Caoimhin Shan
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Post by Caoimhin Shan on Aug 15, 2013 14:44:49 GMT -8
Cao started down the ramp of the Cat's Paw before turning to face Rutil. The Zabrak would still be a bit disgruntled, he was sure, but Zuli was a Jedi Master, and thus more powerful and a higher rank than the grizzled old Knight. So, when Cao was told to follow, he would follow.
There was no need to say anything more. Allowing a brief smile to grace his features, he turned back and followed after the Jedi Titan, catching up with him at the turbolift and waiting for the three of them to set off towards his alter ego's former lover..
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The Shepherd
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Post by The Shepherd on Aug 15, 2013 15:00:54 GMT -8
The departure of the Jedi Master, the two soliders, and his conflicted apprentice left Rutil with little to do. He wasn't needed anywhere in particular, and anything that the old man could think to do was already being handled by people far more qualified than himself. The best case scenario was to prep a ship to run the blockade and make a break for a shadowport; this would be done to prepare for a mission that the Zabrak had been waiting to execute for years. And the worst case scenario was the Mandalorians breaching the outer defenses, at which point Rutil would be needed in more places than he could be at.
While he was happy to be among his own again, Rutil lamented how complicated his life had become since his return to the Praxeum. Having operated under the "find Sith, kill Sith" mode of thinking out in the field for as long as he had, the old Knight still had trouble acclimating to the educational, militaristic climate.
With a huff, Rutil left the ship himself, leaving it empty once again (and, to his delight, leaving the ship's computer with nobody to yell at).
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Dav Man'Sell
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Post by Dav Man'Sell on Aug 16, 2013 7:56:44 GMT -8
It was all a bit complicated for Alex - Jedi talking about their abilities confused him at the best of times, but all this talk of separate Sith inside people's heads and not-friends who were also not-enemies, and everything confused the bejeebies out of him - which, he supposed, was quite common for people who didn't have the ability to touch and use the power of the Force - , so he simply trusted them to know what they were talking about. On mention of his name, he gave a small nod to the towering Jedi Master, before turning to the Gand as they moved through the ship back to the ramp. He gave his friend a small, wan smile.
=Corporal Alex Owains=
"'Suppose that means you'll be in charge of gathering all this gear and securing the ship, Qyrig. Sorry to leave you behind."
There was an opening of the Gand's mouthparts, a broader and more enthused approximation of smile than Alex's own.
=Corporal Qyrig P'nhal=
"Qyrig is more than happy to attend to the matter. Alex should go with the Master Jedi and attend to the detainment of Miss Ardigo."
Alex's smile grew a little wider, amused by his fellow marine's enthusiasm for even the most menial tasks. It was a pleasant trait, really. The Gand was just happy to be helpful and useful, and Alex supposed that, in many ways, he envied Qyrig's modesty and free-thinking.
=Corporal Alex Owains=
"Catch you later."
With that, his attentions turned to Caoimhin, and he offered a gesture towards the hangar's exit.
=Corporal Alex Owains=
"After you, sir."
He fell into step beside Caoimhin, headed for the exit and the confrontation to come.
His eyes fell to his personal defence weapon, now in hand, and he checked the charge. It comforted him to see that there was enough to put down a Rancor left in the blaster. He hoped he wouldn't need to use it.
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Caoimhin Shan
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Post by Caoimhin Shan on Aug 18, 2013 16:40:30 GMT -8
Corporal Owains's action did not go unnoticed. On the way to the turbolift, Cao turned to regard the other man and smiled.
"I highly doubt you'll need that, Corporal. As I recall, Kirith was always rather tame. Though she was pretty deadly with a spork.."
He chuckled, then shook his head, vaguely realizing that if it did come to CQC, his weapon of choice would be sorely underutilized.
"Still. Can't be too prepared."
He left it at that, as they arrived at the turbolift..
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Lita Trykk
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Post by Lita Trykk on Oct 10, 2013 12:49:45 GMT -8
~Day Two - Evening~
*The sound of rain during Yavin IV's monsoon season was soothingly muffled within the cockpit of the StealthX starfighter. The steady sheet of precipitation rarely changed throughout the day, leaving daylight to be little more than a drab and colorless twilight. Even so, the low-light did not bother Lita Trykk. She was accustomed to a perpetual, unchanging twilight on Malidris, where night and day could not be defined by an unchanging position of the sun on the horizon, but rather by the subtler changing of winds, the use of technology, and aboriginal instinct.
So it was, that even within the poorly-lit hangar, inside the confined space of the cockpit, and with her eyes tightly closed, Lita could sense the coming of night as day began to fade unseen. The hours had passed by too quickly. Blindly, she swept her palms along the controls, switches, and even the tiny screws that defined the instrument panels of the flight deck. She paused on each one, identified it, familiarized herself with its location in relation to everything else of texture, then moved on. Her arms lifted overhead as she just as thoroughly explored the overhead panel in the same manner.
A flight simulator was all well and good, but she needed to get to know the actual craft she would be flying. In a dogfight, she would need to be able to find the controls she needed without seeing them, and without fumbling around trying to feel for them. It would have to be flawless knowledge, and the sort of confidence that can only come with thoughtlessly reflexive action. Which meant her mind was free to wander a bit.
The Jedi Knights and Padawan foot soldiers were easy to organize, easier in some ways than her own people had been in times of war. Pride and hierarchy and politics did not get in the way of what needed to be done. They relied on each other. They trusted her, even though she was an outsider. Ground fighting was Lita's strength, leading from the front and engaging in hand-to-hand was...undeniably...thrilling. On the ground with saberstaff in hand, she was the Master, the General in action if not name. Her actions were the ones to follow, to admire, to strive for. But now, she would be leaving that comfort zone, her position of choice in this war, in order to fly an unfamiliar craft in what was admittedly not the best use of her experience and skills. She would be the one following someone else.
She growled low. It wasn't about pride. She wasn't on Yavin IV to show off or to prove to these Jedi she was as powerful in the Force as they. The Praxeum had more good men on the ground than they had pilots in the air, and even she could recognize it wasn't ground fighting that was the pivotal role in this siege. Though it may not be her strongest card, she was a skilled enough pilot that they could use her in a starfighter more than they could use her stalking the jungles. Someone else would take her place.
That Balosar child, for example. What was her name? Chiala. When her spice-addled mind was sober, the girl had a tremendous amount of energy and control over this tropical environment. She had witnessed it only briefly this morning when she'd stumbled upon the girl in the rain-flooded muck trying to salvage her collection of narcotics. She trusted Dr. Levi would manage her withdrawal, and in the meantime, put her to work using the vegetation around them to further strengthen their defenses. That entire class of misfits that had survived and found their way back to the temple was a powerful one, and the students would more than fill the gap a single Iridonian would leave behind.
After the fortuitous discovery of their return, Lita spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon within the simulator decks. Perhaps too much time, to her thinking. The artificial experience could never quite replicate the feel of the actual machine. That was why she was in the hangar, now. She was not just learning to fly it. She was getting to know it. Communicating with the soul of the starfighter. After all, they would have to respect and trust one another.
Dusk turned to darkness. It brought no relief from the sweltering humidity of the jungle planet, and Lita found herself climbing out of the cockpit and resting against the nosetip for a breath of air. Anxiety knotted her insides. Jago should be returning, soon. He could not fly non-stop without rest or food. How many times had he been hit, today? How damaged was his fighter? How many injuries, and how many risks did he take this time? Her jaw firmed. Tomorrow's dawn, he would not fly alone. She stared at the closed blastshield doors, willing them to open. Open, and bring the white-haired wonder back within its armored protection.
They remained silent.
She sighed, then leaped free of the starfighter's nose and began tracing her hands along its dark underbelly and star-speckled wings, intimate as a lover's touch. The perspective of the placement of the Laser Cannons would be a far cry from the positioning she was most accustomed to on the extended tail of her Firespray. Not difficult per se, but different. She had to admit, the mechanics of the Jedi-favored starfighter were streamlined, brilliant in the simplicity of its design.
Almost no shielding to speak of, though. Relying entirely on its maneuverability and stealth to not get hit. The wiring was too exposed. She removed the shallow panel from the wing to examine the neat maze of connecting ports and power conduits, trying to work in her head how they might be maneuvered to the inner instead of outer shielding to better protect the vital organs.*
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Jago
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Post by Jago on Oct 10, 2013 16:41:17 GMT -8
~ It was as she turned away that the great doors leading to the outside conflict opened with a creaking groan, a weariness to their gears that was not present three days ago. Commotion consumed the hangar bay as crew chiefs worked with frantic energy to make sure landing spots were clear for the incoming strike craft, the state of one of the iconic visages of the Praxeum being less a pristine painting and more organized chaos. Fighters lay half taken apart, their insides exposed to the humid air as many were junked, some were cannibalized, and many more were simply serviced and serviced again so they could be rotated into combat as quickly as pilots could be found for them.
In short, this area had been working around the clock, just as tirelessly and feverishly as the pilots themselves. Droids were overclocking their processors, using fusion cutters to seal back damaged wires, interfacing with the CPUs of the snubfighters to run diagnostic scans, recalibrating software to ensure that these damaged birds would keep gliding along. Everyone was giving every last drop of sweat, tears, blood, and oil to keep the Temple intact, and Jago Pulastra could feel it all as his fighter finally touched ground for the second time that day.
He took a moment to sit inside his cockpit in silence, soaking it all in. The energy, the spirit of this ziggurat in the Jungle: how it amazed him still. Here, the shield being battered all day by that incessant drum the Mandalorians had set up, the threat of attack looming around every second, and these people and machines were still committed with unwavering faith. Faith in The Jedi that protected them, Faith in their soldiers on the ground, in the skies, and among the stars, Faith in each other. It was probably all that was keeping anyone standing at this point.
Despite the near-frightening level of entropy being fed back through The Force to him as the hive mind swarmed to dock, refuel, rearm, and repair this new batch of hunters returning from the clouds, Jago felt oddly at peace. As if the sight and sounds of the hangar dutifully churning out near-mint strike craft to take the fight back to the Mandalorian Invader was a normalcy he could rely on, for wasn't this always how the hangar bay felt to him? That electricity in the air, that spark of putting boots to the stone ground as he climbed down from his deadly interceptor, the smell of fuel and burnt metal ... It was as familiar to him as the feel of his own hair.
... They had lost three today. Would have been a lot more if it wasn't for Horn Squadron showing up when they did. Those Bessies came out of nowhere. Frihl hadn't even had a chance to respond before his wing was shorn off. Ulton was gunned right through the fuselage. Tala was rammed by one of the Mandalorian craft after saving Jago himself from the same aggressor. The trio was on his mind as he waved off a mechanic fast approaching him, the man returning a casual salute before moving on to help some of the other pilots. Jago had a thing for taking care of his own ships, something the crew chiefs of the JPT had learned quickly, and so resolved themselves to help those more in need. Besides, Jago wasn't quite up to fixing his bird of prey just yet: he was done for the day. Without rest, he'd be useless. There was, however, one thing he had to acknowledge first.
Grabbing a ladder, he positioned it on his left wing, climbing up with a rectangular piece of cardboard and an aerosol can of some type. The emerald willow tree that was emblazoned with cocksure pride over the normal matte grey exterior of his 9D had seen better days: combat had left it worn and scarred, much like its owner. With quiet purpose, Jago set to placing the thick sheet on the wing, spraying a crimson mist over it, and then repositioning it to the side, circling around the arboreal design as he went. After three splashes of color, he tossed the stencil to the ground, sitting back on his wing to observe his handiwork.
Sixteen silhouettes of X-Wings from a top-down view now served as the circumference of his most ancient coat of arms. Sixteen X-Wings for Sixteen Pilots that wouldn't be returning home. Many aces kept track of their kills with such paintings on the fuselage of their fighters, denoting their tallies and showing them off to impress friend and foe alike. Very quickly, Jago realized this was not a type of war he was used to anymore. This was a scale of conflict he had never fought before. It changed the game for him: he knew he'd killed dozens of Mandalorian pilots in two days. By the end of this, he imagined he'd have killed dozens upon dozens more.
That, however, was not what he should have been remembering, he told himself. That was not the important aspect. What he wanted to focus on, what he wanted to see every time before he went up, was the symbol of those who did not return. The ones who had given everything in their selfless defense of Life, The Force, and this Moon.
Sixteen Pilots had died under his command in two days. He was not naive enough to say that there wouldn't be anymore. Not naive enough, no, but perhaps just hopeful enough that maybe this would end sooner than he thought, that those Sixteen would not have given themselves up only to watch from beyond as death begot death, destruction begot destruction, and what surely could have looked only like The End Of Times descended upon the Fourth Moon of Yavin.
Jago sighed to himself as he climbed back down from the wing of his Dragon, the steed deserving as much rest as he did. R2-B1 had already been unloaded from the starfighter and was merrily making his way to a power socket for some much needed energy, blessing his Maker that once more he had survived the dance with the angels alongside the Jedi Fighter Pilot who twirled with the Reaper and rode Lightning beneath his wings. Needless to say, B1 was filled with cybernetic joy every time his tri-pod touched solid earth. Even the little astromech had to wonder, though, how much longer his companion could keep going like this. Sentient Beings, especially humans, were notorious for their need to sleep during periods of great stress and upheaval. To B1, the suitcases beneath the white-haired Master's eyes indicated more than just a lack of physical rest. While the droid could not perceive the inner willpower of a person, even he had to note that Jago's exhaustion was born of more than just his body.
He was thinking.
All day, in every spare moment between the hellfire within thunderclouds, Jago's thoughts kept returning to that kiss. The fire in her garnet eyes, and the compassionate hesitation with which she held him. It had been a woeful experience to have left her so early, to not even say goodbye as he was summoned to once again be the Jedi Yavin needed him to be. It had been most of his motivation to make sure his landing struts touched down again: his ghost would have never been laid to rest had he not returned to her, having disappeared with nary a trace.
But ...
There she was. Here. Now. In the Hangar. Standing beside a fighter herself, the missing armor paneling giving away her recent inspection of the strike craft. Had she known he was to arrive soon? Had she waited here for him? For how long?
He felt his throat dry as his measured paces cut a path straight towards Lita Trykk, the heat in his cheeks suppressed rapidly as others casually greeted the Jedi when they passed. He was a Master of The Order, not a damn schoolboy, and he would keep himself composed around her. He would not run to her. He would not sweep her off her feet in an embrace. He would not pin her against the fuselage and take her lips roughly upon his.
He would do none of these things.
But he would certainly think them. ~
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Lita Trykk
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Post by Lita Trykk on Oct 11, 2013 11:36:21 GMT -8
*Her head turned, her eyes snapping back towards the doors as the metal protested against its own weight. The nest was stirred. Where Lita had only been aware of her own thoughts and meditation a moment before, now the bay had come alive for her; something like emerging from silent waters into a cacophony of activity. It was only an illusion of her own awareness, her senses having been dulled to all other things as she was focusing on her own task, but that focus had snapped like stressed elastic. It only seemed as though the bay was just now full of bodies, full of tension. But in truth, they had been there all the time, outside of her peripheral.
While the crew members and every available hand were hurrying to do what was required to welcome the beaten and battered fighters home, preparing the pads, guiding the crafts in, and readying the platforms to disembark the pilots, Lita herself remained paralyzed in place, her hands gripping the shield panel hard enough to dig painfully into her palms if she were of a mind to notice the pain. What battles she had endured this morning, what acts she had committed and what reservations she had yet for the morning to come were as far removed from her mind as a forgotten dream. Her eyes were locked onto those doors. Counting.
It seemed like an eternity passed before she caught a glimpse of scarred and verdant paint. Jago's tree. That is all she recognized the crest as, seeing as willow trees did not grow on Iridonia. She began to breathe again. She didn't know how long she had been holding her breath, even knowing that if she had lost him, she would have felt the rift in the force like a vibroblade slicing her open. It still...helped...to see his fighter.
The last of the damaged strike force struggled into the bay, plumes of black smoke trailing behind the two remaining fusial thrust engines. The blast doors began to close, indicating no more would be coming. Lita's eyes lowered, her head shaking almost imperceptibly. Three less. Three less than before. Every loss was significant in a fighting force this small, but Lita did not find herself trying to think of how to make up for the weakened offense, how this might change their strategies, how to prevent further decline in numbers.
Her thoughts drifted to the pilots she barely knew, whom she'd never see again. Did they have mates? Offspring? Would younglings be struggling to understand why their sire would not be with them? Her teeth clenched. What strange thoughts to have. "What do I care of the sufferings of others? I only wish to soothe my own." She winced at the memory of those words on Contruum, spoken on a hiss to a white-haired Jedi. He had shown her the graphic images of a holorecording, the slaughter of innocent lives on Jabiim, and though shock and nausea had twisted her insides, she still remembered the coldness of her response. "You say some things need to rise. I say some things need to fall, and be buried in the dark."
Her eyes lifted. Across the bay, Jago had warily climbed out of his cockpit, and was marking small X-Wings onto the hull with an aerosol can. He was not allowing the lost pilots to fall, to be buried. They would be remembered in Jago's Light. The words Lita used to speak with such conviction were beginning to lose meaning. They seemed petty, when before they had felt passionate.
He found her unerringly, and his stride cut a path towards her, unhurried, but his eyes never flickered elsewhere. She turned away with an inexplicable feeling of shame. His odd, sentimental act that served no real purpose to her practical battle-hardened mind, humbled her. He's out saving lives, and she's taking them. Meanwhile, the deepest thought she'd had all day had been a bitter complaint at the silent way Jago had left her in his bed before dawn.
Gunsos.
She replaced the speckled panel on the wing, securing it firmly. Even upon sensing Jago's closeness, his scent hitting her hyperactive olfactory senses like a stun baton, she still did not turn to look at him, but rather spoke with her gaze fixed firmly away from him. Her voice lacked the hard edge it normally carried, softened by remorse.*
"...Mess Hall, Jago. You and those that can still walk need to eat, first. I can help here with the repairs."
*She glanced towards the efficient chaos around them with a furrowed brow.*
"...If there's a tool left in here without a hand already around it."
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Jago
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Post by Jago on Oct 11, 2013 17:08:09 GMT -8
~ There was a softness in her voice that he did not expect at the end of a day of war. An almost hallowed regard that the night was sacred, and there would be no more anger or violence in the Temple once the stars rose high above Yavin IV. Jago was more than happy to accept that: they had both done their fair share of killing for the past many hours. Some peace, some quiet ... a meal, that sounded nice. It sounded ... normal. As if there were no Mandalorians creeping through the trees and the rivers and the order of the night was for pleasant food and pleasant conversation. It was an idea he could get behind, to take his thoughts away from what had transpired earlier.
They needed normalcy injected into their lives. Points where they were not fighting with tooth and claw just to see another day. It wasn't healthy, wasn't natural for any sentient being to be subjected to so much bloodshed day in, day out, without a moment for respite.
Even though Lita was quick to try and shoo him away and continue her assistance to Yavin's flight crews, Jago merely shook his head. He stepped over to the wing of the StealthX, laying his helmet upon it. A helmet, much like his fighter, now covered in scratches and gashes: marks of just how many times it had saved his life in the past three days. Wordlessly, Jago came over to her once more as she did her best to ignore him and usher him to take care of himself. He slipped off his gloves, letting them fall to the floor before slipping his fingers softly over her wrist, giving her a small tug to face him.
His eyes were tired. His shoulders lacked their normally booming confidence, making him appear even smaller than usual. Jago's iconic mane was glued to his crown, finally tamed by copious amounts of dry sweat while locked under his tight flight helm.
And yet.
The second his azures caught her garnets, his lips curved upwards. The weariness stayed with him, but now he demanded relaxation, not immediate, dreamless sleep. Jago wanted time with her, time to finally process the day and time to share a bit of warmth in his life to remember the reason they fought. As much as they continued the fight for the dead, here was the embodiment of why they would keep fighting. Why he would keep fighting.
For Lita. For her and the billions like her, So that a young child would not have to grow up confused and afraid, and take decades until she could find herself.
Here, that young child was slowly coming into herself. He had seen that there was a strange way she was beginning to speak, to carry herself. It wasn't much, no drastic reconstruction of the Daughter Of Iridonia, but slowly the layers were peeling away. She was becoming inquisitive, curious to their Jedi lifestyle. Their way and their path, a far different road than she had ever walked.
She was taking her first steps towards something better. Something brighter.
But first, there was dinner.
" Come on," he asked her, his voice low and dry, " You could use a break too. Come get a bite with me?"
Jago didn't want to talk about the war right now. Didn't want to discuss the events of the day. No, far better to find a point where he could feel like himself again, where the weight on his shoulders could come off that he may share a few minutes of pure, true happiness with one he cared for so deeply.
" And that's an order." ~
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Lita Trykk
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Post by Lita Trykk on Oct 11, 2013 21:19:14 GMT -8
*Without looking at Jago, she waited for him to depart, to put much-needed distance between them so that her twin pulses might not be so rapid and her breathing could return to normal. But rather than making it that easy on her, he drew nearer. He set his helmet down on the hull of her ship. She responded by shifting her position, cutting him just out of her peripheral vision. The soft whisper of gloves sliding free from skin was audible behind her, and with her gaze lowered, she watched them fall to the floor to land at her feet. It became clear that Jago was going to linger. Partly, she was frustrated with that. Mostly, she was elated that he remained so close.
A voice barked out a demand somewhere else in the bay. The answering call reverberated through the cavernous-like space. The whine of a vibro-cutter drowned out whatever the men were communicating as one of the more unfortunate starfighters was scrapped. It was all background noise that barely registered to Lita's mind, fading to nothing the moment his fingers curled around her wrist. At once gentle and insistent, Jago turned her to face him. Their eyes met.
Exhaustion weighed clearly on the Jedi, but he still had a smile for her. Her eyes lit, almost youthful. She was tempted to pull him into her arms, but settled for taking a single step closer to him, which was somewhat more seemly, except that there was almost no air left between them. Just a quiet, but tense intimacy.*
" Come on, you could use a break too. Come get a bite with me?"
*Her brows knit together, her lips already parting with an excuse and head turning in refusal. Work needed to be done. She had wasted a large portion of the day already learning to fly the-*
" And that's an order."
*...Oh, well played, Jeedai. Her brows lifted with a look of incredulity, followed by an aggressive drawing of her lips to expose her sharp incisors, the tattooed markings under her eye almost lost to shadow.*
"You are pulling rank on me, Master Jago?"
*After a silent exhalation of breath, her expression softened, and the corner of her mouth twitched as though she wanted to smile. He had to have known the honor-bound Zabrak would not go against a direct order. Not in times of war. He knew Iridonian culture too well. He knew her too well. Her palm cupped his too-pale cheek, cooling the fevered skin as she caressed the line of his jaw, then drawing him closer.*
"It's good to see you safe..."
*Drums pounded in her head. She forcibly jerked back, withdrawing suddenly and almost violently to arm's length from him, and only then because he still had his hand on her wrist. The sound clattered again, and her animal-startled gaze followed the true, rather than imagined, source. Scrap metal. Just scrap metal being discarded from the dismembered starfighter. That was all. She was still in full control. She struggled to regain her composure, but made no move to close the distance between herself and Jago again. Her fingers curled in a small, defensive gesture.*
"Well, let's go then, before you collapse where you stand and I have to carry you."
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Ronan Starflare
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Post by Ronan Starflare on Oct 28, 2013 13:14:41 GMT -8
*The great doors leading to a legendary hangar opened loudly, showing their considerable age, before closing once again. In the short time they were open, a quintet of 74-Z speeder bikes howled into the cavernous room, coming to a halt long before it was necessary. The repuslorlift bikes spewed dust and dirt and grime in all directions as they lowered to the ground.
Near the front of the pentagon, a dark-skinned man covered in camouflage fatigues and matching armor plates kicked his leg over the bike, a feeling of familiarity washing over him as his combat boots hit the floor. He wasn't fond of the bikes the JPT or any other military or paramilitary group used. He liked his feet on the ground where he knew he was in control. He smiled underneath his wind-shielded helmet as he pulled it off.*
"Why do we always have to listen to this old stuff, Sarge?"
*The complaint came from behind the sergeant. He turned, putting a stern visage on his face, his voice gruff as he spoke.*
"Watch your mouth, son. This 'stuff' is your history! Should remind you what we're trying to protect."
"Well if the bucketheads want to wipe out this particular part of my history, then that's fine by me."
*The other three privates loosed a short chuckle, but were quickly silenced by a stern look from him. For he was Illrian Creel, Sergeant Major in the Jedi Peacekeeping Taskforce. And as much as this was about the Jedi and the Sith and whatever lay in between them, it was as equally about the bucketheads in orbit who deemed it necessary to try and crusade against a group of people he called his friends, his allies. But most of all, it was personal for a lot of them now. Their home was under siege, and Illrian and his men would do anything to keep it theirs.*
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Dr. Levi Rose
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Post by Dr. Levi Rose on Nov 29, 2013 11:32:05 GMT -8
"How much further?"
"Fifty feet sir!"
Nightmare of nightmares. Two-hundred plus walking wounded huddling around a corner with six troopers and a dozen padawans to defend them, and the only thing standing between them and the hangar doors was a squad of Mandalorian war droids. War droids which would no doubt bring in a squadron of honest-to-goddess Mandalorian warriors if the droids had penetrated this far.
Levi stepped away from the stone corner, letting the corporal round the bend and spray off several more shots before retreating back to safety. Arianna wasn't too far behind him in the refugee train, someone having long since patched her eye socket while they were underway. It was a shame- she'd always been pretty, and it took quite a while to regrow eyeballs based on genetic code alone. She was standing watch over the criticals with the padawans and caught sight of Levi as he marched up to the nearest of the bunch, a gangly Twi'lek girl, probably in her races equivalent of her teenage years.
"That thing work," he asked, pointing at the lightsaber on her hip.
The girl nodded. "It's a training saber though. You'd be better off punching the Mandos with your bare hand-"
"I'm not interested in punching Mandos. Can it still deflect blaster bolts?"
"Absorbs them, yes-"
"All of you- every single last goddess-damned one of you- turn them on and get up front! I am not going to die fifty feet from salvation because you're all too scared to do your jobs! Go- you, yes, you- wookiee! I want to see you at the front of the line! The front!"
"Levi- Levi, they're kids, not warriors!"
The doctor paid no mind to Arianna, reaching into his coat pocket for his own portable blaster pistol. The dozen-odd padawans gathered behind the corner with the last of the Republic troopers. Their lightsabers flicked on as one, the whole lot of them rounding the corner to soak up blaster fire while Levi and the security personnel followed behind them. Combat wasn't Levi's forte, however, and he soon found himself on the other side of the engagement coming down from the adrenaline high of being caught in the crossfire of three droids with Z-6 rotary cannons. Whether he hit any of them or not was irrelevant. Three of their six troopers were dead, and two of the padawans were on the way to join the rest. And those heavy steel doors were still there, still sealed, and the power was still feeding to their controls.
"We aren't going to have more than a few ships in there," Levi mumbled as he thumbed the command switch to open the massive doors. "Maybe a freighter or two. Some fighters. But not enough for everyone here. We'll need to do a lottery of some kind-"
"Not true, sir," the corporal said, holstering his blaster as the massive doors screeched open. "We have one ship for all of us."
"Anything that could carry over two-hundred people is battleworthy and either in orbit or slag on the ground. What the Force do you- Oh..."
It was, perhaps, the single most beautiful vessel he'd ever laid eyes on. 350 meters long, a sturdy frame and largely undamaged. The Carrack cruiser must have run the blockade once before because her hull was scorched black but completely unbreached. She was armed. She was fast. And she was parked and abandoned in the Jedi hangar bay while the jungles outside burned without ceasing. Her cargo elevators were already lowered, their floors strewn with ammunition and food supplies, as were her boarding ramps. The lights were on, but no one was home. If the ship was crewed by Jedi they'd have either fled the system or joined the battle, and if the Mandos were aboard, they'd have taken the ship as a prize by now.
"She brought us in- two full companies and enough supplies to keep us fighting for a month. The pilots took a shot to the jugular from a sniper when we disembarked, but Carracks are notoriously easy to fly."
"Get them aboard," Levi whispered. He caught himself staring in awe at this stroke of good luck before catching his breath and finding his voice again. "Get them aboard! Everyone on the ship! We're strapping in and leaving this burning ball of slag!"
It was a miracle no one else was killed during the stampede up the ramps. The padawans dumped all the ammunition off the cargo elevators to make room for those wounded still being carried on gurneys. The last few Republic troopers meanwhile stood watch at the base of the boarding ramps while Levi and Arianna made their way to the bridge of the craft.
True to the corporal's word, the ship's helm had been streamlined to be operated by a skeleton crew. Among their horde of walking wounded there were a few troopers and padawans with flight experience lucid enough to operate the controls of the ship. All that remained was to prep the engines and shields for takeoff.
"Carrack cruisers come with cloaking devices as a rule of thumb," he said, fingers searching the primary control panel for the defensive systems. "Once we get that on, we'll be invisible to sensors."
"Unless they look out the window at us." Arianna quipped. "Then what?"
"Then our good luck runs out and we're slag."
She frowned, glancing down at the power display as the reactor began to cycle up. "You know, those padawans in bay twelve are dying."
"Half the goddess-damned crew of this ship is dying. In three days it'll be a morgue ship, not a hospital ship." Levi's finger settled on the cloaking systems before switching the device on. "You want me to feel bad for making use of the only whole, living, functioning bodies in this damned parade of morbidity just because they're fresh out of diapers? Blame me for now, sure, and I'll blame myself later. But right now? I can't be bothered outside of keeping myself and the rest of my patients alive. They signed up to be soldiers. I didn't. Are we ready to cycle the engines yet?"
"Almost sir! T-minus ten."
"What about the rest of the temple," the forward gunner- a Bith- asked. "We're the only ship in the hangar with a cloaking device. Everyone else will be visible on the Mandalorian scanners."
"What, do you want to broadcast the fact that we've got an undetectable ship leaving to the whole battlefield?" Levi shook his head, marching to the vacant captain's chair where Arianna sat. He knew what she was about to do- they worked well like that. Predicting each others' moves in med school while working toward their degrees. Except somewhere along the line, Arianna had gotten a conscience and Levi had become a bitter asshole. Most people might wonder about the process that went into the transformation, when it happened over weeks or months. Levi could remember the very day it changed.
So as she reached for the com and began interfacing with the Temple complex's com network, Levi didn't so much as throw up his hands as mentally check out. There were other patients on this voyage of the damned who might still be saved with the basic medical supplies on board. He'd be better off going back there and spending his last moments making some of them comfortable, saving their lives for a few more hours...
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From the Temple hangar a call went out on a wide frequency to the Jedi defenders.
::This is the G.R.D.F. transport, uh,- ship log, ship log, what's this kriffing ship called- kriff it. This is the G.R.D.F. Refuge! We are fully operational within the hangar bay and loaded down with about three-hundred wounded and dead. We've got room for up to six hundred more passengers and we can make it through the Mandalorian blockade- repeat, we can make it through the Mandalorian blockade. If you want off this rock, you have... five? Ten minutes to get your butt to the hangar bay. We will take off in ten minutes. Get here if you can, otherwise... there are other ships, I guess.::
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Dr. Levi Rose
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Affiliation: Galactic Republic
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Dr. Levi Rose on Nov 30, 2013 14:09:55 GMT -8
They came in ones and twos- noncombatants mostly, with a few critically injured Jedi and Republic soldiers looking for a quick ticket off the planet. Levi knew damn well they'd been sitting on the ground for a good fifteen minutes before the first squad of Mandalorian battle droids showed up to investigate the transmission. Their paltry guard didn't bother to stick around outside the ship though, not when this vessel had a dozen turbolasers and twice as many laser cannons attached to its hull. The droids were reduced to scrap in seconds but even Arianna had to see that their time was going to run out. Sooner or later the droids optical feeds would be decoded by the Mandalorian fleet and they'd have a dozen or so ships ready to blast them the moment they flew out of the hangar bay.
"What's holding us up, Arianna," he asked the through his com terminal, fixing a now one-armed, one-legged Jedi with an IV of painkillers.
"Just five more minutes for the engines to cycle."
"I have a watch, Arianna. We're over time. If we don't leave now, then they'll be ready to shoot us down when we do leave. Hit the engines. We've got everyone aboard we can save."
He half expected having to march up to the bridge and press the ignition switch himself. But she didn't argue. The humanitarian in her saw the logic in his pragmatism. Save four hundred, or kill a thousand if they waited another hour. As the engines powered on and the hull of the craft began to thrum, the air took on the thick charge of the ship's shields being raised for takeoff. The landing struts groaned as the weight of the ship was pulled off of them.
"That cloaking device on," Levi asked as he returned to the side of the bleeding Jedi, taking the lightsaber in hand.
"Coming up now," she said.
"Don't leave the hangar until it's active." Levi grasped the hilt of the weapon, his thumb settling over the activation switch. To the Jedi he said "I don't have any more bacta patches to seal these wounds. I'm going to have to burn them shut to keep you from bleeding to death. I'll-" The craft shuddered as the engines pushed the Carrack cruiser toward the hangar doors, ready to rocket out into the burning jungle.
"I'll make this quick. On three. One. Two. Three."
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Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
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Post by Deleted on Feb 5, 2014 14:36:48 GMT -8
As my shuttle touched down in the hangar of the yavin temple i felt a tear sting my eye. reaching out into the force to feel those around me, i felt life growing… but i didn’t feel any echoes of life that could be considered intelligent. maybe some beasts of burden, but neither jedi nor support staff were anywhere to be found on the base
“Pixar, it would seem we are the only ones present.”
stepping out of the shuttle into the hangar i felt a stillness in the air. the wreckage of the battle looked as fresh as when the fighting had stopped. i had it in me to weep for the fallen, but there were no bodies to be found. just pieces of wrecked armor and ships… and when i noticed that some ships were still standing, my cybertech eye corrected me to show that the frame was present, many of the ships had crucial components missing… shaking my head i addressed pixar to go find the security depot. It wasn’t that i wished to unnecessarily hijack and break into systems above my com code… But if i was going to do anything with this temple, i needed full access to it’s secrets.
However for the time being, i pulled out my Data Manager device… and I began to review whatever information could be found in the shadow about the battle. i wanted to piece together why there was no one here, and more than that… i wanted to be on alert, apparently i was not the only person interested. i had seen a blip on the radar move. now it may not have been by a lot, but I didn’t want to take any chances. so for the moment, i was watching and observing… waiting for something to happen, whether pixar would report from nearby the security station… or I would meet this new person… or nothing… either way, i was a little on edge…
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Post by Alexis Karidian on Feb 15, 2014 14:46:42 GMT -8
Alexis angled her StealthX toward the hangar bay in the Yavin IV Praxeum, a place from which history had been launched many years earlier. She cut the hull polarization generator and dialed back power from her four fusial thrust engines, gliding up into the single unoccupied fighter slot up in the Dragon's Roost and dropping her x-wing into it neatly with a whine of repulsorlifts that cut out a few seconds later as she killed the power. She clapped her hands over her ears as R8 shrieked an excited electronic greeting at the droids of the other StealthX's belonging to Dragon Squadron. He could easily enough talk to the computers himself.
"While you're at it, make sure we get re-fueled, etc, Teacup," she informed her fussy astromech. "One never knows," she muttered to herself, unsure what she would find out here, but feeling that it would not be what she expected.
She flipped the switch the popped the canopy and winced as it hissed open. Instinctively she unfastened her seat restraints, but then she just sat there, listening to the residual hisses and pops of her snubfighter settling down to rest. She couldn't help feeling like a ghost. And the thing she had originally left Yavin to find and give to Dav, the book that had led Nathan to her, well...it was in the possession of another now.
~You cannot run forever Alexis,~ my thought-voice echoes through my mind. Force knows, I've tried.
Reaching up to the edge of her cockpit, she pulled herself out of the seat and clambered up onto its edge. She hung there for a minute, contemplating the eery feeling of silence around herself, and then dropped to the ground. She landed hard, and found it reassuring. Straightening on her feet, she stretched her spine with a long crack as her vertebrae settled themselves back into place.
Alexis took a deep breath, inhaling the mixed scents of dust, engine oil, and something she couldn't place right off the top of her head. She headed over to the nearest exit, scuffing her heels along the floor just to make some other sign of life.
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Post by Adria Doran on Mar 3, 2014 21:38:00 GMT -8
The Jedi woman walked into the hangar alongside her rescuer, a slight limp in her left leg. Her orange jumpsuit was covered with dirt and grime, and every step was accompanied by a pained intake of breath. Her normally wavy blonde hair was matted with sweat, and normally bright green eyes were dull from fatigue. She had been stuck in a collapsed pile of rubble for at least a full day -- she had lost track of the time -- and her body was suffering the consequences.
Despite this, her pride was starting to show through again..
"Thanks for the rescue.. But I'll be fine."
She smiled despite a sudden wincing. "Just need a bit of proper rest.."
Her eyes were tiredly scanning the hangar, looking at the damage that had been done during the Siege.. Part of her still seemed to be refusing to accept that it had actually happened.
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Post by Alexis Karidian on Mar 4, 2014 15:00:28 GMT -8
"I know you will," Alexis replied quietly, dispassionately even. She was all-too-familiar with the automatic "I'm fine" response to be taken in for a second by the facade Adria was erecting around herself. The pilot was a survivor of a major attack on the Praxeum, and she was in a state of shock, fatigue, and most likely malnutrition as well.
Alexis bit her lip before asking, "Would you like me to walk you to your old room?" The residential levels had barely been touched. That was eerie in a way, as if they were in the middle of a ghost town filled with echoes of the past. But Alexis Karidian was familiar with ghosts.
She felt a bit overwhelmed. And now she was faced with another who also needed help. Brown eyes gazed thoughtfully at the girl in the rumpled and torn orange jumpsuit, "I am Alexis Karidian," she introduced herself calmly, even though she was already aware of who Adria Doran was. "We've got work to do. Perhaps a trip to the medics would be a good idea," it couldn't hurt to get someone to look at Adria's leg.
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Nathan Malreaux
Member
Posts: 29
Affiliation: None. Yet.
Traffic Light: Yellow
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Post by Nathan Malreaux on Mar 4, 2014 15:45:17 GMT -8
-After Alexis and Adria exit Hanger Bay-
*A modified Vaksai fighter designated The Rogue came down to land in the hanger bay, piloted by Nathan, who was apparently also known as former Jedi Master Nathan Malreaux, a revelation he was still struggling with. The landing gear extended downwards and came in contact with the permacrete floor a little haphazardly due to Nathan's current difficulty dealing with his sobriety. A situation he intended to fix ASAP.*
*Glancing around from his cockpit, Nathan shook his head with tightly clenched teeth, still doubting his decision to come here. It was stupid, following a damned voice in his head, trying to dig up a past that was obviously strewn with pain and misery. Sure, he wasn't any happier blowing his escort pay on drinks and gambling tables, but at least he hadn't been this emotionally upset.*
"Well... too late now you kirffing nerf herder. Might as well face the music."
*Nathan slammed his fist on the cockpit seals and pushed himself up out of his ship and crawled down the side, albeit a little ungracefully, and put a hand out against his ship's hull to brace himself as he looked around for anyone to tell him what he was doing here. Maybe that Ander fellow the Admiral had told him was looking for him. Maybe he could give a little information...*
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Ander Tagira
Member
Well, I'll be...
Posts: 567
Affiliation: GALSAF, Mandalore, Yavin 4 Jedi Praxeum
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Ander Tagira on Mar 4, 2014 19:40:13 GMT -8
Lieutenant Coronel Hunter Ynoa
Commander, 2nd Battalion, 1st Infantry Brigade Commando Team, GALSAF
Great Temple Hangar Bay Coronel Ynoa looked up at the sky as the roaring engines of a Vaksai starfighter approached the hangar entrance, slipping inside on its repulsors and settling down on the dusty stonework deck within. The Coronel checked the vessel's transponder code against the information he'd been given by Admiral Staton from the command deck of the Basterd's Hand. Gesturing to his companion, Master Sergent Draff Dillon, a human male from Contruum, Ynoa began walking casually over to the starfighter, stopping beside its cockpit. Both commandos were garbed in similar armor, Katarn-style variants painted a mottled pattern of green and brown. When the pilot opened the hatch and climbed out, Hunter could tell the man was out of sorts. He seemed disoriented, exhausted. Hunter quickly made his way to the man's side, helping him steady himself with one hand. He looked over the man's face through the T-shaped visor of his helmet, matching his features with the profile he'd been given of Nathan Malreaux. This is him alright, Hunter thought to himself as he pulled the helmet from his head and clipped it to his belt with his free hand."Nathan Malreaux? I'm Hunter Ynoa, one of GALSAF's Battalion Coronels. Admiral Staton told me you'd arrived; said you might want to talk to Commander Tagira?" The Coronel smiled gently at the man, who seemed tormented. "If you do, he's right over there." Hunter dipped his chin in Ander's direction. The man was standing with another male human and female, talking by the hangar entrance. "We're just transferring responsibility of the system over to the Jedi, but I'm sure the Commander has time for an old friend." |
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Nathan Malreaux
Member
Posts: 29
Affiliation: None. Yet.
Traffic Light: Yellow
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Post by Nathan Malreaux on Mar 4, 2014 20:11:02 GMT -8
*Nathan looked in the direction Ynoa indicated, and noted without surprise that he did not recognize his face.*
"Thanks..."
*Nathan nodded to Ynoa and walked slowly towards Ander, taking a trajectory path that would put him in Ander's line of sight, hopefully to prevent needing to make the introductions. If Ander really was an old friend, he would recognize him. If Ander saw Nathan, and Nathan saw no glint of recognition... He was gone. Out to Wild Space, pick up a contract, and never look back.*
"This is insane..."
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Ander Tagira
Member
Well, I'll be...
Posts: 567
Affiliation: GALSAF, Mandalore, Yavin 4 Jedi Praxeum
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Ander Tagira on Mar 5, 2014 14:40:27 GMT -8
Ander's eyes trailed its movement as Nathan Malreaux's starfighter entered the hangar bay and laid itself to rest on its landing struts. Jakob offered a some clarity to his thoughts, prompting a nod from GALSAF's commander. Jakob was tired, spent, much more so than Ander himself remembered ever being. He could see it in the man's face, and perhaps a break from his quest was exactly what he needed to see the mission through. Ander understood that. "What we'll need first is more intel. I can supply assets to garner that intel, and in the meantime, you can take the rest you need." Ander felt a great amount of respect for both Jakob and Crystaall as they acquiesced to his request for assistance in the training of GALSAF's Force potentials. He held his hand out, palm down, in a gesture that emphasized his reply. "They'll need a lot, but I'd like to expand on the basics Force Users are typically instructed in. We need our Force Sensitives to build on their existing talents and knowledge so they can properly meld their newer abilities into their current methods of operation." Ander nodded slightly towards Jakob, speaking specifically in response to his own words. "This will include much more than telekinesis. Our commandos are trained in a variety of non-combat skills such as linguistics, diplomacy, attention to detail. Whatever you can teach them to maximize these existing talents will go a long ways." Ander gestured to himself with his outstretched hand. "I may no longer be a Force User myself, but I remember the vast majority of my training. I crafted GALSAF's training doctrine myself, building on what my father, Master Skywalker, and the Rebellion taught me. I'll be able to assist and guide the training we'll require so that we can best meld our Force Sensitives' talents with their training, though I'll be no use when it comes to setting examples."
Ander pulled the datapad out of its utility pouch and opened one of the documents contained within it. "Like I said before, I've already identified our Force Sensitives, though I'd like you two to go through the rest of our personnel and identify any I may have missed. We'll reassign them to their own unit for training under your joint leadership. They'll continue to work within their respective units, but only during our main operations. The rest of the time, they belong to you." Ander pressed a few keys on his datapad and then shook it gently at Jakob and Crystaall. "I've sent you both the list, once we've wrapped up operations here and have returned to the fleet, we can get started."
Ander smiled briefly as he stowed the datapad away. "Thank you both, for your help. I'd be at a loss without you both." A pair of commandos approaching from across the hangar bay suddenly caught Ander's eye. They were Lieutenant Coronel Hunter Ynoa and Master Sergent Draff Dillon, 2nd Battalion's Commander and Foresergent. With them walked a man Ander recognized, which brought new life to the smile on his face. He stepped passed Jakob and Crystaall, gesturing to them that he'd soon return, then jogged towards the three men, slowing his pace and holding his arms open as he neared the man he used to know.
"Nathan Malreaux, boy it's good to see you!" Ander called, grinning as he clasped his arms around the man firmly. He shook him gently, feeling sudden exuberance building within his chest. "It's been years, what have you been up to?" Ander asked cheerfully, pulling himself away and holding Nathan by the shoulders at arm's length. The smile on his face dimmed as he began to take in the other man's features. Ander felt the excitement of the reunion diminish as concern replaced it in his heart. "Is everything alright? You look...spent, my friend."
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