout the night, relating of the Templar assault upon what they now knew was a Revenant training facility.  He told D’Aylanna and Jorya everything: from the fact that a Revenant incursion was imminent to Sam’s intel to Anton’s death.

The last Rakham spoke of in hushed tones, his loss evident in his morose tone.  Both Tasrii and Berra were silent but their faces spoke volumes of the personal loss they felt.  D’Aylanna put her small hand upon his in sympathy.  “My friend, for what it’s worth…my condolences…” D’Aylanna’s dark almond shaped eyes were full of concern and glanced at Tasrii and Berra, including them as well.  Stoic, Rakham nodded his thanks but soldiered on.

And as they spent the night talking into the morning hours, he laid out a plan that was as audacious as it was brilliant…

…And D’Aylanna knew that she’d need some help of her own.