C1M30: Power Shortage

[Mai]

The cold struck straight to the bone. With out the robe only her gear harness, training blouse, and fatigue pants - all black - were left to keep her warm. How had the Emperor stolen the light from the world? How did he conjure ice on a planet of fire? Or was it conjured at all? Mai believed he might have just absorbed the heat and light alike.

“Thrakis!” She yelled into the dark. No response came. Only the sounds of lightsabres clashing, muffled by the ice prison. She became worried for her comrade. Was he fighting alone? She couldn't see anything. For the last several weeks they had conspired together, planning and training for this moment. Everything had been designed to lead to this, to draw their Emperor to Sarapin for this fight. Including their staged duel, and Thrakis' faked death. But how does one prepare for a fight against a God? Never had Ace done anything like this. Suddenly, success seemed as empty and distant as the world around her.

In the dark her fingers traced along her gear harness until they found the right pouch, unzipped to reveal her slave circuit controls. A press of a button sent the Blasphemy to the sky, pre-programmed to hover well above the point of the signal. The time for uncertainty was over. Mai knew now better than ever what their chances were. A quick escape would be necessary soon. Unless, hoping against hope, Mai and Thrakis could pull off the miracle to smite the God.

She strained against fatigue in her muscles, pulling herself to her feet one more time. “Thrakis!” She yelled again, throwing her body against a wall of ice. The cold air stung her lungs as she drew in a deep breath, expanding her stomach and then her chest to maximum capacity. With the exhale she felt her hands pushing through the ice. It evaporated as fluidly as water against her touch, as her skills in dematerialization returned it to energy.

“Thrakis!” Again she cried out, her head just emerging from the ice. Still there was no light. “Just run!” I shouldn't have brought him into this. He doesn't understand.

The first inkling of light began to return, somewhere up above. Like a light spring shower it drifted back into the darkness, until again the bleak landscape of Sarapin greeted her eyes once more. Jacknaw's Traverse looked hungry somehow, the light through the ash seemed more red than before. Like the land itself begged to claim life. It didn't care which. It just wanted blood and flesh.

Thrakis was back on Kane, putting enough pressure on him to stop the world altering powers. Mai thought the only reason she could see again was Kane's distraction. Her sabre hummed in anticipation as she reignited it. The Emperor would win a war of attrition, no doubt about. They needed to give it their all, damn the consequences.

“NO!” She cried out, watching as Kane lifted Thrakis into the air much like he had done to her moments ago. Her comrade blasted back against a rock somewhere out of sight to the left.

And the Beast's gaze fell back on her, already his hand lifted. Nerve endings all over Mai's body remembered the intense pain of his lightning attacks. The aches in her muscles reminded her of the convulsions induced by electricity. Not this time! she determined, as another ball of blazing energy streaked her way.

Like a lion's roar she bellowed an incomprehensible war cry, mustering every ounce of energy left in her failing body. This she channeled through her left hand, sending tingling sensations through the empty spaces were her two fingers used to be. Somewhere behind Ace, another super dense matter began to form. Gravity began to warp, bending the very light back on itself. Kane's kinetics were powerless against its pull, and he instead focused all of his energy on resisting the incredible attraction to fall sideways.

Mai let herself go, almost losing her stomach as her feet became irrelevant. Like a mythical flying creature of old, she fell horizontally towards her enemy, lightsabre outstretched. Massive boulders and rocks alike flew with her, converging on a point somewhere just behind the clone Emperor. A massive crack sent a shockwave blasting out across Jacknaw's Traverse in all directions. The land itself splintered under the changing energies of this new force Mai brought into the world.

But even as she fueled it she felt Kane diminishing it's power. He wasn't about to let himself be dragged into a blackhole. Not now. Using the energies he gathered a moment before, he began dispersing it before it had a real chance to do serious damage. The very sight was unreal, as the world now fell in on itself Kane still stood planted to the “ground”, if such a concept meant anything anymore it was because of him.

Kane's own ball of energy streaked past him, swept over his shoulder like a gust of wind. By the time Mai was impacting against him the blackhole was closing again. The massive boulders that had been up heaved began to arc back towards the ground. Everything around them seemed in chaos and disorder. The Traverse rumbled all around them in anger, but none of them could could track each source independently. Some of it was the boulders crashing against the ground. Some was the blackhole dispersing, causing gravity to return to some sense of normality. The rest was the belly of Jacknaw himself, the split surface of Sarapin ruptured something deep with in. The flat of land that had remained stable for hundreds of thousands of years now teetered on the edge of eruption. It needed only one more tiny push.

Mai disappeared into a thick cloud of ash as she slammed into Kane. It hurt to keep her eyes open to all of the dust, so she kept them clenched tightly closed. The fight continued by feel. One moment she felt like she was tumbling through the air. In the next she slammed hard against gravel. All the while she clutched the pauldron on Kane's armor, to keep him close. In the chaos she managed to trap his right arm under her armpit, rendering at least one of his sabres useless. He tried to stab her with the left blade, which she shielded against with her own weapon.

They tumbled again in a whirlwind of changing gravity and momentum. She could feel the last of her blackhole finally disintegrate, the last of her best effort to finish Kane once and for all. Twice more they impacted against the ground before settling to a slide. Their fight continued prone, Kane trying to struggle to his feet but Mai attacking every opening, forcing him to focus on her instead.

Something powerful slammed against her face, causing a stream of warm blood to trickle from her nose. She couldn't help but get it in her mouth, along with the grit of ash and dust that had been previously plastered to her face. She clutched to him tighter, assuming the blunt force had been a head butt.

His sabre strikes were more like punches now, and she deflected more by virtue of the force than anything else. Blinded and half choking on her own blood, her senses meant nothing. As best she could she gave into the force, and just let her sabre go where it needed to go.

A hand groped for her neck. It had to be Kane. Had he dropped one of his sabres? It was impossible to tell in the scuffle. She kept her chin tucked against her chest to resist any no choke attempts while she tried in vain to knee him in the groin. But his armor protected that part of his body. But soon she realized that he wasn't grabbing for her neck. Instead he clutched at the amulet now unhindered by the discarded cloak.

“Nuugho.” She sputtered through blood and dust before biting down hard on the assailant hand.

“AAARRRGGGHHH!” Kane screamed, but probably more from rage than pain. The Emperor's blood now mixed with the pool collecting under her tongue. She swallowed it all down just so she could keep breathing. It tasted horrible. Kane wrenched his hand free as she coughed against the rough feeling dripping down her esophagus.

Still she clenched her eyes shut. The dust was still so thick she could feel it moving against her face. Kane tried to pry her off of him but she wouldn't allow it. Somehow in the grappling match she had gotten a hold of his last remaining sabre hand. She pinned it with all the worth of her life.

But Kane reversed the trap. With deft and deliberate motions his free arm slipped around her own, allowing him to strip her sabre away instead. She managed to deactivate it before it wrenched from her grip, ultimately falling and rolling away somewhere down her side.

Desperate now she clinged to this last sabre, reminded suddenly of her struggle over the knife with Thrakis earlier. Not wanting to repeat that drama, for real this time, she slipped her body weight closer to Kane, until she was able to bite at his thumb.

“Mai!” Thrakis' voice was close.

If she could just keep Kane pinned in this prone position for a few more seconds Thrakis could finish him off. We can do this! With the last bit of strength in her arms she pulled at Kane's lightsabre, but his grip was magnificent, no doubt reinforced by the force.

“Mai! No!” Thrakis called again, closer.

The sound of grinding stone indicated a footfall just beside Mai's head. But it wasn't Thrakis. Who? Mai felt steel plunge deep into her back, withdraw, and plunge again two more times. All of her muscles instantly seized up, and the Emperor wriggled free of her grasp. Time seemed to slow down. She rolled over as fast as she could, but Kane was already to his feet before she could do anything about it.

For the first time since the grappling match began Mai opened her eyes. It was hard to see, but two forms stood above her. The Emperor Kane looked dispassionately down at her, and by his side stood his aide with a bloodied dagger in hand. Ciara.

“Too easy.” Ciara's words sounded as a child pleasing her father.

Kane swiped his sabre through Mai's neck quickly before Thrakis had a chance to intervene.

* * *

The head of the Prime Executor rolled over a few times until it settled in a small dip in the rock. It had a look of contorted confusion, only barely visible under all the ash and grit plastered to her face by blood. The nose was visibly broken and bent in the most awkward way. Ciara took a moment to consider this as her Master was already busy dealing with the remaining betrayer. This had to be done. The shadow lady had threatened the Emperor. That was the reason Ciara had intervened.

Or was it? A small part of her admitted to a small measure of satisfaction. As though a quiet wish had been granted after long enduring patience. All the same, Ciara didn't want to think about that.

With the head now removed from the body, the amulet her Master wanted had already slipped off the stump above Mai's shoulders. With but one glance to the fight now raging between the Emperor and the betrayer Thrakis, Ciara bent over to retrieve her Master's prize.

But Jacknaw's Traverse answered back.

KRACKADOOOOOOOOM!

It was in the milliseconds before the ground shattering explosion that Ciara detected a strange transmission coming from the corpse of Mai Hasagaiwa. Suddenly the real assassination attempt became clear. A simple pacemaker somewhere near Mai's heart had stopped ticking. It's last action was to transmit a signal. A signal to what?

The edge of Jacknaw's traverse boiled up like water, until a gigantic burst of energy soared into the sky. Everything became washed out in a blinding white light that seemed to last forever. Ciara was knocked to her back, and she suspected that even the Emperor couldn't withstand the kind of shockwave force that held her android body pinned to the ground. Rocks and rubble again rained from the sky. A sky now interrupted by a huge mushroom cloud. The once stable ground now shattered and swallowed into new lava flows. The beginnings of various new volcanoes spewed liquid fire all over the Traverse.

This time the nuclear explosion had been real. Mai's pacemaker transmitted to a nuclear device buried somewhere beneath the surface. But this one had exploded too far away to kill the Emperor. It didn't make sense. Already, through her connection with Osiris back on the Nemesis, she began a penetrating scan localized on the Traverse.

“Master!” Ciara cried out loudly, unable to see through the ever thickening ash. “We must leave! There are more nuclear devices underground! They could detonate at any time!”

[Tavish McFini]

"What's going on?" McFini demanded as he watched a small part of Sarapin erupt in something a little familiar. "Another nuke?"

There was no immediate answer, the crew already working feverishly to figure out what was going on while also keeping the ship from being destroyed and coordinating the massive influx of army soldiers who were trying to escape what seemed to be the world's vengeance at the NIF incursion.

"Somebody talk to me!" McFini glanced around, placing both hands against the table where the tactical holo projector sat, leaning against it in frustration. "Fine, what about the army? Someone has to know something about that! Talk to me people!"

"Approximately ninety percent of the army is back with the fleet, including the Surface Marshal!" someone in the far corner of the secondary bridge piped up over all the chatter.

"Thank-you!" McFini called back, raising his voice enough to make sure the officer heard him, the slight frustration in his voice evident that no one else was talking. That was a relief, the Surface Marshal was back on the ship and, as far as McFini could tell, what was left of the army was coming from places around Sarapin that wasn't Jacknaw's Traverse, though he was pretty sure that there were still people left behind from the last two explosions.

"Preliminary analysis done. It's another nuclear device that went off and, we've done some deep scans of the Traverse..." the officer's voice trailed off.

"And?" McFini prompted.

"There's more, lots more buried beneath the ground! Estimates show at least a hundred."

McFini's eyes widened, the words not lost on him, nor the potential for destruction that many nukes could unleash He looked over at the officer. "What are the best estimates that many could do against-"

"Against Sarapin? The computer says it could very well cause the entire planet to fracture before finally breaking apart. It also says that we're-"

McFini returned his gaze to the holo at the planet as he finished for the officer, "Too close." They were still receiving the rest of the army shuttles and transports but he couldn't hang around in orbit much longer, especially with damaged engines. Sarapin was a powder keg and that's why bombardment was a bad idea but now it didn't seem to matter much. He could already see the NR fleet starting to chug away from the potential explosion, desperately trying to recall everyone they had to their fleeing ships. It was, perhaps, a blessing that Eri had ordered the retreat when she did.

There was more, he could already see many of the ships in First Fleet pulling back, probably also having realized the potential danger. Aren't they in a hurry? It was time to go. "Helm, start pulling us out of orbit and lay in a course to the exit vector. Comms, order the rest of Third to also make for the exit vector. We're done here today."

"Yessir." A wave of relief washed over the entire crew, probably helped along by Aurora, the half-zeltron. The Intimidator slowly turned about and its functional engines were aglow with new found thrust, allowing the ship to begin the escape from the gravity well. The rest of the ships that hung about the planet were likewise starting their retreat, the Deadly Surprise the last to leave, bringing up the rear of the damaged fleet. The transports that still needed to get aboard the fleet would be able to catch up to the fleeing ships, the TIEs were starting to be recalled to either escort the ships from the few NR starfighters that remained or escort the army.

Well, hopefully the planet doesn't start breaking apart... McFini watched the holo, knowing it was the only real-time picture he had right now of Sarapin. If it was completely destroyed, that would mean this entire operation, this whole costly operation where hundreds of thousands of lives were lost, hundreds of starfighters and tens of ships destroyed, would all have been for naught. He silently hoped, preyed and even pleaded to the Force that the world would stay intact, otherwise he would have been better served firing the Deadly Surprise's superlaser upon breaching the defenses of the system.

Turning around, unable to take the suspense, he sat against the edge of the table and stared at the door, half expecting someone to walk in. A brief thought passed though his mind, the thought of helping the planet along, just end it all now. Shaking his head, McFini dismissed it, knowing he could never begin to bring himself to actually make the order, to betray everything that all those people gave into this entire operation. A heavy sigh escaped as he glanced over his shoulder, giving into the urge to check Sarapin's situation.

[Ciara]

In a pattern designed to trap me in. She took a page out of my book, Kane thought calmly to himself.

"I'm safe. You go", he ordered. "But master!"

"I told you, I'm safe", he insisted, believing that her programming to protect him was what had brought her to disobey his order to stay put in the first place. "Leave while you still can."

Ciara hesitated, then another underground detonation went off. Lava was already sprouting from cracks in the ground, now they multiplied and grew in size, the planet's open wounds spewing blood. While she considered her options, she decided to use her communications gear, putting full power into it, to jam and distort the signal coming from Mai's device. Perhaps it would prevent some of the nuclear bombs from going off or at least delaying some of them from doing so. It was difficult to calculate how deep the nukes were planted, but the ground had to be hard to penetrate, and this planet made any electronic signalling problematic at best.

She could help her master fight off Thrakis, but they were all in danger if they remained there. Already the last route had disappeared for anyone save one with inhuman speed and strength. Like herself. Or her master. Faced with incomplete information, she finally decided to heed her master's word and took off in a blur, jumping over wide chasms and speeding back towards the Emperor's courier she came in with. The Blood Troopers were already leaving the field, somehow ordered to from afar and unquestioningly obeying orders. The Sovereign Protectors were less certain about the right action to take, which was the only reason she still had a way off this planet. Ciara came dashing in through the still open ramp.

"Take off. The Emperor orders it!"

"But"

"We're in this mess because the Emperor was betrayed! I'm not going to question his orders, and neither are you", she exclaimed firmly, in spite of disobeying him earlier. The ground shook the ship as it finally took off, a giant volcano erupting in the area where the Emperor had fought Mai, lava flowing out of it like a cornucopia filled with death instead of life. Could anyone survive the world-changing destruction going on in its center, or... no. Her master had to be safe. He had said so. It simply had to be true.

The sight of Jacknaw's Traverse being filled up with redhot lava as they rapidly ascended into the relative safety of space gave her no comfort. It was hard to believe anything could have survived the newly created hell below. Another ground bulge signifying an undeground nuke going off the microsecond before it bursted out into even more of the planet's blood appeared as she looked at the place, putting the count up to three so far, and that was just those she had witnessed.

[Thrakis Gregory]

"Uuunnff!" Thrakis grunted as the air was knocked from his lungs by the impact with the rock behind him. His vision erupted in a flurry of sparks. Kane's telekinesis was strong. Very strong. That wasn't unexpected, at least, but the throw would have killed Thrakis had he not used his own telekinesis to slow his own flight. Thrakis had never yet fought someone who could outdo his own telekinetic abilities.

First time for everything, right?

He groaned as he stood and regained his bearings. This was not going well. Not by Mai's standards, anyway. To Thrakis, this was like everything else that had come before it: a learning experience. And in that regard, it was extraordinarily successful. Kane was indeed powerful, and by fighting with Thrakis, he was imparting some of that power. It would take much time spent in meditation later to unravel all that he had already observed, but in time, because of this fight, Thrakis would be far more powerful than before.

All of that hinged on him living through the experience, of course. His lightsabre in his hand was disengaged, and several presses of the activation switch yielded no result. His impact with the boulder must have dislodged some internal component. Thrakis had no time to worry about that, however, as a powerful force began drawing him back into the fight. It was everything he could do to hold himself back. From appearances, Mai had materialized a black hole near the Emperor. Thrakis was further from the fight, and the gradient on the gravitational force was steep. If not for that, he would be plunging headlong for a near-miss with the Emperor. He considered going with it, for a moment, but seeing how Kane's feet were still rooted to the ground despite being significantly closer to the black hole, Thrakis decided against it.

That was the last Thrakis made out of the fight ahead, as ash was drawn inward from all around, reaching incredible velocities as it closed with the black hole. Thrakis sensed, rather than saw the black hole's disintegration, and charged forward, drawing his third and final lightsabre as he ran. Mai was too close to the Emperor; he needed to get her away. "Mai!" he shouted.

He could feel her struggle with Kane. So far, she was holding her own; she always was a better fighter in close. But he sensed more than just Mai. Kane's aide was harder to make out, given her mechanical nature, but Thrakis was not in the fight at the moment, and so could see the details that others could miss. "Mai! No!"

The warning was too little, too late. He felt the sudden pain just as he made out the entwined shadows ahead. He was feeling Mai's pain, he knew. They had worked closely this past month, and the bond they had developed in that time was not insignificant; in many ways, it was deeper than the bond Thrakis shared with his master, Jacen. It was through this bond that he finally began to understand what was happening, but that too seemed like too little too late.

It was almost excessive, but Thrakis understood the rationale as he saw Kane's blade descend. Thrakis was too far to stop it. His telekinetic jab to distract the Emperor was shrugged off without even an acknowledgment that Thrakis had done it at all.

"Mai..." Thrakis could feel her life fading quickly. A warrior is never defeated. Even in death, you are victorious unto yourself.

Thrakis only knew how true that was a moment later, as the ground beneath his feet shook. He could feel the energy released..."Sithspit!" He dove between a pair of boulders, tying them together and sealing off the space he was in with the Force. It was well he did so, for the shock wave from another explosion arrived moments later. Thrakis shielded his eyes, but he could still make out the shape of his hand before his face, even with his eyes closed. He considered himself lucky; had the explosions not occurred below ground, his retinas would have been instantly destroyed, and the thermal pulse would likely have burned his skin off. The shock waves from the subterranean events were more than enough to deal with.

The ground did not stop shaking as the entire Traverse rebelled against itself. Tectonic stability was lost, so much so that small volcanoes began erupting across the region. Magma and compressed gas exploded outward, sending rocks the size of starships on kilometers-long flights. Thrakis pulled himself from his shelter. He could still see Mai's body, lying unmoving at Kane's feet. "She deserved better," Thrakis growled.

Kane's eyes studied him as though Thrakis were a small bug, and he was trying to make up his mind whether or not to crush it.

Thrakis was not illiterate. Far from it; in between his training, he had found much time to spend studying literature of all sorts, from treatises on martial arts to ancient Sith philosophical tracts to classical plays, and operas. Despite this, no word he had ever learned adequately described his reaction. Anger simply fell far too short. Rage was better, but it did not carry the depth and breadth of it. Hatred lacked the scope to adequately contain it. Revulsion was a weak distaste compared to it. He understood, finally, why the Sith writings he had read seemed so disdainful of the reader. They knew, as Thrakis grasped now, that their words were but a dim shadow of their meaning; that the reader would always be choked in darkness so long as he thought that mere words could actually convey meaning.

And so Thrakis used no words. He simply was, and were it anybody but Kane beholding him, he would have been terrifying. A single gesture forced Kane to dodge, and the boulder behind where Kane had been standing shattered into fragments. "You could have fought as a man!" Thrakis shouted, hurling a spray of magma at Kane's face. "You could have prevented all of this!" The ground beneath Kane's feet welled up as Thrakis drew his energy from Serapin's hellish core. "You are a coward, Kane, and cowards deserve nothing!"

With this last outburst, Thrakis's hatred boiled from his hand, Force lightning arcing toward the clone Emperor. Do you still think that I am beneath your notice? Do you still think that I am unworthy of your time? His thoughts slashed at Kane's mind like venomous barbs. Ace had all but ignored him. Kane was no different. It was time that he showed that he was not below the Emperor's attention, that his power could not simply be overlooked.

Kane held steady against Thrakis's assaults, but Thrakis knew that the effort must be taxing him, though not as quickly as he was taxing himself. Thrakis could not stand up to Kane forever, and he knew it. Moreover, the ground was still shaking, and slowly, the entire Traverse was slanting as the entire land mass prepared to sink into Serapin's unsteady surface. Boulders hurtled from the sky, forcing both combatants to move constantly to evade the deadly barrage.

Kane closed with Thrakis, forcing him to turn his concentration from his Force powers to his sabre combat. Thrakis's blue sabre moved quickly, weaving around Kane's dual sabres, flowing almost like water. But if his sabre was like water, then Kane's sabre was like a rocky shore; Thrakis's fluid attacks crashed against Kane's defenses, and each time he was repulsed with ease. And then Kane took the offensive, his own sabres smashing Thrakis's sabre aside, forcing Thrakis to resort to acrobatics to preserve himself. Thrakis mentally cursed Mai for dematerializing his primary sabre during their fight; had she not done that, he would have two sabres left now, and though he wasn't an expert in such a sabre style, he needed the extra edge it would give him.

Mai's sabre. She had dropped it during her scuffle with Kane. It wasn't easy to find anything on this rubble-strewn battlefield, but Thrakis recalled seeing a glint of silver earlier. He continued rolling and dodging, putting up some semblance of an offense here or there, but mostly he was forced to concentrate on keeping himself alive. He rolled backward under one of Kane's strikes, and then held firm as the next assault came in. He parried the first sabre, and Kane almost seemed to smile as the second sabre descended, though it could have been a trick of the light.

Thrakis's off-hand emitted a snap-hiss, and there was a glint of metal in his fist as he slid Kane's strike aside and rocked his wrist, driving the invisible blade forward. Kane batted the strike down, but too late to stop it completely: the tip of the blade raked across his bicep. The armor he wore dissipated the energy quickly, but did not entirely negate the attack; Mai's sabre traced an invisibly thin but shallow cut across the Emperor's arm. It was Thrakis's turn to smile. "Not as invincible as you thought?"

As if in answer, the Emperor's assaults grew in intensity. Thrakis knew he had been holding back, but he wasn't entirely prepared for Kane's full power. Telekinesis, mental assaults, energy blasts...and Kane's sabres never ceased their attack. I did ask for it, Thrakis pointed out to himself. He almost regretted it. Almost.

"Any chance of a pick-up?" Thrakis asked, his voice not even a whisper; he was wearing a small throat-mic that was connected to his commlink. There was no answer. Blast. His shuttle must have been destroyed by Mai's nuclear carnage, or the tectonic after-effects thereof. Plan B!

Amidst Kane's onslaught, Thrakis managed to reach Mai's body, using the Force to speed his movement. He paid heavily; one arm was covered in burns from lava, while he was pretty sure several ribs were broken from flying boulders. He had no time to dwell on it, however, as Kane did not relent. Thrakis's burst of speed had taken him beyond sabre range, and a telekinetically-directed lava flow cut him off from the Emperor for a short time. The rest of the assault did not relent, but Thrakis was able to spare a hand and a moment here and there to find the slave circuit for Mai's fighter in one of her pockets. He locked it on to his position, and then Kane was on top of him again.

Thrakis fought with all of his strength, but Kane was still stronger. With an off-hand gesture, Kane used Thrakis's own trick and pulled in a lava flow to trap Thrakis in place. Each swing of Kane's sabres battered aside Thrakis's defenses, and it was all Thrakis could do to pull his sabres back into place to defend his center with each strike. In between blows, Kane continued to barrage Thrakis with Force powers and rocks and lava. Most of this Thrakis dodged. Some of this Thrakis deflected with his own Force powers. And some of this pounded him hard. It was a flying boulder of the latter category that caught Thrakis's right hand, crushing his fingers, and sending his sabre flying from his grasp, to land with a dull plop in the lava. Kane took advantage of the opportunity to use one of his sabres to pin Thrakis's remaining sabre aside, and angled the remaining sabre at Thrakis's neck.

Thrakis had few options, and so he did the only thing he could: he grabbed Kane's sabre and held it aside. It was a technique he'd practiced before, but never on a full-powered lightsabre, and never while doing anything else; certainly never while telekinetically deflecting projectiles and fighting with a sabre in his other hand. Serapin gave him power. Mai gave him power. Everything that he was at this moment in time gave him the power he needed. He gritted his teeth as pain flashed through his hand, but he dissipated the energy away from his grasp, allowing his hand to stand up to the otherwise deadly weapon. It was unbearable, but he knew what would happen if his focus failed, even for the smallest instant.

Kane pressed down with both of his sabres, forcing Thrakis's guard to contract, and still he continued to press. Thrakis's legs shook with the effort of merely standing beneath the Emperor's enormous strength. "Yes. I do think you are unworthy of my time," Kane pronounced, in answer to Thrakis's earlier question.

Thrakis grunted as he attempted to push back. "Yeah?..Go to hell." It wasn't exactly witty, but he was too distracted by other things, such as staying alive, to care. He dropped his weight and spun, directing Kane's sabres upward to cross over his head, and planted a kick in the Emperor's abdomen. The armor negated any real damage, but it at least forced Kane back half-a-step. Thrakis retrieved the slave circuit from his belt and jammed at the buttons. The next moment, he was rocketing skyward, using the last of his strength for a full-powered Force jump.

Multiple volleys of concussion missiles pulverized the ground where Thrakis and Kane had been standing only a moment before, and the Blasphemy swooped just under Thrakis's leap, catching him in the open cockpit hatch, before disappearing into Serapin's sky.

The rear scanners showed nothing but a rapidly-receding lava field where Thrakis and Kane had been fighting, but Thrakis could still feel Kane's presence down there, somewhere. He hadn't expected the missiles would do it; he had only been counting on them to cover his escape. One day, he would finish what he had started this day. Another place, another time, he thought to himself. He did not know when or where that battle would take place, but he knew that one thing was absolutely certain. One of us must die that day.

[Kane]

"And he dares to speak of cowardice", Kane muttered to himself as he saw Thrakis flee from the hell of Sarapin. He contemplated bringing Thrakis back, but saw no advantage to it. Instead, he strolled across a huge rock face floating unsteadily on the lava as if he had been a casual uppercrust shopper on Firro or the Eridau Bazaar. He felt oddly at home with the violent, chaotic forces unleashed at this place, oddly given that he had spent all of his life in starships and controlled enivronments. It was almost as if he felt a spiritual connection to the forceful displays of the raw power of nature that took place here.

They had disguised it well, he thought to himself. Thrakis and Mai must have bonded somewhere along the way. He had always thought they might, they were quite similar in several ways. It was either that or turn out mortal enemies. But what he couldn't understand was their rebellion against him. Mai had been present before he first woke up. Clearly she didn't object strongly at that time. But now? First her, and now Thrakis. There were very few things in this universe that he did not understand, and every last one of them irritated him to no end. Understanding meant control.

A huge eruption right in front of him momentarily disturbed his thoughts. The air was hot enough to scorch a man's lungs from the inside, but it meant nothing before Kane. For a moment he played with the tought of stilling the violence caused at Jacknaw's Traverse, but he saw no gain in it.

Had he not brought everything he was expected to, with a fervor and intensity surpassing his progenitor? Or was it simply because he didn't love her that put her over the edge. He shook his head. No matter how many times he mulled it over, it didn't make sense.

Well, it was time to leave. This place has nothing more to offer, he tought and looked upward, towards the grey sky clouding the view of the stars. It also had nothing to offer, so he lowered his eyes and his interest was caught by something looking, or rather, feeling odd on the ground. He walked over and picked up the object. Dusting it off, he could tell from the pinkish hue coming through the gray what it was. He shrugged and put it in one of his belt pockets.

It was for the amulet he had come to this place, not Mai's imminent threats. But the amulet Ciara had taken with her wasn't real. He had felt it when he touched its surface. Made to look real. To feel real. But it wasn't the real thing, and now the one object he feared was somewhere out there, out of his reach. Might Thrakis know where she had hidden it? No, he thought and shook his head slowly again. She had come knowing fully well what fate had in store for her, and had hid the amulet from him to prevent his victory from being complete. What had she done with it? That thought felt like it gnawed on his bones like a hungry wolf.

Another detonation went off, sending a massive shockwave through the ground and opening yet another gigantic cleft. It was high time to get out of there. He closed his eyes and concentrated, bringing his gauntlet-clad hand up before his face, straight as a ruler. "Release", he uttered, and suddenly his form began to dissolve into a swirl of black shadow that spun faster and faster until it had become a maelstrom reminiscent of the black hole Mai had created not far from where he was now standing. It faded slowly out of existence until nothing was left in its place.

Deep in the bowels of the Nemesis, Emperor Kane slowly opened his eyes. Even if the traitors had succeeded in their scheming, it would have failed because he had never physically gone into their trap in the first place. Jacen wasn't the only one who could use Doppelgängers. His own form was perfected, and could not be distinguished from the real thing. In a sense it was him, like a mirror image was his perfect shape. He slowly sat up from the examination table serving as a temporary bed, and brought up the object in his hand before his eyes. Perhaps... I can do something useful with this, he thought, while far below him, Mai Hasagaiwa's funeral pyre burned away marking an event of planetary scale that would forever scar Sarapin's face. Lonely was the crowned brow, and troubled.

[Spyker Katarn]

BEGIN OOC: Sorry Drav, needed to get this going, and going quick. Step in when you can.:END OOC

*fzzt*

The stun baton sparked as the guard moved in to get a quick strike on Spyker's body. Quickly, the taller man stepped to the outside, and grabbed the guard at his wrist. He delivered two quick jabs to his opponent's face, knocking him back. In the distance, Spyker could hear the Commodore tangoing with the second man in the patrol; he'd have to deal with this one on his own.

The first guard moved in to attack again, stun baton barely missing Spyker's upper arm as he twisted away. The combined assault kept Spyker on the defensive for several seconds, until one of them overextended his reach, leaving an opening for Spyker to move inside his arc. Blocking the strike with his right arm, Spyker maneuvered it into an armlock, placing enough upward pressure on the elbow to prevent motion. As the guard struggled for release, Spyker delivered a body blow with his left hand, triggering the vibroknuckler on impact and driving it deeply into the guard's stomach.

The bladed weapon tore through the musculature of the man's midsection and into his peritoneal cavity, inflicting a fatal wound. For good measure, Spyker delivered two more, twisting and rending as the blade entered. As he fell to the ground, the guard clutched at his innards, attempting to push them back into his abdomen before he expired. His target down, Spyker spun, searching for the second man, only to find that the Commodore had already finished with him. Spyker took a moment to look at the clock: they had ten minutes left to not only find their objective, but make it off this planet. He yelled urgently to the Commodore, and they took off, sprinting. Before they made it to the next bulkhead, though, they ran into more hostiles, this time a squad of B1-B battle droids.

"Damn it, we do not have time for this!" On the run, Spyker and the Commodore leveled off a volley of shots at the droids, downing some, before tearing through the hole opened in their lines. As they ran, the next bulkhead door opened on its own, the mechanism triggered from somewhere else. 'Winters must have gotten to the control center. Good.' Not having any other information, it was the logical conclusion. Unfortunately, what he saw next, caused him to throw out that conclusion, as Winters would never have done it.

In the next area, bedlam reigned. Convicts and prisoners were everywhere; it looked like every hatch in the wing had been opened. The sight of the two armored Federation personnel didn't cause any acknowledgment in the population; at least, not during their initial entry. However, their target hatch lay on the other side of the room. He hoped they could sneak by, but if they couldn't.... they might not make it out again.

[Dwyer]

James leaned forward as Dwyer continued with his story, suddenly appearing enthralled with each detail about the rescue operation, the interaction with the Republic forces, and everything else that had come along with it. As Dwyer spoke a busboy stopped by and picked up plates of half eaten food, it having been totally been forgotten as the tale went on.
“What I find most curious” James said as Dwyer finished recalling one particularly painful story of a soldier they had found who lay upon the scorched earth dying. “Is who exactly gave the order to surrender?”
Dwyer did not respond right away, ever so slightly insulted by the senators lack of sympathy. In fact, the entire time this senator had seemed little interested in the story he had apparently asked to hear. It was odd that he was suddenly fascinated when such a sensitive matter of surrender came up. “Major Orelius” he finally answered.
“Yes but... Lets be frank Captain, who really gave that order?”
“I'm sorry?”
All of the senator's passiveness fell away and was replaced with an almost deadly cool venom. There was less of a man there and more of a deadly machine, his eyes drilling holes in Dwyer for whatever nefarious purpose. “Your general, Lovejoy, ordered Major Orelius to surrender and I want to know why. I'm sure you know”.
It all became suddenly very crystal clear. “You're not a senator at all. You're ISIS”.
“Correct, and I'm beginning to believe that the whole senator act was a waste of my time. You can be very tactful when you want, for a soldier. I know the general ordered that surrender O'Dwyer and, as I said, I know you know why”.
Dwyer returned the agent's stare; “You must not have heard me when I said that Major Orelius ordered our surrender-”.
“No other unit surrendered that day, many of them were wiped out utterly, and as they should have been. Better to die” the ISIS agent hissed “than to surrender like cowards to the enemy”.

Dwyer bolted upright from his chair and it was only Melisa holding his arm gently that stopped him from launching across the table and tackling the agent.
“You forget yourself Captain. Please, sit”.
“To hell with you”.
“I will not ask again. Please, sit down”.
Dwyer looked at Melisa whose eyes pleaded with him to comply. Reluctantly he slowly sat back down, never taking his eyes off the agent before him.
“We are investigating Lovejoy and Major Orelius, possibly for treason. We believe they orchestrated the surrender to facilitate communications with the Republic forces, not for any benevolent reason, but to conspire against the Federation”.
Dwyer scoffed; “What do you want from me?”
“If you want to clear Lovejoy's name, as I'm sure you do. You'll help us investigate him, really it's the only choice that makes sense” James finished with a cold smile on his face. “Before you say no, you should know I looked into your file and saw the results of your psych evaluation. The army was planning to drum you out, you failed, after the events on Sarapin it's hardly surprising”.
“Dwyer...” whispered Melisa, touching his arm with her soft fingers.
“Of course a valuable source of intelligence on a possible traitor is hardly something we want to see be discharged. I can make that happen, Dwyer, I can make it disappear. So long as you will help me”.
It was all too much. First Sarapin, how many men had he lost, how much had he been through. In fact it had been no surprise to Dwyer that after his psych evaluation the Army would promptly drum him out of service. There were things a man just couldn't hide, and the Army had ways of finding and poking scars hidden deep within the heart. The thought of being discharged, the thought of being separated from his men, at first terrified him so deeply that he lay awake in his bunk for days. He had been lucky that his men understood, some of them had even chosen to do the same thing on occasion, though none of them ever cried. At least not in front of any of the other soldiers, and neither did Dwyer. Less to avoid seeming weak, but more because they all knew that if one of them did it, it would break the hearts of the others.

Somewhere during the sadness though he had come to grips with it. Though the battlefield would never truly leave him, not even despite his short amount of time in service, and though he would be forced to leave men who were family, there was some peace in it. As if he were laying down such a terrible burden, one he was not meant to carry. As if the weight of the world had suddenly been lifted off his shoulders. Though this seemed almost pleasant, it removed what little purpose he had left. Now someone was offering him a chance at keeping that weight, to stay with his men, and eventually to head back out into the field of battle. For a moment his mind wandered to the idea of some other officer taking all of his responsibility from him, to letting someone else worry about those men. In his gut he felt the same feeling he felt in that pit on Sarapin as he lay there dying. “I'll never be able to forget these men, I'll always worry” he told himself looking down at the table, and more importantly “Without them I am nothing”.
“Dwyer?” the agent asked impatiently.
It all made him sick and ecstatic and dizzy at the same time. Their service to the Empire and to each other was painful, but their love meant so much more than that. To abandon these men would be to abandon his family in hell. Leaving them to face darkness and horrors unfathomable, and at that moment he realized he would do everything in his power to help his soldiers, the soldiers he loved so deeply. If Lovejoy was a traitor, no matter how vehemently Dwyer believed otherwise, then he was a threat.
“The idea that Lovejoy is a traitor is preposterous” Dwyer said locking eyes with the agent, “I would stake my life on it. If Lovejoy ordered Major Orelius to surrender, it's because he loves the soldiers under his command”.
“I'm sure” James sneered, “I heard the same things from his daughter your friend, Melisa. Believe me, I hope you're wrong” he said rather unconvincingly “but there is too much to suggest otherwise. If he is a traitor... he must be brought to justice. As simple as that”.

Dwyer, remembering a song his father had played, one of great sorrow where a man desperately bargained with forces beyond his control to save what he loved, whispered to no one; “But wish no more, my life you can take”.
“What?” James asked.
“What do you need me to do?”

***

“Sir” the trooper rasped, his voice growing quieter and quieter with each word and each breath.
“Yes Ailure?” Dwyer, still gripping the soldiers hand, squeezed it tightly to make sure Ailure knew he was there.
“You ever just... stop... and look at things?” Ailure laying on the ground of Sarapin was looking upwards, his eyes darting around as if he were an infant just born, seeing the world for the very first time. Dwyer followed his gaze and stared at the harsh winds, ash, and black smoke that filled the sky. Around them the mix of Imperial and Republic forces watched, their expressions not visible through thick helmets, but too painfully obvious. Each Storm Trooper did not just look upon a friend dying on that planet, but also themselves. Nes, who had been working on Ailure, looked up at Dwyer and shook her head, there was nothing she could do.
“Where is everyone?” Ailure coughed. “No one is talking... it's.. it's bad isn't it. I could tell when I started to feel” he coughed again, “cold on this miserable frakking planet”.
“We're here Ailure” Dwyer leaned into his view so Ailure could see him. “Yunn, Bekk, Orelius, Nes, Shivas, Babe. We're all here”.
“Babe?”
Babe stepped forward, and despite the environment, slipped off his helmet for a moment. “I'm here bud, how are you... how are you feeling?”
“Feeling... about the same as I did back on that little shithole of a planet Nomeko, you remember?”
Babe and Ailure laughed. “Yeah I remember Nomeko, I remember you getting piss drunk and getting the shit kicked out of. I'm surprised you remember any of it”.
Ailure sighed, “I remember it... I remember it. What I wouldn't give to be on that planet right now”.
“I'd buy you a drink” Babe added, but there was no laughter.
Turning his head Ailure looked at everyone and then at Dwyer. “Thanks for coming for me sir”.
“Come for you? Nah we were just in the neighbourhood on a high priority mission for the Surface Marshal, saw you laying down here enjoying the sun. Had to come down and bust your ass for lazing around on the job”.
Ailure smiled, “Sorry sir”.
“No” Dwyer had difficulty talking over the lump in his throat, “No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner”.
“Had you gotten here sooner Dwy, I wouldn't have had so long to enjoy the view. I... just make sure... you tell my sisters. Ok? Just make sure they know. Make sure they know that I loved them, Ok? That I loved them so much and that... that I'll tell mum and dad just how good they were”.
Tears swelled in Dwyer's eyes, he barely managed to say “I will” without crying. Ailure's eyes closed and did not open again.

Republic and Imperial alike stood frozen, none of them moving lest they somehow disturb the memory of the man who just died amongst them. It was only Babe who eventually broke the silence.
“Someone has to frakking pay for this shit” he grabbed the nearest Republic trooper and threw the man to the ground. “Look at him! Look at him!” Two storm troopers grabbed Babe, shouting for him to drop it.
“You don't think we lost men?” a republic soldier said, his back had been to the scene the entire time. “We all lost men. Some of them didn't get to die amongst friends”.
“So is that suppose to just make me forget about Ailure?” Babe asked angrily.
“No” Dwyer said standing. “We need to get moving. There are other people out there”.
“I agree” Major Orelius said. The major leaned down and snapped away a set of dog tags from Ailure's body. “We'll come back for you. You hear me? We're not going to leave you on this planet” turning to his men Orelius said “Lets go”.

As the group double backed to the waiting transport ship a sound caught their ears. A low rumbling, as if a massive explosion had gone off far away. The sound repeated again, and then again, and again, and intensified until it was practically all they could hear.
“Christ, Dwyer... look” Orelius pointed to the sky. Flashes of bright green light illuminated the thick ash and smoke all around them. “Something is happening” he turned to one of the Republic lieutenants, “We need to get back to your base immediately”.

As the transport grew nearer and nearer to the republic field base the sound became clearer and more intense until someone recognized it as the sound of a turbolaser firing through atmosphere. There was a sudden sinking feeling in Dwyer's stomach as he realized that the NIF had begun bombarding the planet and the field base had been one of the targets.
“Rel, get on the horn immediately and tell command to stop bombarding the base. Tell them there are Imperial prisoners being held there by Republic forces!”.
“Wait, what?” one of the Republic soldiers asked as Rel began calling for command. “Bombarding the base?”
Dwyer only looked at the soldier, finding himself unable to confirm exactly what was happening. The soldier sat back, the expression of utter horror and disbelief hidden neatly behind his helmet.
“Dwyer, command on the horn for you” Rel said. The transport began losing altitude as they neared the base.
“Patch them over to my helmet”.
“Yessir”
“Captain O'Dwyer, this is Colonel Terix, as I am aware that base is holding a number of Imperial prisoners so I've had First Fleet cease bombardment of that position”.
“Thank you, sir”.
“What is the status of your company?”
Dwyer paused. Major Orelius must have informed command that they had surrendered, but now Terix was asking him what his status was. If he had known that they were collaborating with Republic forces in a rescue mission that would have been an odd question. “Able, sir” Dwyer answered.
“Good, imaging of the base shows severe structural damage. The place is almost a crater save for the head quarters in the middle. Get your men in there, search for survivors, and then pull out. Understood?”
“Yes sir”
“And Captain, if there are any Republic there you are to eliminate them”.
“... Yes sir”.

Dwyer retreated from the ball as quickly as he could, pushing his way through crowded hallways blindly. His destination was the officer's lounge, the only place he knew where he'd be alone. When the walls of that room surrounded him he removed a datachip from his pocket and, slipping it into an audio player, let himself sink into a plush leather couch. Piano notes from the song Lee had sent him filled the room, seemingly melting away the anger, depression, and fear that filled Dwyer.

The base was practically a crater save for the burnt out frames of tents and structures, and the smoking husks of vehicles. Most of the bodies had been vaporized or blasted from the site violently. Sarapin, all too use to heat and violent energy, seemed unmarred by this act of brutality. It was surreal almost. These wounds, they held such destructive energy that they were like scars on a beautiful woman's face. They stood out. It was a testament to Sarapin that all of the destruction fit in so perfectly.

As the republic forces stumbled through what had been their field base searching for what they knew in their heart would be the body of their friends, Dwyer informed Orelius what the Colonel had ordered. Orelius hesitated, and Dwyer understanding completely that Orelius did not want to do what had to be done, signalled for his men to form up. The republic troopers barely had time to register what was about to happen as the storm troopers opened fire, Dwyer standing amongst them, taking careful aim with his blaster rifle and squeezing off shot after shot. When the last enemy fell the stench of smouldering flesh and death reached his nose and he wanted to vomit. In the brief moments after that as he stepped through the corpses to the still burning Head Quarter base, he tried desperately to rationalize what he had just done, but could find nothing. All the excuses he had used so long ago ran hollow. His mind flirted with what Lee had said, about protecting life, and for a moment he believed that killing those men had been to preserve the Empire which would ultimately save more lives, but he rejected it. It was a perversion of that goal, and it made him sick to his stomach to try and fit it to what he had done.

As he walked through the halls of that base, littered with the dead, he realized that there was no reason, at least no reason good enough. That in his attempt to preserve life he had become like Lee, his own enemy, and still he found that the love for his men pushed him forward, because had it not been for them outside he would have collapsed in those halls and waited for the bombardment to resume.

A sound caught his ears as he picked his way through the halls, the sound of garbled piano keys. The elevator to the CO's quarters destroyed, he climbed stairs cast in the red glow of emergency lighting until he pushed through a broken door into Lee's room, the piano music persistently playing in the background. Lee lay sprawled out along the floor. Nothing stopped the cruel Sarapin environment from invading that room as the reinforced window had been blown out. Dwyer stepped through ash, slipping off his helmet and taking Lee in his arms.

At first the Major lay still, his posture that of a dead man. Then suddenly he breathed in and his eyes fluttered open. He looked at Dwyer with unfocussed eyes, his arms moving weakly.
“I have failed...” he drawled to no one.
“Lee” Dwyer whispered carefully, as if talking too loud would hasten his death.
Lee suddenly focused, looking at Dwyer once again with that mix of respect and understanding.
“I was wondering... when you would return... Ah... so this is how it will end. Dying on a dead world in the hands of an Imperial”. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips and Dwyer couldn't help but doing the same.
“Lee... I have something I need to tell you”.
“You killed my men... didn't you” Lee's smile did not fade, though Dwyer's did. Tears filled his eyes again.
“I was-I was....” he stuttered.
“Ordered to... Dwyer” Lee reached up and touched his cheek, “Don't you see? None of it matters. I fought to preserve life, Imperial and Republic, because... because it's what seemed right, just as you fight for the love of your men... but deep down I knew none of it mattered. None of this death”.

Lee's smile remained even as his eyes closed and his breathing stopped. Dwyer sat there a moment, the sound of piano music, blasting wind, and distant explosions playing at his ears. There was nothing running through his mind, only the resolute truth of what Lee had said. None of it mattered. Pulling himself up he took one last look at the man who had so profoundly changed his life, then turned on his heel and headed for the transport.

Pulling from his pocket a datapad Dwyer read over the contents of the message Lee had sent to him along with the music. In the message he spoke of his family, love, and his soldiers, always his soldiers. There was no hint of the depression caused by the truth that tormented him for so long. Even the message at the end suggested otherwise:

“Remember O'Dwyer, love through loyalty, and loyalty means nothing unless it has at its heart the absolute principle of self-sacrifice”

He sat there, letting piano music wash over him, wondering if the pursuit of love was worth it, if it justified all the things he had done. Could it? If the things besides his men that he loved, like art and life, were worth so much meaningless death, when that death was an endless sacrifice. The door to the officer's lounge slid open and Melisa stood there, her beautiful face twisted in sadness. She crossed the room and sat next to him, holding him to her bosom.
“It's pointless” Dwyer whispered. “All of it. The killing, the death, none of it means anything, and it now seems like if it weren't for these men... I would...” he wanted to say he'd kill himself, but didn't.
“Oh Dwyer...” Melisa sighed, her voice so stricken with sorrow. “I'm so sorry”.
And then everything he had held back on Sarapin flowed out of him. He wept, he moaned, he struck the couch in frustration. He saw every face of those who had died under his command, all the suffering of those men and women, and knew deep down that it meant nothing.
“I'm so sorry Dwyer” Melisa repeated. “I'm so sorry”.

[Mai]

What was a miracle? Ancient texts spoke of fire raining from the sky. Stories passed from father to son of water that spoke, from mother to daughter of love everlasting. How had the force changed these perceptions? Who was the first to discover its use? Were these old stories chronicles of life's first few steps into the realm of the force? Or did they predate understanding of it? It was possible that ancient prophets wielded its power like a child with a parent's blaster, pointing and aiming with no concept of the real consequences. They were called miracles. But in truth, after all the wars and all the delusions, might they have been mistakes?

Would stories be told of this day? By the old standards, this was a miracle. A genuine resurrection. That such things were even possible defied the understanding of so many, even the very wise. Luke thought of the words given him by one of the wisest beings he ever knew.

“Strong in the force am I, but not that strong.”

These were words uttered on the deathbed of a Master, not too far from where Luke now sat. Did that Master even know this sort of thing was possible? How many times in the history of the galaxy had this taken place? Luke doubted it happened more than a handful of times. That's why the myths were written of this. That's what made this a miracle. To have had the opportunity to witness this, to have even played a role at all drove a shiver up Luke's spine. Was this wise? He would wonder that for the rest of his years. Was it necessary? Yes. Undoubtedly yes.

The light was poor in the old cave, as it had always been. Moonlight shone in from a gap in the stone above. He remembered it clearly, as though he had first entered here just a few moments ago. The hiss of snakes. The bumps on his skin. The feeling of foreboding, of danger and loss. It was this cave that warned him of the dangers of the darkside. His soul was laid to bear before him, revealing the dark potential buried deep within his best intentions.

The calm deep in his being told him that this time he wasn't making a mistake. But all of his past mistakes had been made with equal confidence.

Ace Roscoe lay before him, his bare body draped across the bare stone ground with nothing but a brilliant amulet. Luke draped a blanket over him and waited for him to awaken. Until that time, he sat watching his greatest foe, a reflection of the even greater foe that attacked Sarapin at this very moment. But Luke held the cave's lessons at the back of his mind. The self was the final foe, the undefeatable enemy. Against that truth, even the greatest sith lords of old were meaningless. This knowledge gave him calm as Ace's eyes began to flutter.

It took Ace long moments to realize his new reality, to draw breath again. To feel pain, to have joy. These long forgotten experiences took time to root themselves. But soon Ace's deep green eyes began to explore the cave. No doubt he felt the power there. The darkside was so strong here, that even the simplest of creatures experienced fear here.

Finally, Ace's eyes fell upon Luke Skywalker. Luke sensed recognition in his foe's eyes.

“Welcome back.” Luke said.

“Where?” Ace began.

“Dagobah. She chose this location.”

Another long silence fell between them. Slowly, Ace began to move his muscles. They were not as he remembered. What sat before Luke now was not a clone. The body Ace now possessed was a very close approximation of his former self. The artist new it well. But it wasn't precise. It couldn't be. This was an outsider's projection of Ace Roscoe, undoubtedly containing a reflection of the creator. It had to be a foreign experience for Ace. It would take him time to adjust to the many changes.

“I'm sorry.” Luke said barely over a whisper. “She's gone.”

A strange look came over Ace's face, as though he strained to understand what Luke was saying. No, a strain to feel what Luke was saying.

“She accepted death to bring you life. There was no other way. I'm,” Luke hesitated. “I'm sorry. I understand your loss.”

Luke let those words settle in silence. He considered his involvement in this process. It had been he who first planted the idea in her head. For long sleepless nights she had tossed and turned, dreaming of just bringing him back herself, using her rare talents in materialization. She had even tried a couple of times. But her ambitions surpassed her knowledge and skill. Life was too complex, even in it's simplest forms. But Luke knew where knowledge was one, where understanding was infinite. Where a being became knowledge.

The force. Mai's greatest desire was beyond the veil of her limited mortal frame. So she endeavored to journey from where she could never return. She was now knowledge itself, and her last act lay on the cave floor at Luke's feet. He had played his role too. Though her energies were free from the shackles of life, he binding to the material world was too weak. She was lost in the ether of the Force itself, were consciousness had no real meaning. Where individuals became the whole, and no longer existed. From this cave, Luke give her fading consciousness direction. He told her where to direct her expending energies. And in an instant so minute that Luke had not perceived it, Ace's new body existed. A new home for Ace's preserved consciousness to inhabit.

“Why?” Ace asked, perhaps disoriented from the swirling of a physical brain he had never traversed before.

“You already know why,” Luke answered. “I was... with her when she passed. In her final moments she wished for life. But more than that she wished to believe in something. In you. In the path you've walked, the plans you've drawn for all of us. She didn't believe she could finish your work herself. She feared it would be lost forever under the guidance of an imposter with your face. You have an incredible power over your followers, Ace Roscoe. Let Mai's sacrifice forever serve as a reminder of that. That you must use this power responsibly.”

Slowly Ace pulled himself to a sitting position. “What are you doing this for?”

Luke drew a long breath. This was a question he asked himself long and hard. He still wondered about his answer. “Your replacement has destroyed many lives. He is consuming the galaxy, and growing stronger all the while. He must be stopped. You must do this. Mai Hasagaiwa's attempt on his life was nothing more than a distraction, a cover to hide your return to this galaxy. I have put aside our differences in the face of this threat. In return I want your help.”

That wasn't the only reason Luke had taken part in this, and based on the look Ace gave him next his old foe knew this. “Rest,” Luke commanded. “You have a long recovery. I'll tell you everything you need to know in time, and I expect your more loyal allies will be in touch before long. Mai has taken care of everything.”


(OOC: This story no longer has a place in C1M30, but it will continue in "The Death of Ace Roscoe". See you there!)

[Dravius Stari]

OOC: I'd have posted except that i had a massive power surge at my place and my fuse box went into 'safe' mode and shut down all the power sockets. Helpful when you have 2000 words written for this :/
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Damn it, we do not have time for this!"

Were it any other man, he would have smiled. Dravius instead kept moving and then saw the bulkhead door slide open. He followed Spyker in, both moving as silently as possible the only noise the soft thud of boots on metal floor panels. As he surveyed the room the matrix took over, and began putting a plan together in nanoseconds. As this happened Dravius spoke softly into his helmet, so softly that no noise would be heard outside, but this message would be recieved in Spyker's earpiece just as softly.

" Hug the wall and walk as softly as you can...creep to the door. Exit it without looking back and then, pause for a moment"

The two men slowed and in a comical display crept towards the hatch on the other side, hugging the back wall of the room. If the situation was not so critical, it would have surely made them stars on The Galaxy's funniest HoloVideos a show that had taken the galaxy by storm. Certainly, the archival footage from the camera in Dravius' armour would make for some interesting viewing.

Each careful step took them closer. Each step seemed like 10 kilometers, but eventually they got to the hatch. As they exited the room, both men laid flat against a wall and waited to see if the prisoners reacted. Fortunately living such structured lives had meant that any changes to the routine were enough to distract them, especially from two average sized figures creeping quietly around.

Dravius checked his helmet, which displayed the approximate location of the prisoner. The creeping had worked, but had cost them 1 minute. Looking at Spyker, some of the normal volume came back to the Commodore's voice.

"We have to get the prisoner, and blast our way out with whatever we have or can find. Turn your mind to this problem. I will get us to our objective"

Dravius drew his twin pistols and set each to kill, and broke into a run, navigating through the hallways as quickly as he could. Their information was not to the standards normally needed for an operation, but backchannels had been used as they were all that was available. As long as it didnt cost their lives, this mission would once again prove the usefulness of backchannels, something which Dravius had relied upon and indeed lived through in the past.

His boots hit the metal floor hard, producing a thud that he would rather not have. Unfortunately, they had less than 10 minutes, and they still had to rescue a prisoner who could decide to be unhelpful.

.....you have prepared for this eventuality, move along...

The matrix was taking no prisoners tonight.

Left, then right, then left twice more and right twice more. This was the path the two men followed until finally they were in a cell block. The cell doors had been opened but the prisoners were clearly old hands, not trusting that this was not some trick of the guards. As they saw Dravius and Spyker arrive, they froze and fell silent. Prisoners who have been prisoners for a long time know to be quiet when guards are about.

The Commodore kept his pistols firmly in his hand as he spoke, enabling the vocoder

"I am looking for Ponex Slyphs. Which one of you is Ponex? I have been sent by Aquila to rescue you from this prison"

The men looked at each other and one older prisoner, easily approaching 70 raised his hand

"That would be me guvnor! reportin in sir"

It was clear this was not 'Ponex'. It was also clear that the clock was ticking, and they had little time for mind games. Dravius pointed the pistol at the forehead of the fake Ponex and pushed the barrel into his forehead.

"Do not push me. I will ask once more civilly. Which one of you is Ponex"

A much younger man raised his hand and stepped forward

"Alright im Ponex. Just don't hurt him ok?....ok?"

"Check him out"

Spyker immediately performed a DNA test and nodded

"Kid's who he says he is."

"See!"

Dravius backed away and looked at Ponex. Kid was not altogether an unreasonable term, although the boy did look as healthy as one could given that he was imprisoned. The young would recover because they were healthy and strong. It was the way of the universe. As the medical scans indicated that although malnourished and in good need of new clothing and a shave, Ponex was in fairly decent health considering that he was a captive. He would now be fired by adrenalin and revenge, and the two soldiers would need that in order for them to make it out alive.

"Ponex, can you handle a weapon?"

"Nothing formal like you guys, but i can shoot"

Dravius holstered a pistol and detached the E-11 blaster rifle mounted to his back, tossing it to Ponex. To his credit, he had the safety off and looked as ready for action as he could be. Dravius looked to Spyker drawing his pistol.

"I think gentlemen, it is time for us to leave. Spyker, exit strategy if you would?"

Dravius began scanning the layout of the building. The clock was ticking, but a half baked plan would get them all killed. As the matrix ran through the building plotting weakpoints, the Commodore paused to see what the enlisted man had to say.

Getting in had been easy. Getting the target, somewhat easy, but getting out well that seemed to be the hardest part of all.

[Opposition]

“A clone? The Emperor?” General Hackett almost scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Silence fell over the meeting, and Kieran regarded the old General with a cold intensity. Moments stretched in that silence, and Hackett began to question himself. “Was it so ridiculous? He knew the highest echelons of IMEXCO had clones waiting to take over should their bodies ever fail, and surely the Emperor had replicas. But if it was true, then when had it happened?

Kieran broke the silence, “Mai loved him you know. She was confused and insecure, but she loved him. With all her heart.”

Hackett blinked, “So she’s turned traitor, because…why? She’s a scorned lover?”

“She loved the man yes, but think General, think! You’ve been following Mai’s career from the moment she first stepped foot on the Nemesis. What’s kept her here all this time?”

“She’s a complicated individual, its hard to say…”

Kieran cut the General off, “Bullshit, General. People are complicated, but the person is very simple. The only person who was ever capable of binding Mai to the Federation was Ace Roscoe. Because she loved him, yes, but also because she fell in love with his goals. She had Faith in him!” The ghostly apparition of Kieran stood suddenly, and began to pace slowly. “She betrayed the Federation because it betrayed her!”

“So she tries to destroy everything she’s worked and sacrificed to achieve? That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Don’t look so surprised, you’re the ones who showed her how to stand in fight for what she believes in, instead of running away.” Kieran dismissed the point with a wave of his free hand as he paced, “Besides, she doesn't want to destroy the Federation, but she can't stand for what the clone has done to it. She wont survive her encounter with the clone on Sarapin though. She can't survive it.”

“She went there to die?”

“For that, yes. But only because she needs to die. She needs to die so that she can bring Ace Roscoe back to life, through the force.” Kieran forestalled the General’s objects with a gesture. “This discussion is over General. Truth is a precious thing, and I have given it to you to save your life. If you still chose to throw it away, then I have judge you wrong and you deserve what awaits you if you return to the Federation now. But if you still wish to serve your Emperor, travel now to Dagobah. You will find him there with Luke Skywalker. Goodbye General.”

The apparition vanished, and Hackett sat in silence. None of it seemed reasonable, but…there was a chance it was. Mai’s behavior had become more erratic as of late, and now that he considered it he realized she had begun acting stranger than usual on the heels of the Emperor’s recent change to military policy. Dagobah…an unremarkable backwater system that held no value to anyone.

“Sir, I…I have to apologize…I”

“Enough, soldier. Set a course for Dagobah.”

[Jubar Bavvet]

SOMEWHERE WITHIN THE NIFSS VESSEL OBSERVER…

His eyes were the first things to respond. He opened them. Vision was blurry, but he could see shapes. He hadn’t been in long enough to get full-on hibernation sickness. Sounds…sounds were at first muffled, and then all at once they became loud. Every little hiss, every little squeak of boots against the metallic floors, every clearing of someone’s throat, every beep on a monitor, it all wracked his senses until he could no longer focus on any single thought.

Bavvet knew at once that he was awake, and that he was still dreaming. Parts of the dreams still lingered. There was the echoing, and the sound of a baby crying somewhere far, far off. Hibernation sickness had many symptoms, any number of which could last a long time in relation to the length of time spent in stasis. Thankfully, it didn’t appear that he had been under all that long.

Already, medics were at work on him. A 2-1B surgical droid hovered over him, its calm, congenial voice saying something he could not understand at the moment, while a pair of IM-6 medical droids were hovering around him. Two Humans and one Rodian doctor were using a bioscanner to take stock of his biological signs. They had him hooked up to a series of tubes, some fed IV drip solutions, while others were attaching electrodes to his scalp, his chest, and his head.

“What else can we get from him?” someone asked. It sounded like Bavvet’s father…but after a few seconds he realized it was Mortist. Rising out of the dream, and yet still living in the dreaming world, he tested his reality. His tongue was dry, and he touched the roof of his mouth with it. It felt like sandpaper. He was dehydrated. Severely so. He tried to wiggle his toes…and he couldn’t. He touched his fingertips together, felt the smoothness of them, and then tried his toes again. Still no action.

Am I still asleep? he wondered. Something moved above his head; it was a mandible belonging to an FX-series medical assistant droid. The Fixit-9 was injecting bacta fluid. It won’t do any good…

“I don’t think there is a way to get much more out of him,” said someone else. “He doesn’t know what we want to know.”

“I don’t think he does. Not really. But there’s a lot more to his story…”

“No doubt there is, Special Agent. But you can’t expect this man to reveal much more after all he’s been through. His systems are similar to those of an acute inflammatory demyelinating polyneuropathy,” some doctor went on. “It’s an autoimmune disorder affecting the peripheral nervous system. This is usually triggered by an acute infectious process, but—”

“We know what he has, doctor,” Loran Mortist argued. “It’s in his N.I.F. medical file, which I now have access to. It’s called Naranger’s Disease! Perhaps you’re familiar with it?”

“Not very familiar with it, Agent Mortist. Few are. I’ve heard it mentioned once, maybe twice ever in the medical journals, usually as a footnote. But I do recall that it’s relatively unresearched, and rarely diagnosed in time for anyone to do any preliminary studies on a subject suffering from it, which would help us to understand the events leading up to the onset of the major symptoms.” The doctor held his ground well against an ISIS agent throwing around his authority. “This is not something we’re really prepared to deal with here—our medical facilities are advanced, but we’re more qualified for dealing healing wounded soldiers and pilots, or curing ailments such as food poisoning or what-have-you that prevents them from doing their duties. Long-lasting, far-reaching paralysis movement disorders are not something we research here on the—”

“All right then!” said Mortist, having heard enough. He held up his hands in surrender, and sighed heavily. “So what can you tell me about his state right now?”

“I’m trying to tell you, sir, that this type of disease is frequently severe and usually exhibits as an ascending paralysis noted by weakness in the legs, which then spreads to the upper limbs and the face along with complete loss of deep tendon reflexes. With treatment by plasmapheresis or intravenous immunoglobulins and supportive care, the majority of patients suffering from this sort of disease will regain full functional capacity. However, his signs so rapid degeneration in the cells and tissue in the hip and below, death will occur as severe pulmonary complications and autonomic nervous system problems continue to mount.”

“What activated it now?”

“Trauma. Stress. Deep stress. Those are my guesses, but that’s all conjecture right now without further testing—”

“No…more…no more testing…” Bavvet managed to speak weakly.

The doctor and the ISIS agent paused to look at him for a moment, then Mortist said to the doctor, “What’s your prognosis, then? What’s the final word?”

“Well, it’s nearly impossible to say for certain. All forms of this type of movement disorder are due to an immune response to foreign antigens, such as infectious agents, that are mistargeted at host nerve tissues instead. The targets of such immune attacks are thought to be gangliosides, compounds naturally present in large quantities in human nerve tissues. The most common antecedent infection is the bacteria Campylobacter jejuni, which would mean that treatment might be possible to stave off terminal effects, but that is only if he—”

“Your final word, doctor!” Mortist stressed.

The doctor looked at him. “Five years. Maybe ten, if he’s lucky.”

“Five years,” said Mortist, looking at Bavvet. “Plenty of time. Plenty of time to figure out what went wrong on Sarapin.”

Bavvet’s head swam in and out of clouds. He was floating at times. Now and then he felt as though he were drowning, and try as he liked, he couldn’t get his legs to kick him to the surface to get air. They hadn’t just put him through carbonite freezing to try and keep him in stasis in order to give them a hope of saving his legs. No, they had sedated him, manipulated him while he was asleep, questioned him thoroughly, he instinctively knew this, even had a few blurred memories of Mortist prompting him with leading questions…

More words swam out of Mortist’s mouth and the doctor’s, but another injection of something put Jubar under again. “The end result…such autoimmune attack on the peripheral nerves is damage…to the myelin, the fatty insulating layer of the nerve, and a nerve conduction block…leading to a muscle paralysis…may be accompanied by sensory or autonomic disturbances…you cannot…when…”

And then, he was gone again. Gone into the sea, drowning without any legs to kick with.


* * *


When he came to again, Bavvet was fastened to a gurney again. This was one was steel, and cold. He was surrounded by a bevy of stormtroopers, and he was obviously aboard some small shuttle on its way out of the hangar bay. He could hear the engines cycling up. His head was pounding. No, it wasn’t just pounding, it was hammering at his eyeballs, so much so that he winced against all light in the small medical bay of whatever shuttle they were in.

One of the Human doctors was onboard with him, using both a bioscanner and an old-style stethoscope to check on the patient’s vital signs. They were all just learning about a disease right along with Bavvet, the mystery of its origin now at the forefront of their minds as it had been at the forefront of his for so long now—it had been a dangerous creature, either lying dormant or creeping out in the night, waiting for its moment to pounce.

Naranger’s Disease had found its day.

And now, Bavvet had found his. Within the last few hours, his past had died. Everything had burned. His whole life had been a dream. Now, he was carted off to someplace unknown. His part in all of this had ended, and what lay ahead was more uncertain. What had come before had passed like wind in the night, whispering through the open window, affecting only the curtains that someone had forgotten to batten down, and now it was gone. The curtains were gone, stolen. Some thief had come in the night and taken them, leaving only the open window. And a memory.

A memory of the wind.

He thought of Kutannin, and of the choices he’d made. He tried to wiggle his toes, but they would not move. He tested his arms against the straps holding him onto the steel gurney, and looked around at the helmeted faces all around; cold, dispassionate, and no longer his friends.

How did it come to this? he thought, as he felt the gentle shift of the shuttle as it cycled up its main engines.

The vessel took off for hyperspace, its prisoner’s state of mind unknown even to himself.

[Eri Ambicon]

Eri was the last to leave the transport, unable to regain herself fully as the other soldiers disembarked and medical personnel scrambled aboard to tend to the wounded who also stayed behind. Getting to her feet slowly, Eri breathed heavily, catching her breath after having cried so much at the whole thing. She could feel anger within her start to boil but the sorrow kept a tight lid on it. A corpseman glanced up at her and asked if she was all right, to which she nodded once, lying for no reason other than to quietly leave the hanger and be alone.

The hanger floor was littered with shuttles, transports and soldiers who had scrambled back to the fleet after she gave the retreat order. It lifted her heart a little to see that not everyone gave their lives on this pointless mission. As she made for the hanger door, she saw Luis being hauled past her on a hover stretcher. He put a hand on her arm, telling the droids moving him to hold up for a moment. Eri stopped and looked at the Sergeant who was now without a helmet. He was a dark skinned man, bald with a black mustache and a weary smile beneath his amber eyes.

"General, I don't know what happened down there, or what you saw but I want you to know, we all feel the pain of loss today." He took in a deep breath and looked as if he was going to add something more when something else caught his eye, he shifted his gaze.

Eri could hear the rustle of soldiers moving and shifting, a small commotion started to form as people edged closer to the large opening that separated the hanger from the void of space. She looked at Luis and took his hand in both of hers and said with a weak smile, "Thank-you Sergeant. Thank-you for those words and... and for rescuing me out of that wreckage." She released his hand and turned to see what was going on, walking closer to the hanger opening. A mass of soldiers were pointing and staring in wonder and awe at something happening outside.

When Eri got close enough to see, she gasped. On the surface of the planet, tiny pin-pricks of light flashed somewhere beneath the dense clouds of ash and dust. Eri knew that flashes that big could only be caused by powerful weapons, like nukes.

"Isn't that Jacknaw's Traverse?" someone in the crowd asked aloud.

Someone else snorted in response. "I wouldn't know, I was clear on the other side of the damn planet."

Eri knew it was the Traverse. MAI! she thought suddenly, spinning around in horror as she darted for the transport she had just arrived in. Her head suddenly felt light as her vision blurred for a moment, causing her to stagger. A medical droid must have noticed for it approached as she grasped onto the door frame of the small vessel.

"Surface Marshal, do you require medical treatment?" It's monotone voice was devoid of any concern that a real person might show.

"No," Eri replied bluntly, steadying herself as she clambered up the ramp, back aboard the ship. "Mai..." Her chest tightened suddenly and a lump in her throat formed. Her vision started to blur again as the ship started to spin. Losing balance, she blacked out and didn't even feel her head hit the ramp as she feel over backwards, blood spurting out of her mouth, the lump removing itself.

---

Panic ensued in the hanger as medical droids and doctors quickly rushed over to the injured Surface Marshal. "What in the nine hells is wrong with her? Didn't anyone ask if she was okay?" a senior doctor yelled aloud as a crowd started to form.

"I did," the medic from before replied as he set down a medkit and removed a medical scanner. "She said she was fine!"

The doctor sighed. "You're new, so I'll let it slide but she has a bad habit of lying or under-estimating the extent of her injuries." He waited for the preliminary scan results before telling the droids to put her on a hover stretcher. The initial scans didn't look too good. "Internal bleeding? Damn." Looking around the hanger, he asked if anyone knew how she sustained that injury.

Arslan stepped forward, a concerned look on his face. "Me and my team found her in a crashed LAAT about... an hour or so ago? She didn't really mention any injuries but, the situation was pretty dire at the time and then the Sergeant got his leg trapped..." He trailed off realizing that there was no point going on as it wouldn't give the doctors any useful information.

The doctor bit his lower lip. "Sithspit, she's let it go on this long, it's any wonder she's still alive right now! Quickly, get her to the ER, tell the staff the situation and have blood ready!"

"Shall I tell them to have a bacta tank ready?" the junior medic asked as he started to fill the request to the Intimidator's medical facilities.

The senior doctor quickly turned his head to look at the man and he glared daggers at him. "No you fool! She's allergic to bacta! They're going to treat her the old-fashioned way, with scalpels and forceps." He got a blank look in return so he impatiently took the comm. "Nevermind, I'll tell them myself!" The stretcher was fast taken out of the hanger with many of the soldiers looking on.

The fight today had claimed many lives, the doctors were going to be working feverishly to make sure yet another one didn't breathe her last. While the medical facilities were already crowded, but Eri was now given priority, something she wouldn't have liked and protested against but, since she wasn't awake, the doctors wouldn't have to put up with her disapproval.

Back in the hanger, Arslan, Maxim and Maranai watched both the Surface Marshal and Luis be taken out. "Well, that's over... who's up for a drink in the lounge?" Maxim asked as he looked at his fellows.

"You do know the Admiral probably won't be there?" Maranai was quick to point out, adding dully, "He's too busy, you know, commanding his fleet?"

"That's what they call it? I heard he just orders his officers around from behind the bar."

Arslan rolled his eyes. "Well, someone is bound to be there serving drinks and I really need to get rid of all this ash in my mouth."

[Spyker Katarn]

"On it, sir." Spyker immediately moved back to the hatch they entered from, and peeked around the corner at the mayhem raging within the adjacent room. Those guarding had long since been overwhelmed by the number of guarded, and as such, the place remained in a state of chaos. Spyker pulled out two types of grenades from their respective pouches on his armor: two flashbangs, two smoke grenades. He set them each to remote detonation, then lobbed them into the room in different areas; hopefully, they would sow additional chaos and allow the three men to slip past. Pulling back, he waited for the senior officer and their VIP to be ready. "We good?"

"Ready, Spyker."

"Ready."

"Good. Stay close, and move where and when I do." With that, Spyker triggered the flashbangs and smoke grenades; over 5 million candela worth of harsh white light and 180 decibels of sound emanated from each stun weapon. Those closest to the blasts collapsed to the floor, blinded and bleeding from the detonations. Those further out reeled from the sound and winced in pain as the light flashed them. Many blinked quickly as they stumbled around, trying to clear their eyes. When they could hear clearly again, the poor bastards could hear the unmistakable sound of blaster fire echo through the chamber.

The three men carved through convicts like a scythe through wheat; their unarmored foes falling before them. Such luck was not to last, however; the lower capacity of the DC-17m Spyker carried meant he was the first to run out of ammunition in his clip, even firing three-round bursts. The loss of fully one-third their available firepower gave the convicts an opportunity, however brief, to focus once more. Unfortunately for the small team, their attention was now directed squarely at the men cutting down their fellow compatriots one by one.

"Move! Break for the door! Go, go!" Spyker yelled over the COM at Stari, while his voice carried over the external speakers to Ponex. Pushing the others in front of him, Spyker reloaded, fired a few more rounds, then slung the weapon and followed them to the hatch. A few convicts managed to get close to them, but well-timed and orchestrated shots from both the Commodore and Ponex, plus well-aimed and executed vibroknuckler strikes from Spyker held them off until they reached their exit. Ponex passed through, then Stari, and lastly Spyker, who pulled his sidearm and unloaded it into the access panel next to the door. "Status check. Anyone hurt?"

"I am okay. Ponex?"

"Damnit, someone got me with a shiv." The younger man turned slightly, a nasty cut on the side of his abdomen oozing blood and plasma. He winced as he held it out for inspection. Luckily for him, it wasn't terribly deep; he'd survive until Corsair could take a look at it. "I'll be fine, though. I assume you have a ship to get out of here with?"

"We do. I just hope it's still there." Spyker took a sec to cut out his externals, and tried to open a COM channel to one of the squad back at the landing zone. A burst transmission to CMDR Kronos returned static, as did one to LT La'Roi. From the link to DDFO Wren, however, came the sounds of a firefight, and a heated one at that. An armed party must be trying to breach the hangar, but Spyker wasn't sure they could make it in time. He clicked on his external speakers again.

"Let's go!" He hoped Winters' team was already on the way with their own objective accomplished...

[Jericho Winters]

Epsilon moved quickly through the breach, towards the firing squad bearing there weapons at Epsilon's strike team. The twins went in first diving low as the hail of fire arced above their heads.Sass's guttural cry of warning echoed its way past Winters' helmet dampeners as she lobbed a frag grenade down towards the Control Room doors.

"Move , Move!" came Jericho's command, as he sprinted towards the enemy in a frontal charge under cover of the detonation, spraying blaster bolts wildly above the security detachments head, as a means of supression fire.

They crashed together like a wave over the makeshift obstacles, taking the fight to grisly and gruesome hand to hand quarters. Sass tagged one of the NRI guards in the face with her rifle, splattering a bit of bloody mist into the air to paint the wall behind the corpse. This was followed by an backhanded slap so hard it drove the next sliding uncnscious down a wall before Sass' blade saught the weaknesses in the next one's armored form.

After scrambling to their feet, the twins were there in the thick of it as well. Lu bullrushing a man, snapping his left leg out to snake around a target's ankle, as his left arm secured the tango's weapon hand as the knife came across the soft tissues of the throat before momentum brought the man to the ground.

His brother wasn't slouching either, Mac had taken to one knee and carefully aimed at two shots at other targets located at the side of the party, one shot was all it took as the marksman placed a heated bolt right through the O ring of the bandit. Flashing through the NRI's armor like a hot knife through butter. It was a quick, clean kill which tore apart his opponent's heart before moving onto the next.

In close quarters like these Winters knew that the rifle in his hands was almost useless inside a certain radius from a target. And his wanton charge brought him hurdling right past and over the metal containers straight into conflict with three adversaries, as he penetrated the enemy's defensive formations. Front and to the left, Center, and a little back to Winters' right were the closest threats. The first was slightly to the left- easily double tapped with the rifle before he smashed the butt end into center one's face. The man went reeling backwards as almost in a daze Jericho knew the scene around him. He could smell the copper thick in the air, saturating every molecule with the slipper gleeful fingers of bloody stench.

His fellow team members' kills.

Behind he perceived the slight clack of the third enemy's weapon's bandolier against the rifle's base metal. A swishing sound those years in the field couldn't allow him to deny what it was. It would have been easy to choke upon the metallic taint of blood in the air, and even easier to freeze in the midst of combat in an enraged stupor to go after the central target first. Luckily, Jericho's sense of self preservation was stronger than that.

With his hands full of the rifle and with his would-be killers to his back, he had a split second to make his move. And he made it before he consciously realized the identity of the person who necessitated this motion. The rifle dropped as his hand reached behind to his gifted blade's scabbard, pulling it as he turned swiftly diagonally in a low to high arc, that forced the enemy man back a step as his blaster shot went wide. Not a strike, but a defensive flinch of the man, boy really- he realized in a split second's reckoning.
'Not even out of his teens yet, and lacking a man's stubble on his cheeks.'
He switched the blade's direction, taking one step forward as he brought its whirring edge down, striking deep into the skull and dropping him instantly as it bisected down near the brainstem.

The mindless weapon was released by nerveless fingers, and skittered across the corridor's plaster moulded floor.

'Shit.' he thought to himself as Lu came forward past him to silence the man he had cracked in the nose, forever ensuring that one would never get up. He had almost forgotten what it was like to work with a team... to depend upon them to watch your back. This feeling... it was good to remember: it made him feel alive again.

'Luxa might have rememberd such a feeling as well...'

Mac turned towards Winters as the final echoes of fire came from inside the objective, "Sarge... we ready? I got a bad feeling about this if we wait too long."

"Understood. Make Ready to storm the CiC." came his gravelly reply.

As he bent over to retrieve his rifle, he renewed his demeanor back into a steely gaze; complemented by icy grayish- silver eyes that if anyone looked through his helmet are cowling them would find them to be far more intimidating to all but the few who had seen him like this before.

And most of those who had were already dead: sent to the other side of the force by his own actions as he snuffed the breaths from their bodies with his own hands.

Winters checked his rifle quickly, ejecting the power pack and slamming in a new one as a precaution to limit the potential of a future misfire. The things were built tough, but he didn't think taking an unnecessary risk would be too far out of line to try and escape an exploding barrel if the barrel ruptured due to an overcharged shot. When they all recovered back into a line formation Winters pumped his hand in the signal to advance into the control room. Each one lightly resting an arm on the shoulder of the one before them. Mac, followed by Lu, followed by Jericho with Sass bringing up the rear. They advanced inside cautiously watching for signs of movement as they covered each other with overlapping fields with overlapping fields of fire, cautiously watching for a sign of movement as they swept past broken terminals, noting live feeds of wires showing power to the records and the main command console.

"Clear. Negative contact." came mac's report as he swept the corner to his right, trusting the others to cover the other fire paths.

"Clear." came Lu's voice, "I don't see anything, either. Just dead bodies, not ours!"

"Clear. Smoke's still thick people! Careful!" Winters shouted.

"GROWR!?!?!?" came the wookie's grunt.

Not good- they all knew that sound meant that Sass had found something. Being the closest, Winters swiveled to respond to Sass's cry. His steps slow and measured as he advanced forwards into the section of terminals which the cell door controls were kept...

***

Dempsey was not having the best of days- he could tell in the distance that someone was coming, but far too weak to see clearly. Slowly he raised his head spotting the visage of some furry creature staring down at him, a rifle aimed at his chest.

'Whu- What- Wookie?' his bleary thoughts echoed around his muddled head, 'What was a Wookie doing here? He didn't think the prison base had any wookies around. . . they didn't take to well from the whole 'prison guard' lifestyle.

He coughed a little blood flowing from his mouth, he knew he wasn't in good shape. But were these the Federation soldiers? Or were they some other people... His question were answered when a black clad stormtrooper rounded past the Wookie's shoulder coming close enough to kick the weapon from where it lay at beside his outstretched feet- he was too weak to grasp it anyway.

"Did you do this?" came a query from the stormtrooper helmet as he gestured to the other bodies in the room...

Seeing no pint to lie if this was an NRI trap , he simply uttered, "Yes."

The black armored trooper looked at him and then back to the wookie and the rest of the shuffling sounds Dempsey heard across the room. he knew there was an inevitable question. There was always supposed to be an inevitable question so long as someone didn't shoot someone like him first.

He hacked up enough bloody bile to speak, "Dempsey, ISIS # 0005-21J-RAC32 confirmation code: Kalundra, Kalundra, Kalundra."

He barely heard one of the soldier's in the far parts of the room- still securing the entrance say somthing akin to ,"Oh Sh- Did he just say what I think he said. What's that mean for us?"

One turned to the other, "I don't know it's not in the brief- should be just kill him?"

The jabbering was shut off as the first armored soldier made a fist , silencing the two, as they quickly turned back towards their own positions. A quiet and cold voice came out of the soldier's helmet speaker's , "Sass Go switch with Lu. I'll need him here."

Dempsey was surprised when the Wookie in questioned bared her teeth and uttered a low growl of comprehension before it plodded back towards the doorway.

As the other soldier, this "lu" came forward his position Dempsey heard the first soldier say, "I don't like snags- but if you prove useful I may just get you out of here alive so start talking- what do you know about whatever's happening out there as well as in the facility?"

As "Lu" began taking out various sprays Dempsey heard a man cry out near the radar stations, "Hey Sarge! I got several landing ships dropping, looks like a whole platoon's worth!"

This "lu" inserted a spray directly into the wound in his abdominal cavity, causing Dempsey to hiss in pain while a cold sensation spread about his insides. He spoke in labored breaths, "Whatever's happened groundside isn't good - the NIF is in retreat... reports of massive casualties. Possible nukes on allied positions. I don't know much more- wasn't my job. My job was the get the lists ready- lists of those ISIS might want out- top of the list is Inmate 10103. Some old warlord, or something."

Dempsey gestured with his chin to a place off his left hand side... "I just killed the warden and the others- he's the one in the suit over there. Didn't have much time during the assault so I had to create a diversion for the prison guards, so I let them all out of their cells."

Dempsey pointed a shaking arm above himself- at the cell door controls, then pointed to another terminal- the main one. "You can lock down some doors using that one there, or even talk prison wide on the intercom... I have a keycard around my neck but I don't think I'll be much further use to you."

"Fine, but if there's anything else it might be useful to fork over the information- hopefully while you're still breathing."

***

Sargeant Winters looked down at the injured party, before coldly asking Lu to bandage the man up. In his mind the rules of engagement had changed the instant he had learned the true nature of the outside situation. Bending down he looped the keycard off the injured man's neck before skirting over to the large transparisteel windows of the CiC control room- hitting the switch to toggle the blast shield on them.

The sight which came to his eyes was not a pleasant one- Down below he saw the muted forms of an NR platoon landing several hundred meters from the hangar entrance and already somewhere down below he figured Fenrir's party was already engaging.

Walking over to the warden he frisked him for anything of use- finding a similar keycard to the one Dempsey had given him. Moving swiftly he ran to the main terminal sliding the warden's card first, figuring it had to be the one with the most access priviledges.

A small automatic script on the large display screen came back to him for his efforts:
///// Identity confirmation requires handprint, please insert hand for scan into the mold... Ten seconds before the terminal will lockdown...

'Frak!'

He didn't have time for niceties, so he drew his vibroblade and rushed back to the Warden's corpse. With a brief whine from the vibration generators and a second of applied force later: Winters was able to grab a newly severed hand from the floor before rushing back to pound it upon the terminal's registry plate.


He waited... 'was he in time?'

///... ... Identity confirmed

"SASS get over here I need you to help me out for a few seconds."

As soon as he entered the mainframe he called up all autodefenses, and plugged his datapad into the terminal- searching within their encoded targeting systems for the IFF protocols.

An idea was already forming in his mind as Sass came up upon his right shoulder , "Gruah?"

"Find me the intercom , all floors, I think we need some help from the prisoners to deal with that platoon?"

Sass let out a disordinate reply, followed by a sharp bark- it was obvious she didn't think it was a good idea to ask any form of felons for help, they'd just as soon turn on them.

"Just do it!" Jericho commanded as the Wookie began pushing random buttons making sirens and lights turn off and on throughout the compound. One time she even poiunded the terminal behind them with a meaty booted foot in frustration until she finally her own grunting echoed from the speakers. Turning back to Jericho she let out a hooting cry to gain his attention...

Winters knew Sass' concerns- he shared them. Which was why he wasn't going to offer them a way off planet- just a means to fight their way off of it- starting with giving them the option to 'requisition' some of the attacking platoon's transports the hard way...

[Dravius Stari]

"Let's go!"

Dravius nodded and put an arm out to hold the NCO back.

"Wait. You should not take point if you are without a blaster of some kind. I will take point, you will guard our rear."

"Roger"

Spyker fell in behind Ponex as the younger Slyphs gritted his teeth and stared hard at the Commodore

"I can fight. I'm not some soft city kid"

Dravius holstered his blasters, and slipped a bacta patch out of his utility belt and applied it to Ponex. The long thing fingers although hidden under gauntlets and body gloves worked well, covering the majority of the wound. Ponex grunted softly and stood a little straighter, then managed a grin.

"You're a hell of a doc"

Dravius nodded again as he slipped both blasters from their holsters and let the map in his helmet plot a course. They had approximately 5 minutes to get back to the shuttle. It would be tight. The map showed him the shortest way through, but any significant delays would cost them their lives. The matrix of course was in full control and it carefully analyzed the course in nanoseconds.

.....the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. People however do not conform to equations....plot a backup route in case things get too difficult....

The pilot started off, running quickly, by now not caring of the noise he made. The prison had descended into a mix of riot, protest and rebellion. Chaos abounded at every corner as the prisoners realized that this was their chance for mayhem. Prisoner fought prisoner, guard fought prisoner and it was not out of the question that by the end of it all, guard would be fighting guard. Into this chaos ran the little squad of three: pilot, brother and sargeant.

Dravius trained every day of his life. He trained in simulators, in the training centre, in space, and on the range. His creators had in the creation of him pushed the human body to the limit of science. However, he was simply not experienced enough with blasters to shoot effectively on the run. Any idiot could shoot a still target, but shooting on the move was a different skill. It only came with time, and time was something Dravius did not have to play fastest gun in the galaxy. Still, in the minds of most men, the skill the pilot displayed was good enough.

As he ran the two pistols fired continually, a tribute to their manufacturers that they did not jam. Slowly the power packs were depleted as body after body was cleared before the little group could reach their destination. They were making good time until Ponex screamed out

"Im out of damn shots!"

Dravius brought himself to a quick stop and rested against a wall. Ponex's face was covered in sweat and the patch, while holding, was already starting to turn a darker shade of red. Ponex rested heavily against the wall, taking long, deep breaths. Dravius took the E-11 from his hands and slotted another power pack into it as he turned to Spyker. To his surprise the soldier was resting too against the wall.

....check him out quickly....something is wrong...

Dravius scanned Spyker who seemed to show up within parameters, but systems could be fooled. Clearly Spyker was not alright, as the soldier had fought in many wars and was supremely fit.

Dravius took a step closer and checked the soldier for a sign that he was hit.

"Spyker, are you alright?"

The solder exhaled and shook his head

"I'm fine. We need to get going. We don't have time to waste"

"Alright. Tell me if something is wrong"

"Will do, now lets get the hell out of here"

Ponex nodded and took his position, ready to commence what seemed like a combination of a marathon and a sprint. Ponex was fortunate enough to be in decent condition, but it was always said that those who survive prison were hardy beasts. Dravius checked his blasters and found them empty, and took a moment to add in two powerpacks and tossed a spare to Ponex. Dravius looked back at Spyker who was flexing his hands.

....arm him...

"Spyker....catch"

A deathammer pistol flew through the air and Spyker caught it deftly. The Commodore turned his attention back to the objective and took off again. He got about three meters when he nearly ran into a large prisoner wielding a piece of piping and roaring. Two other prisoners had been locked in combat with him but the unfortunate arrival of the party had drawn their attention. Ponex and Spyker dropped the two stragglers and he brute ran for Dravius screaming, his eyes wild with furty and spittle hanging from the sides of his mouth. Truly this was a mad dog of war that had been set on the Commodore.

Dravius for his part simply dodged the brute and fired three shots into what looked like the head. The brute slowed and hit the wall, sliding down face first. The pilot let the targeting crosshairs pinpoint where the brutes brain was, and fired again three more times, ending that threat once and for all. Taking a breath the pilot began running again, falling into the now bizzarely familiar pattern of firing off a few shots to make the prisoners duck and avoid them. Speed was of the essence.

They ran on and on until finally the pilot fired and nothing emitted from the blaster pistol. A shot flew past his head and dropped the prisoner that for a moment had a look of triumph in his eyes. Ponex adopted a cold chuckle as Dravius holstered the spent weapon and drew his blades. The runes glowed in the strange writing and the Commodore was not drawing them to impress. They were his last weapons and his oldest weapons. They were far older than he was, and had saved the lives of many. Countless numbers had fallen to them over the years.

A growl came from behind them and Dravius used the camera in his helmet to see it was Spyker who had appeared to stumble and regather himself. Ponex had turned and Spyker had waved his head forward by pointing the pistol at it. Dravius wanted to stop, but the time was down to three minutes. The map indicated they were close to the exit point of the cursed prison, and he intended to make it.

Oddly enough it seemed that the blades did a better job than the pistol of keeping some of the prisoners with less courage away. Two that tried lost their arms, and their bodies smashed under the fast moving yet heavy limbs of the Commodore. As they screeched and went down, a pack of prisoners jumped on the two fallen men and ripped them to pieces. The prison was now an orgy of bloodletting.

The cameras recorded all of this as the pilot ran on establishing comms with Spyker again as they finally reached their destination. Ponex looked at both men

"Can we go home now?"

[Bishop Rook]

'So this is what he meant by luring them in...'

Flight Lieutenant Bishop thought his flight leader was a stern bastard. From what he had been able to discern from the rest of the squadron the feeling was pretty widespread. To make it worse Walls. A few days ago he had tried to strike up a friendly conversation about it with his superior, only to be rebuffed and assigned more flight simulator duty for slacking off while on duty. When had tried to explain that he wasn't even on duty, Walls had reprimanded him, by saying that an Imperial Officer was always on duty and threatened to dock him a week's pay. Bishop had learned through the ship's grape vine afterwards that it never paid to get in Wall's crosshairs, supposedly sometime in his early career the man had shot up some of his own men who hadn't been showing the proper Imperial Spirit in battle.

His squadron leader was somewhere to his nine o'clock with over half of Castle flight out of their reach. He pondered, for the hundredth time since this day started, why the heck they were playing a game of cat and mouse when a stray turbolaser could vape them both. He couldn't even switch to a short-wave tactical channel on the comm as Group Captain Walls had stated that it was against flight protocols when on escort duty. Instead they flew along in mostly silence, receiving and acknowledging flight corrections from Third’s flight control. On most missions where the Group Captain was absent the pilots would switch over to talk amongst themselves. They would use each other’s names, ranks, or even personal call signs the flyers had nick named each other. It wasn’t that Captain Walls was stuffy or formal either- it was the fact *his* present superior was pretty much a crigh, while they were attached to the C78.

When their superior from other groups was there it was a bantha of a different color, they were ordered instead to use the call letter designations the Federation used to try to depersonalize every pilot and remind them they were just small expendable parts in a greater machine. His designation over the radio was C-3, Castle three with his callsign being ‘C4’, while Walls was C1- Castle Alpha; it all just got very confusing during battle.

Not that they had seen much action in Bishop's time of duty. He figured that would change.

The galaxy as a whole had been growing pretty violent since he joined up. Some of the Republic, Federation, and non - aligned planets had refused to accept that but now were starting to wake up and gear up for war. Others had slithered off and hid, still in denial while some like Sarapin had been invaded for reasons that only people higher up than Bishop knew.

Bishop's baptism to fire was near Anoat when the Federation repelled a pirate fleet, but since then he had been assigned to the academy- just learning the ropes over an over again. A TIE pilot 'grounded' after just earning their rank plaque was a waste of talent to most people, to him it was just a means of applying the polish and learning how to do things right..

"Castle flight Three, change heading three hundred fifty nine degrees, we'll drift off a little towards that wreck. Over." The Group Captain's voice broke through the silence.

"Copy that C-1, over." could see by his flight computer that none of the six fighters in his command had strayed an inch, but the Group Captain Walls liked to remind everyone to keep themselves sharp.

"Stay on present course Castle Flight. Why are two of your fighters not in your formation?" Flight Control interrupted, and Bishop grinned with satisfaction inside his pitch black helmet. His squadron commander didn't even bothimto acknowledge. Bishop imagined him smiling a little wryly inside his cockpit as the two came to a relative stop at the indicated position...

At least they were gratified by Chester's squawking static-filled reply to FlightOps;"Well Gee golly FlightOps, don't worry they'll be back soon just had to go swat some annoying flies."
"Can the chatter, Move the rest of your formation to cover zone 66-1.6841. We have damaged capships needing assistance from A-Wings. Over."
"Copy that, oooh looks like those are some mighty fast birds the Reps have."

The voices faded out as the hulk slowly rolled the horizon of stars out of Bishop's view- and then he began to become a little nervous. Bishop ran his gloved hands over the controls of his TIE/Int II Starfighter. It was a big improvement over T.I.E. Starfighter that he had flown earlier in his service. Faster and more agile with SFS P-s4 twin ion engines and state of the art SFS P-w401 ion maneuvering jets that enabled him to fly rings around every other snubfighter that he encountered so far. She was armed with four wingtip laser cannons and two chin mounted guns that could tear up anything the TIE might come across in vacuum or i an atmosphere. His only drawback was a lack of any torpedoes, or on long missions like this one, a lack of a refresher. The Flight Lieutenant had learned long ago not to drink anything before a mission.

Hell- he learned enough about patience in his past life... if he had too the suit had enough water on hand to rehydrate if need be.

He gazed out of his view screen, momentarily looking at the head's up display, or HUD, in his helmet for the location of his CO's fighter. Normally his instruments might have helped him gain an inkling of anything within a hundred kilometers around him but now amidst the field closest to the wreck all he could detect was static. Good- it meant the xwings would be even harder pressed to find him- thanks to his engine masks. He'd have to rely on line of sight and stick close to Buster. At least he caught a glimpse of three x-wings entering the field behind them before they were cut off from view by a floating mass of durasteel. Everything was as it should have been, but a pilot who only trusted his instruments didn't last long in the Federation..

Every TIE Pilot survivor of his last mission had been sent back and reworked until they had been the cream of their respective classes at the Naval Academies, spending extra time in development learning all sorts of new things. Different classes of science coupled with Bishop's own past knowledge of excavation. They may look like a bunch of ragtag people but each one of Castle squadron had been pushed into accelerated programs... from Medicine, to Biology. Hell Misery was pursuing meteorological studies via holonet. Rook knew Castle was kind of ... odd . It was as if several people from above fingered their unit to be gromed like some sort of doctors with weapons.


Eerie- but as such each knew his place in the Squadron. He would have been surprised if it had been different, but every once in a while you would get a show boater or kid who thought he was already an ace that you had to reign in.
A brief speckle on his rear radar forced him to rocked his craft back and forth so that he could get a visual past his solar arrays at the fighter next to his. Each blue fighter was dark gray, currently nestled up against the hull of the closest wreck, if you asked him they would have looked astral in a blood red scheme, but nobody ever asked him.

A few thousand feet from him he knew the xwings were beginning to pass into the field- looking for the straggles who failed to go back with the rest of the squadron. The NR pilot's probably thought his and the CO's craft were wounded, unable to get back the fleet for extraction.

In the distance through the spottled space junk he could see a few Star Destroyers patrolled the edges of the enemy lines, training their main batteries on one enemy vessel after another as they moved towards the extraction point. This constant dancing on the knife edge of death was a miserable existence for a pilot, Bishop thought as he floated through debris of hundreds of craft.

Every now and then in the distance past the wreckage, he would glimpse other flights of TIE fighters moving through the crowds of damaged corvettes on their very own vectors as they flitted about wrestling with the A-wing bombers that were tearing them up.

By now the rest of the group would be amongst them trying to stem the hemorrhaging damage to the fleets resources... and somewhere amongst all that he could see the telltale traces of larger vessels 'circling the wagons so to speak to get some of the injured craft out towards the exit vector...


Amidst the debris field Bishop noticed a strange bit of metal suddenly altered course... lurching past the TIE's cockpit as it flew past his starboard wing. The movement caught the pilot's eye and he checked his instruments, to his eyes- coming up with the ever present profile of four long prow laser cannons prevalent upon an x-wings make. If that didn't work the weak NR transponder IFF followed by the pilot bringing his craft in towards them would probably have tipped him off.

Buster yelled over the coms, "I think they spotted us- move it Bishop- let's take this one out quick!"

"Fierfek." he muttered.

Bolts of red death began to pepper their position... "Bishop engage! Engage!" Walls yelled over the squadron's net, ignoring proper communication protocols. It was what the TIE Pilot wanted to hear, as he shoved his flight stick forward and accelerated ahead of his own flight. He didn't need to check his instruments to know his Commander was right behind him. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Castle flight Alpha running with his engines hot parallel to his position.

"Attention all squadrons in combat zone 66-1.6841, protect the fleet. I repeat protect the fleet!" Flight control yelled over the static in their commlines. New waves of AWing 's incoming."


Bishop placed the errant chatter out of his mind, he had bigger things to worry about as he pulled his TIE up and over a bit of wreckage to bear down upon the first Xwing... firing spreads of green death all the way as his CO followed suit.

After a brief barrage of concentrated fire the shots impacted with snub's shields, the end of the volley lanceted the X-Wing's canopy, blowing it's pilot and astromech apart in a torrent of fire, shattered plasteel and debris. In seconds the headless craft hurtled underneath Bishop's own before crashing into a floating set of durasteel plating from some detached hull armor.

'One down , two to go. If he had been correct- it was one of Buster's shots that had made the final blow.' Poor Bastard. Dead was dead.

"Keep it togethimC3, break towards heading 54.321, by 67.483. I see another wreck we might use. Together Buster and Bishop keeled their way up and around the indicative object before cutting their engines to move close to cover once again.


This wasn't really an 'honorable way to fight'... this hiding and pouncing on an enemy. It was a waiting game , and patience was the key to survival. Luckily, Bishop had long since learned patience.

They didn't have to wait long before a static blur upon the sensors could be seen weaving through the area they just fought in. This one almost clear like the pilot thought everything was right as rain and just out for a morning stroll.

"Castle Lead, this is C-Three," he keyed on his microphone before saying through the comlink pickup mounted in his helmet.
"Go ahead Three."
"I'm picking up something strange on my forward sensors, but we're too far away for me to get a firmer reading on it," Bishop said. "You think it’s a trap?"

"Probably," Buster admitted, "but I don’t suppose we don't have a choice. The longer we stay here the worse our chances will be. Three form up on me. I'll take the point. If I have to I’ll trap him to bring him into your guns. Don’t screw up."
“Got it, Sir.”

The next takedown almost had a surreal quality to it… with Buster’s Int spurring on ahead. When they came in sight of the xwing- the pilot urged its towards the captain’s fighter, intent on a straight on kill no doubt in some disturbing parody of a game some liked to call “chicken”. Rook watched in amazement as Wall’s twisted and juked his craft in movements that could only be seen to be believed. Twisting through target locks in order to dive down underneath the enemy craft before deploying a small tiny black colored canister from behind.


A tractor beam module, which locked onto the X-wing into a spiraling circular arc not much unlike a tether ball tied up to a pole. As it whipped around Bishop applied pressure to his guns, taking only the vaguest consideration he was about to kill someone else before the Republic X-Wing burst apart in a fiery explosion.


Taking a deep breath he looked around his craft, for a split second given the time to ponder a nonverbalized question to himself, ‘Where was the last one?’

Rook’s silent query was answered in a superlative manner as behind him sprang two fresh xwings from behind a drifting pylon. The clever Reps had decided to try and duplicate their own tactics to try and take the Castles out.

“Evade! C4! Evade!” came Wall’s warning as red lances of light speared towards both of them, bringing down his shields to 80% before he whipped around some cover... vectoring away from the CO.

Both X-Wings followed him…

To his mind- this entire situation was awful: reality had a terrible habit of turning good situations into waking nightmares. Just a few seconds ago Bishop had rid his scope of one threat only to now find another appearing from the fog of war. Even worse was the fact that the bastards seemed to pointed out that he was the easier target. He didn't feel confident enough in his chances to take on two pilots by himself. Another set of armament was needed to coordinate strikes, and it made the most sense to have an someone else watching his back as they scanned over the field. Unfortunately- Walls was out of the area for a second, that last near miss had splintered their formation.

“Evasive Action C-3, I’ll soon be there to assist! Oh Frell! Missile launch C4! ON YOUR SIX!”


He noticed the threat on his scope as their fast moving silhouettes were contrasted against the backdrop of static noise, flotsam and wreckage from the battlefield. Throwing his flightstick to one side, he boosted all power to the shields. Bishop caught one of the missile streaks from the corner of his eye as it passed so close to his own craft as to leave a burn mark across the upper part of his left solar array. Rook saw on his sensors the radar signature of one of the larger pieces of scrap in front of him disappear into nothingness as it was atomized by one of the missiles.


The damn things were still riding his ion trails like a pair of swooping hawks.


Bishop gritted his teeth as he threw his Interceptor into a hard dive. The X-Wing locked onto his aft refused to be shaken, matching his every movement and taking opportunities to spray his aft shields with cannon fire. As he tried to come up with a way to shake his pursuer, he juked the flight controls in all directions to create a harder profile for the Rep to hit. Frowning to himself, he decided to attempt a stunt he had read about in an advanced combat manual a few days earlier. Bishop pulled his flightstick to the left, putting his Interceptor heads up on his port repulsor wing. Immediately, he pulled the stick back towards him and initiated a moderate bank. The Xwing took the bait, matching his movement precisely. Grinning, Bishop cut the throttle of his starfighter back to three-quarters thrust.

The Xwing couldn't compensate in time. The opposing pilot hadn't noticed that Bishop's Interceptor had slowed down, and the moment it engaged in its own bank maneuver it overshot Bishop completely. Pulling out of the bank, Bishop lined up his targeting reticule on the Rep and held down the trigger on his flightstick. His wing cannons, set to single-fire bursts, tore through the X's shields. When his targeting computer informed his that the target's aft shields were down he switched to dual-link firing mode and realigned his reticule. He squeezed the trigger once, sending several bright green bolts of superheated Tibanna gas towards his target. The blast pierced the drive core of the Xwing's engines, setting off a chain reaction that engulfed the doomed ship in an explosive fireball. Quickly, Bishop shifted his shields to double-front coverage as he rode his Interceptor through the explosion.

His craft exited the cloud of debris… giving him a full view of the battlefield- as the far off IFF signatures of his squadron came back to him.

From somewhere behind his craft he heard the CO’s voice over the comlines, “Got the other one Bishop. Let’s get back to the others if you’re not too toasty…”

Bishop sighed as he oriented back towards zone 66-1.6841, the place where even now the rest of Castle Squadron was flying amidst a flurry of combat warnings as they dueled A-Wings to do their worst. A quick check of his systems showed everything still glowing green… slight damage- but nothing a new coat of paint wouldn’t cure. ”So sir- was the playground this tough?”

“What was that C3?”

“The playground sir… how you dealt with the older boys… how did that end?” Bishop trailed off, unsure exactly of what he was saying. As they rocketed back towads the rest he just realized he was sort of curious about the whole affair.


Finally Buster’s voice , with just a hint of bemusement, replied,“Well- if we live through this I’ll tell you the full story- but let’s just say that I still think that was a lot harder then this…”

As the two Interceptors moved to link up with the rest Bishop could see the hell they were about to dive into…

It seemed as every turret in the battle line was firing in the area as they caught up to the outskirts of the region. Several slow moving cluster bombs drawn in from the leftovers of the minefields burst in front of Castle alpha followed a second later by the fiery deaths of two of another squadron’s flight. Bishop unluckily checked the transponders to see if one of them had been the hated Major, no luck. Bishop blinked as in front of them an A-Wing burst in a flash of fuel and explosives.

‘Whooo Wee… Glad to see you could join the part guys!” came Chester’s nasal voice.


Walls had the honor of replying to the “Detach back to Alpha Flight, Chester! We’ve got some hard fighting ahead of us to get these to the extraction point...”


Nearby a DP20 erupted after its captain placed it in the path of over thirty proton torpedoes heading towards a larger ship. Ahead of him an newer type of Star Destroyer was catching hell after a set of torpedo hammered some damage into its hull sections. The three squadrons in the area were starting to have luck of their own and were also downing Awing’s left and right.


Castle flight alpha broke off its attack, and Bishop barely registered orders from the Group Captain and some type of argument coming over his comset. He didn't know what was going on, just that there were targets ahead of him that needed to die. He could see that his CO and chester were with him and other flights of TIE Ints and TIE fighters with an IFF of Wraith were racing to the scene from his instruments. He didn't know if they would get here in time, but he was determined to kill as many of the bastards as he personally could.

Spraying bolts of green death Castle’s Beta Flight took down another set targets, he could hear Misery’s war cries of jubilation before she was harshly reminded to can it.

‘She really was like some sort of demonic war woman sometimes.’

Just as the thought occurred to Rook a missile burst open in front of him. He yanked his throttle as hard as he could as a swarm of debris flew underneath his fighter. Suddenly one of his wingmen was screaming in his ears. Chester. Cursing up a storm as he exclaimed every epithet imaginable as he cursed his rotten luck. Part of his solar array had clipped off.. a lucky shot through his shields, Chester had shut the circuits down in time but railed that while the craft was still flyable it felt heavier to him then a full grown bantha he was trying to push along..

‘And with his girth- who knew- he might just move such a beastie…’

Rook’s flight computer chirped an alarm and he glanced at it for a split second. Half of the original A wings were being destroyed by either the squadrons or the turrets of the surrounding fleet. But it was the presence of torpedoes amongst the stampeding herd of weapons that was setting off the new sirens. Those babies can destroy ships and anything else which got in their way.

The zone was filled with them…

The fleet started pouring on its fire and missile after missile, attacker after attacker burst from the onslaught. The lieutenant looped the flight around a large Sentinel that was already half destroyed by the chaos of the attack. A random shot tore through one of the four torpedoes in his area and Bishop was relieved they were all still there.

He learned back in Anoat that if you destroy them before they detonated you evidently got to live to tell the tale. Flight Lieutenant Bishop Rook vowed that would never happen to him again if he could help it. He lost sight of the target as it ducked under some fire from a federation vessel. He flew over a large hole in the top of the vessel to get a jump on the pilot when he came out from underneath. Dead figures in vacuum suits and armed with rigor mortis were smashed aside on his fighter's shields as his fighter passed mere inches from a few of their heads. His face changed to horror as he came across the top of the craft and turned his nose downwards. In front of him was a space filled with limping corvettes and smaller capships just sitting like banthas to the slaughter as a full squadron of A’s was threading through the Federation’s defensive lines towards their easiest kills.


With a sickening feeling in his stomach, Rook knew they’d be lucky if even a quarter of the damaged vessels might make it into hyperspace… the butcher’s bill was bound to be a steep one. At least being back with the fleet there was a chance they would cover other squadrons recalled to the hangars before hypering out.

[Neil Astor]

Neil Astor stared through his Heads-Up-Display as he continued to take evasive maneuvers in an effort to escape the clutches of the pilot on his tail. He pulled the stick back and to the left, making the Interceptor pull up and roll. The A-wing easily matched his move, firing at him with its maneuverable laser guns. A lucky shot was absorbed by the Interceptor's shield. Neil's hands were slick with sweat inside his gloves. He went into a sharp turn, then inverted by rolling and immediately pulled back on the stick, going into a dive. The Interceptor accelerated rapidly and Neil pulled back on the stick until the starfighter leveled out, easing it into level flight, or at least as level as it could be in space. He was now going at a higher speed and was beneath the enemy fighter.

But the worth of his enemy became apparent as the A-wing continued its loop and dived after Neil. He muttered a curse and pulled up, flying inverted at the A-wing now screaming towards him. Black-gloved fingers stayed steady on the stick. In a split-second the targeting computer lined the A-wing in the targeting reticle. Neil moved his finger up and slowly squeezed the trigger. Six green bolts sped away towards their target, one disseminated against the A-wing as it flew by, while the rest went wide of the bandit. The swiveling guns of the A-wing raked Neil's Interceptor dropping the shields to fifty-four percent.

"You'll have to do better than that, Fed."

A scowl wrinkled Neil's sweat-beaded forehead. "Just watch me!" He replied in defiance. Neil diverted weapon power from the shields to the Beam Weapons Compartment Module. He triggered the decoy beam as he swung around in a skidding maneuver to come head-on towards the bandit, who had been in the process of swinging back around to come at Neil's six. The decoy beam made computer targeting ineffective. The only other manner of firing would be line-of-sight, which would be extremely hard given the conditions. Neil could target just fine. The computer locked on and Neil fired with all six cannons. Three bolts splashed against its shields, when the enemy pilot decided to go on the defensive diving down and away. Neil followed, still firing. He had been blocking out most of the com chatter, but it still rang inside his helmet.

"Bogey on my six! I need some help here Cipher!"

"My craft just got swiss-cheesed! I'm buggin' out!"

"Somebody get on that guy!"

"He's too good. I can't shake him!"


but amidst all that, he heard one voice come across.

"Flight Lead, i'm coming to assist, got a visual on the bandit."

"Take him"

"You got that.""

Neil connected the dots a split-second too late. A red bolt took his aircraft right on the entrance hatch, but it was just a glancing blow and left a blackened scorch mark. He diverted all power from weapons to shields as the second A-wing continued to fire at him. He rolled away, desperate to stay alive in all this. Meanwhile, his thoughts were racing a million miles an hour. Then the grizzled voice came across again.

"Nice work, Fed. But your toys won't save you now." And from beneath him came the first A-wing, splashing bolt after bolt against his shields, which were now at critical. This was ridiculous. No one should be that good. It wasn't for the first time that Neil realized just how good these NR pilots were, particularly this squadron. Too good. Probably veterans of the Rebellion. His shields were functioning at fourteen-percent. He couldn't take another hit. A message came across from the Hades.

[From:Hades:voice]

"All fighters are called back. I repeat, all fighters return to hangar."

[END]

All flights responded in the affirmative. Neil broke off engagement with the two enemy fighters, pulling up and away and pushing to maximum thrust in an effort to gain as much distance between his craft and theirs before the decoy beam shut off and he would be vulnerable to missile fire. He saw that all of Styx flight had survived as he read three IFF signatures on the radar. The enemy fighters seemed content to let them go, but not without a last parting shot across the com.

"Fed, i'll see you again."

"I look forward to it, Mister..."

"Celchu."

Neil blinked. It couldn't be, the actual Celchu. As in Tycho Celchu....not that one. But he didn't know any other exceptional pilots with the name Celchu.

"Astor. And next time.....I won't be the one running."

The voice on the other end chuckled, "We'll see about that.....Astor."

Wraith Squadron reformed and came in at a level flight towards the Star Destroyer that they called home. They hadn't lost a single fighter.

"We'll be debriefing in an hour. Standbye for any further orders." The Necromancer said to them all as they docked their fighters in the hangar bay. "And not bad for a first engagement. If you continue, you might just live to see your third mission."

The dreaded third mission. For whatever reason, most pilots who went on their third mission were shot down, or killed in action. Few went past their third mission without getting some scars. But Neil was only worried about the present, about now. He had just completed his first combat mission. And he had survived. For now, his worries were over.

[Aquila Slyphs]

Aquila didn't have much to do, aside from feel terrible that she was hardly contributing to what sounded to be a chaotic situation outside. Instead, she busied herself by listening to all the comm chatter coming from the various NIF ships. She was surprised at how deftly she was able to change frequencies, filter through the non-essential ones and isolate the ones between regiment forces, the Surface Marshal and even some of the navy communications.

What she heard made her stomach churn more and more. The navy was struggling the entire mission, the NR defenses holding up better than anticipated, and then there was the arrival of the NR fleet which sent everyone into panic mode. She had caught a brave, if foolish attempt by Medusa squadron to try and protect a shuttle running from the ship Home One. Aquila wanted to tell Jack, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. More things happened, including a wicked migraine that threatened to split her head open, causing her to double over in pain and bring both hands up to try to stem the pain. It hurt too much to scream, and she was glad in a way, not drawing any more attention to her as she didn't want to distract her friends from more pressing concerns with another "minor issue".

The pain subsided enough to allow her to sit back up and run a diagnostic of the shuttle to see if something in the air had made her suddenly ill. As the shuttle ran the quick scan, she continued to run though the comm channels, discovering that the New Republic had nuked a pair of NIF LZs. Aquila gasped in horror at the prospect feeling saddened even more that she was sitting here, useless as a mouse droid. Actually, even a mouse droid is more useful than I am... she thought to herself glumly. It was right after that the army was starting to pull out, harshly limiting their time table. For a moment, she thought about informing the others, but decided against it, not wanting to rush them since the army was still spread out all over the planet giving them a bit of time yet.

It was perhaps a half-hour later, maybe less for she didn't bother keeping track of time, her head still hurting, when she received word that the Navy was beginning their retreat. That sprang her into action. "Uh, guys, the navy is starting to pull out and-"

"We're coming aboard," Alath cut her off, startling the young pilot.

"You're done?" Aquila spun around to face the passenger hold, immediately spotting several people climbing aboard. "Did you find my Dad?"

Alath blinked once and looked down the ramp at Spyker, Dravius and Ponex who were climbing aboard. "Uh... I don't think so, unless you dad was very busy in his pre-school years..."

Ponex shook his head, glancing at his two rescuers before they got any ideas that he wasn't the person they had gone through all this trouble to rescue. "Dad gave me the same name, but left out the 'junior' part. Why? Who's up there?"

"Less talk, more getting the hell out of here!" Taza called from behind the group.

Aquila only caught a glimpse of Ponex, a young man, maybe a year or two younger than herself, but she vaguely recalled her brother, like many of the details of her life save for the more peaceful ones. Alath didn't give her time to try and ask questions as she entered the cockpit and slumped down in the co-pilots chair and spun the pilot seat about to face the canopy.

"So, what's the problem now?" Alath asked as she started flicking switches to get the shuttle ready for lift-off.

It took Aquila a moment to realize that she was daydreaming. Shaking herself out of it, she focused on the exit ahead of them where several NIF shuttles were being harassed by NR snubfighters. "Oh, the navy is beginning the retreat out of the system, the army has almost all of their forces back aboard Third Fleet..."

"WHAT?" someone in the back shouted, the voice indistinguishable over the din of the powering up engines. "When did that happen?"

"O-only about two minutes ago. The army has been pulling out for the past... while..." Aquila hung her head in shame, wishing she had spoken sooner. Desperately trying to change the subject, she asked, "Is everyone aboard?"

A quick head count revealed that they were missing Jericho and his group.

"Should we go look for them?" Rogmi asked.

"Probably suicide to try," Corsair muttered, "They went to the command room and, from where we are, we'd have to wade through more prisoners than would us pass without cutting us to ribbons. Even I can't patch you all back together... That super glue would be better served putting both Death Stars back together..."

Ignoring his comment, Alath came up with a suggestion. "What if we try to pick the up outside?"

Aquila looked over at the woman with wide, frightened blue eyes. "A-are, are you crazy!?! There's probably more X-Wings out there patrolling the skies than ever!" A million other reasons raced through her mind, but even as she spoke, her hands were getting the controls working and, before she even realized it, the shuttle was lifting up off the floor and slowly making for the exit.

"We can't just leave them behind!" Rogmi pointed out.

The debate raged as everyone started taking sides. Aquila, realizing that they were moving, turned her attention back to flying the ship, and just in time otherwise she would have clipped a wing on the way out. Back outside, the shuttle gained altitude and a handy map of the facility was brought up, the location of the control room revealed to Aquila. Already the sensors were picking up inbound enemy X-Wings, a few klicks out but closing the distance fast. To make matters worse, on the parapets, a squad of NR soldiers were pointing at the shuttle and shooting it with their small arms. The shields easily held, but it was enough to rattle Aquila as she yanked hard on the controls to roll away from the shooting.

"Holy Sith, when did they get an army?" Alath sounded surprised as she looked around outside and quickly spotted the shuttles the enemy soldiers arrived on. "Well, let's bring the shuttle around and use the lasers!"

"How about... no?" Aquila offered, checking the scope and seeing the snubfighters close in more and more. "Maybe we should get a line of communication to Mr. Winters and try to have him meet us somewhere..."

"Good idea, how about those landing pads?" Alath pointed to the ones already occupied by the NR shuttles.

Aquila winced. Maybe the shuttle's lasers could do enough damage, but then there'd be smoldering wrecks, not exactly a nice, clean landing surface for her to try and pick people up with. Then there was the fact that the NR troops would be between them and Jericho. A red light started to blink, telling her that someone was trying to establish a missile lock. "Eeek!" Twisting hard on the controls again, she brought the prison facility between her and the incoming fighters, breaking the line-of-sight but it was only going to be a temporary solution.

"I think I got their frequency," Alath fumbled with the switches, baffled why there were so many saved frequencies that she had never seen before on the screen. "Mr. Winters, your taxi is arriving. If you'd like to specify where you'd like the pickup, we'll be there shortly. Oh, and try to be on time, because we have a few X-Wings that will be causing problems in... a minute."

"I think a minute is being a tad generous!" Aquila whined as one of the X-Wings came about and started firing at the shuttle, it's lasers going well over top, more as warning fire than as an attempt to blow it out of Sarapin's thinning skies. "Think there are a few TIEs about to offer assistance?"

Alath looked thoughtful as she changed frequencies again. "Good question, let's try them shall we?"

[Spyker Katarn]

'Gods damn it.' Spyker ran up the loading ramp of the ship behind Ponex, carefully disguising his discomfort. The pain had come on suddenly, just after their first crossing of a cell block after acquiring Ponex Sylphs from his place of internment. Physically, he was fine; this was a different sort of ailment. A dark veil had come over his remaining organic eye, obscuring the left side of his vision. He felt a pressure in his mind, a presence that should not be there. It felt wrong, and yet familiar somehow. He shook his head to try and clear it, but to no avail. The problem persisted, but Spyker couldn't deal with it at that point. He had a mission to finish, then he could focus on his health.

Looking up, he pulled himself into the ship and hit the switch to close the hatch, just as everyone started arguing about their next step. Eventually, they came to a decision, and were skids-up and on their way. They needed a plan to retrieve Winters, and fast. He could hear Alath radioing Epsilon, letting them know the status of the main strike team. Getting them out would be a problem, however, and having to go through NR forces was not an appealing proposition. When the shuttle flew behind the building, however, Spyker had a flash of inspiration. If they couldn't go around the wall, they would go through it. He triggered his COM unit.

"Jack, Mel! Grab some detpacks and meet me at the ramp!" When they arrived, Spyker triggered the decompression switch to vent the cargo bay's atmosphere and avoid any catastrophic decompression that would throw Aquila off her hover. "Arm them and prepare to plant. I'll search for a weak point in the wall we could use."

"Are you sure about this, Sergeant? We screw up, we're pasted." Jack looked understandably nervous, even after surviving the firefight in the hangar. Planting a demo charge under fire was a hazardous prospect for even the most skilled of demolitions specialists; planting one on an outer wall, on a hovering shuttle, with X-Wings bearing down on you was tantamount to suicide. The combined assault from prisoners, prison guards, and trained NR soldiers that was about to hit Winters' small squad however, made it worth the risk. They were not about to leave anyone behind. Spyker was saved by them once; it was high time he returned the favor.

A moment of scanning revealed a seam in one of the walls nearest the center; it looked to be a remnant from the construction. Junctures like this were natural weak points; the turbulent nature of Sarapin would only have exacerbated the problem, further increasing their chances during the maneuver affectionately termed "rapid entry." The plan itself was to blow a hole in the outer wall, giving Winters and the rest of Epsilon an escape route. The only real threat was not the X-Wings flying outside; they couldn't fire for fear of hitting their own personnel on the ground. Rather, Aquila's nervousness threatened to plunge them all into the fiery abyss below. He had to do something, and quick. He opened up a COM channel, direct and private to Aquila.

"Ma'am... Aquila. We need to be closer to the wall." As he explained why, he set about tying safety lines to the eyeholes in the cargo bay, then tying them to Jack, Mel, and himself in preparation for the plant. "I know you can do this. All we need is two minutes." He linked his helmet cam's feed to her heads-up display, and stood by the now-reopened hatch waiting for her to give the ready signal.

[Aquila Slyphs]

"Did he just say 'closer to the wall'?" Alath asked as she glanced over her shoulder to try and peer into the back of the shuttle while trying to get a hold of any TIE support.

"I... I think so..." Aquila sounded her usual nervous and scared self as the X-Wings buzzed past, trying to get the best firing angle but faltering last moment and breaking away in fear they might actually hit one of their own troops on the parapets outside. Lasers were amazingly destructive and proton torpedoes were even worse so it was, luckily, working to Aquila's advantage that she was remaining so close to the building though the blaster fire was still rattling her as blue flashes caused by the enemy fire splashed harmlessly against the shield. Easing the ship closer, she accidentally pushed the controls a little too far forward, causing the ship to hit the wall she was trying to get closer to. Only the particle shields helped prevent anything worse than a large shower of sparks as well as a sudden jolt as Aquila pulled back suddenly with a startled yelp.

"Damnit woman," Corsair called from the back, "He said close to the wall, not through it!!!"

"I'm trying!!!" Aquila cried, feeling ashamed that she nearly got everyone killed and suddenly feeling very scared that she was going to get them all killed in her effort to try again more carefully this time.

"Hey, Bones, stuff it!" Alath yelled back, "We've got enough problems without your comments!" She shook her head in disgust and looked at the shaken pilot next to her. "I wonder why we don't just toss him out the hatch into the lava below..." she tapped her chin as if in deep thought for a moment before looking as if inspiration hit her. "Oh, that's right, because it'd be better than he deserves!"

Aquila tried again, this time moving slower as she watched the HUD display the distance between the "target" which she had selected to be the prison. Still the NR troops fired at the shuttle but to little effect despite the strain the shields had just taken. "Ten meters," she breathed, wondering if this is what performing open heart surgery felt like. Her sensors were picking up another missile lock attempt but a quick glance at the sensors showed that the X-Wings were all still peeling away from the shuttle, none of them able to establish a lock. "How the..."

"Up there," Atlah pointed up at an enemy soldier holding a missile launcher from above the parapet, pointing it straight down at them. "I think we should just," she began, reaching over and pushing Aquila's control yoke over to the left, causing the ship to yaw to the left a fair bit, "move out of the way a little..." The blinking light became suddenly steady and a high pitched whine sounded as the trigger was pulled.

---

From the hold, there was a sudden cry of horror before the ship pitched horribly to one side. Mel, who was holding one of the detpacks and waiting quietly when the sudden force of the maneuver and bereft of any inertial dampening, was sent flying off the ramp. The safety line held but now she was dangling, wide eyed and scared though no where near the capacity of Aquila, she knew.

Jack was already trying to help pull her back up as the missile flew past, just missing the shuttle by a few feet, its maneuvering fins unable to compensate and hone in on the shuttle. The lock broken, it simply dumb fired itself straight into the sea of molten rock below. "Don't worry, I got ya!"

"Who's worried?" Mel couldn't help but laugh nervously as she clung with one hand to the safety line, her other hand still holding the detpack. "I've seen worse before, right?"

Spyker was quick to try and have Aquila try and return to the spot they were previously hovering at when the X-Wings came back for another pass. In the effort to get away from the building, Aquila had also pulled the ship away in fear of hitting it again, putting them more than fifty meters away, far enough for the X-Wings to plot decent firing trajectories in their passes and already one was closing in fast, firing it's lasers.

Mel watched several of the shots pass beneath her, lifting her feet instinctively to avoid being hit though she was within the shield's protective radius. Several more shots splashed against the shield now, blue flashes casing shadows across everyone on the ramp as she finally, with Spyker and Jack's help, finally got a hand onto solid metal and was pulled back up. Shaking her purple hair out of her face, she looked at the two men and then down at the ground far below them then back up at her saviors and smiled a little at both of them. "Thanks," she breathed, turning her attention back to the wall as the shuttle shuddered from the continuous shots it was taking. Backing up a few steps, she grabbed onto a hand hold and held on for dear life, not wanting to repeat that again.

The blue flashes suddenly subsided and Jack opened his mouth to say something when he saw a hole blasted into the starboard wing. He jumped in surprise and casually observed, "Guess our shields are out..." Before any more damage could be done, they could all hear in the distance, the screaming engines of TIEs coming to rescue them from their threatening situation. "Thank the stars!"

---

"YES!" Alath cheered as she looked out the viewport at the TIE Defenders coming to their aid, splitting up to engage the different targets, "Looks like help is here so what are you waiting for girl? Bring us closer so lover-boy can do his job and we can get the hell out of here!" She gave Aquila a knowing grin but didn't say anything further as she started shifting weapon power to the shields.

Aquila could feel her face flush again and started to stammer a protest before being distracted again by the blaster fire which was now actually striking the hull moments before the shields were back up and running.

"I've rerouted all weapon power to shields," Alath said casually as she watched Aquila fumble with the controls. "I doubt we'll be doing much firing at this point."

"O-okay." It was easier to maneuver the ship without the looming threat of enemy starfighters trying to blast her out of the sky though the enemy soldiers were doing a good job at keeping her distracted too however their attacks were starting to waver as something above caught their attention. Now it was a very easy affair and she was able to get the shuttle as close as she could to the wall as she dared, sparing about two feet from the nose of the craft as she got on the comm to Spyker and asked fearfully, "Is this close enough!?!" Please say 'yes', she begged to herself, her arms stiff and her hands sore with white knuckles from how hard they had been clenching the controls.

From behind in the passenger compartment, she heard Rogmi yell a response. "They say that's close enough unless you can spare another few inches!"

"But I'm already going to hit the building if I go any closer!" Aquila cried in protest, scared to move the controls any.

"Yeah," Alath piped in, "Can't they just throw the damn demo charges!?!"

There was a long, hectic pause as the chaos outside started to intensify, the soldiers on the outside walls caught between fighting inmates and shooting at the shuttle. Suddenly there was some muffled shouts and Rogmi quickly translated.

"The Sergeant says to pull us away from the wall!"

Aquila responded by pulling back on the controls, moving the shuttle away from the wall where three small packages were affixed. "Is this far enough?" she asked, leveling the controls and watching the sensors frantically in case the starfighters noticed her move away and decided to forgo their TIE distractions.

"No, further!" Rogmi yelled for Spyker.

"Further!?!" Aquila looked at the three small bundles and wondered just how powerful a blast they could create. They were so tiny, and, hardly being an explosive expert, or seeing explosives used in action, save for missiles but that was a different matter, she was perplexed about it all. Regardless, she pulled the shuttle back more and had gained another few meters when suddenly the three small packages disappeared in a massive orange fireball that caused Aquila to jump out of her seat. The shuttle jerked slightly because her hands were stuck on the controls, still white though the soreness was starting to disappear, like all the blood. Settling back in her seat, the smoke started to clear though Aquila's chest still hurt from the shock. "N-n-n-now what?" she stammered.